Scots terms
Fresher – term for first year university students
Script
Do you ever think about jars? The kind that’s on the supermarket shelf, the kind you hope no to break on your way home, or the one that falls out of the cupboard and smashes on the floor. The kind you stick your spoon or knife in to get every last drop out of. The ones you accidentally throw in the bin, then have to fish out to recycle. The ones your neighbour drops too loudly into their own recycling bin at 6am on a Sunday morning.
No? Of course not, It’s just a jar. Except, what if it isn’t? What if it’s something else, something more? After this, you’ll never look at those jars in your cupboard the same way again.
Before I was due into the shop that day, I’d made a wee detour to find a customer who’d bought a pretty China tea set that actually made anyone who drank tea from it hate the owner, including the owner themselves. Some vendetta from a Victorian high society woman who was pissed at not being invited somewhere, or so Chronos told me after I’d sold it. Let’s just say by the time I arrived back at the shop; the set was in pieces in my bag.
As soon as I opened the door, I heard a voice that I didn’t recognise, interspersed with Fionn’s jovial accent. The bell above the door’s echo faded into the antiques as I watched their exchange curiously. Fionn wasn’t one for talking to the customers much, and when he did there was so much pity carved into his features it made them feel inexplicably uncomfortable and they cut the conversation short. He wore no such look with the lassie standing opposite him.
I could only see the back of her head from where I was standing, but the bag that was slung over her shoulder looked heavy, the straps digging into the denim jacket she was wearing causing it to crease. I didn’t really want to approach, assuming they were pals or acquaintances, perhaps something more, knowing Fionn, but I was saved the decision by Reid appearing from further in the cavern.
I didn’t need to ask aloud who the lassie was. Reid looked over, as if expecting to find a nametag suddenly visible on the back of her jacket, before turning back to me and shrugging, quietly uttering that he didn’t know but that she’d been talking to Fionn for a while. He’d overheard Fionn joking that she was a regular. I instantly thought he’d heard wrong. I’d been working at the shop for a year and had never seen this lassie.
As Reid continued to try and puzzle out who our guest was, I removed my bag from my shoulders and froze when I heard the clink of the broken tea set pieces scraping against each other. Reid winced and glanced nervously at my bag, before drawing his gaze to look at me. His usual frown was replaced with something resembling concern.
He asked me if whatever it was had been stolen from a customer. I quickly checked for any sign of Chronos, or if Fionn had overheard, before whispering that it was. The concern laden grooves on his face deepened as he once again looked at my bag as if it were a wasp nest. I could tell by the purse of his lips that he was uncomfortable with what I was doing. But he took my bag from my hand anyway, telling me he’d find a place to hide whatever it was so no one would find it.
He had good timing since as soon as the weight of my bag left my hand Fionn, and the lassie, spotted me at the door. I watched Reid disappear into the shop as my other familiar claimed they’d both been waiting for me.
I walked over to the pair and tried no to stare at the lassie. Whenever anyone comes into the shop and appears to have some measure of familiarity with either of my familiars I tend to scrutinise them, prepared to find the same blurred lines around them as I do everyone else who comes from that side of the world. There was nothing like that. She looked…normal.
She introduced herself as Eilidh, a semi-regular visitor to the shop, specifically Madam Norna’s front room. As she said it, she patted her bag, the heavy looking one, and I smiled politely, having no idea what she meant. Since she was here to see my boss, I took her upstairs where the Madam was waiting.
The two exchanged a friendly greeting as I went and made tea. By the time I came back there was a medium sized jar standing on the coffee table between the two sofas. A white and green label was taped around its centre, and the lid was a metallic amber colour that reminded me of copper when it’s new. The label indicated that the jar used to contain basil pesto, but the whirling and noxious looking blue smoke inside wasn’t something I’d want with my pasta.
Carefully, I placed the tea pot and cups around the jar, ogling as the smoke swirled and bent inside its glass confines. I expected the jar to be moving, swaying, or trying to tip itself over, but it was perfectly stationary.
Eilidh asked me if I’d ever seen one before and I couldn’t understand what she meant; a pesto jar, or whatever was inside of it? My boss answered for me and told her that I’d never been in the shop’s storage before and so had never had an opportunity to see the others.
