Local Traditions

I had known Reginald since we were in our 30’s; he became a client of mine around that time when he was living in Edinburgh. We had developed a sort of friendship over the years, rarely seeing each other, but remaining in correspondence. In all the time we knew each other, we discussed many things from the latest scientific discoveries, the paranormal to our personal duties, and some times the matter of our joint business.

Up until recently I had remained in almost constant contact via mail with Reginald, when one day last week, I received a letter from a lady who claimed to be a relative of his, stating that he was ill for a long time and had finally succumbed to his disease. My name was mentioned in his last will and testament and I was to be his primary beneficiary, along with his sister, of whom he scarcely spoke. In truth, outside of his opinions on a wide subject of matters, I realised upon looking at this letter, scrawled and untidy, that I barely knew anything about his life before he came to Edinburgh, except the name of his place of origin, Balallan, whence this letter had come. I could believe the authenticity of the letter due to a symbol jotted at the end, that of a sun cross; an image that he used to factor into his signature so as to ensure that I knew letters were from him.

I was to leave the next day for Balallan. I had not been to the islands of Scotland before as I was under the impression there was not much to see. Reginald seemed reluctant in the past to speak of his origins and this fact made me all the more curious to find out why.

I knew not of his family, his upbringing, why he had such an aversion to open curtains at night, which I noticed the last time we had arranged to convene in Glasgow one weekend in past year. We had gone out for the evening, and ended up quite merry. Upon returning to our accommodation and realising we had left the curtains slightly open, he rushed in an almost frantic way to close the curtains, sighing with relief once he had shut off the outside world. He turned, looked at me in the eye, and there lingered a look of fear in his, that which I had never seen before.

The journey to Balallan was long and arduous as the urban world faded away, replaced with lush fields and dense forest; a place where man had not yet conquered and where nature and all its secrets still dominated. In the late afternoon we arrived at Ullapool. It was a little old town, not well kept at all. Many shops closed and buildings were in disrepair. The boat wasn’t to leave for a short period of time, and in trying to find something to do which would occupy my time, I caught my eye with a older gentleman. Greyed hairs sprouted from underneath a woollen hat, he was wrapped up well in a great shroud of seemingly as great an age as himself. He muttered to himself and twitched unnaturally as he came over to me, and regaled a fantastical tale of creatures that lived around the Hebrides. It was unclear, he was speaking nonsense in between twitches and grunts, gesturing out to the sea and the islands that lay just beyond the horizon. Soon enough, it was time to leave and I left this strange elder to his incessant ramblings and concerning beliefs. Despite my insistence in my mind that it was mere ravings of a lunatic that spawned from such a specimen, something had awakened within me.

I have somewhat of an aversion to the sea, probably one of the main reasons as to why I have never left the mainland of Scotland before. There linger things beneath the waves that I would shudder to think of. As I looked out over the sea towards the island to which I was meant to travel, the idea of things unseen for thousands of years lurking in the depths simmered in my mind. The stories of great beasts of Norse epics were at the forefront of my mind as we embarked for Balallan, on the Outer Hebrides, just as the sun was starting to rest behind my destination. It was but a small boat, a small fishing vessel not really prepared for any sort of meaningful public transport, it would appear there wasn’t much of a need, especially to Balallan. There were a couple of passengers apart from myself, a man and woman, dressed scruffily, speaking with each other almost intelligibly due to the strength of their idiosyncratic accents. After some small pleasantries with them, they asked for my reasoning to travel to the Outer Hebrides and their faces dropped as I mentioned my friend’s name and my destination.

“He… He was one of the few that left… for good. We’ve been nominated to deal with trade with the mainland. That was his job a long time ago. He’s not well liked as he used to be.” The woman gazed out to the sea as she sort of trailed off into deep thought.

“Yeah, I remember him Fi. He went away, became one of those business people or something. Forgot our way of life, betrayed our customs and…”, and as the man was just about to finish his sentence, what appeared to be his wife cut him off with a sharp look in his direction. He caught her eye and was silenced. Conversation slowly died down after this strange interaction, as much as I tried to keep it up; it seems they were unwilling to talk much more about their hometown.

The sky darkened from a light blue, through to hypnotic hues of purple and reds, finally giving way to the eternal darkness of the starlit sky. The boat glided swiftly over the calm waves, the light hum of the engine filled the silence that lingered after my short interaction with strange couple. When the boat docked at the pier at Stornaway, they hurried themselves off the boat, into a blue car with a broken brake light in parking area, and before I knew it they were off down the road, among the green fields of the Outer Hebrides.

