Old Finn’s Story to Roslynn: “The Harrows”
The prison was quiet except for the occasional dripping of water and the shuffling of guards outside. Finn sat on the cold stone floor, arms folded, back against the bars. The dim torchlight flickered, casting restless shadows over his face. He sighed, rubbing a calloused thumb over his knuckles before glancing at Roslynn.
“You ever hear about the Harrows?” he asked, voice low, as if someone else might be listening. “They say they whisper to you from the dark, call your name just quiet enough that you think it’s in your own head.” He smirked, but there was something wary in his expression, like a man who still checked under his bed after all these years.
He pulled a small pendant from under his collar, the worn metal glinting in the low light. He turned it over between his fingers, then tucked it away.
“Back when I was just a runt in the Shambles, my father Hessan disappeared.” He let that hang in the air for a moment, watching Roslynn’s reaction. “No one knew what happened to him. Some said he ran off with a fortune in stolen gold, left us behind like smoke in the wind. Others figured he crossed the wrong folk and got himself dumped in the harbor with his pockets full of rocks.”
Finn tapped his fingers against the floor. “But the neighbors, the old ones - they swore it was the Harrows. Said the tunnels beneath Nook were cursed, that something down there didn’t like people poking around. They whispered about smugglers and beggars who’d wandered too deep and never come back. Some of them kept iron under their pillows, others left salt by their doors.”
“I was stubborn back then. Everyone was talkin’ about my father, and none of them knew. So, I decided I’d go down there myself. Find out what happened.”
Old Finn leaned his head back against the prison bars, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. "See, when you grow up in the Shambles, you learn quick - there's what's true, and then there's what's useful to believe. And when you're ten years old, scared outta your wits but too stubborn to admit it, you take every bit of useful you can get."
He reached into his shirt again, fingers brushing the iron amulet at his chest. "If the old folk swore by cold iron and salt to keep the Harrows at bay, you need to pay attention. Now, I didn't know what I'd find down there in the tunnels, but I knew I wasn't about to face it empty-handed."
He gave Roslynn a pointed look. "So I took my father's iron, because iron holds the line. And I nicked a packet of salt from my ma's kitchen, because if the Harrows came whispering, I wanted something to throw in their damned faces."
Found my way into the smuggler tunnels near the riverside. Now, I’d played around those caves before, but we were never allowed to go in too deep. It got cold the further in I went, and the air started to feel thick, like I was breathing in something that didn’t want me there.”
He glanced at Roslynn, raising an eyebrow. “Then I heard them.”
A long pause.
“They don’t call to you like a man would. It’s more like a breath at the back of your neck, like someone whispering just out of earshot. Soft, scraping sounds on stone. I should’ve turned back, but I was my father’s son, wasn’t I?”
His smirk returned, but it was a ghost of itself.
“Then the damn screamer mushrooms started howling. Near jumped out of my skin.” He chuckled. “I bolted straight into a cavern, nearly dropped my torch. And that’s when I saw it.”
Finn tapped his temple. “Now, I know what I saw. Folk can say what they want, but it wasn’t a man. It was something else. Bigger than me by a mile, hunched, it appeared to be stitched together like someone had built it out of spare parts. Patches of fur, scaled skin, hands too long for its body, too many teeth in its mouth. And the smell - like wet stone and old blood.”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “It wasn’t some restless spirit, but I’ll tell you, Ros, that didn’t make me feel any better about it.”
She didn’t interrupt. She was listening now, really listening. Her beady eyes watching Finn with intent.
Finn grinned. “So, there I was, a skinny little rat with nothing but a torch and an iron trinket against a monster in the dark. But I knew one thing - monsters are greedy.” He tilted his head. “I pulled out my Pa’s amulet and made sure it caught the light of the torch. The thing took one look at me, then at my neck.” He mimed a grasping motion. “It wanted my amulet. I knew if it got close enough, I’d never be fast enough to keep it.”
“So, I told it; I have more." And I pulled out my ma’s packet of salt. "Let me show you the good stuff."
And as I pulled open the packet, as the thing leaned in, I threw the salt into its eyes and made a break for it.
Finn ran, heart hammering against his ribs. The tunnels twisted around him, unfamiliar in the flickering torchlight. Behind him, the mongrelman followed, its patchwork limbs scuttling over the rock with unnatural speed.
He clutched his father’s iron amulet as he ducked into a narrow passage. He had to think.
Then an idea sparked. As he sprinted forward, Finn ripped a copper button from his coat, rolling it between his fingers. If he did it just right. The passage suddenly widened into a low cavern, and Finn saw his chance. He faked a stumble, twisting his body as if he had just yanked the amulet from his neck and thrown it. The button flew through the air, spinning, gleaming - The mongrelman lunged.
Its clawed fingers snatched the button midair, triumph flashing in its sunken eyes.
And then - a sickly pop.
The air surrounding the creature filled with a thick, choking cloud, and then - nothing. Silence. Like the whole world just stopped breathing.” He let that sit for a moment. “There he was - frozen, mid-step. Eyes wide, body locked up tight, like someone had pulled the strings from a puppet. A statue in a field of mushrooms”
Finn crouched, watching in stunned silence. He hadn’t done that. He hadn’t even touched it. Something shifted in the cavern beyond. A flicker of movement. Shuffling shadows. A presence just beyond the torchlight.
Finn was certain he heard the Harrows start to whispers again.
He didn’t wait to see what it was. He ran back the way he had come. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw shadows surround the paralyzed creature.
Old Finn went quiet, lost in thought - his eyes focused on something far, far away. Then he snapped back, focused his eyes on Roslynn intently, tapped the side of his head.
“But I tell you, Ros - I still heard breathing. Even when I was back in the Shambles, even when I was safe in my bed. I heard breathing in the dark.” He glanced at her sideways, waiting. Then he grinned, nudging her with his finger. “Now, don’t go losing sleep over it, girl. The Harrows take their due, one way or another.”
He leaned his head back against the bars, closing his eyes.
“And that, Roslynn, is why you always carry iron.”
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