At the mention of “others” my heart began to sink. Why was I getting the feeling it wasn’t a sprite or faerie in that jar?
Madam Norna said that Eilidh used to be called a Sentinel. These people, a bit like the Madams, are born with the ability to see monsters and deal with them, either by trapping or killing. There used to be more, but since modernisation they had dwindled because there was no longer a great need for them. What was unusual was that the ability didn’t run in families. Along a similar vein to the Madams, Sentinels appeared to be born at random. Eilidh’s parents had never seen a monster in their lives.
I thought my luck was bad but imagine being born with the ability to have to hunt monsters. I wasn’t sure what they even meant by monsters. Although, the Fideal (Fee-chal) possessing that wee lad from last year came to mind. I’d hate to have to deal with that kind of thing on a regular basis. Which doesn’t bode well for my tenure as Madam.
As if realising it was being talked about, the blue smoke began to swirl around the glass jar violently, like a hurricane in a bottle, yet the jar remained intact, no cracks or fractures.
This pesto jar isn’t big, by the way, it’s not family sized. It’s 190g in weight and is made by what sounded like an Italian company but was probably made in somewhere in Sweden. It’s something you’d throw in the trolley whilst shopping because you’re fed up with Bolognese or carbonara. You’d probably return it if it had blue smoke in it, though.
Eilidh began to tell the jar’s story. She hadn’t been sure it was big enough to hold the monster inside, although apparently it wasn’t the smallest in her collection. She’d first heard about this one on the news. There was this story, a few years ago when I first started uni, about this person who’d managed to drown themselves in their flat. Only, they’d been nowhere near the sink or bathtub. They’d drunk so much water that they’d technically drowned themselves.
I was a Fresher at the time and my new pals and I had discussed it for the day it was in the news, and then it had faded into the past like many sensational news stories do. Unbeknownst to me, the story hadn’t ended there.
Two further people in the city had drowned themselves in the same month. This had caught Eilidh’s attention because she felt like she recognised the story, like it’d happened before somewhere else. She began to investigate.
The first victim, the one who’d featured in the news, was a young lad who’d just turned 18, and as is usual with that age, had unleashed himself onto the night life. The weekend was for clubbing and pubs, drink and bed hopping, whilst the weekday was for being hungover at his apprenticeship. Bravely, Eilidh had approached his colleagues to ask if anything strange, barring his death, had happened in the weeks leading up to his passing.
They all said no, he’d been perfectly normal. He’d began to drink more water than usual, constantly running for the bathroom, only to be filling up his water bottle once again. He’d be drinking multiple bottles a day, far more than the recommended 2 litres. One of his teachers had thought at the time it was a symptom of undiagnosed diabetes and had told the lad as much. He said he felt fine and shrugged it off.
The day before he was found by his parents on the floor of his bedroom, soaked with water, he’d missed work. From what Eilidh could find out about the autopsy the lad had just kept drinking and drinking until his body gave out. Authorities were convinced he’d been taking drugs, but there was no evidence of that, and his family swore up and down he’d never taken any.
The next victim was a woman, late twenties, and a manager of one of the nightclubs in town. She was living with her partner in a flat, had two cats which she had an Instagram account for where she posted daily, and a desire one day to have a few bairns. Average in every sense of the word. Until she was found on the stairwell of her building having drowned. She, like the first lad, was soaked through, as though someone had dragged her from the canal and dumped her on the stairs. Her cause of death was also declared as an accidental drowning.
The third, and final, victim was a university student studying for their masters. A bright young woman, by all accounts, who’d received a scholarship to complete her studies by a company that had offered her future employment. She lived in a student flat with other people doing the same or similar courses. She had a girlfriend who stayed over more often than not and one unfortunate day who’d found her lying in bed, drenched in water, having drowned.
Eilidh had tried connecting all three. Were they related somehow? Did they share a common enemy? Had something come into their possession that shouldn’t have? I began to sweat, thinking of numerous items in the shop that were probably capable of these things, and worse. The last time I looked there wasn’t a monster lurking in the aisles of the shop. Unless you count Reid, or Chronos.
