Category: chronicles Page 1 of 2

The Second Dream

Nighttime. The streets are cracked and grey and crumbling, snow and ash and black sand cling like tar to your bare feet. Each icy breath fills your nose with the tang of fresh blood and the sour-sweet stink of spoiled meat. Something his hiding behind the soot black sky, beyond the twisted tendrils that once were buildings. So large and so distant that the fire motes suggest only a presence. A shapeless immensity, nothing more. And above it all, the moom hangs huge, rivers of quicksilver blood spilling from raw wounds unsettling similar to the shape of Jacob’s body, falling onto the world like rain…

Waking

Jerome woke uneasily, still caught on what happened to Jacob, the body moving, the ruin of it. It gnawed at him, as did the effects of his kick being so crippling. That should not have been possible, he just wanted to sweep Jacob’s legs out from under him. He buried himself in work for a time, heading to Freddy’s shop to help out some more, but ti was hard to keep focus. His mind kept drifting and he took advantage of Freddy’s internet to do some research via web search. That wasn’t much help, with searches like “white fluid moon” and “bloody moon” producing results that were wither unpleasantly sexual or weird and feminazi-ish.

Out on the cold streets, Anabell rolled off a bench sometime in the morning. The dream and the pain from her arm made sleep elusive and not long after dawn she just gave up on it entirely. There was a free clinic on Harris St. that ran on Sundays. She headed that way, preparing for a long wait and a load of probing questions. She wasn’t disappointed, but after a few hours of work and a few minutes of care she was bandaged and pretty sure she wasn’t infected with anything serious. At a loss of what to do and wanting to figure out what the hell had happened to Jacob, she went looking for the only one of the people she had shared the experience last night that she had even a basic lead on – Ethan. Perhaps if she stalked the hospital, she could catch him there.

Dr Clarke was not at Felicity Memorial. He was at home in his apartment, enjoying a day off. He still woke in his apartment, refusing to break routine for little things like relaxation or sleep. He spent the day trying not to think on the dream or the events of the previous night, focussing on reading an article in the Hournal of Emergency Medicine as Frazier played in the background to fill the silence. It didn’t work. Something was wrong. He tapped at his pockets, checking each in turn. Something was missing. His torch. He tried to ignore the absence, it was likely at Felicity Memorial, accidentally left when he was getting treatment last night. He could get it tomorrow at work. He should wait until then. He couldn’t wait. The absence was bothersome. So he headed to the hospital to check and get everything back into its proper place.

Anabell had not been loitering at the hospital long enough for security to notice her when Ethan arrived. She intercepted him on the footpath between the staff carpark and the main building, just in time for someone to notice. Worse, it was Keith Arcand, one of the surgeons that Ethan had developed a rivalry with for reasons neither of them really remembered. After a few choice words about Ethan’s interesting choice of company, Dr Arkham headed into the building with a smile that would last most of the day while Ethan and Anabell headed to Ethan’s car to talk about in private about the previous night.

Despite Anabell’s insistence that something strange had happened, Ethan remained resolutely disbelieving. He blamed poor light, gas leaks and folie à deux … “technically folie à quatre as there were four of us”… and would not be shaken, dragging up chunks of medical knowledge to convince himself as much as Anabell. Exasperated, Anabell decided another look in daylight was needed and left for a walk to the abandoned goodwill shop. Ethan gave her is cell number, not quite catching the sarcasm she thanked him with.

Searching

Elsewhere in Merritt, Michael woke late, though not much later than usual. As the fog of sleep faded, he noticed that his hands were sparkling in the streams of cold winter sunlight creeping though tears in the old curtains. Blood. Dried blood and spray paint and shards of glass embedded in his skin. He stumbled to the bathroom to clean off, only then realising that he was still wearing clothes equally spattered in blood and paint and glass. He started to come back to himself as he washed, the chill of the water helping shake off the last of sleep. Something felt skewed inside him. A chain had slipped deep inside. He had done something horrible, the worst thing he had ever done in his life, and yet part of him was glad. He let himself get lost in the mindless act of cleaning himself up, put bandaids on the worst of the glass cuts and headed out. He needed to see the pace where they had been before…

The shop. It was more obviously derelict in the daylight. Other stores along the street were open and busy; as a backstreet could be. The goodwill was closed, rollerblinds down and covered, exposing a riot of grafitti and rust with the image of a huge woodpecker with a stylised DMZ along the side of its beak at the centre of it all. Michael didn’t even look at it, just walked casually by. A patrol car was parked opposite the entrance to the alleyway, one cop inside who was more interested in a magazine than watching the street. Michael slipped into the alleyway from the other end and sneaked round to the door to the goodwill. The door was still open, the dark maw of the door covered with bright bands of police tape. He ignored them, slipping carefully past them and inside.

Things inside looked emptier in the greasy daylight filtering through the dingy skylight. Without the concealement of darkness, the spaces where things should have been were much more noticable. Spaces where stock and fittings had been. A gap on a desk where a computer might have been. Ragged clothing, broken crockery and the ugliest ornaments were all that remained. Michael ignored the room and headed down to the basement. Everything seemed normal with the daylight filtering down the stairs, aside from the forensic marks scattered around the floor and the copper stains of blood on a series of pins protruding from the wall, supports for some kind of shelving now long gone. Crack. Michael froze. Someone was moving upstairs. He dove for cover among the sacks and shadows that had served so well the night before.

Upstairs, Anabell was creeping into the building, taking advantage of the cop in the patrol car being distracted talking to someone on the street. Lucky break. There was just enough time for her to get down into the basement and for she and Michael to notice each other when footsteps started above. Someone was coming who cared a lot less about about being as subtle or sneaky as either of them…

Ethan marched down the stairs. He had been the one talking to the cop, convincing him to let him take a quick look inside the shop for the torch he had lost. It was against protocol, letting someone into an active crime scene without escort, but it was cold out there and Officer Baker knew Dr. Clarke from crossing paths at the ER. He was a bit of a cold fish but always professional. Baker figured he could trust him just this once…

In the basement, the three finally exchanged names and Ethan earned a dirty look from Anabell. If he was coming here, why hadn’t he said or saved her from a long walk in the cold. No explanation, just a cold shrug. Each following their own interests, the turned their attentions to the wall, the pipes, the supporting pins, the floor. Keen eyes and Michael’s engineering knowhow revealed nothing to suggest the wall was false. No seams, no mechanisms, no hollowness. No gas in the pipes either, Anabell pointed out sharply. If there was a void behind the wall, it was on the other side of solid brickwork.

Seeing

Elsewhere, Jerome had grown completely unable to focus on his work. He apologised to Freddy, who was understanding and let him finish early. Jerome was such a good lad and a hard worker. Everyone had off days. Jerome headed to Chakrii’s to try and work out his aggression on a bag and see if he could figure out what had happened with that kick. He worked through multiple routines, growing increasingly aggressive with each until a volley of brutal strikes finally tore through the fabric of the bag, spilling sand from the wound. The few other gymgoers watched this with surprise at the sudden anger from mousy little Jerome; none of them caught the gold flash in his eyes.

Back in the basement, Anabell was rifling through the carpet edges for something that could be a hinge while Michael and Ethan studied the wall. Michael noticed something from the corner of his eye and turned his torch onto. Ethan was staring at the shining, mirror-sharp edge of the supports upon which Jacob had been impaled, lost in thought, his hand brushing the surface of the wall. Partly inside the wall. Michael’s sudden noise of surprise shook Ethan out of his daze. He wrenched his hand from sudden pain, a chunk roughly hand-shaped torn from the wall and jaggedly embedded in his flesh…

People Appearing (in order of appearance)

Jacob (mentioned)
Jerome Gévoudan – Distracted, obsessing, aggressive
Anabell McCullogh – Trying to understand what happened.
Ethan Clarke – Trying to forget, unsuccessfully.
Dr Keith Arcand (first appearance)
Michael O’Connell – Unsettled by his own actions.
Officer Baker (first appearance) – Workshy cop who should have been watching the crime scene.

