The last writings of Geoffrey Bridgeman, II.
Ever since I came to Adgeholm nearly thirty years ago, I have been fascinated by the stories the locals tell of the “Ferret Hole.” I’ll begin the story shortly, but first I’d like to tell you all about myself.
I was born and raised in Shropshire, by a family who, as it happened, were potential heirs to a sizeable fortune. Whilst I did not receive anything resembling the inheritance that my cousins did, I was blessed with enough money to allow me to do as I pleased, within limits, and so I did.
I used a not-inconsiderable percentage of these funds to further my education, pursuing a Masters in the History of the British Isles, and towards the end of these studies simultaneously completed a degree in the Mythology of the British Isles. If this sounds somewhat outrageous, my apologies, I should have mentioned beforehand that I am something of a prodigy in our family. Although those people at the institute of British Archaeology disagree wholeheartedly.
I’ll talk a little more about myself later, but for now I’d like to tell you something about the history of the Ferret Hole.
During the time of the Roman occupation of Britain, the invaders came across our small hamlet, which they named Adigoholm (prior to this, it was simply called ”our village” by those who lived there). As there were no other settlements for many miles around, and the inhabitants – who apparently had a great surplus of food from the surrounding rich farmlands – seemed happy enough to accommodate the invaders, a century of legionnaires took residence here for a while, with the long-term view that it would become a port of resupply, and if necessary retreat, for the occupying army.
For a time, everything went well for the Romans, until word reached their garrison officer, a man named Grakus, that the people of Adigoholm were displeased with the Romans’ lack of action on their plight, having believed that they were to be saved by their new masters. When questioned by Grakus, the villagers told him of the creatures which came by night and stole their babies away. Further interrogation of the townsfolk revealed that this had been happening for as long as any of them could remember. Indeed, one elder stated that his grandmother had told him that it had been happening since before her youth (given the average lifespan of peasants during this time period, this is perhaps not as long as might be thought, but I believe that it still bears mentioning). Furthermore, the townsfolk were convinced that the perpetrators of these acts came from the Ferret Hole and took their victims there after abduction (they claimed that this was supported by the fact that small trinkets belonging to the missing children were found scattered around the mouth of the cave, although I have been unable to find any direct evidence of this; I have even gone to the extent of employing a metal detector, with no appreciable results).
When pressed further on the frequency of such occurrences, the old man told Grakus that the abductions always took place in the three nights before the full moon. Doubtful as to the veracity of these claims, the commander decided to post watch on the Ferret Hole in the interest of keeping good relations with the community.
Three days before the next full moon, Grakus ordered four of his men to patrol the area surrounding the entrance to the cave. Only three returned in the morning, and throughout the town were scattered several small stones inscribed with odd-looking runes (although Grakus claimed to have collected these artefacts, I have been unable to locate any trace of them; unfortunately, he did not deem it necessary to make depictions of the runes either (It should be noted at this point that the guard who failed to return was in fact the son of one of the legionnaires, who had followed his father to Britain as part of the legion support staff. This boy, whose age I estimate to be around 11, took up the role when asked to, after his father was promised a midnight tryst with a local woman).
Following the disappearance of the legionnaire, Grakus questioned his men and, satisfied that the man had not simply deserted or “gone native”, Grakus interrogated the village elders (from his writings, I gather that he was none too gentle in this). Despite this harsh treatment, the locals would tell him only two things: the first, that they had had nothing to do with the disappearance, and the second, that it had been the work of the little things who came out of the Ferret Hole.