Eventually she found the connection. A club. The second victim had been the manager, and the two others had been regular visitors. But what was so special about this club? What was going on that three people connected with it had died in such a strange way? Eilidh decided to visit and ask amongst the staff but none of them had any weird stories.
Curious, she decided to go clubbing. Ignoring that she was at least five or six years older than everyone else there, she noticed that at a certain time on a Friday and Saturday night the smoke machine would come out, and the room would be engulfed by a light layer of ash grey fog. At least, it was supposed to be grey. On the night Eilidh was there, she noticed a slash of bright blue.
It didn’t move like the rest of the smog, it didn’t disperse and hover, the strobe lights didn’t stream though it, illuminating every molecule. This swirled around of its own accord, congregating in one place then warping to another. There was a dampness to the air, Eilidh recalled, as though the sun had come out after heavy rain to evaporate it away. From her position at the bar, she watched as the blue smoke drifted down to one of the patrons on the dancefloor, settling on them like oil.
Not long after, they made their way to the bar and asked for water.
Eilidh followed them home, through the dark streets, watching as the water bottle in their hands was emptied, and as they stopped at the curb and began to sip on a puddle. Seeing her chance, whilst they were distracted, Eilidh dipped into her bag and pulled out the pesto jar and managed to extract the blue smoke from the person and into the confines of the glass.
The reason she’d used the pesto jar, despite being doubtful of its efficacy, was because it was the only one that’d fit in the bag she’d used. That’d been the monster’s home for the last few years, and in the time since she hadn’t been able to get rid of it. That was why it was on the coffee table in the Madam’s front room.
Madam Norna thanked her and promised she’d put it with the others in storage. Eilidh left not long after, and I stared at the jar she’d left behind.
How? How was that smoke a monster? How was that wee jar keeping it trapped? It was glass, what if it’d smashed in the last few years?
A part of me wanted to touch it, but I thought better of it. I gave the Madam a glance, wondering why she hadn’t began her explanation. This prompted her to reach out and take the jar in her hands, surveying it as if there were gold nuggets inside. Monsters weren’t strictly a part of the shop’s responsibilities. They had nothing to do with Fate, so the Madam’s couldn’t interfere. No one really knew why there were people like Eilidh, who’d created them, or if they were naturally occurring, just as the monsters were.
Monsters had all kinds of names. Some were born, others created. Some had lived millennia, others only a few years before they were caught. Most were dangerous, and that was why people like Eilidh went around trapping them in jars.
It was no ordinary jar though. It used to be, and still looked like it, but it was a prison. Eilidh had sealed the lid with a kind of blood rite so only she could open it. The glass was reinforced with a similar kind of enchantment, not unlike some items in the shop. According to Madam Norna, Eilidh was the only one she’d ever met who used jars. What had begun as a necessity had turned into a tradition.
There were currently two of these jars in storage that Eilidh had given the shop. This one would make three. She had made a deal with my boss that if she couldn’t find a way to kill them within’ a certain time she’d give them to the Madam for safe keeping until she could, or someone else did.
Madam Norna stood up and went over to the cabinet of wonders and placed the jar inside. I’ll be a lot more reluctant to go in there in future.
I haven’t been able to look at jars the same way since. I’m curious about Eilidh and people like her. They’re like the Madams, but not. They have to live in the real world rather than shut way in a shop people rarely find. Do they have jobs or is there some kind of ministry that pays their expenses and a wage? Hunting monsters sounds good in theory, but I wonder what it’s actually like. I’m having trouble getting the image out of my head of a living room somewhere that has a line of jars on the mantelpiece, all with monsters inside.
Script – Scots
Do you ever think aboot jars? The kind that’s on the supermarket shelf, the kind you hope no tae break on your way home, or the one that falls oot ae the cupboard and smashes on the floor. The kind ye stick your spoon or knife in tae get every last drop oot of. The ones ye accidentally throw in the bin, then have tae fish oot tae recycle. The ones your neighbour drops too loudly intae their own recycling bin at 7am on a Sunday morning.
No? Of course not, It’s just a jar. Except what if it isnae? What if it’s something else, something more? After this, you’ll never look at those jars in your cupboard the same way again.
