As Tristan pushed open the door, the museum’s bell rang with a dirgeful jangle that marked it as the type of place where footfall traffic is measured at the same pace as continental drift.

  It felt less like a curated space and more like someone’s attic had exploded after quietly hoarding the village’s history for a century. Faded photographs of stern-looking fishermen lined one wall. A glass cabinet held a collection of unknown objects, confidently labelled by a card that had long since given up the job.

  A woman sat behind a small desk, elbows resting on the surface, quietly improving the back of a local newspaper with a ballpoint pen. The smiling parish council had lost some of their cheer now that flames licked around them and a carefully sketched plane plunged into the clock tower behind.

  She looked late twenties, frizzy blonde hair escaping a hasty ponytail and glasses halfway down her nose—far more colourful than the room deserved. Her expression suggested she'd given up on first impressions somewhere around her third minimum-wage job.

  The bell attempted one final jangle. The clapper disagreed and fell off, narrowly missing Tristan’s head.

  She looked up. "Oh, shit. Customers? Or are you lost?"

  “We’re just here to look around, if that’s alright?” Tristan said.

  Yesa had already stalked off, inspecting the pictures one by one.

  "Holidaymakers, are you?" She was still watching Yesa, not bothering to look at him.

  "Oh, no, I live here," Tristan said.

  That got her attention. She straightened, looking at him properly for the first time. "Do you?"

  “Yes. I’m Sarah Kahedin’s— I was her husband.”

  In the village he would always be Sarah Kahedin’s husband. As an incomer, he could live there fifty years and still be ‘the man who married Sarah.’

  “Oh…” She frowned, then blinked. “Oh! I thought you’d moved?”

  “Nope, still here." It wasn't like he took much part in village affairs. But where else would he go? “Do you know Mrs Gwyls?”

  “That would be my eighty-year-old grandmother. I’m Jess Gwyls.”

  “Oh, right, you work here?”

  She gave him a brittle smile. “I work a lot of places. Turns out there’s not much call for a taxonomist in a small Cornish village.”

  “That's like a finance thing?”

  “No. It’s naming new species.” She glanced around the room. “Want to guess how many new species you find in a place like this?”

  “Erm… no?” Tristan said, glancing toward Yesa, who was examining a mediaeval shield with intense suspicion. Jess’s eyes flicked to her, brow knitting briefly, before returning to Tristan.

  “None. And I should know; I got a PhD in it, not to mention a shit tonne of student debt. So now I work at a café, the pub, holiday lets—" she gestured around the cluttered room. "And this place, because Nana won't let it die."

  Tristan’s eyes flicked around the room, searching for anything that looked like it might relate to standing stones. “Oh, well, never mind," he said absently. “We’ll just have a look around, if that’s alright?”

  “We suggest a pound donation for the upkeep of the prestigious Porthkelgh Local Museum,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Oh, erm, I don’t really have…” He checked his pockets, pulling out a small wad of old receipts and, from among them, an unfolded note that surprised him.

  “I don’t suppose you have change for a twenty?”

  She reached across and snatched it out of his hand, holding it up to the grubby window’s light.

  “No, can’t say I do…” she said, examining it before looking back at him.

  “Tell you what, I’ll give you a museum season pass. Come back any time you like.” She pocketed the twenty-pound note and smiled at him.

  Tristan looked around the small, cluttered room. “Is there more?”

  “Oh, goodness me, no,” she laughed. “But if you take it really slowly, you might not see everything before we close.”

  “When do you close?”

  She checked her wrist; she wasn’t wearing a watch. “About five hours from now.”

  “Right. Do I get a membership card or something?”

  She rested her chin on the back of her hand and smiled. “I’ll just remember your face… for next time.”

  “Lovely,” he managed, attempting to return the smile with a faltering one of his own.

  “What’s your friend doing?” She gestured towards Yesa with a thumb.

  What Yesa was currently doing was sniffing the floor. She quickly advanced to carefully listening to the walls. Despite Tristan’s pleas to be incognito, she had elected to be as cognito as possible.

  “She… is from Australia.”

  “Do they not have museums in Australia?” She asked as Yesa started stamping on the wooden floor.

  “Apparently not…”

  Yesa dropped to her knees, pressing her ear to the boards.

  “Or floors," Jess added, watching her.

  “She’s from a very rural part of Australia. Very rural. Like properly rural. Kangaroos and that. I only met her the other day.”

  “Right, what is this, a date?”

