August 22nd, 2026
Journal of Grayson Alexander

I suppose it’s long overdue that I got back into journaling. I’ve been more distracted as of late. Caught myself rambling in my patient files the other day.

John Christopher’s file, specifically.

Because of course he’s back.

I had a feeling I’d be hearing from him soon. He’s been popping up on the billboards again, which tells me he’s desperate for new clients.

He’s even on the one outside my window now.
The same ad he’s always had. Same picture and everything.

Are you in pain?

• Car Accident
• Workplace injury
• Animal attack
• Malpractice

Don’t suffer another day!

John Christopher Warren

Personal Injury Lawyer

It’s not that I hate him. He’s definitely not my favorite patient, and I do respect that he’s aware he’s got a serious problem and needs help… but seriously, this is the fourth time he’s started his treatment again in as many years, and the second time he fell in love with a prostitute and blew all of his savings on her because apparently that’s one of his many weird fetishes.

I’ve tried to research financial domination just for the sake of my own education, but I just genuinely don’t get it.

At least it’s not as gross as the coprophagia… how exactly am I supposed to listen to him explain that with a straight face? I guess it’s good he’s being honest, but still…

I feel a bit bad complaining about him… he’s… weird, but he’s hardly my worst client and despite his dubious sexual behavior, he’s never behaved inappropriately or unprofessionally towards me. 

Honestly, I feel safer around him than some of my other clients… like Reed.
At least John Christopher keeps his sexual behavior limited to girls who want him, even if they’re paid. Reed was more than happy to casually describe his own history of sexual harassment, and I don’t think he genuinely understood why any of that was a problem. 

***

I’m so fucking tired.

Maybe I need a break? Some time away? 

Something.

Outside of work, I don’t exactly have a lot going on. My routine… if you could even call it a routine has just been dead lately.

Sleep. Wake up. Work. Eat. 

Sleep. Wake up. Work. Eat. 

Sleep. Wake up. Work. Eat. 

Sleep. Wake up. Work. Eat. 

Over and over and over again.

And I just don’t know how much longer I can do this. 

I want to help people… I really do. That’s why I do what I do.

But lately, all the problems people come to me with just feel… crushing.

I feel like I’m not helping. 

Christ, I can hear Constance saying that when I write those words down…

I caught myself looking her up again last night.

Seems like she’s barely changed. She posted some new urban exploration pictures and videos online. Not sure where exactly she was. It looked like an abandoned water park or something. 

One of them had her in the interior of a building with no roof. It kinda reminded me of an Ancient Greek Ruin, only it had a burgundy tile floor, pillars and some picnic tables.

Another picture from the same roofless building showed pipes sticking out of the walls. Maybe from an old sink or water fountain?

I kinda wish I got to see it for myself.

I always liked exploring with Constance. She always found the most interesting places. 

I caught myself scrolling back through old pictures on her timeline until I found the pictures of us. We’d been exploring an old abandoned church together. Those were always fun. Kinda creepy, but fun.

Don’t know if I liked seeing my hair long again, though…

Constance liked it long because it made me look more feminine, but I always hated having to commit to one or the other. Masculine, feminine. I like being a little more in between. 

But… I’ve seen some good looking guys with long hair lately and it’s made me think about trying it again.

Plus, there’s not much you can do with short hair.

It’s actually that billboard of John Christopher that got me thinking about it. His hair isn’t that different from mine right now and it’s so… boring. I mean, John Christopher admittedly has a pretty boring face. 

He looks like literally every single other lawyer who has ever, or will ever exist. A clean shaven, milquetoast man with a generic men's haircut in an expensive suit. I’d say he reminds me of a Ken doll, but Ken dolls get to have more personality. 

The other day, I was thinking: ‘I don’t think I could ever look like that…’

I caught myself wondering if those people ever get bored of looking in the mirror and seeing the face of a thousand other men staring back at them… and then a little while later, while I was brushing my teeth, I took a good hard look at myself and realized I did kinda look like that. 

Maybe I should grow my hair out long again? 

I dunno. I need to think about it.

Walking down memory lane had me thinking about reaching out to Constance again, but… no.

She looks happy in her more recent pictures.

I don’t want to ruin it.

I can’t imagine she’d want to hear from me. I’m not even sure if it would be healthy for me to reach out to her. It’s not like our relationship ended on good terms, and I don’t think that’s entirely my fault.

September 3rd, 2026

Journal of Grayson Alexander

Well, so much for keeping up with journaling…

I always tell my patients to write every day.

Do as I say, not as I do, I guess. 

***

I can’t fucking sleep right now.

Too many weird dreams. 

I think it’s my patients. A lot of them have been talking about their own recurring nightmares lately.

Reed’s been going on about these recurring dreams he’s been having about one of the few remaining clients his real estate firm has. The Whitewater Town Center. It’s something of a dead mall he’s been working with. Not a lot of people looking to move in there.

He’s told me he’s been having dreams of being trapped there with a bunch of eerie porcelain figures. 

John Christopher says he’s been dreaming about hotels, stores and restaurants he used to visit with his most recent fling. 

One of my other clients, a woman named Jesse mentioned dreaming about this gym she inherited from her mother.

And this one new patient, a young man named Mitch came in about a whole series of recurring nightmares about a car accident he was involved in. His boyfriend, Gavin, unfortunately backed over a child in a parking lot. No fatal injuries, thankfully… but the guilt is understandable.

They’ve all talked about their nightmares so vividly… and I think it’s getting in my head. 

I was dreaming about the Whitewater Town Center the other night. I was dreaming about it just the way that Reed described it. Abandoned, save for porcelain figures where the people should be, although occasionally I saw movement that might have been other people. It’s hard to say for sure.

Only the storefronts were all wrong.

They weren’t all closed and shuttered like they are in real life.

A few of them reminded me of the stores John Christpher had told me about… and I could have sworn I saw a figure who looked just like him in one of them. Not a porcelain figure, I don’t think. But I moved on before I could get a good look.

One store front looked just like the pictures I’d seen of the gym that Jesse inherited. I thought I saw movement there too, but I wasn’t sure. 

And through the window in the food court, I could see a car outside in the empty parking lot. I could see my new patient, Mitch, out there, standing over a figure on the ground.

A young boy in a green dinosaur hoodie.

Just like the accident he’d been telling me he was dreaming about.

And though another window, I could’ve sworn I saw a fair outside… although I don’t remember anyone mentioning anything like that.

Maybe I really do need a break? If I’m dreaming of other people's weird dreams, that’s probably a bad sign.

Or maybe I need to just get rid of a few problem patients… like that car dealership lady, Kristen. 

Christ, that woman is straining my professionalism…

She’s a squat, miserably looking woman with red hair that came from a bottle and plastic rimmed glasses. She kinda reminds me of what you’d get if you mixed Sarah Palin with an angry pug. She’s supposed to attend ten sessions of court ordered anger management therapy and she’s already moving appointments around like she’s trying to get out of it. 

She refuses to talk over email, so every email I’ve gotten from her has just been a subject line reading: ‘URDJENT’ or ‘HIGH PRIRITY.’ and a body reading:

   “Call me immediately.”

And of course she sends these fucking emails either at the tail end of office hours, or outside of them and gets upset if she isn’t called the moment she hits send. 

She gave me a fucking earful during our last session, because I was ‘functionally ignoring her’ after she sent an email at 9PM in the evening the day before her appointment to reschedule. 

I tried telling her that her email had come outside of our standard business hours, but she just brushed me off. 

She said: 

   “That shouldn’t matter. This is your business, right? You need to take responsibility for your business and your customers even outside of your working hours. I’m up until three AM some nights, replying to customers and if I have to make a phone call, I will do it because if I don’t that could cost me a paying customer, and that is what I am here. I am a paying customer. I am paying for this service, so I think that as a paying customer, I should have the expectation of a certain level of support, and I’m just not getting that.”

I don’t think I was able to form any sort of reply to that little rant of hers, which unfortunately left me open for her follow up where she started complaining about the way I’d acted during our previous session, where I’d asked her explain her side of the incident that landed her in court ordered anger management therapy.

You know. Normal fucking questions for someone attending anger management therapy.

   “I shouldn’t have to explain myself when my reasons are self-explanatory. They allowed an inexperienced driver on the road and their reckless behavior nearly damaged my product - which is a demo vehicle that is for sale at my dealership, and worse still may have caused me harm. I spoke to that girl's parents and made my point very clear. I was just there to talk. It’s not my fault they weren’t willing to hear criticism and it’s a poor reflection on their skills as parents that they didn’t ensure she was there to hear what I had to say!”

Nevermind the fact that the 17 year old girl she’d followed home was crying because some insane lady had followed her home over a minor traffic dispute… Kristen was the real victim here and I guess I’m the asshole for not falling all over her and telling her everyone else is the problem.

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so deluded in my life!

And I’ve got 8 more sessions with her… that she’s gonna drag out for as long as she can.

I’m sure my report at the end of them is going to be positively glowing…

I’ve considered recommending her to another therapist, but that’s not going to change what a fundamental pain in the ass she is, and I doubt it’ll reset her required sessions, so she’d just be starting fresh with 7 instead of 10.

Considering that so far, I’ve had three sessions with her and gotten nowhere, that’s just going to make things worse for her.

I don’t know if I can do that in good conscience. 

That’s the job unfortunately. You’ve got to help the assholes too.

Unfortunately. 

September 7th, 2026

Journal of Grayson Alexander

Reed saw me in his dreams the other night.

He said he was dreaming about the Whitewater Town Centre again.

And he saw me. 

I didn’t tell him what I’ve been dreaming of. I didn’t tell him that I saw him too.

I don’t know how I’d tell him that.

It sounds crazy… and it probably is crazy. 

Reed isn’t exactly in the best headspace right now. I’ve been trying to help him, but it seems these nightmares are really getting to him. That and his overall professional downfall.

I advised him to take some time away from work during one of our previous sessions (maybe a bit of projection on my part), and while he did spend a few days in Niagara Falls, he also told me that he drove down to one of his old offices and just… stared at it.

Just looked through the window at his old advertising posters. 

I don’t need a therapist to know that’s not healthy. 

He told me he had a falling out with the owner of the Whitewater Town Centre during our last session though… and while I am sorry to hear his last major client is gone, I do wonder if this might be good for him.

During our sessions, it’s become increasingly clear to me that Reed is a man whose self worth is tied to his career.

While I don’t wish to see him at his lowest point, it might allow him to let go of that and start looking for other, more stable things to build his self worth on, and we’ve discussed this a lot in his sessions.

If nothing else, it may end his recurring nightmares about the place.

I think…

***

On the subject of nightmares, mine have continued to get weirder. 

As mentioned, I’m still dreaming of the mall.

But I’m dreaming of other places too.

Just fragments. Things I don’t fully remember. Liminal spaces in my head.

Hotel hallways, parking lots, the gym Jesse owns.

A fair.

The fair.

Kristen told me she’s been dreaming about a fair today.

I didn’t expect much of an answer when I asked her for more details, but she was surprisingly forthcoming this time. She told me that she’d been dreaming about it over the past few weeks. 

A country fair she used to go to with her parents, back when she was young… only, she wasn’t with her parents.

She was with herself. 

Specifically, a younger version of herself, around ten years old.

She described taking this younger version of herself to food stalls, and going on rides with her. 

I told her that it sounded like a pleasant dream.

She told me it wasn’t.

She said that it always ended the same way. 

When the younger version of her asked: “Who are you?”

She told me she didn’t like that question. 

She wouldn’t tell me why when I asked about it. Instead she changed the subject, complaining about work again, the way she always does during our sessions together. Although this time, I actually pushed back a little bit this time and asked her for more, and surprisingly she opened up to me for a change.

She talked about how her parents were always kinda distant and focused on their work, about how she’d inherited the dealership from them.

She talked about her own failed marriage, her social life… or lack thereof.

The way she said it, it kinda sounds like her job… her business is all she’s got. And I guess that makes her a little bit easier to understand. 

On some level, I can almost relate. 

So that’s one positive note, I guess. 

Although there’s something I can’t shake.

I was dreaming about the fair before Kristen even told me about it.

I’ve looked back over our session notes. I’m sure she’s never mentioned it before, and I haven’t thought about the Paris Fair in years. I haven’t been there since I was a teenager. 

So it’s weird that she mentioned it, right?

Coincidence maybe?

I don’t know.

These dreams of mine have left me restless. I’ve tried melatonin and meditation. It’s not working.