Locations

Freddy’s Fixit Shop
Ethan’s Apartment – A residence, not a home.
Felicity Memorial Hospital
Abandoned Goodwill Shop – Still a crime scene.

Digging Down

By BlackmouthChronicler

On 2022-04-12

In chronicles

Chapter 2 of Under A Killing Moon

<- Welling Up | Waking Dreams ->

Earlier: Michael

Dewhurst Library. A relic of a dream of a brighter and better city. Like many others, Michael found it somewhere to stay relatively warm and dry without having to justify his existence or pay for the privilege. He spent the afternoon in the reading room, leafing through a few books that caught his interest to kill time until the alarm went and it was time to head to work. He tried not to watch the clock, that bred anxiety and ate the little time he had to himself, but he couldn’t help himself. Ten minutes left, just enough time to finish the chapter. The guy on the next table over checked his watch. Then the girl on the other side. Then the people beyond them, and the ones beyond them, radiating out like a wave of anxious clock-watching until it filled the room and they all turned as one to stare at Michael. He slunk down, buried his head in the book and pretended not to see it, and when he glanced again the room was as it was before. No stares, only the uneasy memory of dozens of eyes boring into his soul. The alarm could not go off quick enough, and he headed to work with his head down.

It was sometime after midnight when Michael got out of Oasis. The bar was still open but the crowd was thin due to the season and management decided to reduce costs by cutting hours from surplus staff. That suited him fine. The incident at the library had left him on edge and he had felt eyes on him all night. He needed to clear his head and decided on some retributive violence against the system. With spray paint and collapsible baton in hand, he started on a circuitous walk to psyche himself up and to approach the parking lot by a different direction. Halfway there, he heard a scream and saw a junkie attacking a doctor. His grip on the baton tightened. Maybe it wouldn’t be glass getting broken tonight…

Earlier: Jerome

A few hours after sunset Jerome made his way from the Fixit Shop to the club. He headed for an inconspicuous basement doorway tucked between a payday loan shop and a palm reader on Franklin street, a sign on the door read “Chakri Herbery, Authentic Thai Remedies” under a logo of a golden disc. Jerome greeted and was ignored by the guys behind the counter as he walked past the displays of herbal supplements and through an unmarked door. Down a flight of well-worn stairs was the gym, racks of weights and equipment sitting against bare brick walls with the fighting ring sitting at the heart of it all. He tried to keep to his usual corner and work through his reps out of the way of the more serious types, but Mr King laid an arm on his shoulder and smiled in a way that brooked no argument. Reps and working punchbags could only go so far, it was time to get into the ring.

Jerome found himself set up against one of the meatheads, a tanned heavyweight with frosted tips called Chet who insisted the swastika on his shoulder was a manji. The fight went better than he expected, blocking his opponent’s attacks and hesitant to strike back until something caught his eye. Among the dozen people watching the fight was someone Jerome had never seen before – an older man with steel-grey hair and black eyes, dressed in a grey tracksuit with creases so sharp it seemed to have been ironed. He was milling about the crowd, moving through it without noticing the existence of anyone else, unblinking black eyes set on the fight. On Jerome.

Chet took advantage of Jerome’s distraction to get around his guard. Jerome instinctively slipped around the strike and retaliated with a fierce strike that sent Chet sprawling and shook himself out of the daze. He froze, realised what he had done and immediately tried to apologise. Chet ignored him and instead laid into Jerome with a chain of powerful blows. The last thing Jerome saw before his head hit the mat was the black-eyed man leering close to the ring, lips split into a wide grin that showed far too many teeth.

Mr King helped Jerome to his feet, checking him over to make sure nothing was broken and chiding him only a little for letting his guard down. Good hit, mĕe, do that more often… Of Chet or the black-eyed man, there was no sign. Jerome spent another hour at the club trying to burn off the adrenaline, but no matter what he did he could not wind down. He was still wired when he got home and decided to take a run to try to try and clear his head. And there he heard the altercation

Choosing Violence

Ethan was trying in vain to flee from the man whose teeth were closed about the meat of his forearm. A cry of “what the fuck, Jacob?!” came from an alleyway he had passed earlier. Anabell, who had been tracking her friend down to give him another dose and keep him from going cold turkey, had just seen him go for Ethan like a starving man for a steak. Most of the few other people on the street were keeping their distance, better to not get involved and who knew what diseases the junkie was carrying. But not all of them. Michael tightened his grip on his collapsible baton and steeled himself to mete out furious anger, but before he could do so chaos ensued.

Anabell crossed the road at a sprint and slammed into Jacob to the sound of a scream that she didn’t even realise was coming from her own throat. He shuddered back from the impact and she froze, she had been aiming just to separate him from the doctor, she thought she had been… Taking advantage of this moment of confusion, Jacob wheeled around and turned on Anabell, eyes like pinpricks, Ethan’s blood about his mouth and flecks of skin and muscle between his crooked teeth. Before she could react, he launched himself at her, spindly hands closing about her like a vice and his teeth digging into her flesh.

Jerome saw all this from half a block away and dithered until the urge to act overcame his learned instincts to not get involved. He tried to get between the brawlers and separate them just as Michael moved to strike Jacob. In the chaos, Michael’s baton was knocked from his grip and Jerome took an elbow to the temple, sending him staggering back in pain. Anabell tried to wrench herself free from Jacob’s iron grip to no avail, as he started to drag her with him toward an alleyway, aware he was outnumbered. In between the sharp mumbles of hungry and cold was an alien word that rumbled like a growl deep in his throat: “uu-raa-tha”

Michael grasped for a weapon and found one of his cans of paint, which he promptly turned on Jacob as improvised bear spray. Half-blind and choking on paint, Jacob staggered on still. He dragged Anabell into the alleyway one-handed, feeling and flailing his way to a door which he wrenched open with a squeal of half-rusted metal.

Throughout all this, Ethan had been struggling to find his feet and his phone, the 911 operator still on the line trying to get someone to answer to him. He tried to explain what had happened, slipping into cold medical professionalism to bury his terror, and demanded police and EMTs as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, Jerome and Michael decided to take matters into their own hands to stop this before Anabell was dragged into a dark fate long before the BCPD arrived. They succeeded, far more so than they intended. Michael had scooped a bottle from the alleyway and intended to break it over Jacob’s head, and instead drove the broken end of it into his ribcage with a wet, tearing sound. A moment later, Jerome’s kick, intended simply to knock Jacob’s legs out from under him, shattered his knee with a sickening snap. A keening, inhuman wail rose from Jacob and he released Anabell, half-falling, half-staggering into the darkness of the open door.

Into the Dark

Silence fell on the alleyway. Uneasy looks were shared. Jerome stared at the ground, muttering how he never meant to do that. Michael simply crumpled to his knees, gorge rising in his throat and spattering onto the cold concrete. Anabell was the first to speak, insisting she was going in there to get her friend back as she dusted herself off and tied her sleeve tight over the wound that friend had left in her. Ethan tried to fuss, insisted they should wait for the police and EMTs and, when that failed, buried fear with professionalism. He ordered Jerome to keep an eye on Michael and followed Anabell through the door into the dark. Jacob had been his patient…

Jerome lingered uncertainly in the alleyway, not sure what he could do for Michael who had by now gotten himself together and was wavering on the edge of retreat. He fell back on nervous politeness, introduced himself and following the others into the dark. Michael followed soon after, unsettled by something he had seen in Jerome’s eyes but not wanting to be left alone in the gloom of the alley.

The door lead into the back rooms of a goodwill shop, obviously long abandoned. Half-empty shelves and racks of unwanted clothing hung hung in a dust-filled gloom, lit only by the city lights filtering through a filthy skylight. Yet it was enough to see a trail of blood spatter, disturbed dust and boxes shoved aside leading to another door. Beyond were stairs leading down into a darkness rich with the smells of vermin and mouldering cloth. The four argued, Ethan insisting that Jerome and Michael stay there but no-one was convinced safety, preferring the safety of numbers as they proceeded down into the basement.

