Snapetober Day 30: Ghost + Minvember Day 2: Scotland

This is a real folktale, very slightly modified, from Uist, Scotland. It was recorded by M. F. Shaw from the bard Seonaidh Caimbeul.

"Have we not celebrated enough? The pumpkins? The gory food? The costumes? What more do you want, headmaster?"

Albus took a seat next to Severus, settling himself in the armchair rather carefully as he was holding a teacup, full to the brim. He merely smiled.

"You did not even dress up, Severus. And I was thinking - what about ghost stories? It would be a nice way to finish the evening. Wouldn't it, Minerva?"

The Potions Master rolled his eyes. He was still standing next to his chair, his arms folded and a usual scowl on his face; those who knew him well, though, could tell, after scrupulous observation, that there was a hint of amusement in it.

He sat in the armchair next to him unceremoniously, as though he had been forced to and not merely - and very civilly - invited to join the group. 

"I know one", Minerva replied, handing him a cup of tea with a cunning smile. "My mother told it to me when I was a girl. It is from Uist, I believe."

"Indulge us, Minerva", Severus muttered, accepting the hot beverage. "Albus seems to be in dire need of embracing his inner child tonight."

"And you should too, sometimes, my boy", the headmaster remarked humorously. "It would do you good."

"Now that sounds properly terrifying."

"Should I tell it, yes or no?" Minerva interrupted them, her eyebrow raised. 

Her expression was very teacher-like. Albus Held up his hands apologetically. 

"Pardon us, my dear. Do proceed."

Minerva put down her cup and cleared her throat, dusting her robes as she gathered her thoughts. Around them the staffroom was dark, save from the halo of light where they were sitting: it emanated from the fireplace behind them, and in it, the embers were dark red.

"There was a shepherd who lived in his father's cottage, on the high slope of Beinn Mhòr. He had a wife and a daughter, and the daughter was deaf and numb. His father was a very old man of a very evil temper, and one night he fell ill, and died. So the husband and his wife placed him in a bier, and the shepherd set out to town to bring back people to help him carry the body. The mother, with her little child, sat next to the fire in silence."

In the fireplace, a piece of wood, almost entirely consumed, fell from the burning pile with a thud.

"Suddenly, the mother heard the corpse move. And so the child looked up and spoke her first words: "Grandfather is rising. He will eat you; but he won't touch me."

Albus cast her a horrified glance.

"The mother caught the child and fled to the nearest bedroom", Minerva continued, "and she bared the door with everything she could find. The corpse rose and came to the door, and he began to dig away the earth under the lintel with his white hands. The mother and her girl saw his fingers, then his arms, then his head appear - but at this moment the cock crew and he led completely still."

At this point, even Severus had stopped sipping his tea.

"The corpse was there until the shepherd came back with men from the village and lifted him back onto the bier. The mother and child watched as he was pulled below the door, his horrible smiling face disappearing last. They buried him in a graveyard on the north side of Loch Eynort, at a place called An t-Uchd uidhe. There is a hole where he is buried, and you can still see it to this day."

Then, with a content smile and innocent countenance, Minerva picked up her teacup, humming softly while both her colleagues stared at her with their mouths hanging slightly open. Their own tea was long forgotten.

"That's your children's ghost story?" Severus finally said, pulling himself together. "That's the kind of bedside story your mother told you as a child?"

Minerva smiled facetiously.

"That's the Gaelic spirit for you, dear", she replied in an angelic tone.

"He will eat you, but he won't touch me?"

Albus still had not spoken. The Potion Master, turning his head slightly, glanced at him quickly. Then, turning back to Minerva, he said ironically:

"If he cannot sleep tonight and ends up knocking on your door, that is on you and the Gaelic spirit."