Welcome to the Gloomy Hollows of Spookinite Valley Est. Sept. 2012 The Dark Legend This is The Legend of Spookinite Valley. Resting within the foothills of rural Vermont is a land haunted by hundreds of loathsome spirits, and within which many ghastly secrets are buried. Undoubtedly, this land is the enigmatic and notorious Spookinite Valley. Here, October is eternal. And where the birds once sang, now there is only silence—occasionally disrupted by shrieks from long ago. If you listen carefully, the past will confide in you its perturbing tales. And if you are silent and observe the vale, you may be able to discern more closely its story. First, you are—in all probability—wondering what the word ‘Spookinite’ means and how such an outlandish word is pronounced. It is actually rather simple: ‘-ite’ is a suffix of nouns signifying a person who is bound to a particular place. ‘Spook’ is a noun for a ghost or spectral creature. ‘Spookinite’ is thus a proper noun for a mysterious inhabitant bound to a haunted land or region (it is pronounced: spü-kĭ-nīt). There are many such inhabitants here. Hence, ‘Spookinite Valley.’ Yet understanding the word is not entirely necessary, for what your own instincts whisper to you is far more potent. Indeed, the atmosphere shifts abruptly upon mortals traveling down the main road beyond the decrepit covered bridge. The overcast appears more leaden—and the occasional disturbance of the wind sounds as if something unseen is wailing with unrest. But beyond twilight, it is far worse. When the sun is absent, the stories many folks have whispered about for centuries seem to come to life. Thus, traveling alone is customarily cautioned against by those dwelling in the nearby vicinities. And by merely observing the surroundings—even for the first time—you will know deep within your heart that the valley does not welcome strangers such as yourself. For the lofty, centuries-old maples; oaks; and cedars congregate on the mountainsides and also stare down whilst the cornstalks’ slender arms sway in the autumn breezes. Pumpkins grow wildly in the neglected pastures, and their vines can be quite unforgiving. It is far wiser to stay on the main road. But if you continue, you may find an old manor house—its four, white columns guarding the entrance. Although the windows are lightless, the mansion is by no means vacant—for its deceased occupants still reside on every floor. Indeed, as the more perceptible trespassers might imagine, the home harbors many forgotten stories. Nevertheless, these stories are surely not worth your life. If you hasten farther along, you will find the old inn. At this place, the glow of candlelight pierces the windows and illuminates the surrounding grounds—even amidst the dead of night. Yet do not be deceived by the charm of this Victorian edifice. The proprietor, Mr. Mansfield, is not to be trusted; for it is said that he much prefers his guests to stay eternally and detests vacancy. Furthermore, the inn is not a place to be found. Instead, it is a place that finds travelers. Thus, it is advisable that you avoid this deceitful establishment should you come upon it. However, I shall emphasize again that roaming about the countryside is still perilous. For darkness spreads deep into the soil here, and whatever life might sprout from it is surely hungry for dread. Your only hope may be Hemlock; this is the nearest town, but even it has a sullied reputation and troubled past. A fugitive—a wanted mortician—is rumored to have fled the town after a horrid secret was discovered in his attic on the evening of November 13th, 1896. And before this, the town’s entire populace vanished in the fall of 1851. All current denizens are relatives and indirect descendants of those who disappeared—having emigrated from other small towns throughout New England. And although they endeavored greatly to re-establish the township, the charm and joy it once possessed is long deceased. Moreover, many travelers have told tales of encountering unworldly presences throughout Spookinite Valley. Perhaps one of the most noteworthy is a black feline who is often referred to as ‘Tobias.’ This cat is believed to especially lurk near the roads most frequently traveled. And despite his impression of domestication and majesty, terrible events seem to follow his appearance. This is, of course, purely a legend. Yet there are many more. Stories commonly told at Hemlock’s tavern include ones of an enormous spider which stalks lone travelers on horseback. Other tales are about a strange man with an oblong head and emerald-hued skin who hides within the unoccupied rooms of the inn. Some of the rarer legends suggest that there is a formidable apparition who is said to hold dominion over the valley. Clad in a shredded cloak sewn from amethyst and the midnight sky, he watches for travelers and curiosity-seekers. Within the pointed hood of this wraith’s robe is a pumpkin, with a sharp smile and scowling eyes carved deeply. Golden embers rest within the sockets, igniting as he laughs—firebrands flying from his mouth. Some say he is a harbinger of insanity, while others believe he is madness incarnate. Flee far should you encounter this grim specter. In the end, it is your decision as to whether or not you shall further your investigation into the valley’s history. While it is certainly true that some memories from the past are far better forgotten and buried, some refuse to fade and are awaiting their accidental release into the present. And once these forsaken things are awakened, they may not wish to rest ever again. You must therefore be wise and sensible while treading on such grounds. To be inquisitive is to be vulnerable. And finally, remember this: the truth is often far deeper than any mere legend or myth. Yet you will only uncover the truth by searching thoroughly. Click below to play music.

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