Down the stairs was a basement storeroom, half-filled with lumpen sacks each large enough to hold a human torso. Several had split open, gnawed edges revealing clothing and the cold glint of verminous eyes. The faint city lights could not reach far and they resorted to torches – Ethan’s examination torch and something jury-rigged that Jerome had been tinkering with. Under those faint lights shadows revealed themselves to be clusters of roaches that fled for darker corners. The trail of blood led to another door lay on the far wall, paint peeling from old, half-rotten wood, and slightly ajar.

Beyond this older door lay more stairs, much older and bowed with age and decay. Anabell cautioned the others to take care, this looked like an entry to the Vaults and such places were dangerous to the unwary. With that said, she started down them, stepping light and fast with a practiced mix of haste and caution. The stairs clung tenaciously to a stone wall and lead down into a cavernous expanse, vast enough that they could hear their own voices echoing and their puny torches could not see the walls.

At the bottom was a stone floor, unfinished and rawly cut with chisel marks still visible in places, and a broad pair of double doors like those of a storm cellar set in the floor, thrown wide to expose narrow stone stairs. The stairs delved even deeper, down a narrow defile half-choked with leprous white roots and rhizomes protruding from the raw stone. And at the bottom lay Jacob, twisted and broken and dead. The body was grotesque, limbs rendered multi-jointed by sharp breaks and flesh shorn to expose bone, his ribs splayed out like jagged cannibal teeth, and yet his eyes were still open, pupils pinpricks against an unseen dreadful light.

Rising Consequence

Sounds far above dragged them from their stunned silence at the dreadful sight. It seemed the right thing to not be caught in this unpleasant place by someone else, so they begin to make their way back up the stairs, wordless and anxious. Ethan lingered until last, waiting until alone to close Jacob’s eyes and allow himself to show a moment of emotion. By the time the group reach the basement filled with sacks of clothing, the sounds above have become a voice “Blackmouth PD. Anyone in here?”

Ethan shouted up to the cop without a second thought. Michael and Anabell dived to cover, hiding amidst the sacks and rags and vermin, while Jerome stalled, unsure. The cop came down the stairs slow, cautious, flashlight out in one hand with his other resting above his pistol. He swept the room, seeing only the Ethan and Jerome before freezing at the sight of something behind them. Where the door leading down into the cavern had been is a blank wall with Jacob’s mangled, ruined form nailed to it…

Backup was called in and Jerome and Ethan were checked over by the EMTs. jerome was in shock, mumbling questions to himself about how the body could have moved. More innured to shock, or perhaps more able to suppress himself, Ethan began to give a preliminary statement to the patrol officers, delivered with just enough theatrics and volume to distract them from Michael and Anabell sneaking out into the night.

Two detectives arrived before forensics. Whitfield, a serious and intense man who seemed to know the patrol officer who found Ethan and Michael in the basement, and Matthis, an older, more worn man who arrived a few minutes later. They moved to a safe distance, well out of earshot, yet Ethan found himself able to pick up snippets of their conversation. Whitfield wanted to know what had happened to his CI, Matthis promised he would be the first to know but to not go pushing his way into other people’s cases again, especially outside his department.

Matthis talked to Ethan and Jerome to try and get some more information. Ethan stuck to the story that he had spun to the patrol officer, that he had been attacked by Jacob and Jerome had helped him, Jacob had fled into the derelict shop and he wanted to try and help him because he had treated him at the ER earlier that night and he felt he had a duty of care. Jerome was a different story, still in shock he mentioned details that Ethan had not, like Anabell and Michael, though he did not know their names.

Later that morning, after Ethan and Jerome have been finally allowed to go, after forensics have come to take their photos and while plans were being made to remove the body, something began to stir in the basement. First one rat, then two, then a dozen, then a hundred, all look at what has been wrought, staring at the twisted corpse with bright, cold eyes.

People Appearing (in order of appearance)

Michael O’Connell – Unsettled by being watched.
Jerome Gévoudan – More capable of violence than he thought.
Mr King (first appearance) – Pleased with Jerome’s prowess.
Chet (first appearance) – Less pleased with Jerome’s prowess.
The man in a grey tracksuit – Enjoyed the sight of Jerome and Chet’s fight.
Jacob (death) – Struggled violently, died unnaturally.
Ethan Clarke – Did what he thought was the right thing.
Anabell McCullogh – Tried to do right by a friend.
Officer Jiménez (first appearance) – Shocked by discoveries.
Det. Whitfield (first appearance) – Interested in Jacob’s death.
Det. Matthis (first appearance) – Investigating and curious.

Locations

Dewhurst Library – struggling institution, barely hanging on.
Oasis – trendy nightclub in gentrified area west of Merritt.
Chakri’s – herbal supplement shop and private gym.
The streets of Merritt
Abandoned Goodwill shop
The Blackmouth Vaults

Welling Up

By BlackmouthChronicler

On 2022-04-12

In chronicles

Chapter 1 of Under A Killing Moon

– | Digging Down ->

The First Dream

Night time on the streets, snow and ash are falling, pooling about your feet as you walk. Its cold, bitterly so, the chill like a knife in your chest with every breath. All around you the buildings rise tall and thin like crooked grey teeth, lightless and dead. The only light from motes and sparks from a distant fire, hidden beyond the twisted shadow buildings. And the moon. The moon looms huge and brilliant, close enough to see a twisted whorl has been hacked into its surface, lambent quicksilver blood seeping up from the wound and dripping down onto the world. And then you wake up…

Waking

First to wake is Jerome, stunned and uneasy, shaking off the sensation of being trapped in the endless now of the dream for what felt like an eternity. He coasted through waking and readying himself to face the world until shaken out of his thoughts by his mom’s mothering.

As Jerome made his way to Freddy’s Fixit Shop for work, Annabel from the dream with a violent start that sent her sleepig bag and her cat flying and set the car alarm blaring. She silenced the device by pulling a few wires, calmed the startled cat and corralled it into her backpack, before heading for Memorial Park to play the sympathy card to well-off types and score enough money to eat.

Michael stirred from his third experience of the dream, worn thin and tired as sleep brought no rest. He tired to sneak out of the house to avoid drawing the attention of his father, and, when that failed, simply ran. The library would be warm and could wait until the bar opened there, where would be no-one to bother him.

Finally, Ethan, catching some sleep in a quiet room while waiting for the second half of a split shift. He refused to react to the dream, pushed it down into the well of everything else that wasn’t relevant and focussed on getting whatever food he could before he had to get back to the ER.

Needful Things

Later that afternoon, Anabell encountered Jacob. He was twitchier than usual, eyes dark with lack of sleep or withdrawal, and complaining about the cold. The police and city response to Sandoval’s disappearance was making things difficult – sure, loads of poor and homeless folks disappear and no-one cares but one teacher disappears into the Vaults and people start doing things. It would blow over soon enough, once the news found some other thing to care about, but they were hassling people, blocking accessways, sending dealers to ground. The hooch wasn’t cutting it and Jacob recruited Anabell to come help scam pain meds from the ER.

They weren’t very good at it, but they didn’t need to be. Felicity Memorial was understaffed and underfunded, and Jacob’s claims of pain from a broken arm was enough to get past the triage nurse who had more important things to care about. It was early evening by the time they were seen by Dr Clarke and things did not go well. Jacob’s story changed several times, from a new break to a sprain to an old break that never healed right, which was revealed by examination to be true. Anabell’s moral support for her poor injured friend becoming cajoling as Ethan wavered on how to help a man obviously in pain when it wasn’t essential medical care and they obviously had no insurance.

