Author: E. Winter, Word Count: 666
Featured in The Spooky Archaeological Tales: Live Stream – Halloween 2021
“So you’re saying it’s not a temple to Odin.”
“No, it’s an Anglo-Saxon site, so they would have been worshipping Woden if they were pre-Christian. There’s no reason to think it was a temple, and anyway, the date is too late.”
Dylan was thrilled to be included in this educational video. It gained a lot of traction, but not for all the right reasons. Word had got out about the excavations, and the tabloid press had a field day reporting unconfirmed claims that the site was a centre of pagan worship. In turn this caused a flurry of interest from modern-day pagans; some eagerly anticipated more information, while others felt they already had answers. When the video was released, many were quick to dismiss the findings. One man was so enraged that he found Dylan online to message him:
“FUCK YOU. You don’t know what you’re talking about. The temple is real and you’ve disrespected Odin with your arrogance. Don’t think this has gone unnoticed…”
Dylan didn’t bother to read the rest. It amused him, and he didn’t fear the retribution of a god who the writer couldn’t even name correctly. But as the days grew shorter, unsettling things started to happen.
One night, a great storm shook a tree in front of his house, breaking off a limb. The noise was so great that Dylan felt the need to check on the state of his garden. Twigs lay scattered, and some of them looked almost arranged, almost like…runes?! Dylan ran back inside.
One early morning, still dark as Dylan left for the work van, he heard a caw. Crows were common in the area, but in the just-emerging light he saw the silhouette of a bird much larger than usual. A raven? It stared at him silently. A chill went down Dylan’s spine, and he felt its beady eyes in the back of his head as he picked up his pace.
Some nights later, Dylan was in his temporary accommodation, and in lieu of a mirror he used his reflection in the dark bathroom window. He got out his toothbrush, but when he looked again he could swear that he saw a man with one bright eye standing behind him. He jumped and his toothbrush clattered into the sink. Yet apparently no one was there. He couldn’t wait to get home.
These events preyed on his mind and replayed in his dreams; was this some kind of curse? Dylan never believed in that sort of thing, but now, could he be so sure? Though troubled, he got on with his usual routine, until one Wednesday as he walked down his street he heard a “Hey!”. It was his furious messenger. This man had found him, but had failed to think ahead about what he might do. On the spot, he decided to go in for a good old-fashioned fisticuffs:
“ODIN GIVE ME STRENGTH !” He yelled as he lifted his arms, revealing a magical rune tattoo.
“Oh, uh, that’s not from the period, that’s actually a later Icelandic…oof!” A fist landed square into Dylan’s abdomen. Dylan was not a violent man. But he was a field archaeologist; his shoulders and arms were dense with muscle. He grabbed his assailant with his beefy trowel-hand, and grappled him into submission, holding his arms still against his body.
“Let me go!”
“Look mate, I’ll let you go when you agree to do some reading. You have to understand. We just don’t know that much about Anglo-Saxon pre-Christian religion.”
“What do you mean?!”
“I mean we don’t know. There’s no point making stuff up. We don’t have all the answers, but we have to be okay with that.”
His assailant wriggled to get free, but it was no use. Defeated, he sighed and relented. Dylan let him go, and he ran off, cheeks red as garnets. Satisfied, Dylan didn’t feel the need to follow, though that evening he couldn’t help but send the man a handy reading list.
Leave a Reply