A/N: I know I am updating rather quickly, and I will continue to do so for the next few days. I have the story entirely planned out and it should last about 15 chapters, though I may expand upon that once I get deeper into the plot. Fear not, I know how this is going to end and I will end it. promise! I'd appreciate some reviews to keep me powering through :)
Chapter Three:
"These will-o-the-wisps south rather dangerous," the Doctor said casually as the trio walked down the main path.
Aodhán glared ahead, "Aye, if ye believe in such nonsense. 'Ow long are ye and Miss Tyler goin' to be stayin' here, by chance?" Rose noted how quickly he changed the subject.
"I don't imagine more than a few days," Rose commented.
"Alright, we can set ye up in one o' the houses along her. Don't let anybody tell ye that the Irish aren't hospitable. I think that Cathal Mac Gearailt has a few extra rooms. He an' his wife never had no sprogs o' their own to take care of. We past his 'ouse up there," he gestured behind them. Rose vaguely remembered him mentioning a Mac Gearailt living in one of the stone houses near the church. Aodhán continued, "Aye he an' his wife are the older sort, but good godly folk and they should take care of ye right."
"Thank you," Rose said genuinely. "We really appreciate it everythin' you're doing for us."
"Yes," the Doctor agreed. "Now about these disappearances, I'd love to investigate into them, If you don't mind. I'm a sorry of hobby police-man in London in my spare time," he winked to Rose behind the elderly man's back.
"Wha's a policeman?" The word formed oddly in Aodhán's mouth, as if it left a bad taste.
"Ah, new profession in London, keep the law and all that," the Doctor rushed to say. Aodhán eyed him suspiciously, but seemed to accept the Doctor's story.
"Well ye can talk with Miss Pádraigín Reid. She'll be at the widow's home now, she lost her 'usband just last week. Might be able to tell ya somethin'." The old man had taken them in a loop exploring the village, and had brought them back to the church. "Cathal Mac Gearailt's 'ouse is that one o're there." He pointed across the way to the stone house. "An' you'll find Miss Reid down in the house there. I'll see ye again tomorrow mornin' when ye come to church."
Rose and the Doctor gave each other a significant glance. "Yes, see you then," the Doctor said in a strangled voice. The old man nodded to them and walked back into the church, closing the door behind him with a thump.
"I met the Devil just yesterday and found out it was a great dirty alien. Wonder if they'd believe that if I stood up and told them that I had met the devil tomorrow."
"I fancy you'd be thrown on a pyre for that. Go up like Guy Fawkes," Rose joked.
"Yes, but we still have to go," the Doctor sighed. Rose knew he didn't believe in religion. She had grown up going to the church down the road every Sunday. Jackie didn't really believe either, but thought it was best to go 'just in case'.
"They just need to believe that life is worth more than all this," Rose said, gesturing to their surroundings. "They work all day, six days a week, they just have to have something to look forward to. Make the hard work worth something."
The Doctor nodded, "I suppose your lives are shorted than mine. Death must seem awfully scary when you can't regenerate."
"Yeah," Rose said. She recalled the conversation that she had with the Doctor a few months back. Humans decay, he had said. They wither and die. Rose could understand why people turned to a higher power. Who wanted to believe that such a short life had no meaning. It was much better to believe that there was something else waiting for good people after death. "Maybe you'll get lost in the woods followin' the will-o-the-wisps and you won't have to go," Rose teased brightly, trying to steer the conversation away from the depressing fact of death.
The Doctor sighed wistfully. "So where should we go first? Get settled in for the night, or go question Miss Reid about the big bad balls of light?" He waggled his eyebrows, making Rose snort.
"You, settle down for a night? I'll believe it when I see it," she said as she began walking towards the widow's home. The doctor grinned and caught up with her.
"Knew you'd come around to my side." He allowed her to slip her hand into the crook of his elbow.
The widow's home was run down, to say the least. The shutters were broken and the roof needed to be re-thatched. There was no garden to speak of, but a few weeds grew around the base of the house. The Doctor knocked on the oak door gently and listened to the sound echo off the inside walls.
"Bit ominous, don't you think?" He whispered playfully, commenting on the reverberations. Rose just gave him a look.
The door opened slowly and a squat woman no older than thirty-five poked her head out the door. She looked awfully young to be widowed, Rose thought.
"Hello!" The Doctor said brightly.
The woman looked at him cautiously. "Hello," she said slowly. "Can I help ye'?"
"We are looking for Miss Pádraigín Reid," the Doctor explained, his tongue looping around her name effortlessly. Rose looked at him incredulously, impressed at his ability to pronounce the Gaelic name. "We're from London, investigating the disappearances here."
"Aye? Didn't think ye English-type cared for the plight on a poor Irish community," she looked at him dubiously.
"Aodhán sent us," Rose added helpfully, muddling the priest's name.
"Alright," the woman said, still suspicious, but she opened the door to invite Rose and the Doctor in.