Uneasy and unsettled by something he could not identify, Ethan left the two in the examination room to seek advice from his superior Dr Monroe, accidentally leaving his prescription pad behind in a moment of distraction. Anabell seized the opportunity, copying the signature from its pressure indentation and making a counterfeit script for Vicodin, that she stuffed into a pocket just in time as the doctors returns. Dr Monroe took a long look over the room and sent Anabell and Jacob on their way with information on an addiction support group. Once alone with Ethan, she gave him a sharp warning about taking care of his equipment. The paperwork for whatever script had been made would get lost the system, but Dr Monroe made it abundantly clear that if anything like that happened again there would be serious consequences.

Paths Crossing in the Night

Late that evening, Ethan took a walk to clear his head before driving home and spotted Jacob watching him from an alleyway, battered and worn even thinner than before. He ignored the vagrant, angry at being conned and chewed out, and walked on. Footsteps behind him. Jacob, closeby, shivering and muttering so cold, so cold it burns. Unable to bring himself to walk away, Ethan draped his coat about the man and started to call 911 for an ambulance as his muttering grew odder – so cold, so hungry, its hungry, so hungry. Just as the operator picked up the call, the phone was knocked from Ethan’s hand as Jacob lunges at him and bites down on the flesh of his arm…

People Appearing

Jerome Gévoudan (first appearance) – Unsettled by dreams.
Jerome’s mother (first appearance) – Trying her best for the family.
Anabell McCullogh (first appearance) – Surviving any way she can.
Michael O’Connell (first appearance) – Keeping his head down.
Ethan Clarke (first appearance) – Facing the challenges of helping within a callous system.
Jacob (first appearance) – Worn down, on edge, needed a fix.
Cynthia Monroe (first appearance) – Managing the ER to help as many as she can.

Locations

Under A Killing Moon

By BlackmouthChronicler

On 2022-04-12

In chronicles

Fate
Up against your will.
The killing moon will come too soon
The Killing Moon, Echo & the Bunnymen

Under A Killing Moon is an ongoing chronicle set in Blackmouth in the late 2000s. It follows the story of four people drawn together by forces they do not understand.

The First Dream

The Second Dream

Nighttime. The streets are cracked and grey and crumbling, snow and asha nd black sand cling like tar to your bare feet. Each icy breath fills your nose with the tang of fresh blood and the sour-sweet stink of spoiled meat. Something his hiding behind the soot black sky, beyond the twisted tendrils that once were buildings. So large and so distant that the fire motes suggest only a presence. A shapeless immensity, nothing more. And above it all, the moom hangs huge, rivers of quicksilver blood spilling from raw wounds unsettling similar to the shape of Jacob’s body, falling onto the world like rain…

The Dreamers

Jerome Gévoudan – student honing body and mind.
Anabell McCullogh – homeless urban explorer.
Ethan Clarke – tightly-wound ER doctor.
Michael O’Connell – would-be-anarchist, angry at the world.

Chapters

Welling Up – In which four people wake from the same dreams and the world begins to grow strange.
Digging Down – In which violence is chosen and unpleasant discoveries are made.
Waking Dreams – In which answers and allies are sought, and things are seen in the cold daylight.

Threads and Chains

By BlackmouthChronicler

On 2020-04-28

In chronicles

Chapter 3 of Shadows and Loss

<- Parlour Games | ->

In the Ashes

A couple of days had passed since the violence at the Ladybird Room and the pack were at work trying to rebuild the gym and repair the damage wrought by the brawl with the Jacks and the kuruth that followed. Franco found his injuries from the silver blades were finally starting to heal, painfully slowly and with the first hints of wicked scars but at least he could pull his weight to fix his own gym. Jayden, Carter and Terry helped whenever they could, though Terry kept a wary distance from both Jayden and Franco, the events of the brawl still fresh in his mind.

About an hour after sunset, as the gibbous moon was just starting to rise above the tenements, someone came knocking on the door of the closed gym. A wiry man in a long trenchcoat, close-cropped beard giving his face a skeletal cast in the twilight. He introduced himself as “Rojas. Detective Rojas” and had some questions about the burned pickup in Montgomery and the bodies left in it. Franco and Jayden could smell the wolf in him as he spoke, leading to Franco making a selection of bad dog puns before dropping all pretence.

Rojas was happy to be straight with the two urdur. He had caught their scents at the wreck in Montgomery and wanted to size them up and hear what happened that lead. So they told him, about Megan Blaine and the Jacks, about the Ladybird Room and Mr G, and about how it all ended. Rojas was sceptical until Franco showed him the truth in his Renown brands, the lunes had believed them even if he did not. That impressed Rojas, and he seemed satisfied with how they had handled themselves. He left the pack with a number to contact him on if needed, and a warning not to cause any problems south of Rosewater street.

Help Wanted

A few days later, Jayden received a call from potential client. They met in the Pequods on Lincoln Square to discuss things. Her name was Laura Griffin and she spent much of the interview clutching at the coffee mug like a lifeline as she told her story. It had started with odd noises, tapping in the pipes and scratching at doors. She had told herself it was just the sounds of an old house or local animals, but there were also the dreams. She was in bed, unable to move as an emaciated black-eyed figure leaned over her, reaching closer and closer until she woke in cold sweats and dread. Sleeping pills kept the dreams away but left her unrested and exhausted. She didn’t know what else to do, was getting desperate for this to end so when she found Jayden’s business card she had to try.

Jayden listened as Ms Griffin told her tale and, deciding to ease her into things, explained the possibility of sleep paralysis and asked her to record herself sleeping that night. They would review the footage the next day and then know if it was something uncommon but mundane, or of his more esoteric skills would be required. Ms Griffin seemed a little unsure, but she agreed to the request and departed. Jayden and Franco waited until she was gone before letting the thin veneer of professionalism slip and planning an evening of karaoke at Ollie T’s to relax.

While waiting to hear from Ms. Griffin the next day, Franco suggested declaring a Sacred Hunt against whatever was behind the haunting. He had been itching to try out the Rite that Brihaz had taught him. Jayden agreed and the two mock-brawled and psyched themselves up in preparation for the Hunt. They met Griffin again at Pequods the next evening, unsettlingly intense and wired with the adrenaline of the Hunt.

On the Hunt

The timelapse video of Ms. Griffin’s attempts to sleep showed her thrashing and turning in her bed, barely keeping still throughout the night. No signs of sleep paralysis. Jayden apologised for the intrusion but he would need to investigate her house, Griffin agreed, finished her coffee and lead them there. The house was an old townhouse of the sort found throughout north Blackmouth, built well over a century ago in the rebirth of Blackmouth after the fire of 1814, and recently renovated and repaired as the slow creep of gentrification swept into the west side of Merritt.

Griffin left Franco and Jayden on the doorstep for a minute before letting them in, the sounds of an excitable dog carrying from the closed kitchen door. She apologised that he didn’t get on with strangers, and lead the way into the house. Everything seemed normal, at last until they got to the bedroom and caught a scent. Like the faint remnants of fresh blood. Griffin seemed unaware of it but it clung in the nostrils of both Franco and Jayden, stirring up old memories of the Hunt and the Kill. It was unavoidable once noticed, it was seeping into the rest of the house but permeated the bedroom and was strongest by the great bay windows that dominated the room, yet did not seem to be coming from there.

On a hunch, Jayden cast his senses across the Gauntlet into the Hisil and saw nightmares. The shadow reflection of the room was warped to grotesque proportions, the ceiling looming cavernously tall while the angles and corners twisted and misaligned. Blood and oily black liquid seeped and trickled from long cobweb cracks and jagged rents in the corners of windows and mirrors. Griffin’s bed was a torturer’s plaything of spikes and blades, rusted with old blood and dried tears and seething with host of motes of inky darkness and shattered bone that supped on the blood and tears coating the torture bed. The smell of blood filled the Shadow, sweet and rich as a fresh kill and wafting from the yawning portal the bay windows had become, beyond which lay a twisted vista of towering crags and twisted trees. Jayden took time to study the room and cast his ithaeur’s eyes over the spirits. The inky motes were some kind of hursihim, barely sapient little fear spirits feeding on the detritus of Griffin’s nightmares, but there was something else. A drifting translucent shape like a sheet of ill-shaped fabric hanging on the end of the torturer’s bed. Jayden had taken it for a hursih or an unformed mote until it moved, and the shadow of eyes swept the bed with a cold, hungry intelligence. An ensih, perhaps. Something sapient enough to lead this motley choir or to talk to, but he could not do so across the Gauntlet. They would need to Step Sideways and visit the Shadow in person to face this thing.

