Hello, my wonderful listeners, (Patreon)

and a Happy New Year to you all. Are you ready for a fantastic year full of gripping tales of my adventures? I hope so! Now then, let’s get started- Pardon? Lana? She’s still gone. I’m sure she’s fine. The Kringle isn't all that bad, really. let's get on with the story.

(FWEETS loudly on his Wienermobile whistle)

As we walked along the road, our group approached a strange mel who was standing on the verge and mumbling to himself.

“All them creepers an ghoulies hidin everywheres!" he declared aggressively, as if it was our fault. "Well, sure'n they can’t a-get to me iffen I never stop movin.”

"This ol coot's about six bales short of a load," Burnside observed. "We'd best just pass on by an' pay him no mind."

"I object," Fiona objected. "People of this type have deep and mystical insights into the world around them, seeing and knowing things that regular folks never could. Behind his seemingly incoherent ramblings lies prophetic wisdom! Just like in all my favorite fairy tales- erm- completely true historical accounts masquerading as fairy tales to fool the common folk."

"Oh potentially wise sage," I addressed the unkempt lunatic, just in case. "Where is the nearest railway station?"

“Eh, wassat?" he remarked oracularly. "Train station? Nah, sir! Sure'n no good comes from them demon machines. They eats yer souls! Just like them pic-a-ture machines. Never catch me on one o’ them, begob! Ye should be thankful that the nearest train station, TO HELL might I add, is several towns away, about a three day walk if ye stops for sleepin.”

“Is there a faster route," Harriet inquired, "which we can avoid so the demon train doesn’t eat our souls?”

The old possible soothsayer scratched his beard and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Well... There be a fork in the road a ways ahead. The left road is the one ye should be avoidin. Ye definitely shouldn’t take that road. Not only does it cut an entire day off the journey, hastening yer meetin' with the unholy powers o' devil-steam locomotion, but the road itself be cursed! Sure'n it passes many a haunted place, with creepers an ghoulies hidden behind every tree, under every stone, and down every privy.”

“Ew,” Basil remarked.

“Folks call me Old Man Mel, by the bye.”

“We didn’t ask,” Burnside politely informed him.

As we all briskly walked past the crazy old coot / wizened old seer, Rebecca leaned forward to speak to me.

“My lord, we’re not going to take the road he mentioned, are we?" she asked. "He made it sound pretty dangerous.”

“That old fellow is obviously barking at shadows," I stated confidently. "Unless he is truly blessed with prescient inner sight. Old folks like to tell wild stories for attention. Either way, I’m sure it will be fine. We'll save a day of traveling time.”

And I was right! While there were a few minor hiccups on the journey to Percysthorpe, the journey itself was pretty forgettable, so I’ll just breeze through it, mentioning only a few minor details.

After taking the left road at the fork, we spent a day walking before dusk forced us to stop so the witches could sleep. Luckily we found an abandoned cricket club next to a place called Ruby Lake. There were fully furnished cabins there, so we didn’t even have to set up a camp.

Unluckily that camp was the home of a huge, hulking wild man dressed in cricket whites with a bizarre face mask. He wielded his bat like a deadly weapon and tried to bash us all to bits. Burnside stabbed him, but her attacks only made the villain angry. He was unbelievably strong, but slow and not very stealthy. He always gave himself away with his lumbering steps, heavy breathing, and a bizarre telltale sneeze that went, “Ah-Ah-Ah Choo-Choo-Choo!” After chasing around the camp for a few hours, we lured him out to the lake where he fell in and drowned. After that, the femmes were able to get a few hours sleep, and I'm absolutely sure that oversized maniac is dead and no one will ever see or hear from him ever again.

At the end of the second day of our journey, the students once again needed to stop to sleep for the night. Fortune was smiling on us this time, for instead of a dingy old camp with a murderous fiend skulking around, we found a beautiful old castle that was the home of a very hospitable aristocrat and his three wives. He had a taste for the dramatic: When he answered the door, he made a big show of asking all of us to “Cross the threshold and enter of your own freewill.” He introduced himself as Count Feratu, and very generously invited all of us to spend the night in his castle. He even fed us dinner, despite the fact that he and his wives must have already eaten, for they didn't so much as nibble a single morsel the whole time! I suspected the Count had knowledge of magicks because he was immediately able to tell that three of our company were elves. He must have been a doctor as well, because he kept going on about how potent elf’s blood is. After the witches went to bed, Burnside went to explore the castle armory, and Rebecca toured the library, while I strolled through the halls and marveled at all the family portraits. The family resemblance in the Feratu family was astounding; every generation looked almost identical. If I didn't know better I'd almost have suspected them of being elves hiding in the lowfolk world. As dawn neared, one of the Count’s wives invited me to a “feasting room” where she, the Count, and the two other brides wanted to have a word with me. Since the Count had been so hospitable, I agreed without a second thought. When I arrived, the Count bade me make myself comfortable while he and his brides lit the fireplace. The room was pretty stuffy, and since he had instructed me to make myself comfortable, I decided to open the curtains and let in the morning sun and some fresh air. I knew something was immediately wrong when I smelled something burning. I turned and was horrified to see four piles of ash where the Count and his wives had been standing! Whatever method he had used to light the fireplace must have been very potent! To this day I feel a deep pang of guilt since he said he was going to light the fire for my comfort and was probably attempting a flashy Gramarye to impress me, when it backfired and incinerated the whole Feratu family. Not wanting to upset my companions with this grisly news, I came up with an excuse to leave hastily before breakfast. It was with a heavy heart that I departed Castle Feratu. That old Count was truly a gracious, generous, and kind soul. The world could use more people like him, Fuma rest his weary soul.

Not long after departing the castle, we finally arrived in a village with a train station. When we boarded the train, I was ecstatic to see Monsieur Heracles Parrot again. I introduced him to my companions and regaled him with some of my adventures since our last meeting. He was very impressed to learn that we were traveling to to a university and that the three witches were all, technically, junior scholars. However, our conversation was cut short when one of the train conductors ran through the carriage brandishing a scrap of paper and yelling "Somebody set us up the bomb!"

After subduing the hysterical fellow and getting the paper away from him, we read it and learned to our dismay that there was a bomb hidden on the train, and it would detonate if the locomotive’s speed ever went under twenty miles per hour! Monsieur Parrot and I leapt into action to find and disable that bomb before tragedy struck! Despite our best efforts to keep things quiet, word inevitably got out and panic spread through the train. Rebecca, Burnside, and the students had to prevent frantic passengers from jumping off the train to their certain doom!

Parrot and I finally found the bomb, and when the detective tried to disarm it he found, to his astonishment, the bomb was a complete dud!

"Zut!" Monsieur Parrot exclaimed. "Zis device is made improperly; it wouldn’t explode even if you set it on fire. Ze fool zat made it - hoh hoh - he has steamed ze explosive powder inside, rendering it completely inert. Sacre bleu! He is a buffoon!"

"Yes," I chuckled ruefully. "Imagine, steaming gunpowder. What sort of simpleton would do something like that?"

At the train station, I shook hands with Parrot and wished him luck tracking down this would-be bomber.

"Such a dunce, he will not be so easy to find, I think," the detective grinned. "But I shall persevere! Until we meet again, mon ami!" With a tip of his hat, he ambled away down the platform.

And so - after a long but mostly uninteresting journey, my companions and I had finally arrived at Percysthorpe.

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