Through the Veil Transcripts

You lived far from town, in a small cottage. With the exception of the town a few miles away, only your mother and an old dairy cow were your company.

Your cottage was simple, and poor. With only the cow’s milk for income, you lived a life of meager means.

In spite of that, you were, in general, content. Until one day, the cow went dry. With no way of making ends meet, your mother instructed you to take the cow into town, to the market, and sell it.

So, early the next morning, you packed a light bag, took the cow’s lead, and began toward town.

The walk would take about an hour, especially given your meandering pace. This road was only used very occasionally, mostly by you or your mother on your way to town. Which is why you were surprised to see someone else on the road. Walking, but very slowly. Leaning heavily upon a tall walking stick.

As you passed the strange, bent figure, they spoke in a wispy voice. Barely audible over the breeze and rustling grass.

“Excuse me,” they rasped, “I have many fine wares, if you wish to trade.”

You apologized to the strange trader, explaining, you had nothing to trade with. Only the old, dairy cow-gone dry that you were taking to market.

The person thought for a moment than exclaimed. “A fine cow such as this makes a good trade. I offer, in exchange for this old, dairy cow, this bag of magic beans.”

For a moment, you thought better of the deal. This cow was all you and your mother had left. If you traded it away for beans… But they were magic… Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad deal after all.

With a long pause for thought, you finally agreed. The old trader took the lead, and handed you a small brown pouch. Inside you could feel a few hardened beans. The cow now having been traded away, you had no reason to continue toward town. You turned back toward home, your strange prize in hand.

Stories the world over are full of the dead returning to life. Some come back blood hungry. Others come back with nothing but a ceaseless hunger for flesh. Some come back driven for vengeance.

Some of the risen dead however, revel in their cursed new life. These who behave in strange ways and with ill-intent, are the revenants.

Revenants dot the stories of the Middle Ages all across Europe in a few different forms.

Although it’s used interchangeably with vampire or ghost in some cases, it began to take on its own form.

Throughout the Middle Ages, between 1000 and 1200AD, a number of reports were recorded by various historians and priests of people returning from death and performing all manner of wicked deed.

The day began like any other. A morning dappled in sunlight. A simple breakfast and relaxing start.

It was a slow start. And absolutely not a bad way to begin a day. You left your house before mid-morning, and made your way toward town.

You were nearly there, more than halfway certainly, when you noticed the crowd forming just outside town. It was odd, this many people gathered on a day without a market. As you approached you realized the crowd was circled around a single figure. A woman.

She was in the center of the circle alone. Not standing, no, she was dancing. Spinning and twirling and spiraling, all to the sound of music that wasn’t there… Soon, you were a part of the crowd watching her strange act, your other errands forgotten.

For hours now, the road was the only thing to keep you company. A trip like this was measured in days, not hours. And you had a couple to go.

The day had started early, with gas station food and coffee. Lunch passed in a road-side sandwich shop. And then more driving. Day faded into evening, and evening had begun to fade toward night.

Out here, on dark roads, lit by headlights and the occasional oncoming car, your eyes could play tricks on you. You could see things that weren’t there.

The shape of a hitchhiker in the dark. An oncoming vehicle that suddenly vanishes into the murky darkness. The shape of strange beasts and creatures stepping out into the road. The misshapen and impossible visage of monsters hidden in the darkness.

Anything could be out there. At least that’s what your road-weary mind had nearly convinced itself of in the darkness. Evils lurking behind trees, and in empty fields, and around each bend in the long, winding road…

Of course, it was just a trick. A lie your brain told itself… Or is it?

You were driving, late in the night. Later than you probably want to be driving. In the dark night, lit only by the faint light of the half-moon above. This far from a city or town, the stars were glorious. Each tiny point of light glimmering in their defiance of the night.

The darkness of the fields and forests around you occasionally broken by the glow of lights in distant windows. But never enough to see by. Hours since you had left, hours more until you would arrive. At least you had music to accompany you. Music and a large, paper cup filled with gas station coffee. Steadfast friends in a drive like this.

The road stretched ahead, meandering lazily like an asphalt river. You’d seen four, maybe five cars in the past hour. It was a lonely trip. But not one you hadn’t made before.

Then you saw something that you’d never seen before. A light, you’d thought a star, grew brighter and began to move across the sky. At first, you thought maybe a falling star, but then it suddenly changed direction. It began to grow brighter and larger, and you realized it was closer than you had thought at first.