Meanwhile, Franco was trying to stop Jayden from walking into anything in his otherworld trance. He had tried to convince Ms Griffin to give them a little space to work but she was understandably hesitant to leave two strangers alone in her bedroom. He was in the middle of a third explanation that this was just how Jayden worked and he would have some answers soon when Jayden brought himself out of his trance to deliver a verdict to Ms Griffin. The good news was that the problem seemed to be connected to the house rather than Griffin herself, so he advised her to sleep elsewhere for a couple of days. The bad news was that he did not know yet know how to deal with this night mare but he should have a solution with a day or two’s research and investigation. He had always been good at this part of the work back before the Change, and Griffin bought his earnest charm. She would do that and look forward to hearing from Jayden soon once he had a proper solution.

The Other Side

It was Franco that noticed the car as they were walking back. It had been there when they arrived, but the guy in the driver’s seat half-watching Griffin’s house hadn’t been. They passed it by and slipped into an alleyway to get the measure of the man. A jowly older man with a heavy moustache, sitting calmly in a dark-bodied sedan, reading a book and glancing now and again toward Griffin’s home. Jayden peeked across the Gauntlet but saw nothing unusual there, so Franco took a note of the plates. Perhaps it was time to give Det. Rojas a call.

Rojas picked up after the third ring and took very little convincing to assist by looking up the licence plate. He was happy to build rapport with Dukuz-Mah Ur by helping their hunt. In the meantime, Jayden decided to seek some advice from his ersatz mentor so the two headed for Ashton Park, the heart of the territory claimed by the Blackwood pack. There they met Elias, a member of the Blackwoods and an acquaintance of Jayden, who apologised that Valentina was out of the city “on one of her wanders”. He offered some advice in her stead when Jayden explained the situation, suggesting that a it was unlikely that the spirits he had seen were powerful enough to wreak such changes in the Shadow in such a short time. Either they had been there longer than it seemed, or something more potent was influencing things.

They heard back from Rojas as they headed back to their own territory. The car they had spotted was registered to Jon Miller, a private investigator based in Providence, Rhode Island. Rojas said he would keep digging just in case he found something interesting but Miller appeared at first glance to be very ordinary.

Heading to the Forgotten Room, Kayden and Franco used the resonance of the locus to cross into the Hisil and made their way to the shadow reflection of Ms. Griffin’s house. As soon as they entered the twisted bedroom, the translucent form of the nightmare spirit stirred. It draped itself about Jayden’s cloak and asked why wolves were here, insisting it was breaking none of their laws and merely feeding on the bounty provided to it. Jayden called it a minnow, a scavenger feeding on the leavings of actual predators but it shrugged and drifted away.

Franco, meanwhile, was studying the yawning vista spread out beyond the windows, and only these windows. The other rooms of the house showed the bustling, frenetic shadow of the street beyond, only those in the bedroom showed this view. Out of curiosity he opened the windows. The scent of fresh blood that pervaded the room grew sharper and sweeter still and Franco could feel something pulling at him, drawing him out, toward the expansive otherworld beyond. Jayden joined him and the two let themselves be pulled out, wrenched bodily across the gulf beyond and down into somewhere else.

They were in a great empty room of stained tiles. A single hospital gurney lay in the centre of the expanse, surrounded by legions of machines that traced the rhythms of life in light and sound. Lying on the bed was the half-seen shadow of a figure, utterly dwarfed by its surroundings. In the centre of the figure’s chest was a black tear and into it flowed faint crimson trails of blood-scent from the bedroom. Jayden cast his gaze across the Gauntlet and saw a hospital ward with a single inhabitant, a young woman wrapped in bandages and casts and surrounded by ventilators and other devices keeping her alive. Her chart listed her name as Jaime Scott, her injuries matched a hit and run, and the date of admission as a week prior. Around the time Griffin’s dreams began.

After making their way back to the Forgotten Room and crossing back to the physical world, the pair started searching for news articles about hit and runs in the past week. It did not take long to find something but it was not quite what they expected. The story described a young woman hit by a vehicle in Fallon Heights, no names listed but the date fitted, and there was a video showing dashcam footage from another car in the area. It showed a dark-haired young woman, features blurred for anonymity, running out of an alleyway into traffic, eyes fixed on something behind her. She clips a protruding parking sign, careers with the impact into the traffic and is struck by a black sedan, rolling over the bonnet and landing head-first on the asphalt. Traffic screeches to a halt around her and in the last frames of the video the driver of the sedan steps out to check on her, and it is not Griffin.

Using the video and Franco’s native knowledge of the streets of the city, they work their way to the site of the accident, unsure exactly what they will find after a week. No unusual scents or markings, and nothing untoward lurking in Twilight or on the other side of the Gauntlet. No witnesses, except one. Jayden studied the parking sign and whispered a word of wakefulness to the mote that sumbered with in. It stirred into brief awareness, enough to tell them what the girl had run from. A man, bristled with facial hair. The PI?

PANEL 1: FRANCO makes dog and spider puns at an exasperated Det, ROJAS.
PANEL 2: In the Shadow, JAYDEN calls the nightmare spirit a minnow.
PANEL 3: JAYDEN and FRANCO interview Ms GRIFFIN.
PANEL 4: In the Shadow of a hospital room, JAYDEN and FRANCO stand over a hospital bed. — *In summary…*

People Appearing

Franco Larsen – Glad to assist Jayden’s investigations, he got a hat just for it.
Jayden Clearwater – Following the threads of investigation.
Terry Burton – Assisted repairing the gym, kept a safe distance from Franco and Jayden
Carter Johnson (First Appearance) – Assisted repairing the gym.
James Rojas (First Appearance) – Investigated the burned pickup, as a cop and to get a measure of these new wolves.
Laura Griffin (First Appearance) – Hired Jayden to deal with paranormal events tormenting her.
Jon Miller (First Appearance) – Rhode Island PI, spotted watching Griffin’s home.
Valentina Blackwood (Mentioned) – Ersatz mentor to Jayden.
Elias Blackwood (First Appearance) – Urban shaman of the Blackwood pack, gave Elias a little advice.
Brihaz (Mentioned) – Spirit friend of Franco.
Four-Ways-Sworn (Mentioned) – Spirit that claims rulership of the Shadow reflection of Merritt’s streets.
Cold-Caress-Kiss (First Appearance) – Nightmare spirit feeding on Ms Griffin’s fears.
Jaime Scott (First Appearance) – Victim of a traffic accident. What was she running from?

Locations

Larsen’s Gym – Closed to the public, still under repair.
Pequods in Lincoln Square.
Ollie T’s
Ms. Griffin’s home at the corner of Machen and Elsworth.
Aston Park after dark.
Providence, RI (mentioned).
The Forgotten Room.
The Hisil reflections of Griffin’s home and Morningside Hospital.
An alley off Lincoln Street.

Seeping Through the Skin

By BlackmouthChronicler

On 2020-04-23

In chronicles

Chapter 4 of Beneath Cold Boughs

< – Down Among the Worms | The Upside Down->

Chasing the Tree

(Set before part 1 of Down Among the Worms)

As Diana and Jane headed for home after speaking with Suleiman, Morris instead decided to keep an eye on the Tree as it was cut out of the shell of Willowgate. Morris found himself at home in the dark, easily lurking out of sight of Hank and his crew as they continued their work. It took until after 2am for the Tree to be removed and placed carefully under the tarpaulin of a flatbed truck, and once there swiftly driven away. Hank and his crew headed for some much-needed sleep and Morris gave chase, like it was the old days driving with Big Jimmy.