  “Wh–Oh no! No, she’s— she’s a cousin. Distant. Very distant.” He could feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

  Jess raised an eyebrow. “I’ll say.”

  Tristan turned to close the still-open door. It jammed against the frame. He tried to pull it back open, but it wouldn’t budge. “Erm…” he said as he tugged at it.

  She sighed, “We had a break-in a few weeks ago. Who would break into this place? They didn’t even take anything. Idiots. Just broke the sodding door.” She stood up, producing a crowbar from behind the desk, and set about fixing it.

  “Feel free to look around. Knock yourself–” She managed to reseat the door through brute force, ignorance, and the judicious use of the crowbar. “-out.”

  Tristan made his way over to Yesa, who was lying on the floor listening intently. “What are you doing?” he hissed, kneeling beside her on the dusty floor.

  “Quiet.” Yesa replied.

  He held his tongue for a few seconds before starting again. “You can’t just be on the floor. We’re meant to be discreet!”

  Yesa ignored him, inching across the floor with her ear pressed to the boards.

  “Is she alright?” Jess asked.

  Tristan looked up. Jess was standing over them, crowbar still in hand, wearing a deeply questioning expression.

  Yesa sighed. “Humans. So loud.” She tore off her headscarf, freeing her ears, which sprang upright and swivelled back towards the floor.

  Jess stared at her, mouth open.

  “Australian… thing…” Tristan said desperately.

  Yesa jumped up, scanned the wall, then grabbed the table and shoved it aside. The legs grated against the floor as the mismatched assortment of museum clutter on top rolled back and forth.

  “Oh! Hey! That’s a genuine... I think genuine, actually, I don’t know what that is, but you can’t just—!” Jess shouted.

  Jess desperately tried to shepherd the errant knick-knacks on the table Yesa had moved. She needed to get them back into some semblance of order before they staged a successful escape.

  Tristan tried to focus on Yesa as she brushed her hand against the… wall? Was it a wall? He tried to concentrate, but his eyes wouldn’t quite settle on anything in that spot, sliding away from it like butter on a hot plate.

  Nothing there. Don’t look at it. Focus on something else. Anything else.

  He watched Yesa reach out in what felt like slow motion as she pushed against the—

  One moment the wall was… not there. But it had to be; you don’t just not have a wall. Then it was also a door. And then it was only a door.

  It stood there, clear as day—a strange teal door of some crystalline stone

  Jess looked around as if seeing the museum for the first time. “Wait—where… how did you do that?”

  Yesa stepped through the doorway.

  Jess and Tristan exchanged a brief, deeply uncertain look before following.

  Beyond the threshold, a staircase coiled downward. Everything was the same teal, crystalline material, perfectly smooth except for white vein-like streaks running through it. Maybe it was the light—or the material itself—but they seemed to throb gently. Tristan couldn’t find any source for the light. It just… was.

  He peered down the stairwell and saw that Yesa was already at the bottom, looking up at them, waiting.

  If she was already down there, it meant it was safe. He took the first step. “Did you know this was here?” Tristan asked Jess, right behind him, glancing around furtively.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Of course not! How did she do that?” Jess hissed, rubbing her arms uneasily.

  He glanced back towards the door. “I think… it was always there. Oh well, at least the season pass has gone up in value.” He took the steps carefully, his hand lightly touching the wall to steady himself; it felt almost warm, which was absolutely worse.

  “I’ve been in this place at least twice a week for the past… forever! I have never… seen…” she trailed off, frowning.

  At the bottom, Yesa already had an ear pressed against another door exactly like the one above, blade in hand.

  “Whoa! Where did—has she always had that?!” Jess exclaimed, staring at Yesa’s sword.

  “Oh yes. She keeps it very well hidden. It certainly surprised me when she whipped it out the first time, waving it in my face.” Tristan said.

  Jess gave him a worried look.

  "...the sword... I mean.”

  After a moment, Yesa stepped back and nodded at Tristan, then motioned toward the door. He took a deep breath and pushed it open.

  The room beyond was made of the same teal crystal as the stairwell. In stark contrast to the faintly thrumming walls, it contained a perfectly ordinary dark wooden desk, bookshelves, tables, and a slightly threadbare rug.

  Everything else was chaos—drawers yanked open, books and papers strewn across the floor.

  The only thing that appeared completely undisturbed was what made Jess scream.

  A skeleton lay crumpled in a heap in one corner, still wearing what looked like overalls and a jumper.

  Yesa winced at the noise and clamped a hand over Jess’s mouth, muffling her.

  “It is dead.”