The house looked much nicer on the inside. It was washed in a warm, cozy light from the fire in the hearth and there were woven rugs that covered the dirt floor. There were a few large beds in the back of the house with, what looked like, straw mattresses and kitted blankets, though no pillows to speak of. A few simple pieces of wooden furniture made up the dining area, which was opposite from a simple kitchen. There were two women sitting in front of the fire in stiff chairs, kitting and weaving.
"Well this is lovely," the Doctor complimented.
"This is Pádraigín Reid," the woman said, gesturing to a woman who was sitting in the dining area, writing a letter with a goose-feather quill.
"Thank you...?" Rose petered off indicating she was looking for the woman's name.
"Saoirse, Saoirse Mac Cionaoith," she smiled shyly and went to sit with the other women, taking a seat in an old rickety glastonbury chair.
The Doctor and Rose approached Pádraigín Reid, who had perked her head up at the mention of her name. Rose thought she could have been pretty, with the addition of modern conveniences like makeup. As it was, she looked rather plain, her brown eyes were tired and red, swollen around the outside, like she had been crying. Her hair was a mousey brown colour and mostly hidden under a black head scarf, like the one Rose was wearing. Her dress too was similar to Roses', but also black. She had clearly been mourning her late husband.
The Doctor took a seat opposite to the woman, and looked at her intently. Rose sat down next to him.
"We heard about your husband, we are very sorry," the Doctor began quietly. "We are here to find out what happened to him. Is there anything you can tell us?"
The woman sniffed, tears welling up in her eyes again. "Sean was a travellin' vendor, took wares and trinkets to neighbourin' shires, sold them an' then he'd come back. He'd always come back."
"When did he leave this time Pad...Perd...Miss Reid?" Rose gave up on pronouncing her first name.
"Two weeks ago, said he was just goin' to the village over yonder, no more than a weeklong trip. Said he'd be back soon, an' he took his donkey and cart and left. I sent word to the village, an' they said he ne're came." She looked down at the letter she was writing. "I'm tellin' his parents that their son is dead."
Rose peeked at the letter, struggling to make out the words. They were spelled phonetically and nearly impossible to read. "I didn't think most people could write," Rose commented.
"My da' was a school teacher for some richer families. Taught me some. I teach some o' the kids here. Adults don't take to it kindly, think it just looks like scribbles. Only have two or three books in the whole town, including the bible in the church." She said, seemingly relieved that the topic shifted away from her late husband.
"What route did your husband take Miss Reid?" The Doctor pressed, annoyed by the change in conversation.
"Just up the hill an' around the boulder. Two days walk that way," her voice was hardly higher than a whisper, and Rose could hear a whimper in her voice.
"Thank you, we will let you get back to your letter." The Doctor got up to leave but Rose yanked him back down.
"We are very sorry for your loss," Rose began, "but I was wonderin' if you know anythin' about the superstitions around these parts." The Doctor nodded, understanding her intentions.
"You mean the will-o-the-wisps," the widow confirmed glumly.
"Yeah, just wonderin' if you can tell us about them," Rose repeated.
"Me mam used to tell me 'bout them when I was growin' up. I'm not from around here, I came here to marry Sean," she explained. "My shire is about a week's horseride from here, so the tales are a bit different. Mam told me an' my brothers that there were these creatures called fae. Some were beautiful little creatures with wings an' lovely voices an' some were funny wee men who hoarded gold. But most were scary monsters." Pádraigín gulped. "She used to warn us not t' go into the woods by our house. We used t' play there without her knowin'. She said, when it got dark, there were these things calle' hinkypunks. They were one legged little demons, with warts an' bits o' their skin missin'. They hopped 'round with a lantern full o' light. Once anyone saw the light, they had to follow. The hinkypunk would lead get 'em turned 'round an' when they were lost enough, the hinkypunk would eat their hearts and eyeballs." She shuddered.
"It's okay," Rose reassured the frail woman, putting a hand over her clenched fist. "How do people know about them, if they can't get away?"
"Well, sometimes they let people go, or they can only take one person with them, so we get stories from the survivors. Most often it's the women that get let go, we got weaker 'earts, ye see," the woman shuddered again visibly, but gave a wry smile with her last comment.
"And what do the will-o-the-wisps have to do with the demons?" Rose asked kindly, hoping her voice would help calm Pádraigín.
"The will-o-the-wisps were the lights in the lanterns, meant to get ye lost. Ye don't think that Sean got eaten by a hinkypunk? Got his 'eart all torn out?" Her lower lip quivered.
"No, no," Rose said amiably, patting the woman's hand.
"Just a folktale, that's all," said the Doctor, but his eyes looked tight. "We should get going," he looked pointedly at Rose who nodded.
"If you need anything, I don't mind," Rose said. Pádraigín nodded and wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye.
"Thank ye," she said, before resuming her letter writing.
They left the house, shutting the door behind them. "Well that was no good," Rose said in a huff. "Hinkelypuffs and fairies. Ain't no such thing."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that."
"What, you're tellin' me that there are tiny girls with butterfly wings and men in buckled shoes who have little gold pots all livin' in the forest?" Rose snorted.