You felt compelled to get a better look…

This week, it’s all history. History rooted in an individual’s superstition and greed, but history nonetheless.

Matthew Hopkins, born sometime around 1620 and dying a short 27 years later, became dedicated to a career that was lucrative and brutal. He became a Witchfinder in East Anglia during the English Civil War, and his troupe would go on to be responsible for the majority of executions for witchcraft in all of English history. In a short, three year career, Hopkins would execute 300 alleged witches.

East Anglia, an eastern region of England, saw the country’s most numerous and most brutal witch hunts. Although witch trials were recorded as early as the 1400s, and as late as the 1700s, one fourteen month window saw, at the most conservative estimates, 60% of the country’s executions for witchcraft.

These brutal trials were held under the supervision and guidance of self-proclaimed Witchfinder General Matthew Hopkins. In his short-lived career, he is believed responsible for at least 300 hangings for witchcraft, most of them in East Anglia.

I am Andrew Eagle, and I am excited to invite you to join me as I pass Through the Veil, and explore the history and villainy of Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder General.

It had been a trying time for you. You were perfectly healthy and fine. However, one of your friends had been stricken by the oddest ailment. They were besieged by visions of a bird-like creature. It plagued them when they left the house, and kept them awake and prevented them from resting.

When a doctor from town announced their confusion about the condition after their third tincture failed to have any effect on it, your friend became convinced that the thing they were seeing, this bird-creature, was a spirit. They came to believe they were being targeted by a curse.

Dark magic… whether you believed that or not, your friend convinced you to consult with the Hedge Woman. You were reluctant, only because she had a peculiar reputation, working as she did, at the fringe of witch-craft. But at their request, you agreed. You would go to the Hedge Woman and see if she could help break this condition’s hold.

A great deal of folk stories, myths, and tales involve wishes. Each with their own limitations, rituals, and purposes. Some methods of wishing are better for wishes grounded in love, others for financial prosperity. Some risk misfortune, if the rules are not adhered to.

Regardless of all conditions, wishes take many forms, and invoke many powers. They appear in stories across the world and across time, evolving and changing.

They are superstitions rooted in small actions with supposed profound results.

You were planning a trip. A weekend away in the mountains with a few friends, to relax around the fire and hike through the woods of the area.

The trip was a fairly spontaneous thing, but you were excited about it, ready to get out of the city for a little while. It had been a long time since you’d been camping.

When the day came to pick up your friends and get on the road, you loaded your car quickly: packing a tent, a sleeping bag, a few days of clothes and starting the trip. One of your group brought the food and drink, another some climbing gear. Soon, you were all loaded and on the road out of the city and into the hills. The mountains loomed ahead of you, and you breathed deep. There was something special about the deep wilds, and while you weren’t hiking more than a few miles from where you’d be parking the car, that was enough to get at least a slight feeling of isolation.

Finally, in the early afternoon, you pulled into the parking lot that sat at the trailhead, parked and unloaded the car, and set off into the woods - heading toward your campsite.

Another hour or so of hiking and you reached the campsite, pitched the tents, and prepared a meal. Up here, you could breathe freely, and although you hardly noticed it, the tension had drained from your shoulders like water. You were relaxed as evening fell on your first night of what you were already sure was going to be a fantastic weekend. And as darkness fell, you looked up, and you saw the stars.

You were moving. Leaving behind the town and people you knew to go somewhere new. To see someplace different, far away from everything you’d known before. Maybe there was a better reason than restlessness, than the desire to discover. It was time to go.

So you packed up the things that were important to you, loaded them into your car, and left. You hit the road and knew that wherever you ended up, wherever you landed, you would be somewhere you’d never been, and so you couldn’t help but be excited.

It took a few days, rolling into new towns, staying for a few hours, or a day, and then moving on; before you found the place.

It was a small town, built along a small set of hills. A set of old brick buildings lined the main streets, and homes stretched out along private ways, hillside roads, and country-side lanes. It was a strange and sprawling town, so different from the place you’d left behind. But somehow, already, it felt vaguely comfortable.

So you found a place to rent, a small house, along a brick road, and moved in. Getting to know the whole town would take time, but already, you could tell this would be an adventure you were glad to have embarked on.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that you’d really notice the large house atop a nearby hill.