The truck lead him east into the grim underbelly of Morganville, nearly losing him twice as it caught the last moments of a green light and almost leading to him getting T-boned when he ran a red to keep up, but he successfully tailed it to a warehouse near the old harbour overlooking Sauton Point. It was a dingy looking half-forgotten place that looked like it should have been knocked down decades before, watched from all sides by modern security cameras. Morris parked his car a block away, close enough to the nearest cluster of vagrants to maybe tempt one to try something just so he could hurt them for it, and stalked closer through the gloom. Around him the glaur and decay of the swamp reached out and ruined the cameras one by one, and he slipped inside under the cover of comfortable darkness.

Voices carried down from a gantry-mounted office above, two men talking about a football game and complaining about referees, while the truck sat beside ancient-looking crates and pallets that had been dragged out of the way for it. Morris paid the old crates little heed, heading straight for the truck and slipped under the tarpaulin to check on the tree. Overhead the men’s conversation wound down and once started making his way down to check on his load. Seizing the opportunity handed to him, Morris waited for the driver to reach the tarp before grabbing choking him into unconsciousness, the better to question later.

It was when he started looking for the other man that Morris be realised there was something else in the still, silent warehouse beyond the tarpaulin. A rumbling, rasping sound echoed through the darkness, and something moved out of sight accompanied by the sharp sounds of claws on concrete. Whisps of dust outlined a suggestion of an emaciated, predatory frame, sharp edges glinted in the air and the rasping rumbling sound cohered into a voice that rumbled a command to flee into the back of Morris’ skull.

Morris responded with violence, raining blows that would have felled men or cracked concrete into the thing and it responded in kind, his blood revealing razor fangs and rending claws as it torn into his flesh. The creature shrugged of blow after blow, only being stunned for a moment when Morris started shattering crates and barrels against the thing, but it was too much for him. Bleeding from multiple wounds and barely keeping the thing from his throat, he felt something. A surge of warmth welling up around him, a protective, all-encompassing, hungry love that whispered in the back of his mind that not every fight need be won. With the last dregs of his strength, Morris reached out to the tangled maze of the Basement, dragged himself and the driver across the threshold between worlds and fell into unconsciousness.

Consequences

The next thing Morris knew was hunger. Raw aching Hunger, like a pit had opened in his heart and everything with any measure of value had fallen into it. He was face-down in the boxing ring in his gym, it was night but he could not tell any more than that. His phone was dead, stinking of swamp mud and salt water, and his car was back in Morganville. So he started walking, anything to distract himself from the Hunger. After a few blocks he spotted the swastikas and the Hunger rose in pitch.

Neonazi punks, wannabe badasses, it would feel so good to break them down and remind them how weak they were. So he did just that. Walked into Jack’s and found every excuse he could to start beating on the punks. The Hunger still gnawed and roared and the punks soon went for weapons when they couldn’t stop him with fists, so he pitched a scrawny one into the cluster trying to surround him and stalked out. Then for good measure, as they tried to pile out after him, he scooped up one of the cars parked outside and threw it into the bar.

Still hungry. Still so damned Hungry. Over the next few hours Morris carved a path of violence across the city toward Morganville, breaking every petty little shithead or wannabe tough he crossed paths with, along with any poor bastards who happened to cross his path at the wrong moment. It was not enough. It felt like it would never be enough. Then he found where his car had been, where it wasn’t any more, and he became actually angry. He unleashed his wrath on the nearby vagrants until one them coughed up a name, and he finally had a target to vent his rage upon.

Following Threads

(Set after Down Among the Worms)

Diana spent the evening after she and Jane visited to Presidents Row digging into research. Nothing she could find about the Row suggested it was anything important, just another faded little neighbourhood ripe for redevelopment into something actually useful. She found herself going over what Suleiman had said about having a hand in the Alabaster Building. Some cursory research revealed the building had been built by Coulter & Matheison, a prestigious firm responsible for a number of Blackmouth’s more distinctive buildings, but no-one resembling Suleiman appeared anywhere connected to the firm. The old school they had met in was easy enough to mind once she put her mind to it, retracing the trip there and the view over the city identified it as Gilchrist College, an old private school on the hills overlooking the city, though it appeared far less dilapidated and ill-used in photographs than in person. And again, no traces to Suleiman, nor to Coulter & Matheison.

That would have to do for now. It was time to start driving down property prices in President’s Row, and she knew just the person to do what was necessary. She braced herself and dialed the number. Carter picked up after the third ring, his oily charm seeping through the phone as he greeted Diana by name. By a diminutive of her old name, just like he used to. Of course, he would love to meet up with her. It was late but he was always happy to make time for an old friend. They met in the shadows of Lockham, in the alleyway they used to smoke in, out of sight of anyone who cared, and Diana laid out her plan. Carter was to go to the Row and do what he did best, with an aim to make people want to leave and be more willing to sell up. He was hesitant, he didn’t really want to cross the Patriots but money and a little white lie about getting back together, just like old times, sealed the deal. And maybe some sort of terrible accident would happen to Carter later, if the Patriots didn’t.

She was on the subway back to her apartment when she overheard a pair gawking at footage of an incident in Ormwood. The angle was poor and the footage worse but it almost looked like a car thrown into the front of a building. The gawkers were deep in discussion about whether it was viral marketting for a film or an ARG, but Diana recognised that hideous strength. Morris. She stepped out of the subway at the next station, barely feeling the world shift around her as she walked through the empty station. The twisting pipes of the Basement rose and fell and she found herself on the remnants of harbour where Morganville met the Atlantic, and saw Morris dunking a mass of chains wrapped about a squirming, pleading figure. She demanded he let the man go, and Morris did just that, throwing poor Jimmy Fingers into the icy waters of the Atlantic.

This had to stop. First Jane and her indiscretion at the Ormwood Development soiree, and now cars being thrown into bars and this. Morris shrugged at Diana and didn’t deny it. Jimmy’s fate had been enough to finally fill the hole in his soul and he could think about more than Hunger. In his eyes they were neo-nazis and deserved worse, but maybe things could be less open. He made no promises except to try to keep her name out of it, because that was what she was really concerned about.

People Appearing

Morris Mayfair – bit off more than he could chew and carved a swath of revenge to make up for it.
A truck driver, beaten unconscious by Morris then lost in his Lair
Several members of the Aryan Legion, assaulted by Morris.
Diana Graves – sought information and leverage to aid her climb to the top.
Suleiman (Mentioned) – information and leverage over him proved hard to find.
Carter (First Appearance) – Old “friend” of Diana’s. Enlisted to instigate trouble in Presidents Row.
The Patriots (Mentioned) – gang operating in Presidents Row.
Jimmy Fingers (First Appearance) – Morganville vagrant, stole Morris’ car for meth. Drowned in chains.

Locations

Jack’s – bar on the edge of Ormwood and Manton, frequented by local Aryan Legion types. Where Morris started his night’s rampage.
The backstreets of Lockham.
A worn down warehouse in the really bad part of Morganville, where Morris tailed the truck carrying the Tree to.

Parlor Games

By BlackmouthChronicler

On 2020-04-18

In chronicles

Chapter 2 of Shadows and Loss

<- One Quiet Evening | Thread and Chains ->

The Unfortunate Mr Rosetti

After clearing up the gym as best they could, Franco and Jayden took the remains of their victims and of Megan Blaine to the pickup under the cover of night. They drove the lot to a forgettable alley in the Montgomery Projects where Jayden could get a good look at the bodies and see what answers he could uncover from Ms. Blaine. Her body was fresh, no more than a day dead, the soft tissues were entirely missing without any disturbance of the skin save for two large wounds that resembled deep knife wounds and smelled most strongly of the acrid scent Franco had noticed. The three suits had nothing in their pockets save rolls of small-denomination bills and a single playing card – a Jack of the same style as the one in Ms Blaine’s purse. No leads, but at least it went a little way toward funds for repairing the gym. They set the pickup and bodies alight and walked into the night to seek further leads.

