“He turned his face unto the wall,
He turned his back upon her.
‘Adieu, adieu, to all my friends,
And be kind, be kind to Barbara Allen.’
As she was wandering on the fields,
She heard the death bell knellin',
And every note, it seemed to say,
‘Hard-hearted Barbara Allen!’”
~“Barbara Allen” (traditional folk song), covered by Art Garfunkel
x~x~x~x
The mystery of the Headless Man was slowly coming together. Duncan Ashe now had a name for him -- Jacob Cromwell -- and now all that seemed left to do was get the terrifying ghost his head, so that he might pass on to the next life.
To do that, though, he’d have to locate his skull and then return it to the rest of his body, wherever it was buried...and considering that many ghosts tend to haunt the area where they died or where their body laid, Duncan thought the graveyard the ghost haunted would be the best place to look for the second. The skull, however, required a bit more investigation...for the tale he’d learned about the Cromwell family at the Manor suggested his head was not buried anywhere on that property. Its last known whereabouts instead pointed to being in Bill Weasley’s possession -- someone who, like the remainder of his family, also ended up dead by decapitation. So with some help from Liberty Square’s resident historian Rowan Khanna (and no help from the so-called “Wanderer” Orion, who’d very conveniently disappeared once daytime grew near), Duncan tracked down about ten square yards of woods that could’ve once held the Weasley house, and that evening, Duncan located a shovel and went to investigate.
The moon was not yet full that evening, but it let off a ghostly pallor through the darkening clouds. Perhaps this was why the air was so still and ethereal that -- once again, like when Duncan first arrived in town -- he could hear an eerie, melancholy Tenor voice on the wind...a voice Duncan felt certain no one else could hear but him. It wouldn’t have been the first time Duncan had heard disembodied cries and sobs that no one else could -- he was actually tormented quite a bit for it when he was younger, before he was able to capitalize on it financially and use it to make a name for himself. But never before had he heard quite so handsome a voice, not even in choir. It was so earnest, so sincere, and yet so expertly and beautifully trained. And the depths of emotion expressed, it was unfathomable -- like a bottomless well of longing and despair, hungry for something that he was left a husk of himself without.
Despite all logic, it brought a tear to Duncan’s eye, just hearing it. How could any one voice hold so much grief, and not be choked or strained?
And perhaps because of how much the voice called him, Duncan got to thinking -- could that voice belong to a ghost who could give him some guidance to where the skull was? If it was the voice of Bill Weasley, or one of his brothers, perhaps he could tell Duncan where the skull was buried. Or if the voice belonged to the skull itself...to Jacob Cromwell himself...
Could a man with no head truly have such a big heart, that he could feel so deeply even in death?
And so Duncan brought a hand up to his mouth and began to sing himself. The song he chose was one Rowan Khanna had listed in passing, when they’d been going off on a tangent about folk songs of the 18th century -- or at least, Duncan thought what he was singing was that song: it had the same title. He’d first heard “Barbara Allen” on one of his mother’s old records: he’d known it was a cover of a much older song, though he hadn’t known quite how old, and he hoped beyond reason that the song he remembered was anything like the song that was sung back in the 18th century.
Duncan’s gamble paid off, for about two and a half stanzas in, his Bass voice was joined by an ethereal Tenor harmony, which settled down on top of his lower notes like a gauzy, veil-like shroud.
The sound made Duncan’s heart skip a beat -- this singer was definitely well-trained, if his voice could meld so easily with his without any rehearsal. As much as he could’ve just closed his eyes and enjoyed the sound of their harmonies, he was laser-focused on his goal...and so as he sang, repeating the song twice over so as to make the voice echo him again, Duncan strode through the woods, trying to follow the voice he heard singing alongside him to its origin. At last, as the song came to an end for the third time, the paranormal investigator traced the voice to just under a leafless tree -- and on one branch of the tree, he found what looked like a very old and worn red ribbon tied around it. It was under this branch that Duncan began to dig -- and after about a half hour, he did indeed find a skull. It was a perfectly normal-looking skull -- dead as a doornail and silent -- but Duncan honestly hadn’t expected it to start singing in his hand like a novelty prop. The singing had done what it was meant to do -- it helped Duncan find the skull, so now all that was left to do was bury it with the rest of Jacob’s body.
So Duncan returned to the graveyard forthwith. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to find the Headless Man and -- in doing so -- locate his grave, but he figured since Rowan Khanna had no information on where Jacob Cromwell had been buried, if his body was in this graveyard, it had to be in an unmarked grave, so it was the unmarked graves that Duncan looked for first.
