Ghost tor is a very tall hill that stands tall across the Blackmoor. It would be the most visible points for dozens of miles if it weren’t for the near perpetual fog that squats on the landscape, obscuring everything into a damp white. From the only road that passes it, the grass and ground rises gently at first until it becomes steep sided as the rock shows itself. The granite is dark and seems to cling to the mist and moisture that surround it. It is a ten metre climb up from the grass to the top of the tor, which is only reachable with proper climbing gear.
The tor has many little points of interest that add up to it being quite the busy little tourist destination during the holiday seasons. For the geologist, the tor is a top piece of a huge granite extrusion that is hundreds of miles from any sort of igneous province. Studies indicate it might be the tip of a very very old piece of rock forced upward by forces from deep below. Archaeologists come here for the battle that destroyed the village that once stood on the north side of the tor, nearly a thousand years ago. Two armies thousands strong met here and crushed the village underfoot in their violence. The remains of the dead and the buildings were found in the 1950s and continue to be a source of academic interest, in particular as there’s no record in the history of either the village or the armies. The road past the tor is a modern country road but its route is an old pilgrims’ path that for centuries connected the southern towns with the high-temple of Zanado. The tor marks the half way point and high point in the weeks long trek, so it has become a symbol of luck to the faithful. Literary folk come to the tor as it was the focal point for a transubstantial gothic fantasy where a widower farmer fell in love with a ghost who resembled his dead wife. These visitors are a mix of fans seeking to soak up the atmosphere and new-age goths convinced that the ghost still haunts the tor. Finally, the tor sits precisely in the middle of the county and marks the watershed between the rivers Art and Wothers.
As is proper for a place that attracts this many visitors, there’s a tea shop. Sat by the road opposite the car park, it’s the only building for 10 miles. It’s a solid structure built of red brick with heavy slate roofing and small windows to keep the cold out. For the days when the sun shines or the mist isn’t too chilly there are a few outdoor picnic tables on the grass around the takeaway window. Inside, the floral wallpaper dates the decoration to at least 40 years ago and features heavily decorative plates of waterfowl. What isn’t floral is painted pastel. The wooden table and chairs are closely packed together, leaving barely any space between them to walk. There are no electronics on the premises, not even a radio or a television, let alone in a wi-fi. One wall of the tea shop is taken up with shelves filled with newspapers, high quality magazines and reference books. The shop is open from dawn until seven pm and serves teas, simple coffees, and a selection of confectioneries and cake.
The owner and sole permanent staff member of the tea house is Marian Wattlestop. Like her shop, she’s dressed in floral patterns and always has a fresh flower in her long blonde hair. She’s in her early fifties but doesn’t seem to be showing any sign of slowing down. When the tea house is busy, she is also all business but she’ll always stop and gossip when she has time. Despite the isolation of her home and business, Marian is an endless font of knowledge, trivia, and wisdom that she freely dispenses with the cups of tea and the cakes. She doesn’t let anyone upstairs into her apartment, a small studio space where the business of living competes with her hobby of painting.
There are three other regulars at the tea shop. Aidan Linsome is only found there during the summer weekends, when he leads climbs up onto the tor top. He drives his little van full of equipment up to the car park and sets out his stall. Lean and tall, Aidan uses the extra cash he earns to fund his own climbing trips to distant and more challenging cliffs and caves. Most of his customers at Ghost Tor are beginners, but Aidan has climbed the tor so many times he could probably guide them up blindfolded. Mrs Louisa West-Hythe brings her greyhounds to the tor every 2nd Monday, 3rd Thursday, and 4th Wednesday of the month. The dogs like the space to run and Mrs West-Hythe appreciates a good cup of tea. She is quite opinionated on all matters and will intrude herself into any conversation where she feels the participants are an ill-formed judgement. There are concerns about how she can see to drive with her glasses so thick. Ædrad the Fair is quite the connoisseur of chocolate, particularly hot chocolate. It wasn’t a drink available when she was alive and fighting on the tor. Her gothic lover mentioned it as a passing city fad, but Ædrad was quite pleased when industrialisation made it a consumer product. Very solid for a ghost, the only indication that Ædrad is a spirit is the way her shadow is blurred and never at quite the correct angle. She spends her time bound to within seven hundred and twenty three metres of her grave and is awaiting an archaeologist to dig her up and move her to a museum.