Everyone was preparing for the Feast. It was an exciting time. A time to celebrate, to reflect, and to prepare for the new year.

The town was busy. It would be even busier tomorrow and the next day of course, until the evening of the Feast when you all would come together to enjoy the food you were all preparing.

But first, there was the work of the festival. The whole of the town was making food, preparing masks and costumes, planning the path of the parade. It was a frenzy of activity, but still, you enjoyed.

You helped bake goods in the morning, preparing food alongside your family. In the afternoon, you were recruited by a few neighbors to help them plot the parade’s course, help to clear it of snow. And in the evening you took a break to eat a meal, have a drink, and relax. Tomorrow would be busier, and would see the beginning of the festival’s actual events.

All in preparation for the Feast of Saint Nicholas in two days. But first, you had to make it through his companion, and the night devoted to his mischief and dark work, for tomorrow was Krampusnacht.

Midwinter was just around the corner, the longest night of the year, and a time of powerful change. You knew, as any would, that midwinter saw the rise of a number of spirits. So, you closed your windows, locked your doors, and employed every small, superstitious protection you knew. Better safe than sorry.

You figured, just batten the hatches and wait out the storm, there was no good reason to wander about at this time of year anyway. Still, you couldn’t help but gaze out at the snow and cold, after all the doors were sealed, and wonder… What was out there, what spirits had risen tonight and what mischief did they intend?

On one such night, as you were preparing your evening ritual of sealing your home, a knock came at the door. A neighbor, a horse had gotten out and they needed help finding it. If they waited too long, they feared a wolf would find it. You sighed… It was late, it was dark… Still, when your neighbor needs help, you knew what you needed to do. You fetched your coat and your lantern and set out into the darkness with them.

It was eerily quiet. The town was settling down for sleep, and the woods were dark, silent, foreboding. Only the lightest hint of wind whispered through the night, just sharp enough to make you draw your coat tighter around yourself.

And in the distance, two hounds began barking…

The Festival of the Twelve Nights was starting tonight. Which meant that for the next twelve nights, there would be celebration, feasts, family and friends.

It was an important time of year for your community. The heavy work of the harvest was behind you all, and you could focus on the winter, and eventually preparing for spring.

And of course, with the lack of work in the fields, it was a time of leisure. Obviously, there were things to do, tasks to be completed and things to maintain, but it was a slow-moving season for the most part.

In particular the Festival. Nearly two weeks of relaxation, food, and celebration. Each year the town was visited by spirits, creatures of beauty and horror, in equal parts.

It was visited by the Perchten and their terrifying leader, Perchta.

You made your way toward the house at the edge of town, like you did nearly every morning. The old woman who lived there, and her two grandsons, had been there as long as you could remember. The woman was severe, but her grandsons were both incredibly talented artists and musicians. It was truly one of the perks of the job, working around their land, the chance to listen to their music for a few hours while you worked.

But today, something was different. No music was being played. Instead, you could hear the sounds of tense conversation from within the house. You normally started your morning by greeting the family within before continuing on your day, although this time you decided to avoid it. Whatever was going on within the house, it didn’t seem like your place to interrupt. You continued on your day. Then, a few hours later, you heard children crying. Not the grandsons. They were too old for that. These were the cries of new-born children. The sounds of two. Of twins.

You knew something was wrong when you woke up. Everything was too bright, too warm. You made your way outside, and there, to your horror you saw something that could be the doom of humanity. All ten suns had risen together. Their combined heat and light scorching the surface of the world. You knew already, that if this were to continue, there would be nothing left of your town, your people, or anyone else. They would all be burned away.

There was only one thing to do, you had to get the help of the king. You ran toward the palace. You arrived to the palace to find some among the guards in chaos. Enough going on to slip through the gates and make your way toward the audience chamber. You entered, shouting about the terrible fate that you could imagine if the suns did not stop their assault. The king listened intently, nodding along, and then he wrote a short letter and handed it to you.

He commanded that you would carry his message to the archer Hou Yi. He could help, the king was certain of it. So you took the letter and hearing where Hou Yi could be found, started running again. You left the palace behind, the village too. You found yourself in a forest nearby, and within the forest, you found a house.

Autumn. The days were beginning to grow shorter, and the corn grew high. The Harvest was upon you.

The towns nearby emptied to support the harvest, all those of able-body knew this time of year was busy for all. All those who did not already work with or for one of the farms did during the harvest. This was a time for all to work together. To provide for the coming winter.