It was near the thirteenth of these he found that the air became deathly still, and Duncan sensed a foreboding presence. Good thing too, because less than ten seconds later, he just barely avoided a sword’s blade swiping past his shoulder.
It was the Headless Man, and he had his sword aloft, pointing it right at Duncan.
Once Duncan had recovered from the abrupt assault, his voice hardened, becoming more business-like as he shifted the skull in his hands to show it to the ghost. “Easy -- I’m a friend. The name’s Duncan Ashe. And you’d be Jacob Cromwell, right? I think I have something of yours -- ”
“‘Ashe,’ you said?”
Duncan looked down at the skull in his hands. In an instant, it had become a smirking head with a mane of black-brown curls and brightly glinting almond-shaped blue eyes.
Duncan was more than used to the supernatural and wasn’t prone to getting spooked -- but I think just about anyone in his position would’ve had a minor heart attack, suddenly holding a guy’s severed head in their hands. Duncan nearly dropped Jacob’s head, but just managed to hold onto it long enough that the Headless Man was able to snatch the absently mumbling head up by the hair.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life...”
Shaking the skull down onto the unmarked grave, he then affixed the head onto his shoulders, adjusting his collar so that it fit snugly.
Now Duncan had thought now that the Headless Man had his head again, he now would be able to pass on. He had what he’d undoubtedly been searching for...so now he could rest in peace, right? But no -- no, in fact, his head was not what Jacob had been searching for.
“Look, I appreciate the effort you went through -- it’s been a long while since I’ve sung with anyone quite as talented, and it’ll be a lot easier to look around with actual eyes,” said Jacob lightly. “But I’m not going anywhere until I find my Wyn.”
“Your...Wyn?” said Duncan with a frown.
“Yes -- my Wyn,” Jacob recurred matter-of-factly.
He seemed disinterested in explaining further, as he’d already gotten distracted striding across the cemetery, reading the gravestones. Feeling frustration settling in, Duncan pursued him, trying to argue the point that he couldn’t just stay wandering around in the land of the living when he was scaring the townspeople half to death, but Jacob seemed perfectly unmoved by this.
“Them being scared is their problem, not mine,” he said rather fiercely. “I’m not going anywhere without my Wyn.”
It was only as Duncan thought it over that he realized what Jacob was talking about.
Wyn. Carewyn. Wasn’t that the name of Jacob Cromwell’s little sister -- the one who’d nearly been married against her will?
Not long after putting that together, Orion had popped up again, seemingly out of nowhere.
“If your sister is dead, which she is likely to be,” said Orion softly, “how do you know that she has not already passed on, as most of the dead do?”
Despite saying this, though, there was something strange in Orion’s eyes -- something that almost seemed to not believe those words himself. And Duncan frankly didn’t blame him -- with how tragic of a death Carewyn Cromwell had, the likelihood of her spirit lingering was high. Jacob, for his part, seemed to hate Orion on sight just for suggesting such a thing and refused to believe it. Duncan himself thought it was likely that if she were still in the land of the living, then she’d probably be at the Cromwell Manor -- but this time, Orion seemed oddly cagey about Duncan returning to the Manor.
“The owner of the Manor has stated that you’re not to enter the house again,” he said softly. “It’s no longer safe for you.”
“What?” said Duncan, taken aback. “You mean that ‘Ghost Host?’ He seemed pleased about me coming in, before -- almost creepily so,” he added dully.
“The Ghost Host has never owned the Manor,” Orion said cryptically.
He made as if to leave, but when Duncan tried to grab him, his hand went right through his shoulder.
Duncan gave a start. Orion turned around with a wry smile.
“Madame Olivia has never stopped materializing the dead, Mr. Ashe, not since she first died...and so many of us look...far more physically there than your average spirit.”
Jacob’s eyes narrowed upon Orion with fiery mistrust as he grabbed Orion by the front of his shirt. Being a ghost himself, he could hold onto him.
“Who the Hell are you?” he demanded.
But Orion disappeared right out of his grip with no explanation.
@cauchemarrose sent:
🎀🔮🎀
"You are my master's employer, Ryuko Kiryuin, correct? I've come by to inform you that she is currently recuperating from a mission and won't be reachable for the rest of the night."
(here's my test muse)
Ryuko was a bit unsure of who this woman was, mainly because she was never aware of her. However, she would be able to put two-and-two together understanding who her master was - Nui. Something happened to her? Needless to say, Ryuko was concerned now.
“Understandable. I appreciate letting me know. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to her during this mission and may I ask for your name? I don’t recall meeting you.”