Before I was due intae the shop that day I’d made a wee detour tae find a customer who’d bought a pretty China tea set that actually made anyone who drank tea frae it hate the owner, including the owner themselves. Some vendetta frae a Victorian high society woman who was pissed at no bein’ invited somewhere, or so Chronos told me after I’d sold it. Let’s just say by the time I arrived back at the shop, the set was in pieces in ma bag.
As soon as I opened the door I heard a voice that I didnae recognise, interspersed wi’ Fionn’s jovial accent. The bell above the door’s echo faded intae the antiques as I watched their exchange curiously. Fionn wasnae one fae talkin’ tae the customers much, and when he did there was so much pity carved intae his features it made them feel inexplicably uncomfortable and they cut the conversation short. He wore no such look wi’ the lassie standin’ opposite him.
I could only see the back ae her heid frae where I was standin, but the bag that was slung over her shoulder looked heavy, the straps diggin’ intae the denim jacket she was wearin causin’ it tae crease. I didnae really want tae approach, assumin’ they were pals, or acquaintances, perhaps somethin’ more, knowin Fionn, but I was saved the decision by Reid appearin’ frae further in the cavern.
I didnae need tae ask aloud who the lassie was. Reid looked over, as if expectin tae find a nametag suddenly visible on the back ae her jacket, before turning back tae me and shrugging, quietly uttering that he didnae know, but that she’d been talkin’ tae Fionn fae a while. He’d overheard Fionn jokin’ that she was a regular. I instantly thought he’d heard wrong. I’d been workin at the shop fae a year and had never seen this lassie.
As Reid continued tae try and puzzle oot who our guest was, I removed ma bag frae ma shoulders and froze when I heard the clink ae the broken tea set pieces scrapin’ against each other. Reid winced and glanced nervously at ma bag, before drawin’ his gaze tae look at me. His usual frown was replaced wi’ somethin’ resemblin’ concern.
He asked me if whatever it was had been stolen frae a customer. I quickly checked fae any sign ae Chronos, or if Fionn had overheard, before whisperin that it was. The concern laden grooves on his face deepened as he once again looked at ma bag as if it were a wasps nest. I could tell by the purse ae his lips that he was uncomfortable wi’ whit I was doin’. But he took ma bag frae ma hand anyway, tellin’ me he’d find a place tae hide whitever it was so no one would find it.
He had good timing, since as soon as the weight ae ma bag left ma hand Fionn and the lassie spotted me at the door. I watched Reid disappear intae the shop as ma other familiar claimed they’d both been waitin’ fae me.
I walked over tae the pair and tried no tae stare at the lassie. Whenever anyone comes intae the shop and appears tae have some measure ae familiarity wi’ either ae ma familiars, I tend tae scrutinise them, prepared tae find the same blurred lines aroond them as I do everyone else who comes frae that side ae the world. There was nothin’ like that. She looked…normal.
She introduced herself as Eilidh, a semi-regular visitor tae the shop, specifically Madam Norna’s front room. As she said it, she patted her bag, the heavy lookin’ one, and I smiled politely, havin’ no idea whit she meant. Since she was here tae see ma boss, I took her upstairs where the Madam was waitin.
The two exchanged a friendly greeting as I went and made tea. By the time I came back there was a medium sized jar standing on the coffee table between the two sofas. A white and green label was taped aroond its centre, and the lid was a metallic amber colour that reminded me ae copper when it’s new. The label indicated that the jar used tae contain basil pesto, but the whirling and noxious looking blue smoke inside wasnae somethin’ I’d want wi’ ma pasta.
Carefully I placed the tea pot and cups aroond the jar, ogling as the smoke swirled and bent inside its glass confines. I expected the jar tae be moving, swaying or trying tae tip itself over, but it was perfectly stationary.
Eilidh asked me if I’d ever seen one before and I couldnae understand whit she meant, a pesto jar, or whitever was inside ae it. Ma boss answered fae me and told her that I’d never been in the shop’s storage before and so had never had an opportunity tae see the others.
At the mention ae “others” ma heart began tae sink. Why was I gettin’ the feelin’ it wasnae a sprite or faerie in that jar?