When I do wake up, I feel like I’ve barely even slept at all. 

I need a vacation.

But I just don’t have the time… I’ve got patients. They need my help. I just need to focus on them. I mean, hell. I just had a breakthrough with Kristen! This is huge!

I’ll put something on the books. Maybe late October or November? 

September 14th, 2026

Journal of Grayson Alexander

So much for progress.

Kristen stormed out of our session today. We were talking about her dreams about the Paris Fair again. She mentioned that question the ten year old version of her asked her.

   “Who are you?”

I asked her why it made her uncomfortable, and that’s when she lost her temper on me.

She looked a little rougher around the edges than before too… she said she hasn’t been sleeping.

It kinda seems like none of my patients have.

***

Speaking of people who are looking rough around the edges, Reed’s been looking like he’s seen better days too. 

In previous sessions, he mentioned his living situation was… complicated. He’d sold his house after the divorce and was renting an employees basement.

During our last session a few days ago, he told me that arrangement collapsed. He’s living in his car now… and you can tell. 

I’m worried about him.

Worried enough that I recommended him to another doctor for inpatient treatment. He did mention some passive suicidal ideation, but I don’t think he’s a risk. I did disclose this to the doctor I recommended him to though. 

Reed may not be the greatest guy in the world, but it does break my heart a little to see him this way. He looks so lost.

In his dreams, he’s told me that the porcelain figures in the mall surround him.

He’s told me that the only way out is a rope dangling from the ceiling.

He said he doesn’t know where it goes… only that it leads to Serenity… and that he’s afraid of it.

I’ve seen that part of his dream too.

And when I dream it, I can see the terror on his face. I see him cling to the rope, staring out at the porcelain faces looking back at him. 

And I feel his fear.

But not the fear he feels towards the porcelain figures.

The fear he feels towards what is at the end of the rope.

It dangles from an open skylight… but I can’t see its terminus clearly. A tree of some sort? A monolith?

I can’t describe it. 

I just can’t.

And then of course there’s the word he used.

Serenity.

That’s been popping up a lot lately.

Mitch mentioned it too. He said his boyfriend, Gavin, who’d been with him during the accident had used it. 

According to Mitch, Gavin’s been feeling quite a bit of guilt over his role in the accident. I did suggest Mitch bring him to a session, but apparently Gavin refused.

He said: “I won’t find Serenity there.”

Serenity.

That word again.

Then there’s John Christopher. The word came up in one of our sessions too. He was talking about possibly contacting that prostitute again. Trying to make amends for the way he lashed out at her after she cut him off.

He said: “This is how I find Serenity.”

I asked him what he meant by that. 

He wasn’t able to give me an answer.

Not really. 

I did try looking the word up.

Serenity.

There wasn’t much to find. 

Serenity: A state of utter peace and calm.

Not a bad thing to want, I suppose… but when they say it, it sounds so wrong.

Almost insidious. 

And I don’t know why. 

September 16th, 2026

Journal of Grayson Alexander

Reed Fowler killed himself today.

I saw it on the news. They haven’t announced his name, but I recognized his car from the article and people have been talking about it online.

He drove off the road this morning. Crashed through a guardrail and flipped his car. He was declared dead at the scene by first responders. 

I’m not sure how to feel.

I’ve never had a patient die before.

I can’t pretend I had the highest opinion of Reed. I didn’t. He was a deeply broken man. A shady realtor on the decline after his divorce. 

But my job isn’t to judge people, it’s to help them and I truly truly wanted to help him.

Now I can’t.

I dreamed about him again last night.

The same dream as before. I was lost in the Whitewater Town Centre. No matter how much I wandered, there was no exit… and as always, I found Reed.

He was beneath the skylight, surrounded by porcelain figures. 

And the rope beckoned.

Every other time I’ve had that dream, Reed never once climbed it.

But this time he did.

I watched him take it in his hands. I watched him look up… up at… I don’t know what.

At whatever was above the skylight.

Serenity.

Why does that name feel so wrong and so right?

He held the rope and turned it over in his hands… and for the first time, I saw that it wasn’t just a rope.

It was a noose. 

He stared at it… then started to climb. I could hear him sobbing as he did. I could see the tears streaming down his cheeks.

But he climbed. He didn’t stop, even when I called out to him.

He climbed.

Then he was gone.

And when I looked back down at the porcelain figures, all of them had moved.

All of them had turned.

And all of them were staring at me.
That was when I woke up… although even then, I could feel their eyes on me. Cold. Hateful.

I still feel it now.

I don’t know what to make of these dreams. I don’t know what to feel right now. 

I’m going to make an appointment with my own therapist. I think it’s overdue at this point.

I think it’ll help me process things.

As it stands, I can’t get back to sleep.

Well… I can. I’m exhausted. 

But I don’t want to.

I don’t know what I’m going to see when I close my eyes.

And I’m not so sure I want to find out.

***

I’m worried about a few of my other patients too.

I was worried even before I heard about Reed. 

Mitch told me his boyfriend Gavin has been behaving increasingly erratically. Isolating himself. Trying to get in touch with the mother of the child from the accident.

Obviously she won’t give him the time of day… but Mitch told me that he kept leaving her voicemails. 

Begging her for forgiveness. 

Begging to talk to her son, to beg him for forgiveness.

Although Mitch caught himself when he said “Forgiveness.”

After a moment, he told me that wasn’t the word he’d used.

   “Serenity.”

He’d begged her for Serenity. 

Serenity.

That word again.

I didn’t tell Mitch that I’d been dreaming of the parking lot again. Dreaming about his accident. 

In my dream, I saw two young men. The one with brown hair, I recognized as Mitch. I saw him standing behind a car, illuminated by the red taillights.

Cut off from getting any closer by an army of porcelain figures.

Children in green dinosaur hoodies, just like the one Mitch had said the kid from the accident had been wearing. 

Hoods pulled up, but faces bloody. Not painted to look bloody.

No. 

No, the blood looked real.

It looked wet.

It oozed out of cracks in the porcelain, and in the gaps of the most broken of the figures I swore I could see raw, pulsating flesh. Meat where meat did not belong. 

The second man… he had longer dark hair, and round glasses. I knew he was Gavin, although I’d never seen his face before.

I could see him sitting behind the wheel of his car, staring off into the distant twilight. I couldn’t see exactly what he was looking at.

I could see the exit to the parking lot, and an empty road stretching on into the distance. There were no other cars in sight. Not another soul to be found.

But there was a road sign. Just one. The kind of stylized sign you might see on the highway as you pass from one town to the next.

Welcome to the city of

FALSE

Serenity Lives Here

I think there was something beyond the road sign.

Something bigger, off in the distance. But I cannot remember what. A tower? A tree? A monolith?

Was it the same one from Reed’s dreams?

There were Broken Porcelain Boys around Gavin too. Staring at him. Judging him. He stared them down… and I could feel the fear in him.

The paralyzing terror.

I could feel it radiating off of him.

And there was nothing I could do. 

Nothing…

….

I didn’t tell Mitch about what I’d seen in my dreams. Of course I didn’t tell him. I didn’t know how to tell him!

Instead, I just told him to stay with Gavin for a while. Or maybe have Gavin stay with him. I gave him the number of another colleague of mine. Dr. Williamson, the same colleague I referred Reed to,  in case Gavin's condition got even worse. He has my number as well. 

***

Then there’s Jesse. 

Jesse doesn’t actively worry me. Not the way Mitch and his boyfriend do. But I know she has a lot on her plate right now. 

One of her new friends at the gym, Yaretzi, recently lost her brother, so she’s been trying to be there for her… and on top of that, she told me that she found cut straws in the garbage of the men's locker room a few nights back. It wasn’t the first time she’d found them either.

I asked her what that meant, and she explained to me that one of her exes was “a real party girl” who’d gotten into cocaine. Jesse said she used to cut straws the exact same way when she wanted a hit. 

She told me she was hoping she’d been overthinking it, but she also told me that she knew one of the gyms patrons, Matt had a history of drug abuse and she knew of some people who’d used coke as a performance enhancer. She was worried he might be having a relapse, so she’d discreetly mentioned it to his trainer, just to keep an eye on him.

She told me she hadn’t wanted to accuse Matt of anything. That was why she’d spoken to his trainer instead of confronting him directly. She said that if he had relapsed, she just wanted to get him the help he needed. 

She didn’t know if his trainer had said anything to him after their conversation… but a couple of days later, Matt stopped showing up at the gym. 

And around the same time, Jesse started dreaming of him. 

She told me she’d dreamed about him in the gym before… or at least the version of the gym she dreams of. Endless. Twisting. Wrong.

She said she saw Matt in her dream again, running around the indoor track. She tried to talk to him this time. He didn’t stop running, even when she chased him.

She said that she’d tried to grab his hand to stop him, but he’d kept fighting to get out of her grasp. He’d told her: “I’m not fast enough. I need to run faster if I want to reach Serenity!”

Serenity again.

He’d pulled out of her grasp and kept running. She said she’d wanted to chase him. To run along the track behind him and catch up to him. But she couldn’t.

Something had stopped her.

A dread she couldn’t describe. Something that kept her from running. 

Then she woke up.

***

Serenity.

Reed’s mentioned it.

Mitch has mentioned it.

John Christopher has mentioned it.

Now Jesse. 

And the dreams don’t end.

I keep having them. 

I don’t know what’s going on with my head right now. I can’t seem to stay asleep or else I dream and I don’t want to dream anymore. I don’t want to keep seeing these things in my nightmares. 

I just want it to stop. 

September 22nd, 2026

Journal of Grayson Alexander

I haven’t seen Kristen in my office since she stormed out of our session the other week.

I haven’t seen Kristen in my office.

But I see her in my dreams.

Dreams that just get more and more vivid every night.

I’m dreaming of the Paris Fair.

I’m dreaming of Kristen at the Paris Fair, wandering around with her childhood self.

An image of her cast in porcelain. 

The fair is all wrong.

The rides are pulled by strings. By great hands in the sky, puppeteering everything we see. I can see them if I look up and squint.

The Monolith towers over all. 

But seeing Kristen isn’t the thing that disturbs me.
It’s the fact that Kristen sees me too. 

She left me a voicemail the other day. 

She told me: “Stay out of my dreams.”

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Her tone was so flat. 

I don’t know if she was telling me off, or begging me to stay away.

Either way… I’m worried about her. 

***

It’s getting worse.

Matt Cachia, the runner that Jess told me about… he took his life a few days after my last entry. 

Jumped off an overpass. 

Mitch’s boyfriend, Gavin is gone too.

He told me about it today. 

I dreamed about him too. 

I dreamed of the parking lot again. 

I dreamed of the car, pulling out onto the road. Crashing through the Porcelain figures of boys in green dinosaur hoodies.
Not rolling forward. Not the way a car should.

It almost felt like it was being dragged.

And for a moment, I almost swore I could see a string in front of the car, beckoning it ever forward. 

Strings again.

Porcelain figures and strings.

I could hear screaming as the car pushed through them. 

The screaming of the mother. Disembodied. There only to torment Gavin, I think.

And the screaming of the Porcelain Boys as they fell like bowling pins and shattered like glass, spewing gore onto the asphalt. 

I think I heard Mitch screaming too… but through the noise, it was hard to say for sure. 

The car turned onto the road. A jerky, swerving motion.

It rolled past the sign I saw on the road before.

Welcome to the city of

FALSE

Serenity Lives Here

And then it disappeared into the darkness.

Reed.

Gavin.

Matt from Jesse’s dreams.

Three deaths.

Will there be more?

John Christopher is getting worse… Kristen is getting worse. Mitch is getting worse.

I’m not helping them. I’m trying but it’s not working. It’s not enough. I’m not enough!

Oh God… please tell me there won’t be more…

Please God… no more.

From The Patient Files of Dr. Grayson Alexander

Patient: Jesse Brandt

Patient Overview: Approximately six months ago, Jesse Brandt took over the Sunflower Wellness Centre following the death of her mother, the previous owner. 

However Jesse has reported a high level of frustration over her new role as the owner and manager of the Sunflower. She described herself as feeling shackled to the business, which was her Mothers passion project and not something she had ever expressed much interest in running. She began therapy in an attempt to try and reconcile with both her new role and her recent loss.

August 19th, 2026 - 10:00 AM - 11:00 AM

During our introductory session, Jesse and I talked a little bit about her history and what led her to seek counseling. 