Without any other ideas, they tried the number on the card again. A landline. Who used a landline these days? But that meant they could look him up in phone records, so they did and found a Gregor Rosetti and the number listed with an address for a small apartment in the backstreets of Fallon Heights. The scoped out the area and Jayden headed to the front door while Franco scaled the fire escape and lurked near the windows in Urhan form to better sniff out what was going on.

Jayden was able to talk his way in by claiming Megan was a client of his and he was concerned because he had not heard from her in several days. Rosetti, a wiry nervous wreck of a young man, was happy to be able to speak up, concerned as he was about her. With only a little prompting from Jayden, he talked about the Ladybird Room, his own experience of losing money and having to work as a dealer to make it back, with a side hustle of giving people cards to get them in. He was sure something unpleasant was going on, organised crime or something similar, but “Mr G” had made it clear he had not had a choice.

All was going so well until he caught sight of the huge wolf watching from the fire escape, one paw scrabbling at the window to open enough of a gap to catch the scents of the room. Rosetti stammered, stumbled and collapsed as fear-fuelled adrenaline accelerated the effects of the venom that Franco smelled in his veins. The same smell that had been in Blaine’s body and on the fangs of the suits. Only Jayden’s quick thinking and an unconventional application of Essence manipulation saved Rosetti’s life and the two slipped away while he was still unconscious, taking with them several Ladybird Room playing cards from the set on Rosetti’s kitchen counter.

At the Ladybird Room

The Ladybird Room turned out to be a nondescript door in a forgettable alley on the northern edge of Fallon Heights. The goon on the door had long hair but otherwise dressed identically to the three suits who had attacked the guys in the gym earlier that evening, but a flash of one of the cards from Rosetti’s deck opened the door without him taking a second look at the wolves in human clothing.

Inside the door was a study in old money written in shades of red and black. Two dozen people were gathered about antique tables, crimson-backed cards and crumpled dollar bills splayed out on worn black leather and of age-stained mahogany. Several more of the suited men stood at the fringes of the room, one serving drinks from behind a long hardwood bar while his comrades leaned by doors or against the curtains of burgundy velvet that lined the walls. Soft classical music wafts through air thick with tobacco smoke, old beer and the stink of desperation. A few heads turned as the door opened but most were too invested in their games to pay it any heed.

Jayden and Franco split up, found seats at games and started to play to lose, hoping to attract Mr G’s attention and be offered the same deal as Rosetti. An hour of ‘terrible luck’ later and one of the suits rested a meaty hand on Jayden’s shoulder, inviting him into the back room to speak to the boss. Mr G. turned out to be a beetle-eyed old man so corpulent that he barely fitted behind the heavy desk that dominated the back room, and he offered Jayden a chance to work off the extensive debt he owed the house, starting in two weeks time when the Ladybird Room would next open.

They discussed the plan over a drink afterward and decided that twoweeks was too long to leave things, so instead would come back the next morning and get the drop on whoever might be there, when there were less of the Herd present to see things they should not.

The next morning, it took several minutes of knocking to get attention of one of the suits inside. In a moment of low cunning, he invited Franco in to look for the mobile phone he said he had misplaced the night before, inviting him to join them for ‘breakfast’. Any intention of taking advantage of this poor lost intruder quickly disappeared as Franco unleashed the wolf and tore the door open for Jayden to join him inside. And all was chaos and destruction. The suits dogpiling Jayden only succeeded in provoking him into rage and the end of those who attacked him, while the others assaulted Franco with silver blades and cut burning wounds into his flesh, only for him to dive headlong into kuruth.

Even armed with silver, the suits were naught to the power of two enraged uratha and the room was soon quiet save for Mr G in the next room, watching and fuming. He cursed them in English and the First Tongue before exploding out of his skin into an immense nightmare of chitin, claws and hissing chelicerae. Blood, pain and vengeance filled the air. The thing that had been Mr G crushed Jayden in an immense claw, shearing bone and flesh like paper before tossing him the length of the room, before gutting Franco with a misshapen collection of secondary limbs. In fury, Franco tore the offending claws from G’s thorax, but before they hit the ground they had been caught by Jayden and driven deep into the spider-thing’s body, smashing his chitinous carapace apart and shattering into a thousand fragmentary spider things. The rage destroyed it all, room and spiders and all.

PANEL 1: Two men look uncertainly toward a wolf that is winking at them through a window.
PANEL 2: Two men talking while drinking.
PANEL 3: Two werewolves fihting with an arachnid monster. — In summary…

People Appearing

Franco Larsen – solved problems in the most direct way possible.
Jayden Clearwater – talked his way to the Ladybird Room, and to talk to its boss.
Gregor Rosetti (First Identifed) – terrified that poor Megan had got into trouble, afraid for his own skin, dying.
Several men with spiders in their heads.
Gamblers and dealers in the Ladybird Room
Mr G. – Had more than just a spider in his head.

Locations

A dead-end alley in Montgomery Projects.
An apartment in Fallon Heights.
The Ladybird Room.

Down Among the Worms

By BlackmouthChronicler

On 2020-04-07

In chronicles

Chapter 3 of Beneath Cold Boughs

< – In Bloom | Seeping Through the Skin ->

Discoveries

After some final discussion with Suleiman, the three left the unsettling silence of the abandoned school. The lights and life of the city bloomed about them as they drove through the gates, leaving a very ordinary looking building behind, nothing like the abandoned relic they had met Suleiman in.

The next morning, Jane had her first day of work at Condor Acquistions and was privy to Diana’s grand plan to find whoever owned what throughout the city so that she could leverage and buy them out, climbing to the top rather than “scurrying in the dirt and ruins” as she saw ‘fools’ like Suleiman doing. To that end, Jane was set to work finding suitable property to acquire in Harton, Lockham and Manton and she gladly interpretted that as an excuse to get out of te office.

It was in the breezy, boho streets of Harton that she smelled it. The sharp-sweet tang of suffering hung in the long shadows cast by the great sycamore in the heart of Moth Park and as Jane drew closer a half-seen mirage found her – two figures, low and loping between two and four limbs, chased a third, a woman, through foliage and hedgerow until they set savagely upon her. Unsettled by the experience, Jane caught the eye of a concerned passerby, a congenial older man who introduced himself as Peter Grey, who had seen nothing of Jane’s vision but listend to her words without judgement. He grew quiet when she asked about strange thing happening in the park, before telling her about a girl who had been found dead in the culvert a couple of years previously. Such a tragedy, dying so young.

After the conversation died and they parted ways, Jane continued into Harton, noting buildings and wondering how exactly she was supposed to find places for Condor to buy when she caught sight of a bookshop. Something about it caught her eye and called to her, and she stepped inside. Within was an eclectic mix of academia, literature and esoterica, a scattering of browsing customers, and a tall woman who Jane knew was like her. After letting Jane call in Diana, the woman – who introduced herself as Nicole Morgan, owner of the White Raven – spun a tale about being “monsters, beasts of nightmares and legends wrapped in human flesh”, of Hungers and the need to control them lest be rules by them, and of a Dark Mother who they were all Children of. Jane was interested but Diana was nonplussed, having no time to waste on superstitions when she was running late for a meeting.

Welcome to the Row

That meeting was with Megan Roth of Ormwood Development to discuss a contract for Condor involving properties in Presidents Row. Ormwood Development had interest in the area as part of a later phase of the Ormwood Development Project. Officially, the project was for management of several properties in the Row, but if people in the area were to happen to sell their properties to Condor then Ormwood Development would be happy to buy them in turn for a suitable markup. After Diana’s expertise in handling things in Willowgate, it was felt that such talent for closing would be well suited to this contract.

Sensing a chance to twist things to her own advantage, Diana took advantage of her new gifts to squeeze further details and a far better deal out of Megan. If she could acquire the commercial properties in the block within a month, Ormwood Development would buy them back at 45% above market value. Diana dismissed Megan once the deal was agreed and luxuriated in the sense of power she had exerted. Feeding on the weak felt good.

