Welcome to Mistland – June Edition

Another View of Knite & The Ghost Lights

By Julie Morley

Many times the Knitemire elder had warned me from venturing off too far away, especially towards the Old Graveyard. The restraints of Knitemire are oppressive and could rob an individual of their exploratory nature. Though I understand I have a responsibility carried down by generations and currently am the only one carrying it along, I don’t feel the need to hold back and cower from the dangers outside the village’s borders. It’s that type of thinking that leads to a life of caution, regret, and dreadful discomfort.

That’s just never been the way I walk along.

Whenever the opportunity presents itself, I find my way to sneak out of Knitemire to explore. Given, I do not tread far beyond a debatably safe distance, but today felt as if my own rules lacked a sufficient limit. But something about visiting the old graveyard in the Blackwoods. I cannot describe the sensation but I felt as though I were being seduced in its direction, pulled by an unknown but unmistakably powerful force.

Today was the day I met the gargoyles.

The Old Cemetery felt like a separate entity from the rest of Mistland, as if I were teleported to a different world. The feeling in the air shifts, as if you stepped into another time. Torn and withered trees hang over sculptures and gravestones with carvings of loved ones throughout the yard. This place spoken of with such sadness and despair feels like a sanctum of peace and comfort; resting grounds for the souls with direction and ease.

I love the feeling. This is what Ghost Pipers strive for, peaceful souls without unfinished business. Somehow, I felt as though I belonged here.

Something about these gargoyles seemed lively in the most uncanny manner. Great sculptors masterfully have carved life into these structures, giving them a life-like appearance as if these creatures were frozen in time. I looked over them curiously, wanting to touch them. As if a touch could give them a brief dance of life before me.

I’d known Xavier for a while now, seeing him occasionally when I wander outside of Knitemire. It is because of his presence that I’ve avoided any trouble. It would be out of character for Xavier to roam about without his trusty pipe full of mist herbs and drink. He is a Lucerian goblin unlike the others. Goblins are known for their miniature minds and short thinking but Xavier is bright.  I believe his intelligence has led to his estrangement from the others.

He gazes over the gargoyles as well, smiling. I turn to him, “Who are they? Do such creatures really exist?” referring to the gargoyles. I was dying to know if they were real. He laughs, “Do they really exists? Of course they do! I see them all the time!” He took a swig of his bottle and proceeded to talk about his hallucinations about them when he drinks.

I was disappointed.

Given their strange poses and odd expressions, I had this unshakable feeling these were lively creatures with personalities, hearts, and stories of their own neglected after years of disregard. I looked over at Xavier who was speaking to the gargoyles as if they were dear friends.

“Tell me about Antonious and Marcus,” I inquired.

“Oh boy,” he started. With great enthusiasm, Xavier proceeded to tell me stories and heart breaking tales about the gargoyles in front of me. Upon listening to his memories recited to me, something strange occurred to me.

Maybe Xavier found his place among these gargoyles to talk. Though he may not fit in with his own bunch, it is with the dead and frozen in time that he can find solitude, comfort, and even friendship. With this thought, I was happy to see him excited and thrilled to speak of the people who gave him such happiness.