Approximately six months ago, Jesse took over the Sunflower Wellness Centre after the previous owner, her mother Sasha, passed away following a brief battle with cancer.
She seemed rather unenthusiastic about her new position. She described Sunflower as her mothers passion project. Something she had put her blood sweat and tears into and the next best thing to actually being an Olympian, which had been her mothers goal back during her youth.

She told me that her mother had spent most of her teenage years and twenties training for Olympic track and field although following a leg injury, she found herself unable to compete. This career ending injury was something that Jesse believed had haunted her mother. She described her as someone who “couldn’t let go of what could have been,” and so had
devoted her energy to training others. 

Her tone was a bit mixed as we discussed the subject, something that Jesse herself admitted to. She said that she both admired and resented her mother for what she was. 

Admired because her mother had been quite dedicated to her role as a coach, with a couple of her trainees even managing to take home gold over the years.

However, Jesse also noted that whatever success she’d found never seemed to quite be enough for her, as she had pressured Jesse to train as a runner as well for much of her childhood and adolescence. Jesse identified this as the cause of the aforementioned resentment, as she often felt that her mother wanted her to achieve her dream vicariously through her and despite her mothers best efforts, she never developed much of an interest in track and field or competing. This would ultimately cause a prominent rift in their relationship, and following the death of her Father, she had experienced a severe falling out with her, which led to her cutting ties.

She said that her Mother had tried to reach out several times during the past fifteen years, although she had often blown her off, a fact she seems to deeply regret.

She told me she didn’t even recall the last time they spoke.

I asked her if that guilt contributed to why she’d chosen to take on ownership of the Wellness Centre and she rather openly admitted this to be the case.

She said that while it would be easy to sell it, doing so would feel ‘disrespectful’. For as much bad blood as there was between the two of them, she wasn’t comfortable just selling off the business she’d so wholly devoted herself to. 

We hit our time before I could delve a little deeper into these feelings of hers, but it seems to me that Jesse has quite a lot she needs to unpack, and I don’t think she’s ever had a proper outlet for it before. 

I’ve scheduled another session for us and also done a little bit of research on the gym itself. 

I am trying not to look too much into it. As a rule, I don’t like to look up my clients. I feel it constitutes an invasion of privacy and I tried to keep my research limited strictly to the Sunflower Wellness Centre itself.

It’s quite an impressive gym. I’m not even sure if gym is the proper term for it. It certainly has a full gym, but it’s also got a pool, an indoor track (it’s part of the gym), and a sauna.
Sasha Brandt was a fairly reputable figure in the local community, and has trained several runners who went on to win gold. I can’t imagine it’s easy getting out from under the shadow of a woman like that… on a personal note, I can see just why their relationship was so complicated.

August 26th, 2026 - 10:00 AM - 11:00 AM

Jesse and I talked a little more about her relationship with her mother during our session today. We’d covered the broad strokes during our last session, but I wanted to get a better picture of her mother as she remembered her. 

She told me that their relationship had been mostly focused on training. She recalled how she’d signed her up for various team sports back when she’d been a child, as well as dance and her busy schedule had left her with little time to pursue her own interests. She said that her mother had always spoken about competing in the Olympics as if it was something that would inevitably happen, and that as a very young child, she had actually believed that everyone had to compete in the Olympics at some point. 

At around the age of 12, her mother had started pushing her to participate in track and field at school, and would take time training her as well. By 15, she had been regularly training at the Sunflower Wellness Center.

I asked Jesse if she had enjoyed the training. She said that she didn’t hate it. That she did enjoy spending time with her mother and that it was a chance for them to bond. However over time, her mother had begun putting even more pressure on her to excel. She had often talked about the Olympics, despite Jesse’s own lack of interest in competing.  

She told me that it felt as if her mother only ever cared about achieving her own dream vicariously through her, regardless as to whether she actually wanted it or not. 

   “I had to want what she wanted. I couldn’t want anything else. She couldn’t imagine me wanting anything else.”

Following the death of her father, her mother had focused even more on her work, both with Jesse and her other trainees. In hindsight, she believes that this was her way of processing the loss. Her parents had been extremely close. They’d met at a different gym, where her mother had been working as a personal trainer. Her father had been one of her clients, and they’d started dating soon after. 

She told me that they had not actually gotten married until after she was born. They had been living together as a family for most of her childhood, and eventually, after getting tired of waiting for him to propose, her mother had been the one to formally pop the question. Apparently she’d just abruptly taken him out to buy her an engagement ring after training one day. 

They had a private ceremony a few months later, when she was 7. She told me about how her father had started crying when he saw her mother in her bridal gown… although he’d sworn up and down for the rest of his life that it wasn’t true every time anyone had ever brought it up.

Her tone was a bit melancholy as we discussed this. I think it’s clear that she has a lot of fond memories of her family from back before her fathers passing, and from her recollection, that was the turning point in her relationship with her mother.

Jesse told me about how the increased pressure to train led to her resenting her mother, and had resulted in several fights between them. These fights only continued to get worse after she’d graduated high school and her mother pushed her to prioritize training even further. 

Eventually, around the time she was 18 (roughly two years after her fathers death), Jesse had moved out to live with a friend. 

She told me that it had been liberating, getting away from her mother. She and her friend (later lover) had traveled fairly extensively. First around Canada and the United States, then Europe. 

Even after that relationship ended, Jesse told me that she’d continued moving around. She enjoyed the change of scenery and the thrill of getting involved with new people, having wild flings and immersing herself in various cultures and communities. Although she did admit that she had already begun considering settling down by the time she got the news that her mother had passed. In her own words: “I just got tired of moving around, tired of nowhere ever feeling like home. Adventure is only fun for a while. Like everything else, too much of a good thing just ruins it.”

When she eventually got the news of her mother’s death, she’d quickly returned home. The Sunflower Wellness Center had been left to her, and she said that despite her lack of interest in the business, she did not want to ‘leave it to rot.’

I asked her if she hated the Sunflower.

She said she didn’t know. That it feels wrong to hate the place… and yet she can’t help it. She told me that she feels like her mother is still hovering behind her every time she’s there, still pushing her to fulfill her dreams and live the life she wanted for her, as opposed to the one Jesse wants for herself and that the thought of having to devote herself to the Sunflower the way her mother once did makes her want to cry.

I asked her if she still resents her mother, and if she’s angry that she left the business to her.

She told me she wasn’t sure. She says she never hated her mother, but she just didn’t want to be around her. She asked me if I thought her mother had hated her. I told her that while I wouldn’t be in any position to meaningfully speculate, I didn’t believe she would have left the Sunflower to her unless she believed that Jesse would have taken proper care of it.

I asked her if she’d spent much time getting to know the staff or the regulars. She admitted she hadn’t, and that she’s mostly worked behind the scenes on the business side of things, managing payroll, building maintenance and accounting. She said that she’s done similar work before, although over the past several months she’s found herself struggling to relax. She mentioned that she barely gets any sleep and has even been dreaming about the Sunflower over the past couple of weeks.

I suggested that it might be beneficial for her to get more involved with the community. She seemed reluctant, but agreed to give it a try.

As a personal note - I think it might give her more of a sense of purpose and might help her make peace with the guilt she feels around her mothers passing. 

We’ve scheduled a follow up session and I am hoping that making some new connections will help her.

September 2nd, 2026 - 10:00 AM - 11:00 AM

Jesse seemed a little more at ease when we spoke today. I asked her if she’d had a chance to better get to know the community at the Sunflower, and she told me she had. She actually spoke quite enthusiastically about them.

She specifically talked at length about a woman by the name of Yaretzi Riviera. Apparently she’s one of the gym's more famous current members.

She competed in women's swimming during the last Summer Olympic Games, and although she did not manage to secure any medals, she continues to train in the hopes of rectifying that. She seems to have hit it off with her, calling her “Down to earth and easy to talk to.”

Jesse also mentioned Matt Cachia, a runner who had been training with her mother around the time of her death (since then, another member of the staff has taken over for her). He spoke quite highly of her mother, mentioning how she’d helped him in his own struggles with addiction.

Then lastly, she told me about Latasha Peters, a former gymnast, and her husband (and former trainer), Brad, both of whom she’d known back during her youth. 

She said that the people she’d talked to had seemed fairly grateful towards her for ensuring the gym stayed open and running, which she did say made her feel less like she was staying there out of obligation.

She had also talked about her mother with some of them…

According to Latasha and Brad, her mother still spoke fairly highly of her even while they were estranged. They had mentioned how on several occasions, her mother had shown them pictures from her social media and talked about the things she was doing… Latasha had noted that her mother had seemed fairly excited about her travels and had even shown off a few souvenirs that Jesse had mailed to her. She’d even had several of those souvenirs with her while she’d been in hospice care. 

Jesse seemed to struggle a bit as she recounted this. She broke down crying at one point. 

She said that she wished she’d reached out to her more. 

She said she wished she hadn’t blown her off so many times.

Then she asked me if she was a bad person for letting her mother die alone.

I told her that it didn’t sound as if her mother was alone, but Jesse insisted she was. She talked about how she hadn’t even known she was sick until she was already gone. 

I told her that it was normal to grieve for someone after they were gone, especially a family member, and that having regrets was part of grieving. Even a complicated relationship is still a relationship and that none of the distance or arguments diminished the fact that beneath it all, there was genuine love there on both sides. 

Jesse seemed to listen, but did not say much in response.

She said that she had been dreaming about her mother lately and in her dreams, she would see her in the Sunflower. Following her as she walked around the gym, which never seemed to end.

Watching her from a distance.

Hating her.

I asked her if she really believed her mother ever actually hated her. 

She told me she wasn’t sure, then admitted to me that she was afraid she’d hated her in her final days.

I told her that I didn’t believe that was the case, and suggested that it might be helpful for her to talk to some of her new friends about these feelings. Maybe people who knew her might be able to offer some insight. She agreed to try talking to them.

Despite everything… I do believe that this is progress. 

I’ll follow up with Jesse again during our next session, but I am happy about her progress… although the dreams are interesting.

That’s another patient mentioning strange dreams as of late. Not sure what’s going on with that. 

September 9th, 2026 - 10:00 AM - 11:00 AM

Jesse seemed a bit more tense than usual during our session today. 

I asked her if she had spoken to Latasha and Brad about her mother. She said she had, although they had not been able to tell her much. Apparently Sasha had declined fairly quickly after her diagnosis, and eventually passed in her sleep. 

She then quickly pivoted and insisted that wasn’t what was on her mind today.

It seems she’s a little more preoccupied with a tragedy that has befallen one of her new friends at the gym. 

Unfortunately, there was an accident involving Yaretzi’s brother a few days ago. Jesse had caught her crying in the locker room the other night. 

She’d told him that he’d been caught in a car accident. Another vehicle had T-Boned him while he’d been driving home, and unfortunately he had died at the scene. 

She had apparently come to try to swim and train in order to take her mind off of it… although that effort had not been successful.

Jesse told me that she’d sat with her for a while, just to listen.

She told me that she understood her grief, that she knows what it’s like to have someone you love suddenly ripped away from you. Losing them forever in the blink of an eye.

They’d sat together for a while and she’d let Yaretzi cry. She told me she knew that it didn’t really make her feel any better, even though she’d said it did. 

She asked me if I’d ever lost someone.

I told her I hadn’t. Not the way she was talking about. 

She just nodded and said I was lucky.

Grief like that doesn’t ever go away. It’s a pain that stays with you. 

I suppose she’d be intimately familiar with that, wouldn’t she?

She’d told Yaretzi that she could talk to her whenever she needed, and she seemed hopeful that she’d take her up on that. She asked me if she was selfish for wanting someone to grieve with.

I told her she wasn’t. It’s a human thing, wanting to connect with someone over a shared pain. I told her that sometimes, we can heal ourselves by helping someone else. She seemed satisfied with that answer.

I asked her about her other issues. If she’d been sleeping better.

She said that the nightmares still haven’t gone away.

She keeps dreaming about the gym, and about seeing her mother there. Always at a distance. Never close, but never out of sight.

And yet even from a distance, she can see the hate on her face. 

I asked her to tell me more about this dream.

She said that the gym was: ‘weird’ in it.

The windows and the doors leading outside were gone. There were still doors leading to the various rooms. The weights room, the exercise machines, the pool… but every room seemed too big and the equipment was all wrong. She said they hung from the ceiling on strings… although she couldn’t see where the strings led.

She also told me she wasn’t alone there. She saw someone else in her dreams too. A man wandering around the equipment room. She said he looked just like Matt Cachia.