Madam Norna said that Eilidh used tae be called a sentinel. These people, a bit like the Madams, are born with the ability to see monsters and deal wi’ them, either by trapping or killing. There used tae be more, but since modernisation they had dwindled because there was no longer a great need fae them. What was unusual was that the ability didnae run in families. Along a similar vein tae the Madams, sentinels appeared to be born at random. Eilidh’s parents had never seen a monster in their lives.
I thought my luck was bad, but imagine being born wi’ the ability tae have tae hunt monsters. I wasnae sure what they even meant by monsters. Although, the Fideal (Feechal) possessin’ that wee lad frae last year came tae my mind. I’d hate tae have tae deal wi’ that kind ae thing on a regular basis. Which doesnae bode well fae ma tenure as Madam.
As if realisin’ it was bein’ talked aboot, the blue smoke began tae swirl aroond the glass jar violently, almost like a hurricane in a bottle, yet the jar remained intact, no cracks or fractures.
This pesto jar isnae big, by the way, it’s no family sized. It’s 190g in weight, and is made by what sounded like an Italian company, but was probably made in somewhere in Sweden. It’s somethin’ you’d throw in the trolley whilst shoppin’ because you’re fed up ae Bolognese or carbonara. You’d probably return it if it had blue smoke in it, though.
Eilidh began tae tell the jar’s story. She hadnae been sure it was big enough tae hold the monster inside, although apparently it wasnae the smallest in her collection. She’d first heard aboot this one on the news. There was this story, a few years ago when I first started uni, aboot this person who’d managed tae drown themselves in their flat. Only, they’d been nowhere near the sink or bathtub. They’d drunk so much water that they’d technically drowned themselves.
I was a fresher at the time, and ma new pals and I had discussed it fae the day it was in the news, and then it had faded intae the past like many sensational news stories do. Unbeknownst tae me, the story hadnae ended there.
Two further people in the city had drowned themselves in the same month. This had caught Eilidh’s attention because she felt like she recognised the story, like it’d happened before somewhere else. She began tae investigate.
The first victim, the one who’d featured in the news, was a young lad who’d just turned 18, and as is usual wi’ that age, had unleashed himself ontae the night life. The weekend was fae clubbing and pubs, drink, and bed hopping, whilst the weekday was fae bein’ hungover at his apprenticeship. Bravely, Eilidh had approached his colleagues tae ask if anythin’ strange, barring his death, had happened in the weeks leadin’ up tae his passin’.
They all said no, he’d been perfectly normal. He’d began tae drink more water than usual, constantly runnin’ fae the bathroom, only tae be fillin’ up his water bottle once again. He’d be drinkin’ multiple bottles a day, far more than the recommended 2 litres. One ae his teachers had thought at the time it was a symptom of undiagnosed diabetes and had told the lad as much. He said he felt fine and shrugged it aff.
The day before he was found by his parents on the floor ae his bedroom, soaked wi’ water, he’d missed work. Frae whit Eilidh could find oot aboot the autopsy the lad had just kept drinkin’ and drinkin’ until his body gave oot. Authorities were convinced he’d been takin’ drugs, but there was no evidence ae that, and his family swore up and doon he’d never taken any.
The next victim was a woman, late twenties, and a manager ae one ae the nightclubs in town. She was livin’ wi her partner in a flat, had two cats which she had an Instagram account fae where she posted daily, and a desire one day tae have a few bairns. Average, in every sense ae the word. Until she was found on the stairwell ae her building havin’ drowned. She, like the first lad, was soaked through, as though someone had dragged her frae the canal and dumped her on the stairs. Her cause of death was also declared as an accidental drowning.
The third, and final victim, was a university student studying fae their masters. A bright young woman by all accounts, who’d received a scholarship tae complete her studies by a company that had offered her future employment. She lived in a student flat wi’ other people doin’ the same or similar courses. She had a girlfriend who stayed over more often than not, and one unfortunate day who’d found her lyin’ in bed, drenched in water, having drowned.
