Ben eyed up his recorder on the table. It must have been quite the machine back in its day. Ahead of its time until time left it behind; such was life. The transcriptions would have to wait until morning. He didn’t want Chloe to overhear that breathing on the tape until he could rationalise who or what was responsible.

‘Oh, and another thing,’ she said, ‘I’ve been trying and failing to figure out what those symbols mean. There isn’t a single spiral amongst them. No pentacles. No moons. They aren’t pagan. I don’t know what they are. They were in crevices and at the base of its wall, as if they weren’t meant to be seen. But why bother then? The whole point is to have them on show.’

‘Could the children have done them?’ Ben asked.

‘Maybe, but I doubt Sparling’s going to get too excited about some kids’ art project. I’ll keep looking and find something to keep him happy.’

‘Find something?’

‘Well, yeah. This isn’t an academic paper. All we have to do is keep the doctor happy.’

Ben’s plan was to approach the report like a college assignment. But they weren’t chasing high grades. They just had to impress Sparling enough to justify their fee. The creeper was what the doctor wanted, and Ben would give it to him, even if he had to bend the truth a little. And so, he wrote.

The creeper myth is unique to the village of Tír Mallacht. Common tropes abound in the field of superstition, especially where the oral tradition is the chief mode of transference. These include, but are not limited to, the recurrence of the number three and the ominous implications of the titular character’s appearance. However, comparable motifs serve merely to classify, not to strip a superstition of its singularity. Having personally collected folk tales and fables across the island of Ireland, I can credibly argue that the myth has never left Tír Mallacht – the location of its conception. The village’s isolation and the social restrictions adhered to by its residents are likely responsible for its anchored state, whilst their lack of education has secured the superstition’s roots in their community.

‘I wish I’d recorded that kid,’ Ben said.

‘The uh-oh one?’

‘Yeah, her little song and dance about the creeper is all I have for Sparling. Without a recording it’s going to sound like I made the whole thing up.’

‘Tell him to go to Tír Mallacht himself if he doesn’t believe you,’ Chloe said. ‘He’ll have a great time with all his fucking maps.’

Superstitions often rely on rhyme or verse to survive the passage of time. These are respected in that specific community and only receive alteration in cases where they are adopted by another people for the sake of personalisation.