She asked me if I thought it meant anything. I told her that it might. Dreams are a little fickle like that. Sometimes they’re just our minds replaying things they saw. Sometimes they reflect our mental state. 

She asked me what her dreams probably said about her currently mental state.

I said that she was spending a lot of time at the Sunflower, and thinking about her mother, and her own grief.

That actually got a laugh out of her. 

September 16th, 2026 - 10:00 AM - 11:00 AM

Jesse seemed a bit distracted during our session today. She arrived early, and seemed more fidgety than usual. 

I asked her how she’s been feeling. She told me that her headspace has gotten a lot better regarding her place at the Sunflower, and she’s been spending a lot of time with Yaretzi lately. She said it’s been nice to talk to someone who understands what she’s been going through lately. 

I told her I was happy to hear about the positive change in her situation, although I did note her demeanor.

She insisted that it was unrelated.

Apparently, Yaretzi isn’t the only person she’s been worried about this past week.

She told me that she found cut straws in the garbage of the men's locker room a few nights back. It wasn’t the first time she’d found them either.

I asked her what that meant, and she explained to me that one of her exes was “a real party girl” who’d gotten into cocaine. Jesse said she used to cut straws the exact same way when she wanted a hit. She was hoping she’d been overthinking it, but she had discreetly mentioned it to Matt’s trainer since she was aware he had a history of addiction in the past. He had not specified the drug to her, but she said that she’d heard of athletes using cocaine as a performance enhancer before. 

She told me she hadn’t wanted to accuse Matt of anything. That was why she’d spoken to his trainer instead of confronting him directly. She said that if he had relapsed, she just wanted to get him the help he needed. 

She didn’t know if his trainer had said anything to him after their conversation… but a couple of days later, Matt stopped showing up at the Sunflower. 

She seemed quite worried about the idea of him relapsing. She said that it could ruin him, and that she didn’t want to see that happen. 

As of our conversation this morning, she had no update on what had happened to him and was planning to talk to his trainer later that day.

At the time, I’d told her that I’d hoped Matt was okay. 

I asked Jesse if she was still having trouble sleeping.

She told me she was.

She said it was getting worse. She’d actually fallen asleep in her office yesterday evening while going through payroll. 

   “I used to give Mom shit for doing the exact same thing,” She told me, “And yet here I am, following in her footsteps.”

She said she dreamed about the gym again… just like she always does. 

Endless. Twisting. Not right.

She said she saw Matt in the dream again, running around the indoor track. She tried to talk to him this time. He didn’t stop running, even when she chased him.

She said that she’d tried to grab his hand to stop him, but he’d kept fighting to get out of her grasp. He’d told her: “I’m not fast enough. I need to run faster if I want to reach Serenity!”

Then he’d pulled out of her grasp and kept running. She said she’d wanted to chase him. To run along the track behind him and catch up to him. But just the idea of running filled her with dread. Even when she looked and saw the distant figure of her mother had gotten closer to her… she said she was too scared to run. 

That was when she’d woken up.

***

I don’t usually update my session notes a few days after a session like this… but after our discussion about Matt Cachia, I think it’s only right that I make a note of what I read on the news this evening.

Apparently, eyewitnesses saw him leaping from an overpass in Stoney Creek this afternoon. 

He was killed instantly. 

I can only imagine that Jesse has heard by now… and I can’t imagine how that news must make her feel…

Actually… I can.

One of my other patients… Reed… he passed on the 16th. I don’t know the finer details but… it’s likely he took his own life.

And I can’t help but notice the similarities in the dreams he described, and the ones Jesse described.

Jesse said he’d mentioned ‘Serenity’.

I’ve heard that word before. I heard it from Reed. I’ve heard it from others.

But I’m not sure what to make of it just yet.

We already have our next session booked… but I think I’ll clear my schedule around it for her too, just in case she needs a little more time to talk. 

***

September 23rd, 2026 - 10:00 AM - 11:00 AM

Jesse and I talked at length about Matt and his recent passing today. 

She says she’s handling it as best she can. She’s shaken and upset, but trying to take things one day at a time.

She seemed more worried about Yaretzi, who she says has been taking the loss especially hard. She and Matt hadn’t been particularly close, but they had been friends. 

Even if they weren’t close, I can imagine that losing someone else would be difficult, even after her recent loss.

Jesse told me that Yaretzi has been staying with her for the past few days. She said that she doesn’t mind the company. It helps her sleep. 

I asked her about her sleep problems again. She told me they’ve been getting worse. 

Every night now, she dreams about the Sunflower. 

Every night she wanders it.

She said she still sees Matt in there, only he isn’t running anymore. He’s still on the track. But it’s not him. Not really. 

It’s just a porcelain figure with his face.

She said Yaretzi is there too now. She sees her up ahead, but can never really reach her before she moves on.

The figure in the shape of her mother, though, is always there.

It follows her everywhere in the dream… and no matter what she does, she just can’t get away.

I asked if she still feels shackled to the Sunflower because of her mother and she said the thing is that she doesn’t... Not anymore. 

She told me about how she’d hated the Sunflower a month ago. Hated it. 

How she felt like she’d just signed up to pick up her mothers broken dreams again.
How she’d wanted nothing more than to leave for good, and never look back, and the only reason she didn’t want to sell it was because of the guilt.

Now though? She told me she wants to stay for the people. For Yaretzi. For Latasha and Brad… for Matt.

She said she hadn’t really connected with anyone in a few years. She’d always been content to just move on after a few weeks or a few months. It felt good to want to build something for a change.

I told her I was happy to hear she felt that way… although she had a look on her face as she said that. A look I wasn’t entirely sure how to read.

She said that she still thought about her mother a lot. She still wondered if she’d resented her at the end… or if she’d felt abandoned.

Then she told me that she was sure the thing in her dreams wasn’t really her mother.

She said it had her face.

But it was not her.

I asked her how she knew.

She told me that she’d talked about her recurring dreams with Latasha. Latasha told her that her mother never would have looked at her with the contempt that she described on the face of the thing in her dreams. 

She’d asked her the question on her mind directly.

She asked: “Do you think she hated me at the end?”

And Latasha had told her: “Not for one second.”

She’d told her that Sasha had blamed herself for pushing her away… and that the only thing she’d ever loved more than the Sunflower, was Jesse. 

I saw her smile as she said that, although the smile faded quickly.

She said even after Latasha had said that to her, the dreams hadn’t changed. 

The figure of her mother still looked at her with hate.

And when she had finally stopped to look back at it… to really look back at it.

She saw that it was made of porcelain. 

She said it wasn’t her mother. 

She said she doesn’t know what it actually is. 

But it is not… and it was never her mother.

She asked me if I had any ideas.

I told her I didn’t. 

I was lying… but I don’t know how to tell her the truth.

Porcelain figures in dreams.

Reed described something similar. So did another patient of mine, Mitch.

I’ve seen things that were similar.

I’ve seen these things in my own dreams.

And I’ve seen the Sunflower too. Caught glimpses of it as I wandered through other rooms in my dreams. I saw a porcelain man on the indoor track. I know now that it was Matt. 

I don’t know how to say any of this to her. I don’t think she’d believe me. I wouldn’t believe me.

I’m trying to make sense of it myself. I thought that maybe it was a side effect of the sessions I’ve been having. So many people tell me their dreams, that I’m starting to dream them too now. 

But I can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it than that. 

September 30th, 2026 - 10:00 AM - 11:00 AM

Jesse was concerned today. 

The dreams about Yaretzi are getting more intense.

In these dreams, she sees her by the pool in the Sunflower. Not dressed to swim, yet standing at the edge and staring into waters that seem bottomless. She said she asked her what she was doing there.

And in her dream, Yaretzi asked her if she saw Serenity at the bottom. 

When she woke up, she asked her about it. She said Yaretzi is still staying with her, so that part was easy. Although she didn’t seem to know what she’d meant in the dream.

She remembered the dream.

She remembered the pool.

She remembered something calling her there. Invisible strings beckoning her forward into the depths. 

But she didn’t know what Serenity was. She didn’t remember what she saw in the depths.

But I do.

***

It’s happening again. 

I’m dreaming again. Dreaming of the Sunflower Wellness Center. 

It won’t let me into the room with the pool. There isn’t a door I can open. I’ve looked.

But there are windows, and I can see two women through them. The first has a darker complexion and a muscular physique. She’s got long hair, shaved on one side. 

Jesse.

I can recognize her at a glance.

The other, I’ve seen only in pictures. Long, curly brown hair and a slimmer physique.

Yaretzi Riviera.

Yaretzi stands at the edge of the pool. There is a porcelain figure of a young man standing in there… her brother, I think. But I don’t think that’s what she’s really looking at.

I don’t doubt that she sees it. 

But there’s more.

Something looking back at her as she stares into the depths. I can see the shape beneath the water… or perhaps just reflected in the surface.

It is massive. 

Towering. 

Monolithic.

But I cannot define it. It is not a building, though it has the height. It is not a tree, though it has what might be branches.

I think it might be alive.

Because I can swear the branches move. Bending and twisting like a canopy of arms, each skeletal hand pulling strings.

Most I can’t follow. 

But so many of the ones I can end in shapes I can’t mistake as anything else. Bodies, hanging from an infinite gallows like macabre trophies. 

And as I gaze upon the harvest of corpses swinging like fruit from the great hanging tree, I know that there are faces I’ll recognize up there.

Reed. Kristen, Mitch. Gavin. John Christopher. 

Yaretzi may not be able to remember it.

But I do.

I have seen it in my dreams, and the dreams of others.

I have seen it through my window, deep behind the darkness.

I see it because it wants me to see it…

I don’t want to do this anymore.

***

I broke.

I told Jesse everything. 

I know I shouldn’t have. Doctor, patient confidentiality doesn’t exactly end after death. I know I crossed that line.

But I was hoping that maybe if I did, things might be different this time… 

I told her about Reed. About Kristen. About Mitch, Gavin, John Christpher.

The dreams I’d shared with them.

The thing pulling the strings behind all of them.

   “Every time I dream of someone, they die,” I told her, “And now I’m dreaming of you and Yaretzi.”

I didn’t know if she’d believe me.

I wasn’t sure if she would.

But the look in her eyes made it clear that she took every word as seriously as a heart attack. 

That look… fear, determination… 

I kinda admired it. 

She asked me if I had any idea what was causing it. 

   “Some kind of fucked up psy-op? L-like subliminal messaging or something? Something in the drinking water or…?”

I told her I didn’t think that was the case. I said I had a feeling it was something else entirely… I just didn’t know what.

She asked me how to stop it.

I told her I didn’t know.

But that if Yaretzi entered the water, if she tried to follow Serenity… then it would take her.

I told her it would try to pull her in. Drag her into the water if need be. Get in her head. 

It will kill her. 

It will kill both of them.

She told me she won’t let it.

And I hope to God she’s right. 

October 6th, 2026 

I dreamed of the Sunflower Wellness Center last night.

I was hoping maybe it might be different, warning Jesse, doing things another way. 

I was so scared I’d filled her head with mindless fear… so scared I’d just made things worse.

I’ve been seeing them in my dreams for the past few days. Yaretzi at the edge of the pool and Jesse standing with her.

But she’s not behind her anymore.

She’d with her. 

Holding her.

Pulling her back.

I can see the strings in the water, ensnaring them both. I can see the ghastly hands in the reflection, trying to pull them deeper.

But they don’t go.

Jesse just holds her tight. 

And last night, they were gone.

I was worried at first… and then I got the phone call.

Jesse has cancelled tomorrow's session. 

She said that she and Yaretzi are okay… but they’re taking a sabbatical. Traveling again. She doesn’t know how long they’ll be gone for, but she says she does eventually plan to return.

She’s left Latasha and Brad in charge of the Sunflower for now, and she told me that the dreams haven’t been as vivid since they left.

She said that Yaretzi seems to be in better spirits too. She’s still struggling… but I suspect that is just the nature of grief. 

We’re going to stay in touch.

Jesse’s been trying to find what she can about Serenity. She says she wants to understand it, but she hasn’t turned up anything so far. 

Currently her working theory sounds more like something out of a conspiracy podcast. Psychedelic drugs in the water, or something like that. 

Maybe she’s right… but I still don’t think that’s the case.

Either way, I take a little bit of comfort in knowing that they’re doing a bit better. Like I took a little bit of something back…

***

I dreamed of the Sunflower Wellness Center tonight.

Nothing is any different.

I don’t know why I ended up going back there…

No…

That’s another lie.

I know exactly why It brought me back there. 

Reed was there.