  Jess scrabbled at her hand, dragging it away. “I know! That’s— That’s fucking Grandad! He always wore those overalls! He went missing ten years ago. We thought he’d gone on one of his walks and fallen off the bloody cliffs!”

  “Well, you can call off the coastguard…” Tristan said.

  Jess took a deep breath and closed her eyes before breathing out shakily. “I think they would have given up by now, don't you?" she said pointedly.

  Yesa stepped into the room; her ears twitched. After a second or two she resheathed the blade and stepped over to a broken drawer that had been pulled out a little too vigorously. She ran a finger along the broken edge. “Hmmm.”

  “Is she like a detective?” Jess muttered at Tristan as she hesitantly stepped into the room, edging closer to the body.

  He shrugged.

  Jess crouched down and peered at the corpse. “Right under our feet, all these years…” She looked around the room, then up to the ceiling.

  Tristan cleared his throat. “Are you alright?”

  She sighed. “Yeah, it’s been ten years. It's just weird to finally find him. What do I tell Nan? Oh hey, you won’t guess who I found at the museum today!" Grimacing, she reached a hand out and tried to turn the body over. It crumpled with a puff of dust, and she fell back onto the floor. “Fuck!” Fuck! Fuck! God fucking hell!”

  Tristan helped her up as she brushed herself off. “Gah, covered in… actually, I don’t want to think.”

  “What do you think he, erm, died of?” Tristan asked.

  “No idea; being a grumpy bastard, probably. He was only happy when he was making someone else miserable from what I remember.” She sighed and peered down at the remains. “No damage to the bone structure. Heart attack maybe?”

  Yesa was picking through the wreckage when she finally held up a piece of folded paper from the floor. She opened it, scrutinised the page and then sniffed it, her nose wrinkling. “Smells new.”

  “How recent?” Jess asked, still examining the body.

  Yesa followed her gaze. “More recent than that.” She turned the paper around to show them.

  The scrawl on the paper was a map, showing the layout of the museum and where the hidden door was located, along with a shopping list written in the kind of atrocious handwriting that belongs to only two types of people. Those who never had to write by hand and, for some reason, medical practitioners.

  Gluves, balacalarva, crowebear. All checked off.

  Tristan took the page from her hand and peered at it. "Well, we’re not dealing with a criminal mastermind at least.” He paused. “Although, how did they know this was down here?”

  “You mean the break-in the other week? That was this? They came down here?” Jess scrunched up her face in distaste.

  “Apparently…” Tristan stared around at the clutter. “They knew you’d never find it, so they tore the place apart.”

  “They knew I’d never find it, so how did you find it? Just who the hell are you two?” Jess jabbed a finger at Tristan.

  She spun toward Yesa. “And you… ears aside, your speech—your articulations—they’re completely wrong. How are you doing that?”

  Yesa glanced at her, shrugged and went back to searching the room.

  “Fine, whatever. But you… you!” She turned back to Tristan, advancing on him as she prodded him in the chest. “What are you really doing here?”

  Tristan cleared his throat. “Well, we got involved in a bit of a… scuffle at the church the other day, and Father Tr—”

  “That was you?!”

  “Yes,” Yesa said, crouched on her haunches, scanning the ground.

  “Oh—you know about that?” Tristan asked.

  “Er, yes! Nana said there was a break-in at the church, and a couple of people helped Father Tross deal with it.” Jess paused. “I was only half listening, to be honest. I thought she was having one of her little moments.”

  “He suggested we come here to learn more about stone circles,” Tristan said.

  “Someone broke into the church, and you’re investigating stone circles?” she asked incredulously. “Did they use one as a battering ram?”

  “Sanguivore.” Yesa’s voice came from the corner of the room.

  “No, we just wanted to know about the ones around the village.” Tristan said, hoping Jess hadn’t heard her.

  “Stone circles? Around the village? What stone circles?” Jess said, looking confused.

  “Seems to be a theme right now. We were hoping you might know something… but looks like someone beat us to it.”

  Yesa pressed her ears against the wall, slowly shifting before pulling back and tapping it with a finger. “I hear something. Same as the stones.”

  “I can’t hear anything.” Jess glanced around the room.

  “I don’t really understand how she works.” Tristan said as he stepped forward and slowly extended a hand against the wall; it still felt warm and wrong. Something about the way it seemed to give way slightly beneath his touch made his skin crawl. “I can’t see anything there… not that that means anything, of course.”

  “So, she’s not human?”

  “Nope, apparently not.”

