I stepped out of the taxi over puddles formed from a mid-day shower. “Alright then, yeah, have a grand night now!” Shouted the taxi driver as he rode off. I stood in front of the Richmond Tower with its iron gate marking the entrance to the Royal Hospital Kilmainham.

 

Erected from the earth in 1684, once home to retired soldiers, it is a site that is no stranger to ancient burial grounds, early Christian monuments, Vikings, and a medieval monastery. Now home to the Irish Museum of Modern Art and for just one night, the Shapeshifter’s Ball on the Bram Stoker Festival weekend.

 

The light of day was transforming into shades of blue, and the clouds overhead were beginning to weave a blanket to cover the distant and diminishing sun. Just as the taxi turned off the road, I could hear it, silence.

 

Broken only by the ravens that perched inside the tree beside me. Never one to turn down occasions of nature I stopped to photograph the onyx feathered creatures, bound by myth, slaughter, and storm.

 

Raven mythology shows considerable homogeneity throughout the whole area [northern regions of the northern hemisphere] in spite of differences in detail. The Raven peeps forth from the mists of time and the thickets of mythology, as a bird of slaughter, a storm bird, sun and fire bird, a messenger, an oracular figure and a craftsman or culture hero.

 

—Edward A. Armstrong, “The Folklore of Birds,” 1958

 

Just as I snapped my shot, I heard a rustle of leaves behind me. Was it another larger creature in the bush? I peered over the gate wall past the blackberries and into the bushes. I could see nothing. So I continued through the iron gate and up the hill. Still, I felt like something or someone was there.

 

Dublin
Ravens have long been associated with myth and legend. They are everywhere in Ireland.

 

Arriving at the Shapeshifter’s Ball

 

The blue light began to transform into the night as I approached the grand entrance to the Royal Hospital. My eyes met a massive courtyard that seemed to go on for miles. There was no one there. Had I arrived at the right place? Was I just too early?

 

I was cold but not too cold to jump on another photo opportunity and so I snapped a few shots and started through the courtyard for the grand hall. As I walked towards a door guarded by rows of pumpkins I thought I heard footsteps behind me, but there was no one when I turned around. I knew little about this event, just what the invitation I clutched in my hand offered,

 

“Join us for an evening of immortal proportions with Gothic tales & dark veils. We are stirring up plans for an intimate, slightly twisted, Gothic-themed soirée. You are encouraged to arrive in costume, and those that don’t, will be able to rent something suitably ostentatious from the expansive, on-site wardrobes of the Abbey Theatre. Get ready for an evening of a more macabre, veiled mischief, in a darker season.”