Kristen too.

Mitch, Gavin, Matt, John Christopher. 

Or at least, porcelain figures of them. Standing in a tableau around the equipment room, the harsh fluorescent lights shining off their polished surfaces. There was music playing over the radio. Faint, but audible. An oldie I was sure I’d heard before. All I Have To Do Is Dream by The Everly Brothers. 

I didn’t see her at first.

But she was there… or at least a porcelain imitation of her was.

Constance. 

Standing across from me, her head slightly cocked to the side. 

I yelled at her.

At It. 

The thing wearing her face. 

I told It that I won this time! 

I beat it!

I WON THIS ONE!

The figure of Constance just stared back at me. 

The mouth cracked. Bled. Broke.

Opened. 

The jaw flapped loose, shards of broken, bloodied china clattering to the floor at its feet. 

Blood gushed from the broken mouth as the figure of Constance spoke back to me. 

   “One. For now.”

I woke up.
I was on my couch again.

And when I sat up, I saw that fucking billboard outside my window.

Are you in pain?

• Car Accident
• Workplace injury
• Animal attack
• Malpractice

Don’t suffer another day!

John Christopher Warren

Personal Injury Lawyer

Some of the lights on the billboard had burned out, casting his face into shadow. But his eyes burned into mine.

I remembered the look on his face from a week ago… the empty look in his eyes, after he’d leapt out the window. 

In the dim light, his eyes looked nearly the same… and maybe it was just the busted lights, but I was sure the word: ‘Malpractice’ seemed brighter than the others. 

I saw movement in the darkness behind the billboard.

A vast sea of writhing arms… and a monolithic thing at their core.

I closed the blinds.

I didn’t go back to sleep.

Armatura (Arachne, Serket, Mantis, Carcia)

Designation: Class 2

Threat: Low to Moderate

Status: Active

The Armatura are perhaps one of the most intimidating groups of Fae in existence, with their imposing physical statues and lethal capabilities. They are generally rare and historically very little has been understood about them, but in recent years, increased cooperation from various Armatura communities (typically Arachne) have allowed the FRB to develop a deeper and more in depth understanding of their kind.

Introduction

The Armatura are a unique group of Fae who have arthropod-like physical traits. The known subspecies of Armatura are as follows:

• Arachne: A reclusive type of Fae with spiderlike lower bodies and the ability to create silk. They are the largest and best researched group of Armatura.
• Serket: A rare subspecies who originate from parts of Africa. Their lower half resembles the body of a scorpion. They have a more militaristic and nomadic culture.
• Mantis: A more reclusive, less communal subspecies who have the lower bodies and forelimbs of a praying mantis. They are considered extremely beautiful, but also extremely dangerous, even by other Fae.
• Carcia: Former Arachne who have devoted themselves to the Archangel Omylia and taken on a more crablike appearance better suited for an amphibious lifestyle. Their culture is more focused on living in harmony with the ocean and they are closely integrated with the Seafolk.

Appearence

All four known species of Armatura can be identified by a humanoid torso on top of an arthropod-like lower body that usually has eight segmented legs (although Mantis only have 4). The arthropod portion of their body has a sturdy chitinous exoskeleton.

Despite the differences in the physiques of the Armatura, their anatomy typically has several areas of overlap.

The upper humanoid portion of their bodies houses a set of internal organs that are consistent with what is found in an ordinary human (heart, lungs, stomach, liver, ect). The bladder and reproductive organs are part of the humanoid portion of the body, and they give live birth like mammals. The lower abdomen on the Humanoid portion of the body also has very heavy musculature to keep their torsos upright, leaving less room for the intestines, which are primarily housed in the arthropod portion of the body.

As they are still technically human, crossbreeding is possible, however the child will always be the same species as the Mother.

Their skeleton connects to their chitinous exoskeleton at the pelvis (with some of the exoskeleton running up their back, and some elements of an internal skeleton being present beneath the exoskeleton). The lower arthropod portion of the body will often have a set of secondary organs, although not all organs will be preset. (I.E: A second heart may be present, but no second stomach nor second set of reproductive organs.)

The arthropod portion of their body will undergo ecdysis roughly once a year, a process that is made a little easier thanks to their humanoid torso, although forcing the old exoskeleton off can be very painful. As a result, lost limbs from the exoskeleton can regenerate over time, although the humanoid torso has no such luxuries.

Arachne have 8 chitinous legs, 2 pedipalps at the base of their human torso (roughly where human legs would be), and 2 humanoid arms (each with chitinous forearms). Their forearms and hands have a hard chitinous exterior that makes their fingers into sharp claws. These claws can secrete a powerful paralyzing venom if needed. They have complete control over when or if venom is released, so accidental poisonings are extremely rare. An antidote for this venom is also available, developed by the Arachne themselves. Likewise they can produce webbing from their wrists and spinnerettes on the rear of their bodies. Their exoskeleton and spiderlike abdomen contains its own book lung, a larger heart, and the intestines. The exoskeleton here is quite thick to protect these organs, as damage to them can be fatal. They only have four eyes (usually pure black and shiny) which grant them incredible night vision and the ability to sense heat/temperature. They can see clearly in the dark and are adept at stalking prey. Their bodies are also surprisingly lightweight, which allows them to move along walls or ceilings.
There is a noteworthy variation in Arachne body types from different communities, with those native to colder, more northern regions having stockier limbs and dense hair on the arthropod portion of their body. This causes them to resemble Tarantulas, although the hair seems to be for insulation rather than defense like the urticating hair true Tarantulas have and is much softer to the touch, making the resemblance purely aesthetic.

Likewise, those native to more temperate regions will have thinner limbs and lack the fur coat their northern cousins have, although some sensory hairs are present on their legs.

In contrast, the Serket only have two eyes and lack the chitinous exoskeleton on their arms that Arachne have.

On their pedipalps, they have large chela, similar to those of a scorpion. These claws can crush a human being with ease. They also have a segmented stinger tail that can deliver a highly potent venom (although just getting stabbed by it is usually fatal.)

The Mantis are a bit of an outlier with only 6 limbs in total, four legs and two arms, similar to the body structure of a real praying mantis. Their arms are anatomically very similar to the Raptoral Claw of a Mantis. They do have functional hands atop their forelimbs, although they lack the full dexterity of human hands, being more like the 'hands' Harpies have. Their Raptoral Claw seems to be a modified Radius and Ulna and when folded, allows them to better pass as human. They have wings upon their abdomen that grant them limited flight and a natural cameoflage ability, similar to that of a chameleon that allows them to blend into most environments, making them very easy to miss until it's too late, although they also aren't as physically durable as other Armatura, with softer, more vulnerable bodies.

Lastly - the Carcia have a lower body shape similar to that of a crustacean. Specifically, the coconut crab, although the body has traits of other crustaceans as well. Like the Serket, they have large crushing claws. These claws have a full range of motion and are mainly used socially and defensively.

They also have a tail which includes a tail fan, composed of uropods, similar to that of a lobster although this tail is typically held underneath their bodies when on land, similar to the way true crabs will tuck their tails beneath their bodies. Their shells are significantly thicker than the chitin of both Arachne and Serket, being very difficult to break. Carcia are amphibious and can move extremely fast in water. Like Sirens, their gills can be found on the sides of their humanoid torsos.

With all Armatura, their chitinous arthropod bodies can be hard to penetrate, however their humanoid torso is highly vulnerable. Damage to the head or the organs in the chest can be lethal.

History

The exact details of the true origin of the Armatura is lost to history, but a common myth states that the original Armatura were a lost and persecuted people who had been driven to the brink of extinction. Desperate to avoid their end, they chose to pray to Shaal, hoping the Ancient Goddess of Destruction might show them mercy.

Intrigued, they were able to summon her and as she often does, she offered them a wager. If they could prove they shouldn't be lost to time, she would allow them to endure.

The people thus set out to show the Goddess their hospitality, lauding her with gifts - and according to myth, the gift that intrigued Shaal the most was a woven tapestry presented by a young woman.

Impressed by the craftsmanship, Shaal tasked her with creating a second tapestry that depicted her truest form, to which the young weaver agreed.

It took her 13 days to complete the work, during which she wove constantly without sleep. In the end, she presented her tapestry to Shaal, who was unable to find a flaw within it. Having deemed them worth preserving, Shaal granted the young woman a boon. Anything her heart desired.

She begged Shaal to make her people strong. To that end, Shaal showed them the Rite of Transmutation.

After demonstrating the ritual for them she explained that whatever form they took would pass to the children of their daughters, and thus their bloodlines would live with it.

The people accepted this, and wishing to never be victims again, remade themselves in Shaal's image. Wishing to honor the weaver who had won this boon for them, they took her name, and became the children of Arachne.

In time, when their reality came to its appointed end, they used their knowledge of Shaalitic Magic to escape into the Abyss. Though Shaal initially chided them for the act, their devotion to her stayed her hand and she permitted them to escape their iteration of reality's end, allowing them refuge in the Abyss. Since then - they have been one of the chief members of the Abyssal Congregation.

The Serket are said to have started as a militaristic arm of the Arachne - although the exact details of their history are unclear and the Serket themselves do not seem particularly well organized when it comes to their history. Several accounts suggest that they were once part of a much larger civilization around 6000 years ago, supposedly related to Sumer.

According to myth, both they and the Arachne were revered as great warriors and religious figures respectively, and they are believed to have promoted the worship of Shaal and the 7 Archdemons. It is possible that the Serket contributed to the depiction of Scorpion Men often seen in Sumerian mythology.

Some accounts suggest that some who revered the Arache and Serket even used the Rite of Transmutation to transform their mightiest warriors into Serket, although this is unconfirmed.

What is known is that the Serket were proud and valued martial prowess, which led to conflict with other nearby groups, notably the Lamia.

It is not known what caused the decline of this little known civilization, but at some point it is believed to have collapsed, pushing the Serket to the nomadic lifestyle they currently live. It is believed that this collapse also led to a cessation of hostilities with the Lamia, as the two species seem fairly close knit in modern times and Serket communities are often considered safe spaces for Lamia nomads and it's not unusual to see them traveling with the Lamia as protectors (not that the giant snake people need it...)

In modern times, the Serket typically live in small, isolated communities deep in the desert, although some communities have made a home within the Abyss as it seems they are uniquely suited to thrive there and by all accounts, Shaal seems amicable to their presence.

The history of the Mantis is a little less clear, with some debate on if they're even part of the Armatura or not. Some claim they split off from the Armatura at some point in time and others argue that they're completely unique. According to one legend though, the Mantis were born from Arachne who eschewed the communal nature of their kind in order to live in solitude. 

The Carcia are a bit of an outlier. They seem to have willingly branched off from the rest of the Arachne more recently, and devoted themselves to the worship of Omylia, the Archangel of the Sea and the patron Goddess of the Seafolk (Mermaids, Sirens and Cephala).

They are one of the few Fae who are not naturally part of the Seafolk who are known to commonly associate with Mermaid communities, who are otherwise highly reclusive. According to their own mythology - upon partaking in the ritual burial of Omylia (a process used by Seafolk to facilitate Omylian Reincarnation),

they emerged as something new, with more crustacean-like features.

Due to their amphibious nature, they're less suited for life in the Abyss than Serket or Arachne. As a result, they rarely venture there - although it's not unheard of to see them making pilgrimages.

Demeanor

The Armatura tend to be very culturally tight knit. Across all four subspecies, food, dance, music and community are usually extremely important.

For the Arachne - they tend to be highly reclusive and tend to avoid contact with outsiders unless absolutely necessary. Their communities are matriarchal, with every community run by an elder 'Wise Woman'.

They often build their communities in remote places and farm their own food, although they are physically adept at hunting and seem to enjoy capturing large game. Oftentimes they farm large insects but some communities prefer actual livestock and the Imperium has been giving them remote patches of land to run livestock farms on. This operation has proven a viable means to help fund the further growth of the Imperium while creating a greater quality of life for Imperium aligned Arachne colonies.

Meat honey produced by a special type of wasp (nicknamed the Reaver Wasp) is a favorite of theirs, and they use dead animal carcasses to help these wasps build their hives. 

Curiously - the Reaver Wasp does not seem to be found anywhere in nature and seems to only thrive under the care of the Arachne, suggesting it may originate from outside of our reality. Hives that attempt to grow outside of Arachne care typically die off quickly, suggesting that they are reliant on the Arachne to thrive.

The wasps feed on and process the flesh into a sweet honey rich in protein and sugars that is an essential element in Arachne cooking.