That afternoon, Jane and Diana took their first excursion to the Row to get a feel for the area Condor would have to acquire. It was a worn down stretch of Ormwood on the far side of the Interstate from Willowgate, full of cheap retail and cheaper housing decorated with Stars and Stripes gang signs. The block ODP wanted was one of a dozen that formed an impromptu retail strip, backed by unimportant tenements and duplexes and dotted with empty lots.

They started with the dingy bar on the corner and immediately felt the air sour when they appeared. Out of place with too much money for somewhere like this. The barkeep tried to talk to them but was crushed into silenced by an empowered glare from Diana. Attempts to find weak points to attack only soured things and earned glares from a stern-faced old man proudly wearing a MAGA hat. They moved on, trying the pawn shop instead and found Diana’s planned patter getting called bullshit by the brutish man behind the counter.

The barber was the only one to listen to Diana’s proposal. A young man with a perfectly trimmed beard who was interested in the idea of selling so that he could set up shop somewhere with more money than the Row. That would have been enough to count as a good start if Diana’s inhuman senses had not seen something other to the man, a hint of sanguine chains about his neck and the copper tang of blood on his breath. What was happening in the Row?

People Appearing

Jane Barrows – Encountered strange experiences and people in Harton.
Diana Graves – Explored new opportunities in Presidents Row for Ormwood Development.
Peter Grey (First appearance) – Genial older man met in Moth Park. Concerned by Jane’s reaction to something he could not see.
Nicole Morgan (First Appearance) – Eerie bookstore owner. Encountered by Jane by chance when she stumbled into the White Raven, told Jane and Diana something of themselves.
Megan Roth – Formalised the Presidents Row contract with Condor and was squashed under Diana’s Hunger.
Joe Halligan (First appearance) – Owner of Halligans bar in Presidents Row, shocked into silence by Diana in an effort to force a sale later.
Jayden Green (First appearance) – Employee of 5 Circle Couriers, resisted having a wedge driven between himself and his boss by Diana and Jane.
Tom Paulsen (First appearance) – Pawnbroker in Presidents Row. Talked big, made implied threats and called Diana a bullshit artist.
Emanuel Farelli (First appearance) – Barber in Presidents Row. Pleasant fellow, ameanable to selling to expand business.

Locations

Moth Park – worn-down inner city park dominated by an immense sycamore, where Jane saw afterimages of a woman hunted and met Peter Gray.
White Raven – independent book shop in Harton, large selection of classics, academia and “esoterica”.
Garcia’s – hipsterish sandwich house in Harton.
Presidents Row
- Halligans – dingy corner bar
- Paulsen Loans – study-built pawn shop.
- Farelli’s – family barber shop.

One Quiet Evening

By BlackmouthChronicler

On 2020-04-05

In chronicles

Chapter 1 of Shadows and Loss

| Parlor Games ->

Discovery

It started mid evening. Franco was closing up the gym after the last of the attendees had finished for the day, helped out by Terry, off-duty and looking for something to do. They had just started to lock up when Franco noticed it. The high pitched whine of an alarm insistently telling a driver who wasn’t there that they’d left their keys in the ignition. There was a pickup sitting down the road, just short of the junction, too clean and new to be local. Franco decided to take a look, catching the scent of something sharp under the lingering diesel fumes coming from a crumpled garbage bag in the truck’s bed. The bag was too small to be a body so he split it open to get a better look and was greeted with crumpled remains, emaciated skin and bone still wearing a nice cocktail dress, blonde hair framing an eyeless face, all fuming with that acrid acid stink.

While Terry finished losing his lunch, Franco turned to the rest of the truck. It was as empty as a rental, except for a woman’s purse stuffed under the driver’s seat. Inside was an ID for a Megan Blaine, with a face that shared the same bone structure and hair as the remains in the bag, as well as a single playing card with a name ‘Gregor R.’ and a phone number. Terry called a friend in BPD dispatch to run the plates on the truck while Franco tried the number on the card. The pickup’s plates came back clean and listed as owned by a Jack Weatherall of 823 Rosewater Street, while Franco got a jittery man on the other end who denied knowing anything and hung up quickly.

Attention

Without any more leads, the two went to get Jayden to get an expert’s opinion. This was the sort of thing he was supposed to know about. Franco rebagged the remains of Ms Blaine and placed her in the footwell of the truck, locked it and took the keys to secure the evidence. Wisely done, for as he, Terry and Jayden returned to the gym they saw people lurking by the pickup. A trio of big guys in dark suits and shades stood around the abandoned vehicle, paying no heed to passers by as they watched the surrounding buildings. After a several minutes they turned as one and headed for the gym, where one of their number demanded the keys to the truck with thick, slurring speech. Franco played innocent but the men were insistent and soon became violent.

A brawl erupted as the men pushed into the gym to reclaim the keys. The pack limited themselves to fists and improvised weapons, giving as good as they got until a lucky blow from Franco shattered one of the suits’ glasses to reveal eyeless sockets beneath, a hundred pinpricks of crimson glittering deep in the recesses of the skull. With his disguise shattered, the leader growled a gutteral order to kill and the suits shifted tactics, grappling and biting with long arthropoid fangs from mouths split open too wide for mere human, each bite pumping burning venom into their foes.

Rage stirred in Jayden at this monstrous inhumanity and the wolf came out, sending the suits skittering back in knowing fear. Franco followed suit and the two tore the three things that pretended to be men apart, one claw shearing a skull open to reveal a bloated spider-thing squatting in the partially hollowed cranium. A second blow eviscerated the thing before it could escape.

Even as their foes lay in ruin at his feet, Jayden could not pull himself from kuruth and descended into the hard rage. Franco tried to fight back or to escape and found himself falling into the rage as well.

The two awoke in the mangled ruin of the gym. Wood splintered, metal shattered and the hot wet taste of fresh meat in their mouths. Jayden retched and felt two human fingers fall into his hand, one still bearing Franco’s wedding ring.

Panel 1: A large man opens a bag and is unsettled by the contents.
Panel 2: The man from panel 1 and another man hide in a gym from a third man who is looking for keys.
Panel 3: The second man from Panel 2 spits out human fingers. — In Summary…

People Appearing

Franco Larsen (First Appearance) – Trying not to get involved until someone dumped a body on his turf.
Terry Burton (First Appearance) – Unready for the horror and destruction that comes with facing prey.
Jayden Clearwater (First Appearance) – Lost himself in the rage.
Megan Blaine (First Appearance) – Her remains found bagged in an abandoned pickup.
“Gregor R.”(First Appearance) – A voice on the other end of a phone. Nervous, anxious, afraid.
Three large men in dark suits with spiders inside their skulls.

Locations

Larsen’s Gym – a small gym in Merritt, north Blackmouth.

Shadows and Loss

By BlackmouthChronicler

On 2020-04-04

In chronicles

Shadows and Loss was a short chronicle set in Blackmouth that ended due to the Covid Pandemic of 2020-. It follows the story of a small pack as they carve their place in the concrete jungle of the City of Arches, wrestling with urges and mysteries beyond the understanding of the mortal herd.

The Pack

Jayden Clearwater: Haunted former fraudulent occultist now facing the reality of the Hisil and the complexities of being an Ithaeur of the Hirfathra Hissu.

Franco Larsen: Ex-prize fighter turned gym-owner, newly changed Uratha not yet sure of his place in the Hunt.

Terry Burton: Lantern-jawed fire fighter, unlucky in love and trying to find a place with people who understand him.

Carter Johnson: Monumentally angry young man trying to cope with the complications and aftermath of his rage.

Chapters

One Quiet Evening – A quiet evening is disrupted by a grisly discovery.
Parlor Games – In which leads are followed and wolves are invited into the spider’s den.
Threads and Chains – In which a simple haunting proves to be anything but.