Every spring in in Harrowden, when the chimneys belch blacker than usual, they come… nothing is official, like. No fliers, no town notice. But folk know. They always know, when it is, it comes with a hush leading up to it that settles over Harrowden like damp fog.

Just as we think we’ve made it through winter’s grip… just as the days stretch long… then comes the Blackheart Friday Parade…

Some say it was rooted in the strikes, others claim it goes back to when the moors were worshipped and the bogs were sacred.

Ain’t like no parade you’d boast or clap for. Figures cloaked in rags rubbed black with mill ash, faces covered with masks stitched from sackcloth, burnt lace, cracked doll-heads. Lanterns made from bones and rusted old tin cans swing from chains. The gloamrats and other young’uns march ahead, wearing paper crowns too damp to hold shape. There’s no music as such, the soundtrack is these strange droning booming sound systems pulled on carts, singing industrial noise like frantic ghosts remembering the factories of old.

It’s a protest, some say. A warning, say others. But the older people reckon it’s an old pact kept barely alive. An appeasement for what sleeps down by Gallows Bog, for what happened… Either way, folk shutter early. The Velvet Toad closes up, pretending it never existed, the rich, landlords and mill owners nowhere to be found.

What sets most uneasy ain’t what walks, it’s what floats. Look up, and there they are: the Varnlings. Massive, drifting’ shapes gliding through the sky like oily smears on the clouds, dripping thick black as if the sky itself were weeping soot. They make no sound, but their presence hangs like a held breath. No one knows if they follow the parade or if they are in fact leading it. But they always come, drifting like rot in the wind.

Some folk reckon they first showed when them from Frostmere drifted in, salt in their lungs and secrets in their eyes, but don’t pay too much attention to that there’s always been a strange chill between Harrowden and Frostmere folk. A sense that they don’t quite belong, no matter how long they’ve been here.

And so it goes, every year. The Blackheart Friday Parade comes, a strange and twisted ritual woven into the very fabric of Harrowden’s dark heart. It’s something talked about, yet no one dares understand fully. Perhaps it’s better left as it is, a reminder of the town’s restless past, of old divisions and things better left unspoken.

So… am I too late for this whole doll trend that’s been circling social media like a moth round a strip light?

Probably.

’Cause I raided my mum’s cupboards and went full Blue Peter, didn’t I!

Knocked up my own “Cut Out & Dress Up” vintage-style paper doll with cardboard, sticky back plastic, and a good dose of Harrowden weirdness.

She’s none other than Lenore Blackwell, the moody lass from your soot-smeared dreams, complete with walkman, tape, dog collar, safety pin and her DIY denim jacket.

She’s joined by two of the red-eyed Harrowden cats, creeping out the corners like they know too much (because they probably do).

Might make a few more. We’ll see. 🖤

Download Print At Home Worksheet

• Next stop: East Harrowden.
• Time of arrival’s uncertain.
• Make sure you’ve got all yer personal realities with yer before stepping over t’other side of t’gap.
• This is the end of the line.

“See summat? Say nowt. Stay quiet.”

“Scrawlin’ t’Brassmind,” Gloamrats muttered, “red eyes watchin’ like boggart. Or back ward d0g.”

Folk talk about them hares that slink through Harrowden’s mist, always close but never quite there when you turn to look. Puddle, Hob, and Loom, black as soot, quick as thought, loping through ginnels and lurking in the hedge-shade. They never leave Ammie Thornwick’s side, though none can say if she called them or if they found her first.

They are not tame. They are not friendly. But they are hers.

The Gloamrats haunt the ginnels of Lower Harrowden, where soot is thick and bog mist slithers through broken brick. Quick as a blink, quiet as dusk, they slip from shadow to shadow, hands black wi’ grime, eyes keen as crows. They bed in drain tunnels and tumbledown shacks, taking nowt for granted, living sharp, fearing nowt.

Rain clagged thick in its brackenfur as the grim cat slinked through the backlanes, tail low, lugs twitchin’. Red glim eyes cut through the gloam like cinders in soot. Thunder clattered over Tallowton Mill, shivrin’ windowpanes and clatterin’ rust gnawed signs.

A thousand glare-hollows fix on the black cat as the sky rends wide, yawning raw and wrong. They peer at it from glow of their portal to this world as they try sleep, from the crookshadows in their safe home… yer not just lookin’ You feel it, dun’t yer too? That gnawin’ pull where the world frays like old warpcloth… But yer not just glentin’…

Your through now. There’s no slippin’ back.. The storm soaks into bone and blood, whispering through the drift…

Harrowden never forgets its own…

Rosa Gutteridge ov The Grimwyke Punx stomps through the grime of Lower Harrowden, boots slick with rain, heading to The Rusty Jug – Dandilon Daze are playing tonight, a gig where the air will be thick with smoke, cheap cider, and the hum of something lofi, raw and electric.…

I’m expanding the maps to include more of Harrowden’s locations – the Old Ashengrave Coal Power Station. This crumbling industrial behemoth, hidden behind layers of rust and decay, holds far more secrets than it first appears…

Is it really abandoned? Or does the Gildspoke Foundation still work its shadows here? New areas, new mysteries, and more to explore. Keep your eyes open, there’s something off about the power station, and we’re just starting to uncover it….

Leaked Document: The Gildspoke Foundation’s Research into Harrowden’s Cats

CONFIDENTIAL REPORT: SUBJECT – HARROWDEN’S FELINE POPULATION

Date: ██████████
Report ID: ██████████
Status: LEAKED

Summary:

The Gildspoke Foundation has been conducting covert research into the unusual and possibly anomalous behavior of Harrowden’s feline population, specifically focusing on the black cats that roam the lower districts.

Key Observations:

1. Unusual Markings: A higher-than-expected percentage of Harrowden’s black cats exhibit identical markings around their eyes, appearing as though they’ve been etched or tattooed into their fur.
2. Behavioral Patterns: These cats have been observed tracking individuals of interest, specifically those involved in ██████████. Their presence often coincides with critical moments of tension, such as ██████████ or clandestine meetings.
3. Unconfirmed Claims: Several unverified sources have suggested that the cats may be part of an ██████████ system ██████████. Their behavior may be linked to the presence of ██████████ or ██████████ in Harrowden’s history.

Recommendations:

• Further covert monitoring of the feline population is advised, particularly near locations of ██████████.
• Investigation into the historical significance of black cats within Harrowden’s is recommended for future understanding.
• Potential avenues for utilizing these creatures as ██████████ tools should be explored.

End of Report