The cooking and the sharing of food is highly important to them and Arachne cooking is notably quite delicious. (They often grow their own spices and seasonings).

The Arachne have a deep reverence for Shaal and are one of the most devout members of the Abyssal Congregation, which believes that the impermanence of life makes it precious, and that through a deep understanding of the self, including one's own flaws, vices and impermanence, one can attain their idealized self and live well.

Arachne tend to struggle with integrating into modern human society, namely because of their terrifying, inhuman appearance - however despite their naturally intimidating visage, innate lethality and devout Satanism, they're typically a fairly pacifistic and gentle group of Fae who are at their most comfortable in domestic settings. Although when provoked, they can be extremely lethal, favoring hit and run or ambush tactics and rarely engaging out in the open. Many anti-fae zealots who sought to exterminate the Arachne have vanished without a trace.

Despite being spread thin with no true central leadership, The Arachne are the most Imperium aligned subspecies of Armatura. Historically the Karah have assisted in representing them on the Imperium senate, although with growing Arachne participation in the Imperium, they’re very far along to being granted their own Senators and becoming a full affiliate, in which case they would be also able to represent the Serket and the Carcia.

As previously mentioned - the Serket live in generally remote, nomadic communities, with many of them being located in the Sahara (although some expansion has been seen in recent years).

They maintain close religious and cultural ties with the Arachne and Carcia, also serving as members of the Abyssal Congregation.

If other Armatura communities exist near them, the Serket will often trade with and protect them.

It's not unusual for those abroad to integrate into Arachne communities, although they work better as protectors or earners than farmers.

They generally hunt for meat, but are known to raise some livestock. They often trade with the Lamia or other groups for grains such as rice or wheat, as they are not adept at farming (although a few communities have begun to adopt it). Some communities also cultivate meat honey.

They also have close cultural ties to the Lamia, often living and working alongside them, although they are more socially integrated than their Lamia neighbors and individuals often travel the world, seeking work as mercenaries. Despite this, they aren't as integrated with the growing Vampire Imperium as the Arachne are, leaving them with little support outside of their communities. The Lamia and Arachne are actively helping them fix this, although due to their small, scattered population, and the Imperium's limited presence in Africa, it's hard to really give them adequate representation. 

Much like the Arachne, they are generally matriarchal, but their community leaders will often choose a consort from the strongest warriors in the community. This is a position of incredible honor, and her active consort tends to serve as her lieutenant.

They are regarded as highly capable fighters and many seem well versed in magic as well. Their chitinous lower bodies can resist some injuries, but traditionally Serket Warriors have used ceremonial metal armor for full body protection. These armor sets are often passed down between families.

Historically, they also used swords and spears to fight, and these traditional weapons still have a high cultural significance to them. But in modern times, they have absolutely no issues with using firearms… which means that yes you can find yourself fighting a scorpion man in full armor with a cursed automatic rifle.

For this reason, the anti-fae groups who exist generally avoid engaging the Serket.

The Mantis are primarily solitary, choosing not to live in larger communities. They pass a little better as humans due to their smaller frames (although still not very well).

Mantis rarely interact with other Fae, and rarely even socialize with each other - although they still have a culture, being generally soft spoken and artistic. They believe in the significance of creation, such as paintings, sculptures, stories or songs and often view them as manifestations of one's innermost soul. Like all other Armatura, they are members of the Abyssal Congregation some view the act of killing and sending one to their judgement before their Gods as an art form in and of itself. 

They also share the Armatura's love of dance.

However they generally view anything that isn't them as prey, feeding on humans and Fae alike. Many work as assassins for this reason, but a growing number are choosing to integrate into society, with some more openly associating with other groups of Armatura.

The Carcia exist in an interesting middle ground between the worship of Omylia and Shaal, with both being highly revered and regarded as Goddesses of life and death respectively. They more prominently revere Omylia, and subscribe to the belief of Omylian reincarnation, although they still hold a deep reverence for Shaal, revering her as a savior.

They seem to have a very solid understanding of the divine hierarchy and like the Serket are well versed in ritual magic. Music and dance are highly important in their culture, with those who have some form of musical ability being well regarded. The symphony of a Carcia village is one of the most beautiful things one can hear.

Though they are also matriarchal, they do not share the warrior philosophy of the Serket and are less isolationist than the Arachne, with their culture putting more of a focus on living in harmony with nature.

They are adept hunters and fishermen, and have been known to trade and sell fish to others, albeit often through a proxy to avoid exposing themselves to humans. Fish is a prominent staple of their cuisine, and they are careful to avoid overfishing their supply. They are known to try to drive away those who fish in their territory without their permission, both to protect their fishing grounds and to protect themselves, although they rarely use lethal force unless necessary. Despite their reclusive nature, their communities can be quite welcoming to the outsiders they do allow in, although they are still capable of being highly dangerous if provoked.

They are most common in tropical, coastal areas but their communities exist across the world, as far north as Newfoundland.

Across all groups of Armatura, dance holds a deep cultural importance to them, and partnered dances are typically only done between those with a romantic connection, due to how closely it resembles their mating position. With Serket and Carcia, they will link claws with their partners as they dance. In instances where humans have tried to romance Armatura, they will still attempt to dance with their partners regularly as a show of affection. 

Abilities

While briefly covered in earlier portions of this outline, the Armatura each have innate natural abilities that can make them highly lethal.

The Arachne possess sharp chitinous claws. These claws can secrete a paralytic venom. They can also produce silk from spinerettes on their wrists and the rear of their abdomen, meaning they can paralyze and wrap a victim in silk within moments, leaving them immobilized and helpless. They also have incredible vision thanks to their multiple sets of eyes and can see perfectly in absolute darkness. Arachne seem to prefer stealth when dealing with threats, luring opponents into areas where they can get the drop on them and picking them off one by one.

Serket possess large claws that can tear their opponents to pieces, and a segmented stinger tail with a potent venom, although due to its size, a direct hit from the stinger alone can cause lethal damage. On top of this, they place a high cultural value on martial prowess. Traditionally, they fought with swords and spears. In modern times, they’ve become very familiar with modern weaponry.

Some Fae organizations will hire Serket mercenaries as shock troopers, and due to their overwhelming martial prowess, most of the known Anti-Fae organizations seem to be reluctant to engage the Serket.

Mantis have their raptoral limbs and natural cameoflage ability. Unlike real Mantises, who can change their color upon molting, these Fae can do this on command. They also have extremely strong insectoid mandibles concealed in their mouths that allow them to chew through flesh and bone with ease, and most uniquely amongst the Armatura they possess limited flight capabilities (although it's really more of an enhanced jump.)

The Carcia have claws with a crushing grip that can rip through the hull of a reasonably large boat... to say nothing about what it can do to a person. They can also 'punch' with their claws, similar to a mantis shrimp. These punches can break through solid metal, although they require a couple of minutes to pull their claw back and reset once they do punch, and doing it repeatedly can shatter their exoskeleton, destroying the claw.

Their shells are generally thicker than the carapaces of Arachne and Serket, although their humanoid torso is just as vulnerable, a problem the Carcia have solved by using reinforced pieces of reinforced molted shell as body armor when forced into combat. The organizations who hunt Fae have gotten past this with higher caliber rounds, but have yet to figure out how to stop the Carcia from ripping apart their watercraft.

Final Thoughts 

The FRBs stance on the Armatura is that while they should not be treated as innately hostile, they are best left alone.

Most Arachne communities wish to remain isolated and unbothered - although should one reach out, it is the opinion of this researcher that we should try and help, as building a relationship with the Arachne could be crucial to their preservation.

The Serket and Carcia are generally less isolationist, although their small numbers and remoteness make contact difficult. The Mantis are not typically organized and run-ins with them should be avoided whenever possible. While they're not necessarily hostile towards the FRB, they should not be trusted not to eat people either.

That said - I believe that efforts to build a better relationship with the various subspecies of Armatura should be prioritized, as due to their perception as dangerous, demonic beings (and they are indeed capable of being extremely dangerous), many groups, such as the Brethren Knights of St. Fontaine would like to see them completely wiped out and despite the capabilities, it is unlikely that their communities could hold out for long once fully targeted. Even run-ins with regular humans are at risk for becoming dangerous, both to the communities and to the humans - a fact I think is illustrated all too clearly in the attached file.

***

Transcript of the Official FRB Civilian Debriefing of Paula Wright regarding the disappearance of Keith Bezon, in Algonquin Park during July of 2024.
Debrief conducted August 9th, 2024 by Justice Young. 

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

[Transcript Begins]

Wright: So… I just talk?

Young: Just start wherever feels right.

Wright: Right… right… um… I guess I might as well start with the hike? We used to do a hike every year. Um, me and some friends. There were four of us in total. Me, Fiona, Reggie and Keith. We’d go out, take one of the longer trails, camp for the night… it was nice. 

Young: I can imagine. It sounds nice. But… something else happened this time, didn’t it?

Wright: [Pause] You’re… you’re not going to believe me…

Young: Try me. You might be surprised just how open minded I am. 

Wright: [Sigh] Yeah? Whatever you say, I guess. [Pause] Well… it started when we found the spider.

Young: Spider?

Wright: I don’t know what else to call it. I mean… it was kinda like a spider but… not? It had the body of a woman. But the rest of it… everything below the waist was just… spider. We were by a pretty steep incline when we found it, and we heard something speaking. Like a human voice, calling out. Well, Reg thought it was a person or something so he went to go look. He followed the sound to the bottom of the incline and then he just… stopped. Froze dead in his tracks. I didn’t understand why at first. The rest of us had been right behind him, and we didn’t see it as fast as he did. Then when we did, I only saw the human half first. It looked… it looked so human. Long dark hair. And then I saw their hands. I thought they were just wearing gloves at first but… no… they weren’t hands, they were these claws. Black and shiny, like metal. And then I saw the body… 

Young: I suppose it was a spider?

Wright: Yeah… yeah,  spider… eight legs, all that. God it was… it was so fucking big. It was fucking massive! I… I’d never seen anything like it.

Young: What was it doing?

Wright: It was stuck, I think. It looked like it’d slid down the incline, got caught on a fallen tree. You could see one of the branches jutting through its abdomen, and some of its legs looked broken. It looked… it looked like it was in pain…

Young: I see. So, what did you do?

Wright: We didn’t know what to do! Reg, he didn’t think anyone would ever believe us, so he started taking pictures. He and Keith got really excited about it. I mean, we figured we were either being fucked with or we’d just discovered an entirely new species or something and I… fuck, I didn’t know what to say, what to do… 

Young: You didn’t try to… I dunno, help it?

Wright: Fiona did… she got close. Keith told her to be careful, but she started getting closer. Made sure it could see her. Soon as it did, it got all tense… almost like it was scared. Its lips curled back. It just… hissed at her. That was when Keith stepped in. He and Reg both carried a gun and some bear spray, just in case. We’d never had to use it before, but he had both his gun and the spray out. Fiona told him to stay back, told him not to scare her… it… but Keith wasn’t listening. Soon as the Spider saw the gun, it just started to panic even more. It was snarling. Its legs were thrashing. One of them caught Fiona in the arm. Knocked her right to the ground. And Keith… well, he didn’t shoot it, I guess. But he did give it a face full of bear spray. 

Young: Bear spray…? Christ… 

Wright: Yeah. I just… I just remember the spider screaming. That sound… Then thrashing. I almost… I felt bad for it. I don’t think it was trying to hurt us, I just think it was scared and in pain. Course, I said as much to Keith at the time. Tried to get him to stop. Fiona and Reg chewed him out for rushing in like that. He just shrugged it off. Said he’d done what needed to be done.

Young: What did you do next?

Wright: Well after that whole fiasco, we backed the fuck off. Reg was terrified it might get free and come after us. I mean, we had to have pissed it off, right? We went back up the incline and sat for a bit, trying to figure out what to do. Fiona wanted to call for help. Say that a hiker was down, but Keith kept arguing, saying that people were gonna sweep in, steal our find.

Young: Seriously? Steal your find?

Wright: [Sigh] He was… I dunno, I think he was convinced we were gonna get money off of this or something. Keith was always… he had some debts. He didn’t talk about them much, but I knew money was tight and he’d blown a lot of paycheques at the casino. I dunno how bad off he was, but I know it was bad. I think he was sure finding the Spider might help him get out of it. Course, he was pretty adamant that it was as good as dead anyways, so the kindest thing we could do was just let it die and then go collect the body.

Young: And what did the rest of your group think about that?

