Allan Squire is widely regarded as one of Bristletoe Island’s most enigmatic cultural figures: a self-appointed master of Wisdom, part folk philosopher, part barn-dwelling visionary, part Goat-man, and, most importantly, a voice.
Allan arrived on Bristletoe Island at the age of 53 to pursue what he described as “professional wisdom,” quickly establishing himself as a rare and confusing presence in the island’s intellectual life. In 2020, at the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, Allan was believed to have died following a mysterious infection caused by a Hummock Beetle — a tragedy that only deepened the island’s already considerable sense of inconvenience.
In the years that followed, another legend took hold. The mysterious Goat-man of Bristletoe Island — an inexplicable humanoid figure with the head of a goat — began drawing tourists from around the world. Reported sightings were often accompanied by unexplained internet disruptions and the repeated consumption of green string. Capitalising on the phenomenon, locals began selling the string as official “Goat-man String,” which remains available to visitors through the Bristletoe Island website.
Then, in 2025, Allan made his extraordinary return. Not from the afterlife, strictly speaking, but from a barn, where he claimed to have spent five uninterrupted years writing wisdom and sealing it inside oak barrels for future generations of children to discover.
Upon his return, Allan offered a further revelation: he himself had been the Goat-man. The mask, he explained, allowed him to move freely through the community undetected during his self-imposed death, gathering materials, spreading wisdom, and eating green string without attracting undue attention.
But beyond the myth, the barrels, and the occasional telecommunications failure, Allan’s voice remains his greatest instrument. Widely regarded as one of the greatest folk-rock voices ever committed to air, Allan has been compared to Joe Cocker, Waylon Jennings, Jimmy Barnes, and other gravel-throated giants of song. Yet those comparisons only go so far. To many on Bristletoe Island, Allan’s voice is not merely equal to these legends — it is considered better than all three combined, as though someone poured bourbon over thunder and taught it to harmonise.
During his absence, Allan’s legend only grew. What began as a modest reputation for unusual advice became a full-blown mythology. Today, he is celebrated as a singular voice of Bristletoe Island: profound, baffling, internet-adjacent, string-adjacent, and almost certainly not dead.
