Chapter 2: 2 – A New Start in Scotland

In the aftermath of Rufus going missing in the lake, the citizens of Juniperville had turned on me. Why hadn’t I stopped him going out in the canoe that night? No one believed me when I said I hadn’t been with him when he’d gone out on the water. There was evidence – a note, in Rufus’s handwriting, telling his parents we were taking the canoe out that night. If Rufus and I had gone canoeing, we’d have hidden the fact. We’d have gone out after his parents were asleep, and had the canoe back long before they woke up. I know this because it happened once when we were thirteen, and dared each other. We’d never told anyone about it – or at least I hadn’t - but Rufus’s girlfriend, the creature from the lake to be more accurate, had set it up so convincingly that they believed her.

It was my father’s suggestion that I go travelling, as I’d planned to do with Rufus, on my own.

“Just get out of town for a while,” he’d said, tears in his eyes. “Get away from this band of blood-seekers. I’m not trying to banish you, son – don’t think that. But I’m not going to let this place swallow you whole.”

I’d cried, at his choice of words. I didn’t have the courage to tell my father what I knew to be true: Rufus was in The Wash, and I had no idea how to save him. Every night I had the same nightmare, in which I stood at the side of the lake, roiling the waves like they were thick, grey ribbons. I lifted the water with the power of my fingers, trying to see underneath it, trying to find Rufus.

Every night I woke up, sweating and in tears, angry and frustrated at my inability to do anything to help him.

Rufus and I had planned to start our trip in Italy, and gorge ourselves on pizza and pasta every day. But, when I accepted that my father was right and I should leave Juniperville, something called me instead to Scotland, something I could neither explain nor fight. Four days later, I looked out the airplane window as it made its descent to Glasgow airport, amazed at the seemingly endless green fields and hills. Although I’d never been anywhere near Scotland before, it was familiar and it soothed me in a way I couldn’t explain.

The next twenty-four hours passed in a jetlagged haze. On my second day, I was out exploring the city centre when I saw it: a poster taped to a streetlight, advertising a public lecture by Dr. Alasdair Pendle, of the Modern Folklore Investigation Team (MFIT). What really caught my eye was an illustration of a lithe woman, stepping into what looked like a seal-suit. Underneath the drawing was the caption:

Could Selkies exist in the twenty-first century? Empirical evidence suggests they most certainly do. In this hour-long presentation, the MFIT will present findings from across Scotland about the humanoid creatures that live among us.

Someone had drawn a speech bubble by the woman’s face, filled with the words “Ever done it with a seal?”, and I imagined for a second an auditorium filled with sceptics and hecklers. Something tingled at the bottom of my spine, as I realized that this was why I’d been called to Scotland – this was what I needed to help me understand what had happened to Rufus.

The lecture was held in a small, airless room above a sporting goods shop on Sauchiehall Street, in the heart of the city centre. Dr Pendle began with a brief summary of Selkie folklore, explaining that it was among the most prevalent lore in contemporary Scotland, and around the world. He then showed a few short video clips of people who claimed to have seen Selkies, including those who didn’t know what they were dealing with until their loved ones disappeared, never to be seen again.

“It’s still a common belief that people use myths and legends to explain what they don’t understand in the world. Hence, when loved ones drown or are lost at sea, it is said that creatures taking them down to the depths of the sea are responsible. In Scotland, we have the Selkies, the Kelpies, the Blue Men of the Minch, and the Finfolk – still capturing the public imagination in our times. Today, you have heard people talking about creatures that take human form to live among us, tricking us by hiding their true identities. We have presented the evidence, now you must decide: are these creatures real, or merely the stuff of legend?”

“Far-fetched effing fairy tales!” a man with a ruddy face shouted out, prompting a ripple of laughter, before standing up and making his way towards the exit. “Waste of my bleedin’ time!”

A few more disbelievers made their views known, with some choosing to follow the angry man out the door. Most, though, stayed for the group discussion. There were a few sincere questions about the accounts we’d heard, with long, thoughtful responses from Dr. Pendle. My lower back tingled the entire time, like I was standing too close to a heater, a strange sensation I’d never had before. Listening to Dr. Pendle opened up a whole new way of seeing the world, as though I was slotting bits of a puzzle I’d been handed by my experience with the creature from The Wash into something much bigger.

Five years later, I still cringe when I remember what I said to Dr. Pendle once the lecture ended, and everyone had left the room. I was nervous, and tongue-tied, ordering my brain to come up with something meaningful to say. After stuttering for a bit, I told Dr. Pendle that something I couldn’t explain brought me to Scotland, as though some force had attracted me here.

“I feel like the truth starts here,” I said, my cheeks blazing.

“Have you come here to tell me your story?” he asked me kindly.

“I came here to listen. I didn’t know that you gathered stories.”

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“But you have a story to tell.”

I nodded. “I haven’t told anyone – not even my dad, or my sister.”

“Fear silences many tongues. Especially with this kind of story. It’s all too easy to dismiss them as fairy tales.”

“Far-fetched fairy tales,” I said, giving him a weak smile.

“Precisely,” he replied, laughing.

“Do you ever think someone’s story is just too crazy to be true?” I asked him.

“Almost everyone we meet is convinced that what they saw really happened. We can’t explain everything in this world using logic and reason. There has to be scope to allow for the uncanny – that which can’t be explained according to our usual conventions.”

Meeting Dr. Pendle that day was the beginning of my future, which is to say my present. He told me he was looking for an intern to join the MFIT, unpaid during a short trial period apart from room and board. If it worked out, I could join the team as a co-investigator, and undertake academic study in Dr. Pendle’s department at the university.

It did work out, and I’ve built a life here. I completed an undergraduate degree last year, and am now nearly at the end of a Master’s degree. Well, nearly at the end might be a bit of a stretch.

My sister’s words ring in my ears. “They’re planning to send a dive team down again at the end of August, to look for him.”

The end of August is two months away. I’ve missed several deadlines for submitting work to my supervisors, and this time away on Skye was supposed to give me the peace I need to focus, and to wrangle this unwieldy beast into submission.

I read the email inviting me to an online meeting with the Dean of Studies to discuss the terms of my academic probation again. As a scholarship student, I’m bound to certain rules and checks, including meeting deadlines. Letting my work stagnate means that the university is now taking action. Dr. Pendle is one of my supervisors, and he has tried to reassure me that the meeting will be partly to check on my progress, but mostly to discuss any supports that require to be put in place for me to get back on track.

“Don’t worry, Thom – universities like to have meetings about every little thing. Every single person at that meeting will know what it’s like to slip off the rails from time to time. We’ve all been there.”

Reverse psychology: if someone tells me not to worry about something, I figure there is definitely something to worry about. And there was something about the way Dr. Pendle was looking at me that made me think he was worried, too. As the first student-researcher on MFIT, I am running the risk of crashing and burning, of bringing ignominious glory on Dr. Pendle and the rest of the team.

Academic probation. I stare at those words, letting the shame of allowing myself to get into this position burn through me. What I really need to do right now is put all thoughts of Rufus, and The Wash, out of my mind; I need to detach myself from what waits for me in Juniperville, and force myself to focus on my work.

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