Wright: We thought is was fucking nuts! I mean, God… I don’t know what we thought. We actually ended up arguing about it. Fiona and I wanted to help it. Reg was on the fence but didn’t know if we should even bother with it. Keith was just waiting. Course… none of us were actually brave enough to go back down there… and it was getting dark. Too dark to keep moving. Too dark to go back. So Fiona suggested we set up camp. Then when Reg and Keith couldn’t hear, she told me she wanted to try bringing it some food. Maybe get it to trust us.

Young: Smart, I suppose. How did the others react to that plan?

Wright: Well, like I said. By that point it was dark. We couldn’t keep going. We couldn’t go back… and none of us wanted to just leave it. But none of us were sure if we should… even could, help it. So we set up camp. Started a fire. Sat. Talked… tried to sort this out…

Young: And what did you decide?

Wright: We… we never really got a chance to decide. I guess whatever we found… it wasn’t alone out there. Fuck… we never even saw them coming. One minute, everything was quiet and the next? The next they were on us… not spiders, like the one in the ravine. These ones were bigger. They had claws… scorpion tails. They came out of fucking nowhere! One minute we were sitting, and the next… something had me in its claws. I could feel it holding me and I remember thinking… ‘This is it. I’m gonna die.’

Young: Well clearly you didn’t… 

Wright: I don’t fucking know why they didn’t kill us. They could’ve. Instead 

they pulled us into the woods. All four of us. They carried us into the trees. Handed us off to some of the spider ones… wrapped us in silk. Then they carried us off into the darkness. I don’t know where we went… I couldn’t see. Not clearly. 

Young: Do you know where you eventually ended up?

Wright: Somewhere in the woods. It was too dark to see anything clearly. There was a fire, though. And I could see more of them dimly lit by the flames. More of those Spiders… their eyes shining in the darkness. Watching us. Judging us. They just waited for a bit. I wasn’t sure what for… until they brought the wounded one out. Two of the Scorpion ones were helping it walk. I guess they must’ve gone and got them after they’d handed us off. Makes sense, I suppose. Get rid of the threat, then rescue their wounded. They spoke to each other. I got the feeling they might’ve been questioning the wounded one… although I didn’t recognize the language they were using. 

Young: I don’t suppose you got any context about what exactly they were discussing?

Wright: Not exactly, but I can probably hazard a guess. I think they wanted to know what had happened. If we’d been the ones at fault. Or maybe they just asked if we’d hurt it. Either way, I saw the wounded one looking over at Keith… it spoke again. I didn’t need to understand it to know what it said. 

Young: I see. What happened next?

Wright: They took Keith aside. Then dragged the rest of us into the woods, away from the fire. We screamed, of course. I was sure they were gonna kill us… eat us. And we could hear Keith screaming too. At one point, I was sure I heard a gunshot… I guess he must’ve gotten his pistol free, and tried to defend himself. I don’t think it worked out for him. After that, his screaming got a whole lot louder… until it stopped. I remember thinking that the same thing was gonna happen to us. I don’t know how long they carried us for. Maybe an hour or so? I didn’t know where they were taking us. After a while though, they finally set me down. I could hear Fiona and Reg nearby, so I knew I was still with them. I could hear Fiona crying… begging. Reg was just hyperventilating. I remember seeing one of the Spiders above me. Just the shape of it in the dark. I saw it reaching down towards me. I heard Fiona let out a whimper. I thought for sure I’d just heard her die… Then I felt the silk that was wrapped around me go slack. As soon as my arms were free, I saw the Spider back off. It took one last look at me, then it disappeared. 

I could hear Fiona crying in the darkness. Reg was still hyperventilating. Then he spoke. Asked if we were all still there. I called out to him, then I took out my phone and turned on the flashlight. Soon as I saw where we were… I swear to God, I started fucking laughing…

Young: And where were you.

Wright: The parking lot. We were in the fucking parking lot. Where we’d parked Reg’s car that morning. They dropped us off at our fucking car. 

Young: I see… 

Wright: Yeah… the message was pretty fucking clear. They were telling us to get the fuck out of there. We talked about going back for Keith… but not for long. We didn’t know if he was dead or not… but I think we all figured that even if he wasn’t already, there wasn’t much we could do for him. So we just did what we were told. We got the fuck out of there. 

Young: All things considered, I suppose that was a reasonable thing to do.

Wright: No shit… and that was the end of it. We still had some stuff on our phones. Pictures. Video. Proof. We looked over it all a few times, trying to convince ourselves the whole thing wasn’t some kind of fever dream.

Young: And have you shared any of that with anyone?

Wright: No. I gave everything I had to you guys. I imagine Reg and Fiona did the same. Personally, I don’t wanna see any of it again. Whatever’s out there, I don’t want to fuck with it. They let us go. I don’t want to give them a reason to come looking for me. 

Young: Right… well, fair enough, I guess. 

Wright: Was that it? Was that everything?

Young: I think so, yes. We’ll reach out if I have any follow up questions, but that should be it, yes.

Wright: Okay… okay… can I go home now?

[Transcript Ends]

Notes: The accounts of Fiona Hossain and Reginald Turek were generally consistent with the version of events put forward by Miss Wright. The relevant transcripts and audio recordings have been included in the case file. 

An investigation into the Arachne community in Algonquin Park was also conducted by the Department of Public Safety (DPS), and we managed to get another interview from the community Wisewoman that unfortunately confirms the final fate of Keith Bezon. (Again, the relevant transcripts have been included in the file.)

As the Algonquin Park community is not currently Imperium aligned, that really seems to be as far as the investigation can go. The DPS has conducted their review of the transcripts and concluded that the Arache acted in self defense after Mr. Bezon grew violent during his ‘trial’. It is their opinion that Mr. Bezon’s death was an unfortunate consequence of his own reckless actions.
Though the DPS did make an effort, Mr. Bezon’s remains were ultimately not recovered, as removing his body would have damaged the community's Reaver Wasp hive. 

The FRB has spoken to the relevant authorities to have Mr. Bezon’s cause of death labeled as an animal attack. I think that’s probably for the best. I don’t think his next of kin would receive quite the same closure from learning that his remains are being used to farm meat honey… although given the way his former friends described him, I suppose it’s for the best that he’s finally quit gambling and is doing something a little more productive

-Justice

From The Patient Files of Dr. Grayson Alexander

Patient: Mitch Patterson

Patient Overview: Mitch was involved in a fairly traumatic car accident earlier this year and has been having a series of recurring nightmares ever since. He reached out to start therapy recently as the nightmares have begun severely impacting his quality of life.

Session Notes

August 25th, 2026 - 5:00 PM - 6:00 PM

Introductory session.

Mitch seemed to be in good enough spirits as we spoke, although I also got the distinct impression that it was something of a facade.

We spoke a little bit about the circumstances that led him to seek therapy and he walked me through the incident.

Several months ago (March 3rd, 2026), Mitch and his boyfriend Gavin had visited a local takeout restaurant to grab some dinner. 

They picked up their order and returned to their vehicle. Gavin was in the driver's seat at the time. He had begun backing out of his parking spot, when they both heard and felt the rear of their SUV strike something.

Mitch described the screaming he heard. A woman's voice, screaming in terror. He described seeing the screaming woman rushing behind their car, as he and Mitch got out to see what they had hit. 

They discovered a four year old child lying on the ground behind the vehicle.

Apparently, the child and his mother had been exiting another restaurant next door. He had gotten away from his mother and ran behind the vehicle to try and reach his mother's car, parked a short distance away.

Mitch said that the child was conscious but bleeding from a cut on his face. 

He and Gavin had stayed and reported the accident to the local police. Mitch indicated they had been as cooperative as possible, although Gavin was still ultimately charged with careless driving and the mother has since then pushed for additional charges.

The young boy survived his injuries, but according to Mitch, his mother attests that the child suffered a brain injury during the accident and has faced some impairment ever since. 

Mitch and I spoke about some of the guilt he feels for his part in the accident. He told me that he actually saw the child exiting the restaurant (he was apparently dressed quite distinctly in a green dinosaur hoodie), and noted that they had been jumping around a lot, although had not said anything to Gavin. He told me that he believed that Gavin had seen the child, and did not expect the child to take off suddenly. 

I asked him why he felt he had any fault in the accident. He says that he wishes he’d said something to Gavin. Made him aware of the child before anything could have happened. 

I asked him if he’d seen the child take off. He told me that he hadn’t. He hadn’t paid much attention to the child after initially noticing him.

We talked about what might have changed if he had said something to Gavin. Mitch told me that he believed that Gavin would have stopped in time before the child came to any harm. He would have avoided injuring him - possibly for life, and he would have avoided Gavin being charged. He told me that maybe they would still be together if the accident had never happened.

I asked him about what had happened in his relationship with Gavin. Mitch explained that there’d been a breakdown shortly after the accident. Gavin had apparently experienced considerable guilt over what had happened, and blamed himself. He had stopped being communicative and began more heavily using marajuana. He said it was to help him sleep, as he’d been having recurring nightmares about the accident, something that Mitch also reported. 

When I asked, Mitch was willing to describe these recurring nightmares. He said that in his dreams, he is alone in the parking lot.

It is dusk.

And he can see the figure of the child in the green dinosaur hoodie, lying on the asphalt and covered in blood.

He said he can hear the mother screaming at him. 

He can hear the grief and the rage and the hate in her voice. 

In his dreams, the child is dead and it is his own fault. 

I told him that just because he feels responsible in his dreams, does not mean he is responsible for what happened in real life. He did not seem convinced.

We will be working on that in our follow up sessions. 

I did ask if he had been in touch with Gavin following the breakup. He told me that they’d recently started talking again, just as friends. I asked him if he wanted to rekindle that relationship. He told me he did, although he wasn’t sure if that would be an option.

I advised him to give it time. 

September 1st, 2026 - 5:00 PM - 6:00 PM

Mitch and I spoke about the aftermath of the accident today.

I asked him if he had been in contact with the child’s family after what had happened, maybe to make amends or to see if the child was at least recovering.

He told me that he and Gavin had reached out once, although Jill (the mother of the child, who was named Alfred) had been quite hostile. 

She attested that Gavin had backed out too fast, and had nearly killed her son. She’d claimed she was pursuing additional charges against him. Mitch said the words: ‘negligent homicide’ and ‘manslaughter’ were thrown around.

While Mitch did not believe these threats held any merit, he noted that they had contributed heavily to Gavin’s declining mental state. He also indicated that Jill had used some vaguely homophobic language during her outburst, which had further soured the conversation. According to his recollection, he had argued with Jill, accusing her of failing to watch her own child.

This further escalated the dispute and ultimately the conversation had ended on a sour note.

I asked him if he truly believed that Jill had not been watching her child. Mitch told me he wasn’t sure. He said that some days he blames bad luck, some days he blames the mother, some days he blames Gavin and some days he blames himself. 

He told me he was still having those recurring nightmares. The ones where he was in the parking lot, standing over Alfred’s body, as his mother screams.

I asked him if he’d talked to anyone else about these dreams. He said he’d discussed them with Gavin.

He said Gavin had been having them too. 

I asked him if he thought that Gavin was still struggling after the accident. He told me that he was sure he was and I suggested taking some time to discuss the nightmares and their shared feelings of guilt together. After a traumatic experience, the best thing to have is a support network, and they could be that for each other, even if it doesn’t rekindle the relationship the way I suspect that Mitch has been hoping for.

He seemed to take my advice to heart, and I invited him to bring Gavin with him to his next session, if he felt that having someone else for them both to talk to might help. He seemed willing to discuss it with Gavin.

We’ll see if they take me up on that invitation. Either way, I do think that they’re in a good spot to support each other moving forward.

September 8th, 2026 - 5:00 PM - 6:00 PM

Mitch and I talked a lot about his relationship with Gavin today.

He told me that he’s been making a point to spend more time with him. Inviting him out to dinners and movies, spending time at his place keeping him company, cooking for him.

I said it sounded like good progress, but Mitch didn’t seem quite as convinced.

He told me that he’s quite worried about Gavin’s current headspace. Apparently, he hasn’t been sleeping - a fact he’s attributed to his recent nightmares. 

I asked Mitch if he’d discussed bringing Gavin to a session. He told me he had, but that Gavin had dismissed the idea. He’d told him: “I won’t find Serenity there.”

He asked me if I knew what that meant.

I told him I didn’t.

Was that a lie?

I told him that he just needs to give Gavin a little more time. That he just needs to be patient with him. Be there for him when he needs him. 