I was still on the pier when I noticed the green light that came from the sea. Upon closer inspection, it seemed to be little animals whizzing around underneath the water’s surface.

“There’s all sorts of strange stuff like that around these parts,” the captain of the boat said as he was tying some knots. “I know they don’t speak too much in these parts about it, but there’s something weird ‘ere.”

“I came ‘ere in about 30 years ago. Was sort of normal for a short while, but then something changed. Something about a festival. Ended up really irking the locals.” His calm demeanour was reassuring, especially in such an unfamiliar place as this.

“You’re going to Balallan, are you? Strange lot out there”, he responded after we came to talk of my reasoning for coming to the Outer Hebrides. “If you need a lift, I could take you? I live in Leurbost but it’s not far out of the way.”

Stornaway was even smaller than Ullapool; however, it was a sprawling metropolis compared to what lay before me. The rest of the island was dotted with little hamlets; my companion, who I soon found out to be called McDougal, was telling me of local legends regarding sea deities, long in the forgotten past. McDougal drove through his town of Leurbost, pointing out some of his local landmarks, such as his local pub, The Green Queen, whose fading lights lit up a haunting image of a woman under the sea, surrounded by fishes and gelatinous urchins, and slimy seaweed.

“That’s all that remains of those local stories aside from the stories themselves,” McDougal pointed at the sign that shone through the darkness as we approached it, and then quickly passed it. “Legend says that she’s still here, waiting for him to return.”

As I was about to question McDougal about who he was referring to, we were stopped suddenly in the country road, just outside his little village, heading towards Balallan. To the right of the road in the hedge were the recognisable red eyes of the back of a car, well just one of them, the other was sort of obstructed or broken. We pulled in behind the car as we could kind of see some movement within.

We carefully got out and approached the scene before us, when my eyes adjusted I noticed the colour; blue. I turned to McDougal and we resolved to move in. There was no-one else about, the next building was a mile or two behind us, and who knows how far ahead of us. The moonlight illuminated the road enough for us to see that it was a long straight street that went down a hill to a small hamlet in the valley. I could see the glare of lightbulbs and fireplaces dotting the landscape, seemingly shrouded in a green haze that wafted in between the buildings. There was a bizarre smell that wafted through the air, perhaps from the car but definitely in the direction of the hamlet.

We came to the window, and within we saw an impossible sight. It was the pair of islanders that we had seen on the boat

“Crikey, not Ewan and Fiona! I thought they were safe from it!” McDougal shrieked as he laid eyes upon the unfortunate couple. Around them there was a strange green haze, that reminded me of the green light that emanated from the little animals in the sea. The smell, the putrid smell was unbearable at this point; a smell of seaweed, of fish, of death.

I turned to McDougal, pale, in disbelief, dry heaving.

“What’s up with you matey? Did you know these people?”

At that point, I became lightheaded; my vision, blurry. I stumbled around to see a green light, approaching from the distance. A deep green, hypnotic light that floated, bobbed through the darkness came from the distance. It was beautiful, yet horrifying. The mere sight of it was entrancing, yet also terrifying; hilarious yet tragic.

The next thing I remember was waking up on a bed, in a small room. The wallpaper was of a simple design, and on the wall was a painting of what I presumed to be The Green Queen. Her hair beautifully detailed but with qualities of seaweed, surrounded by various creatures from the depths, indescribable monstrosities that dwelt where man should never go. And then her eyes, staring down at me as I laid in bed, those deep green eyes, almost luminescent, as they seemingly gave as much light as that which trickled from around the curtains.

It must have been the next day. In fact, I was sure of it. Then there was a knock at the door, and McDougal entered.

“Morning mate, you sort of passed out after we came across the car. So I brought you back here to make sure you had a good night’s sleep”. His warm voice reassured me and almost caused me to forget the reason as to why I was even in this room in the first place.

“But… the light? There was a light, and…” At the moment these words left my mouth, I could see the expression change on McDougal’s face for a split second, to that of unease, of discomfort, and then back to his default expression of calm and simple contentment.

“I’m not sure what you mean, mate,” He smirked, “Come on, anyway, let’s get you a cuppa and then we can get you in the right direction of Balallan. After all, you need to deal with ol’ Reggie’s estate anyway.”