"After all you seen, do you doubt it?" He raised an eyebrow at Rose, whose dubious expression went quickly blank. "Remember when you met Sarah-Jane and she told you that she met the Loch Ness Monster? Well we did, but it wasn't a real monster, it was a Skarasen, a cyborg weapon meant to take over the world."
It was Rose's turn to raise an eyebrow. "So you're tellin' me that these will-o-the-wisps are gonna be an alien weapon?"
"No, I'm just saying that everything is not always as it seems."
Rose conceded to this, recalling the experiences of her travels with the Doctor. "Well what now?" She gazed up at the sky, looking at the setting sun. It was disappearing behind the mountains, casting a shadow over the village and plunging it into darkness earlier than expected for a spring night.
"We should hit the hay, so to speak." When he got no reaction from Rose, he added, "because the mattresses are made out of hay. Oh come on, it's funny!"
Rose gave him a smile and poked her tongue into her cheek, like she did when the Doctor did something worth teasing.
"Don't give me that look," he insisted. "It was a funny joke."
"Alright, if you say so," Rose smiled again.
"Oh forget it."
She laughed and took his arm as they walked towards their host's house.
"So do ya think we should go and check out the woods tonight?" She asked him.
"Of course we should, we wouldn't be Rose Tyler and the Doctor if we didn't! We will sneak out at nighttime. WOuldn't want the town to think I was doing anything improper by taking a lady out to the woods at dusk." His tone was suggestive, but his kept his face impressively straight.
Rose blushed again, "well what we do ain't these people's business anyhow."
"It is if we want their help solving this mystery."
"Alright, you're right. I hate it when that happens."
"You think you'd be used to it by now," the Doctor said in a smug, but jovial, tone. Rose gave him a playful hip bump.
They reached the front door of the Mac Gearailth house hold and Rose knocked on the door gently. A man, who Rose assumed was Cathal, opened to door.
"Come in, come in," he said genially. His voice was youthful and despite his outwards appearance, he moved quickly for an older man. His frame was slight, but his rolled up sleeves revealed wiry muscles. "Aodhán told me ye'd be coming. The wife has made up two beds in our spare rooms, if ye please come in an' don't be shy. Have a seat."
He hurried them into the house and shut the door. Unlike the widow's house, this one was extremely well kept and looked much more lavish. The floors were still made of pounded dirt, but the furnishing was posh and well dusted. There was a nice, heirloom table with polished chairs around the perimeter. A lace runner and a small vase of wildflowers decorated the table. The fireplace was ornate, complete with a small mantle on which some figurines and trinkets rested. A well used sword hung over the mantle. There was a woven rug, similar to the ones in the widow's house and a rocking chair in front of the hearth. The loft-style second story was connected by a rough wooden staircase. There were two doorways, covered with cloth, to the back of the house, where Rose assumed the two extra bedrooms were.
"It's a lovely home," Rose commented.
"Me wife works 'ard at it, when I'm off in the woods lookin' for supper," he smiled, revealing a smile with several missing teeth.
"'ave our guests arrived?" Came a shrill voice from the back rooms. A short, plump woman in an apron came barreling out of the bedroom, her ruddy face in a scowl. "Cathal Mac Gearailth, how could you not tell me that we had company? Look at me, still in me apron and me hair's a mess."
"Ye look beautiful to me," he said sweetly. Her demeanor softened and she turned her attention towards Rose and the Doctor.
"How ye two be doin' this evening?" She said pleasantly. Her ruddy complexion remained but the scowl had turned into a pleasant smile. Her hair, in tightly woven white ringlets, sprung loose from her bonnet in all directions, giving her a rather frazzled appearance. Rose thought that she looked exactly like Father Christmas' wife from an old story book that Jackie had bought her for Christmas one year. "Are ye hungry?" The woman interrupted Rose's train of thought. "I 'ave a venison stew o're the fire, made it especially fer you."
It wasn't until Mrs. Mac Gearailt mentioned food that Rose remembered she was starving. She hadn't eaten since before they landed in the TARDIS and the smell of the earthy stew wafting from the cast iron pot over the fire made her mouth water. Her stomach grumbled loudly.
"I'll take that as a yes," Mrs. Mac Gearailt laughed. "Ye may call me Áine, if ye wishes." She walked over to the fire and stirred the pot with a large spoon that was resting on the mantel.
"I don't think I can pronounce that," Rose whispered and the Doctor let a small peal of laughter escape his lips.
"Come sit down o're here and get ready fer a feast. I caught that deer meself just yesterday," Mr. Mac Gearailt said, patting the table proudly.
Rose and the Doctor sat down, and waited for Áine to bring the food.
The hinkypunk story is actually true to Irish mythology and they are also called "Hobby Lanterns" and "Jack-o-Lanterns", and no I didn't take it from Harry Potter. though I did emphasize their cannibalistic nature. I've done a lot of research into Irish folklore, as well as period conditions regarding lifestyle so everything is, for the most part, historically accurate. Thanks for reading thus far, and don't forget to review! ~ Hayley :)