The days began as early as 4 in the morning, and each would continue deep into the night.

The most important workers were the reapers. Reaping was a highly technical skill, and if done incorrectly, plants would be ruined. You took great pride in your skills. Within a few years, you hoped to be leading the reap rather than participating. The most skilled or experienced of the reaping crews would organize and set the pace of the crew. Reapers were followed by binders, you’d been a binder until you were old enough to swing a scythe. Binders tied the corn together into sheaves that would eventually be taken to the barns. Behind them were the gleaners. Gleaners were almost entirely children, who would collect stray ears of corn so that nothing was wasted.

Everyone united in a singular purpose. For that reason, it was one of your favorite times.

You knew the harvest was a time of great change, opportunity, and of course… Magic.

You were preparing for a journey. Not any particular journey, but you could tell one was coming up. The days had been long, and gentle. Which meant, people were growing restless in Asgard.

Of course, one person in particular was more restless than most. Thor was aggressively trying to convince the other gods to join him on some adventure yet to be determined. Of course, as per usual, Loki was onboard with anything that might upset the regular order of things. So, as you would certainly be asked to accompany them, you were preparing. Packing supplies and readying them near Thor’s goats.

Finally, Odin relented and allowed them to go, but first he asked where were going. Thor hefted his mighty hammer onto his shoulder and declared for all the gods to hear, he would be traveling to the keep of Utgaroa-Loki, Loki of the Outlands, and a king of the Giants.

You had traveled for many nights to arrive here, in this small village at the edge of a great kingdom. You had heard that one of the kingdom’s knights was here. Not just any of them, but one of their greatest. Said to rival the king himself in prowess on the field of combat. So you had come to test your mettle. To prove yourself worthy, as you knew you were.

You found him in short order. A knight stood out in a village such as this. All gleaming armor and a long blade. This was Lancelot, the greatest of Camelot’s knights.

You faced him in combat, and despite his prowess, you bested him. He offered you the opportunity you were seeking, the chance to serve as Knight of the Round Table. And so together, you traveled to Camelot.

You were the child of a well-known farmer and laborer. Everybody in the area knew Ohan, your father; which meant everyone knew you. Your father had tried to teach you his trade, but you quickly found you had no talent for farming. He apprenticed you to a carpenter, and found you lacked any ability with wood-working. The same could be said for smithing, milling, and fishing. Quickly, you ran out of trades to learn.

He grew more frustrated until finally he decided he would take you to the largest city nearby to try to find you work. You journeyed toward the city, until Ohan decided he was not going to complete the journey, leaving you to find a trade to apprentice in yourself.

On your now-lonely trip, you were beset upon by a powerful storm. You came across a run-down home along the road. Hoping for shelter from the storm, you barged in.

You found yourself entirely surprised when inside the home were forty people. At once, you tried to explain your presence and asked if you could be their apprentice. They laughed and asked why you would ever want to be apprentice to thieves, for that is what they were.

Regardless, you repeated your request. The leader shrugged and responded that you could be their apprentice if you could draw water from the well behind the house. He gave you a pitcher and you quickly made your way to the well in spite of the rain and wind. You tied the pitcher to the rope and lowered it into the well. When you began to draw it out, it was incredibly heavy, but you fought and fought and eventually you pulled the pitcher free.

To your surprise, a pale, white hand was clasped to the bottom of the pitcher. You quickly grabbed the wrist of the strange hand and a shriek emanated from the well. The arm flailed, but you held strong, until shortly another pale hand arose from the water grasping an impossibly beautiful golden goblet.

You took the goblet in one hand, and the pitcher in the other, and returned to the thieves, amazed at the thing you had found.

Your journey would be long. From your home and town across the moors and north all the way to the coast.

It was a harsh road, rarely traveled. Which was why you thought it could offer great opportunity. The towns along the north coast were remote, and would be a perfect spot to bring your wares.

There were four people in your group. And four horses. Two were harnessed to a cart, loaded with wares. The other two were for riding in turns.

Loading the food and other supplies was completed in short order. Loading the wares for sale took longer. The crates and barrels were heavy. But by mid-morning, they were ready to go. And the road was calling.

Many people in the town warned you not to go. Warned that the roads weren’t safe. That they were haunted even.

Foolish superstition.