I was thinking a lot about what I’ve found out about the real Castle Blood. First I come into possession of a journal written by Professor M. Scrye that details what he believes are the real lives of vampires – like Whiplash, Bram, and Howler – as well as other supernatural creatures. Then strange clues begin to unfold; a photo of a portrait in the Polidori Museum in Inverness, Scotland of what looks like Whiplash. I tried to track that down, but there is no Polidori Museum. Yes, the city council office thought I was nuts – after we both decided we were speaking English to one another – when I called them. Then there’s the Civil War era tin type I picked up of Bram and an account from a veteran of the war who may have encountered him. Finally, Howler herself seems to have been captured in a diary from the late 1800′s during a mystery disease outbreak in Washington County, PA where Castle Blood lies. Pretty much sum it up? I’m going nuts. Yup.
It gets weirder.
When I stepped onto my porch this morning to head to work my neighbor Stan was just getting in from his job. He works odd hours – swing shift I think. I said good morning to him.
“Hey, who’s hearse was that parked outside last night when I went to work?” he said after some pleasantries.
“Hearse? Here?” I stammered.
“Yeah. Had fog rolling out of it too. Really cool effect. How’d they do that?”
I got away from him by mumbling something about leaving the coffee pot on and headed back inside. I called the boss and let him know I wouldn’t be at work again. He grumbled something about being lucky the Union negotiated sick days for us as I hung up, and I sat down at my desk. A hearse parked outside? Stan goes to work pretty late. I’m usually asleep by then. It had to be around midnight that there was a Hearse parked outside my house with creepy fog rolling out of it.
I knew I hadn’t slept well, but I figured it was just all this business with Castle Blood. In fact I don’t remember going to bed at all. That’s when I spotted it.
A beer cap. I don’t remember (starting to be a trend here) drinking a beer last night let alone one with such an odd design on it. I checked the fridge. Yes, I do down the occasional beer – right now there are fifteen Weyerbacher Pumpkin Ales in my fridge. I know what I buy, and I know how many I drink because I’m not that sort of drinker. The thing is – fifteen is one less than there should be and this isn’t their cap. In the fridge are the beers and two of them have this odd cap. The rest seem normal. There was no empty bottle.
I started Googling.
Macbeth and Banquo meeting the witches in a woodcut from Holinshed’s Chronicles. They don’t look so weird to me though. Perhaps the artist was clueless or afraid to carve their true visage.
Sometime in late 1039 AD the cousin of Donnchad mac Crínáin, the King of Scotland, was out riding with his buddy Banquo. On this ride the King’s cousin, named Mac Bethad mac Findlaích, encountered “three women in strange and wild apparell, resembling creatures of elder world” according to Holinshed’s history of Britain, The Chronicles of England, Scotland, and Ireland (1587). The three women – I think you know what they were – dole out some prophecies to the King’s cousin and vanish. Story sound familiar? It might if you remember your eight grade literature. This guy by the name of Shakespeare wrote a play about it. The King was King Duncan I and the cousin was Macbeth who eventually becomes King – after killing Duncan of course. King Duncan I was my ancestor BTW; I know this because my big brother, the history nut and Civil War re-enactor, told me so – not because I’m smart or anything. Glad he had kids before croaking. That makes Macbeth my cousin a zillion times removed.
I met three witches recently. Bet you can guess where. One of them offered protection from a pumpkin. Let the Shakespearean tragedy and madness ensue.
It’s always three; like the woodcut at the top of this post. Three Fates – Three Weird Sisters. The Greek’s called them the Moirae – Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. The Roman’s named them Parcae – Nona, Decima, Morta. The names don’t matter. In nearly every culture there’s always three of them. According to some stories even Zeus was subject to their will. One always seems to spin the thread of life, another measures it out with a rod as a ruler, and the last cuts it with the dreaded shears. I didn’t see a spinning wheel or shears at Castle Blood, but I did see a rod. Yes, it was in the hand of a witch.
I checked Scrye’s journal for any reference to the witches I’d encountered at Castle Blood on the Halloween Adventure Tour. There’s only one:
Most witches are both fascinating and frustrating as they demonstrate the culmination of scientific experimentation without having any real interest in the why and how of the things that they do. Otherwise, they would be great and famous people of science, and Hexibart is no exception. Based upon her pumpkin-based brews, Hexibart would have been a wonderful Alchemist; however, unlike most nature magick practioners, her own zeal for experimentation with ancient practices long ago wiped any vestige of humanity from her form leaving only the ultimate communion with the natural forces governing the universe. She is for all intents and purposes the physical embodiment of one of the classical Fates and can grant protection or curses at will. She can literally alter chance and reality within a narrow framework of rules that I, as of yet, cannot understand.
So I headed to the library; remember those places that have those things made of trees with weird symbols in them that when you pass your eyes over them magic pictures appear in your head? They’re called books. Believe it or not the Altoona Library has a decent occult section. Don’t tell the kooks please. That’s where I found the woodcut in a fairly new book called “Encyclopedia of the Occult” by a Dawn McKechnie. Sounds like a contrived name to me. Probably another dead end. According to her there’s only ever been one recorded instance of a witch so blending with nature as to take on the classical physical attributes of a deity – in this case the Pagan horned god – Cernunnos. That would be Hexibart. Yeah, I know – Cernunnos was a traditional masculine figure, but I’m talking the general physical attributes and power that comes with them – not gender. Nature and creation unbound – literally. Though the origin of this witch is still a little muddied, the symbol she is most associated with – her power symbol – was in the book. It’s the one on the beer caps. Obviously someone planted them there.
I may have to track down this Dawn McKechnie – if that is her real name and not some alias used by one of the Castle Blood Denizens – myself and see if she can get me the answers to this.
I don’t remember the Hearse or drinking the potion. Yeah, pumpkin potion, not pumpkin ale. I think I needed to down all three – something magic about that number I suppose – but fortunately I rarely drink more than one. What it was supposed to do I have no idea, but I’m starting to suspect . . . well . . . I just hope I’m not as buggered as King Duncan I was when witches started messing in his life.
Will Fate Grant You Protection
Click Below
That is really creepy!!
Bet you won’t be sleeping soundly for a while!!
Keep us posted!!
Joy