Goodnight Scott.

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Goodnight from The Cape of Green pub, where there’s muttering about how early the snow will come and whether the Cloven Maiden’s prints will be seen in it. Goodnight from The Fisherman’s Hall at Wegweck Cove, where the dancing is becoming a summoning. Goodnight from Hookland.

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There is always a locus of haunting. Whether corpse crossroads or cursed building, always some recognisable ghost engine. A locus we instinctually understand as phantom magnet, as anchoring point for scarelore. We've needed such psychic infrastructure since the cave. – #CJosiffe

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Those of us whose have lives revolving around the ongoing Long Neolithic will tell you that certain stones sing to us. If you push us further, we may also admit that certain stones growl. They guard their territories, prowl our imaginations. – Dr. K. Brophy #StandingStoneSunday

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#FolkloreSunday obviously.

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