  Jess stared as Yesa slowly felt her way around the wall, searching for something. “And this doesn't seem to concern you? Where did she come from?”

  “A stone circle, don’t ask how; we don’t know.”

  “Of course, a stone circle, obviously, and what are you looking for exactly?”

  “I do not know.” Yesa replied, listening intently to a specific part of the wall. “But it is here.”

  Jess stepped forward, tentatively reaching a hand out above Yesa’s head. “What is?” Her hand touched the wall.

  The stone slid aside without a sound.

  A narrow alcove lay beyond, long and thin, carved into the pale wall. Inside stood a staff made from the same smooth material as the chamber itself. White veins curled around it in an uneven spiral, twisting along its length like frozen lightning.

  Yesa stepped closer, ears pricked forward. She leaned toward the opening, listening.

  Then she stepped back.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “This is what I heard.”

  “You heard that from upstairs?” Tristan raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes.”

  Tristan squinted at the staff. “And it sounds like the sto—Oh, hey, are you sure you want to touch that—”

  Jess didn’t respond.

  She stared into the middle distance.

  Slowly, her hand rose.

  The white veins along the staff flickered faintly as her fingers closed around it.

  She lifted it free.

  Behind it, the alcove slid shut immediately and silently, the wall smoothing itself as if the opening had never existed.

  Jess stood perfectly still, holding the staff upright in front of her.

  “Erm…” Tristan waved a hand in front of her face, then glanced down at Yesa. “Should we… take it off her?”

  Yesa tilted her head.

  “Is this abnormal for humans?”

  “Yes! Well, I think so…”

  Yesa reached out and placed a cautious hand on the staff.

  A sharp spark snapped between them.

  She jerked her hand back with a hiss, staring as a thin curl of smoke rose from her fur.

  Jess gasped, blinked and looked around the chamber, disoriented. Her eyes flicked to the corner, and she flinched when she noticed the corpse lying there.

  Then she focused on Tristan.

  “Oh…”

  “Are you okay?” Tristan asked.

  “Yes, yes, of course. Fine.” She blinked again, as if shaking off a fog. “Just—just zoned out for a second.”

  She glanced down at the staff in her hand.

  For a moment the white veins along its length glowed softly.

  Then the light faded.

  Jess shifted her grip, letting the lower end drop to the floor and leaning on it as if it had always been there.

  “Okay, what's your name?” Tristan asked carefully.

  She frowned at him. “I’m fine. Jess, ok? Happy now?”

  “Not really." Tristan eyed the staff. “We don’t know what this stuff is, let alone what it could potentially do to the human body. What if this is asbestos? I keep hearing bad things about asbestos but I’m still not sure what it looks like…”

  “It is god stone.” Yesa said patiently.

  “God stone? What on earth is that?”

  “Stone the gods used."

  Tristan opened his mouth to ask his follow-up question.

  “Shouldn’t you two be out looking for stone circles or something?” Jess cut across.

  He paused. Had he told her that was what they were after?

  “Well, yes, but we don’t actually know where they—”

  “Near ruins on the headland,” Yesa said.

  Tristan slowly massaged his forehead. “What? How do you know that? Did the staff tell you or something?”

  Yesa reached out, plucked the paper from his hands, and turned it around.

  Curcle – neer chpl ruens on hed land.

  It was written across the back in cramped handwriting.

  “Oh,” Tristan muttered.

  “Off you pop then,” Jess said, waving him toward the door. “I’ll clear this up.”

  Tristan backed away a step. “You will? Are you going to call the police or something?”

  Jess paused.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said slowly. “This might be slightly beyond their capabilities.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “But I do think it would be a good idea for you to get a move on.”

  Yesa was already trotting out the door.

  “I’m just slightly concerned that it might be an evil staff,” Tristan said cautiously.

  A sigh drifted in from the hallway. A moment later Yesa trotted back into the room, grabbed him by the arm, and began trying to pull him toward the door, her ears flattened with the effort.

  He didn’t move.

  After a moment she let go and fixed him with a stare.

  “Come.”

  Tristan groaned, still staring at the staff in Jess’s hands.

  “Look,” Jess said brightly, “if I notice any… evil, horns, sudden urges to rule the world… that sort of thing, I’ll let you know.”

  Tristan hesitated.

  “I’ll be working my shift later,” she added. “At the Halfway. The pub in the square. Come find me there.”

  Yesa grabbed his arm again and pulled.

  This time he allowed himself to be dragged away.

  Jess gave them a small wave as he disappeared through the doorway.