Long before the roads surrounding Matlock were properly marked, before lantern posts lined the winding paths through the hills, travellers relied on memory more than direction.
And memory, especially in the Derbyshire fog, could not always be trusted.
The old paths were dangerous then.
Not because of cliffs or wild animals, though there were plenty of both, but because the land itself seemed capable of changing. Villagers spoke of trails that shifted overnight, crossroads that led somewhere unfamiliar, and stretches of woodland where the silence became so complete a person could hear their own heartbeat echoing in their ears.
Most dismissed such tales as superstition.
Until people began disappearing.
Not many.
Just enough.
A shepherd found days later wandering miles from home with no memory of how he arrived there. A traveller discovered standing ankle-deep in the river at dawn, unable to explain why his boots were dry. A woman who returned to Matlock claiming she had followed a lantern through the woods all night, only to discover less than an hour had passed.
And always, woven through the stories, there was mention of the same figure.
A tall traveller dressed in crimson.
A twisted wooden staff in one hand.
And a small dog walking silently beside him.
The earliest written account of The Crimson Pilgrim dates back nearly three hundred years, though the story itself is undoubtedly older. A journal belonging to an apothecary travelling through Derbyshire mentions seeing “a red wanderer upon the ridge road, accompanied by a pale-eyed hound that made no sound upon the earth.”
The apothecary attempted to follow him.
He later wrote that the figure seemed to move without walking, drifting through the fog rather than parting it. The dog, however, constantly looked back toward him, as though aware he was there.
The journal ends abruptly three pages later.
No explanation.
No conclusion.
Only a final unfinished sentence:
“The hound stopped beside the stones and…”
No one knows what happened to him.
But the stories continued.
Over time, the figure became known by many names.
The Red Walker.
The Hollow Guide.
The Pilgrim of the Mist Roads.
But eventually, one title remained.
The Crimson Pilgrim.
Unlike other spirits tied to a single place, Aethorin was never seen in the same location twice. He appeared wherever the fog grew thickest. Along forgotten roads. On moorland paths. Near abandoned gateposts swallowed by ivy and age.
Always walking.
Always searching.
And always with the hound beside him.
Descriptions of the dog vary slightly depending on the account. Some say it resembles a small terrier. Others describe longer ears or sharper features. But every witness agrees on one unsettling detail.
The animal never leaves footprints.
Not in mud.
Not in frost.
Not even in snow.
It simply walks beside Aethorin as though the earth itself cannot fully touch it.
There are darker stories too.
Not everyone who encountered The Crimson Pilgrim returned safely.
One account from the late 1800s tells of two brothers crossing the hills after sunset despite warnings from locals. When fog swallowed the road ahead, they reportedly saw Aethorin standing motionless further along the path.
The older brother wished to turn back.
The younger insisted on following.
According to the surviving brother, the dog began growling softly the moment they stepped closer.
Not aggressive.
Warning.
The older brother stopped immediately.
The younger continued.
The fog closed around him within seconds.
And though his voice could still be heard calling out nearby, they never found him again.
The surviving brother claimed the final thing he saw before fleeing was the small hound sitting silently in the road, watching him with what he described as “almost human sorrow.”
Years later, people still reported hearing footsteps near the place where his brother vanished.
Not one set.
Two.
One heavy.
One light.
It was not until 1923 that someone attempted to discover who Aethorin truly was.
A local historian named Edwin Harrow became obsessed with the legends surrounding The Crimson Pilgrim after multiple sightings were reported during an unusually heavy winter fog. Unlike most, Harrow believed the spirit had once been a real person.
And eventually… he found evidence.
Deep within church records from a village long abandoned outside Matlock, Harrow uncovered mention of a travelling guide named Aethorin Vale.
He had been employed centuries earlier to escort travellers safely through the hills during dangerous weather conditions. The records described him as easily recognised by his crimson cloak and carved walking staff.
Beside his name was another detail.
“Accompanied always by his faithful hound.”
Harrow became convinced he had solved the mystery.
Until he uncovered the final record.
Aethorin and his dog disappeared during a violent winter storm while attempting to guide several travellers home. None of the bodies were ever recovered.
After that discovery, Harrow’s writings became increasingly erratic.
He claimed the sightings were not hauntings in the traditional sense.
Aethorin was not wandering aimlessly.
He was still performing his duty.
Still guiding travellers through roads that no longer entirely belonged to the living world.
Harrow’s final journal entry was written after he travelled alone into the hills during heavy fog in hopes of finding proof.
It read:
“I saw the hound first.
Small. Silent. Waiting beside the road.
Then the figure behind it.
He looked at me as though he had been expecting someone for a very long time.”
The entry ends there.
Edwin Harrow vanished that same night.
Search parties found no trace of him.
Only footprints in the mud leading toward the old ridge paths.
And beside them…
Small paw prints that stopped suddenly mid-step.
Even now, the stories continue.
Drivers crossing the hills late at night report seeing a crimson shape standing motionless at the roadside before disappearing into mist. Walkers speak of hearing soft paws behind them when no animal is nearby.
And sometimes, when the fog becomes thick enough to swallow the world whole, people claim to glimpse a twisted staff emerging from the white haze ahead.
Followed by the faint shape of a patient hound.
Most never approach.
The old stories warn against it.
Because no one truly knows whether Aethorin guides the lost…
Or gathers them.
But there is one final detail shared in nearly every modern sighting.
The dog always watches the traveller first.
As though deciding whether they should be allowed to pass.