Eilidh had tried connecting all three. Were they related somehow? Did they share a common enemy? Had somethin’ come intae their possession that shouldnae have? I began tae sweat, thinkin’ of numerous items in the shop that were probably capable ae these things, and worse. The last time I looked, there wasnae a monster lurkin’ in the aisles ae the shop. Unless ye count Reid, or Chronos.
Eventually she found the connection. A club. The second victim had been the manager, and the two others had been regular visitors. But whit was so special aboot this club? Whit was goin’ on that three people connected wi’ it had died in such a strange way? Eilidh decided tae visit and ask amongst the staff, but none ae them had any weird stories.
Curious, she decided tae go clubbing. Ignoring that she was at least five or six years older than everyone else there, she noticed that at a certain time on a Friday and Saturday night the smoke machine would come oot, and the room would be engulfed by a light layer of ash grey fog. At least, it was supposed to be grey. On the night Eilidh was there, she noticed a slash of bright blue.
It didnae move like the rest ae the smog, it didnae disperse and hover, the strobe lights didnae stream though it illuminating every molecule. This swirled roond of its own accord, congregating in one place then warping tae another. There was a dampness tae the air, Eilidh recalled, as though the sun had come oot after heavy rain tae evaporate it away. Frae her position at the bar, she watched as the blue smoke drifted doon tae one ae the patrons on the dancefloor, settlin’ on them like oil.
Not long after, they made their way tae the bar, and asked fae water.
Eilidh followed them home, through the dark streets, watchin’ as the water bottle in their hands was emptied, and as they stopped on the curb and began tae sip on a puddle. Seein’ her chance, whilst they were distracted, Eilidh dipped intae her bag and pulled oot the Pesto jar, and managed tae extract the blue smoke frae the person and intae the confines ae the glass.
The reason she’d used the pesto jar, despite being doubtful ae its efficacy, was because it was the only one that’d fit in the bag she’d used. That’d been the monster’s home fae the last few years, and in the time since she hadnae been able tae get rid ae it. That was why it was on the coffee table in the Madam’s front room.
Madam Norna thanked her, and promised she’d put it wi’ the others in storage. Eilidh left not long after, and I stared at the jar she’d left behind.
How? How was that smoke a monster? How was that wee jar keepin’ it trapped? It was glass, what if it’d smashed in the last few years?
A part ae me wanted tae touch it, but I thought better ae it. I gee the Madam a glance, wonderin’ why she hadnae began her explanation. This prompted her tae reach oot and take the jar in her hands, surveying it as if there were gold nuggets inside. Monsters werenae strictly a part ae the shop’s responsibilities. They had nothin’ tae do wi’ fate, so the Madam’s couldnae interfere. No one really knew why there were people like Eilidh, who’d created them, or if they were naturally occurring, just as the monsters were.
Monsters had all kinds ae names. Some were born, others created. Some had lived millennia, others only a few years before they were caught. Most were dangerous, and that was why people like Eilidh went aroond trappin’ them in jars.
It was no ordinary jar though. It used tae be, and still looked like it, but it was a prison. Eilidh had sealed the lid wi’ a kind ae blood rite so only she could open it. The glass was reinforced wi a similar kind ae enchantment, not unlike some items in the shop. Accordin’ tae Madam Norna, Eilidh was the only one she’d ever met who used jars. What had begun as a necessity, had turned intae a tradition.
There were currently two ae these jars in storage that Eilidh had given the shop. This one would make three. She had made a deal wi’ ma boss that if she couldnae find a way tae kill them within’ a certain time she’d gee them tae the Madam fae safe keepin’ until she could, or someone else did.
Madam Norna stood up and went over tae the cabinet ae wonders and placed the jar inside. I’ll be a lot more reluctant to go in there in future.
I havenae been able tae look at jars the same way since. I’m curious about Eilidh, and people like her. They’re like the Madams, but not. They have tae live in the real world rather than shut way in a shop people rarely find. Do they have jobs, or is there some kind ae ministry that pays their expenses and a wage? Hunting monsters sounds good in theory, but I wonder what it’s actually like. I’m havin’ trouble gettin’ the image oot ae ma heid ae a living room somewhere that has a line ae jars on the mantelpiece, all wi monsters inside.