The Return of the York Ghost Merchants

by Katie Dutta

Welcome, welcome to you all. Please be seated, float, hover… whichever be your preferred resting state. My name is… Well, I will have had a name once, in the beginning; however, that was many centuries ago when my state of being was rather more corporeal and less insubstantial. Just call me the ghost.

I forget why I never passed to the other side. Was it an unjust killing before my time, like the young spirit who roams along the riverbank? Similar to the wandering wraith, forever waiting for a lost love to return? The roman soldiers doomed to endlessly repeat their march across town. Or the night-watchman, who patrols in the dark and terrorises those who wish ill on the living, to accomplish what he could not before his death.

I could go on. You see, we have somewhat of an overcrowding problem here in York. There is a balance, spirits and ghosts come into being, they haunt the streets, chill the blood of visitors and locals alike, then they fade away. That was the cycle of things. At least that is how it was in the time of the guilds. There was a guild for everything, stonemasonry, farming, inn keepers, jailors and yes, even ghosts. My compatriots stalked, wailed, and terrified before they were sucked away and laid to rest in a small talisman created by guileful guildsmen and women.

Time turned as it always does, the world modernised, the guilds faded, and people forgot that each had a purpose and a reason behind its creation. Many people even forgot there was truth to the ghost tales. And so the tragedies continued, the unfinished tasks, the abrupt ends, and our spectral numbers spiralled.

Yet now things have changed. There are ripples in the ethereal plane, unrest among the ghoulish community.

The York Ghost Merchants have returned.

Secreted away down a twisting cobbled alley, new masters of the craft toil away in the most haunted city of this world, creating many figurines of different materials and patterns. We ghosts are drawn to this workshop, we feel the pull of the work carried out, as ghouls are cast through long dark nights. Many ghosts have already been captured, woven into the fabric of a talisman and put to rest. You may even have one of my friends resting on your shelf behind you.

Even I can now feel the end approaching. The pull of the Ghost Merchants as they craft their talismans. One day there will be the unique ghost created that draws me in and seals my spirit in rest.

But there’s still time. Come to the walled city of York, wander the winding streets in twilight and I will be there, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise…one last time.