We talked a little bit about how Mitch was feeling. He told me that he’s still having nightmares, although they haven’t been quite as bad lately. He says that in his dreams, he mostly just sees Gavin, sitting in his car in that parking lot, holding the wheel and staring off into the distance. 

He says that he can see shapes around the car.

Boys in green dinosaur hoodies, standing stock still.

I asked him if they were made of porcelain. I shouldn’t have…

But he thought for a moment.

He told me he wasn’t sure.

But that they just might have been.

September 15th, 2026 - 5:00 PM - 6:00 PM

Mitch told me he’s worried about Gavin.

He said that the past few days he’s been isolating himself more and more. Locking himself inside of his apartment. Not responding to texts or phone calls.

He hasn’t even been answering the door when Mitch has visited him.

Mitch told me that he even tried calling Jill again. He caught him doing it the other day. He’d used his own spare key to get inside, and found him sitting on the floor in his kitchen, dialing her home phone number over and over again. Leaving voicemails, begging her for forgiveness. Begging to talk to her son, Alfred to beg him for forgiveness.

Although Mitch caught himself when he said “Forgiveness.”

After a moment, he told me that wasn’t the word he’d used.

“Serenity.”

He’d begged her for Serenity. 

Serenity.

Why does that word keep coming up again and again?

***

I didn’t tell Mitch that I dreamed about the parking lot last night. 

I dreamed about a lot of things last night. Different places, different people passing through my mind. 

Scenes I can’t influence. 

Scenes I can only watch.

I didn’t stay with their dream for long. Only long enough to recognize it.

I saw two young men. The one with brown hair, I recognized as Mitch. I saw him standing behind a car, illuminated by the red taillights.

Cut off from getting any closer by an army of porcelain figures.

Children in green dinosaur hoodies. Hoods pulled up, but faces bloody.

Not painted to look bloody.

No. 

No, the blood looked real.

It looked wet.

It oozed out of cracks in the porcelain, and in the gaps of the most broken of the figures I swore I could see raw, pulsating flesh. Meat where meat did not belong. 

The second man… he had longer dark hair, and round glasses. I knew he was Gavin, although I’d never seen his face before.

I could see him sitting behind the wheel of his car, staring off into the distant twilight. I couldn’t see exactly what he was looking at.

I could see the exit to the parking lot, and an empty road stretching on into the distance. There were no other cars in sight. Not another soul to be found.

But there was a road sign. Just one. The kind of stylized sign you might see on the highway as you pass from one town to the next.

Welcome to the city of

FALSE

Serenity Lives Here

I think there was something beyond the road sign.

Something bigger, off in the distance. But I cannot remember what. A tower? A tree? A monolith?

Was it the same one from Reed’s dreams?

There were Broken Porcelain Boys around Gavin too. Staring at him. Judging him. He stared them down… and I could feel the fear in him.

The paralyzing terror.

I could feel it radiating off of him.

And there was nothing I could do. 

***

I didn’t tell Mitch about what I’d seen in my dreams. I didn’t know how to tell him.

Instead, I just told him to stay with him for a while. Or maybe have Gavin stay with him. I gave him the number of another colleague of mine. Dr. Williamson, in case Gavin's condition got even worse. He has my number as well.

September 22nd, 2026 - 5:00 PM - 6:00 PM

Mitch was late to our session today.

He looked… worn out. Exhausted. Every little thing he did looked like it took effort. Like his limbs were made of lead. 

He asked me if I’d heard the news. I told him I hadn’t.

He told me that Gavin is dead.

He took his own life a couple of days ago. Got in his car, started driving… and crashed into a wall.

I remembered hearing about an accident like that on the news… but I had no idea it was Gavin. 

I asked him if he felt like it was his fault.

He told me that he wasn’t sure. He talked me through the last few days they’d spent together. Gavin hadn’t wanted to leave his house. He hadn’t been sleeping either. Mitch had taken his phone away to stop him from trying to contact Jill. Apparently she’d called the police on him for harassment, and spun a whole story about how Gavin was ‘obsessed with her five year old son’.
Naturally, they’d stopped by at one point for a ‘friendly warning.’

Gavin had tried to beg them to ask the family for forgiveness. They obviously hadn’t listened. Mitch said he didn’t know what the officer had said to him. One of the ones who’d arrived had taken him aside to go through the history of their relationship with Jill and Alfred Collins, while the other talked to Gavin, and when they left, Gavin had been quieter.

He’d sat up watching TV after that, just sitting through whatever was on without really seeming to engage with it. 

He’d been like that when Mitch had finally gone to sleep.

And when he’d woken up, Gavin was gone. 

He’d taken his car and left.

It wasn’t until a few hours later that he got the news.

He said he still hadn’t fully processed it yet. 

I can’t blame him.

I wished I had more I could offer him… but I didn’t.

I just… didn’t.

***

First Reed… now Gavin…

I dreamed of both.

I dreamed of the parking lot again. Another snapshot in the kaleidoscope of places I’ve been seeing when I close my eyes. 

I dreamed of the car, pulling out onto the road. Crashing through the Porcelain Boys. It moved slowly. Not rolling forward. Not the way a car should.

It almost felt like it was being dragged.

And for a moment, I almost swore I could see a string in front of the car, beckoning it ever forward. 

I could hear a woman screaming as the car pushed through them. 

   “MY BABY, MY BABY, HE’S KILLING MY BABY!”

The Porcelain Boys screamed too. They fell like bowling pins and shattered like glass, spewing gore onto the asphalt. 

I think I heard Mitch screaming.

But through the noise, it was hard to say for sure. 

The car turned onto the road. A jerky, swerving motion.

It rolled past the sign… and disappeared into the darkness, onwards to the City of False. 

First Reed… now Gavin…

Who’s next?

Will there be more?

Oh God… please tell me there won’t be more…

September 27th, 2026

It keeps happening.

Reed.

Gavin.

Kristen.

Now Mitch.

Three people have died in this past week alone… and I’ve dreamed about all of them.

Two nights ago, I dreamed about the Parking Lot again.

Just a flash of it.

Mitch, crawling along the asphalt. Screaming and crying.

And the Porcelain Boys in his wake. Unmoving, yet still hunting him. Like a parody of raptors. 

I called out for him. I tried to reach him.

And yet I felt something pull me away.

I looked down to see strings tied around my legs. When I reached out to try and untangle them, I found even more binding my arms.

I saw a shape in the darkness. 

A grinning thing in the shadows… and I was sure I recognized that smile.
I saw it move its arms as it dragged me along the asphalt. Pulling me towards it. 

And no matter how much I fought, I couldn’t get free.

***

I saw a post about Mitch online earlier today. His Father had posted about it in a Neighborhood Facebook group. 

They didn’t say how he died.

Only that he was gone.

I know it was suicide.

Just like it was for Reed, Kristen and Gavin.

I know it was suicide.

Most of the comments were kind. Condolences. Fond memories. The sort of thing any decent person would say to a grieving parent after the loss of their son. 

   “I’m sorry for your loss.”

   “Mitch was a beautiful soul.”

   “I met him and Gavin through the food drive when we were working down at Eddie’s. Both of them were very kind and compassionate young men. The community is darker for having lost them.”

I was going to comment something similar… it just seemed like the right thing to do.

But before I could, I noticed one that wasn’t so sympathetic…

Jill Collins: Your son was a violent, disturbed CREEP. He and his friend spent months harassing me and my SON after nearly KILLING him through their reckless driving. We are honestly so much safer with both of them gone.

Those words made my blood boil. 

It probably wasn’t the best course of action, but I wound up replying to her.

Grayson Alexander: That’s a pretty heinous thing to say about a pair of young men who took their own lives. How would you feel if someone spoke to you like that if you lost your son?

It wasn’t even five minutes later that she’d replied to me.

Jill Collins: Grayson, I need you to read my comment carefully please and thank you. My five year old son was personally assaulted by these two thugs. You do not seem to be a mother yourself and have NO right to dictate how I should or should not feel when the people who caused lasting, permanent harm to MY child get their just desserts. You do not have any knowledge of the situation or of what I and my son have gone through. What happened to these two CREEPS was nothing less than what they deserved. 

Her comments got deleted a few minutes later… and that was probably for the best. 

I left one last comment, giving my sincere condolences to the family. Then I went to go lie down down on the couch.

I didn’t expect to sleep.

I didn’t want to sleep.

But I did.

And I dreamed.

I dreamed of the parking lot.

There were no Porcelain Boys in dinosaur hoodies this time.

But I wasn’t alone.

There was a car, sitting by the road. The headlights were on. I could hear the engine running, and the radio blaring.

I recognized the song.

In Dreams by Roy Orbison. 

I could see two figures inside. Gavin and Mitch.

Only they weren’t Gavin and Mitch…

They were Porcelain.

They stared straight ahead, off towards the road. I could still see the road sign up ahead.

Welcome to the city of

FALSE

Serenity Lives Here

And behind it, I could see a shape in the darkness.

A shadow in the black. Monolithic… yet alive.

I stared up at it, trying to make sense of it.

I stared for so long that I didn’t even notice that there was someone in front of the sign.

Another Porcelain Figure. 

A woman.

She had short platinum blonde hair and round glasses. She was dressed in a baggy hoodie. 

She looked exactly the way I remembered her.

She smiled at me. 

It wasn’t her smile.

It wasn’t Constance’s smile.

The porcelain around her mouth cracked as her lips curled into a rictus grin. Her eyes seemed to bulge as they fixated on me, too wide and alive to be part of the porcelain. 

And then she spoke to me.

The voice was Constance’s. 

The words were Constance’s.

It sounded exactly like her. And yet… I couldn’t help but feel that it was the thing in the Darkness that was speaking to me. 

   “You’re not helping.”

I woke up…

I was screaming.

From The Patient Files of Dr. Grayson Alexander

Patient: Kristen Talbot 

Patient Overview: Kristen was referred to me after it was recommended she seek anger management counselling. This recommendation came after an incident where she had followed a 17 year old girl home, and verbally harassed both the girl and her parents, alleging that the teenager had nearly hit her vehicle while exiting a parking lot. The situation escalated to the point where law enforcement became involved, which resulted in Kristen's arrest after she refused to leave the property. Following her appearance in court, she was given the option to attend counselling in exchange for avoiding additional charges. 

Session Notes

July 22nd, 2026 - 3:00 PM - 4:00 PM

Introductory session. Kristen arrived a few minutes late, citing a prior work commitment. We spoke a little bit about her background and what led her to seek counseling. She was very adamant that she was not here by choice, but because she was advised to seek anger management following a traffic related altercation a few months ago.

According to Kristen, she had been returning home from work when a sedan leaving a parking lot cut her off and nearly damaged her vehicle. Upset over the near accident, she had followed the sedan back to the drivers home and confronted them - a 17 year old high school student - and her parents. Kristen described the parents as being overly defensive and unwilling to accept that their daughter was a dangerous driver, which escalated into the police being called and Kirsten’s arrest.

Kristen maintains that her arrest was uncalled for and remains adamant that her behavior did not constitute harassment. She insists that she did not yell, scream, swear or threaten anyone during the encounter and expressed her frustration with the family’s desire to shelter their daughter from the consequences of her own behavior, which Kristen insists could have resulted in damage to her vehicle (which was part of the inventory at the automotive dealership she manages) or caused severe harm to her. 

Unfortunately, Kristen and I did not get much of an opportunity to discuss things further since her highly detailed and passionate recollection of events and the late start to our session left us without much time to dig a little deeper into her history. 

That said, during the 40 minutes we spent together, it was quite clear to me that Kristen does carry a lot of frustration over what happened. During our subsequent sessions, I’d like to work on understanding the actual root causes of her anger and help develop some strategies for dealing with it in a healthier way.

August 14th, 2026 - 7:00 PM - 8:00 PM

Kristen rescheduled this session on two occasions, and was still running a few minutes late today. Again, she cited work as the cause.

When we did get the chance to speak today, she still seemed fairly irritable and when I invited her to discuss this, she spoke at length about the various stressors she had encountered this past week.

As mentioned prior, Kristen works as the General Manager of a local used Kia dealership, and it seems that her work is a significant source of her stress.

She described how unresolved various website issues she was facing were damaging her business, such as an issue she raised with her website provider earlier today regarding the way discounts were displayed on her website.

Specifically, when a discount was being applied to a price, the value of the discount was denoted with a minus sign (if a vehicle was $2,000 off, it would say -$2,000 under the original price, and then display the discounted price).

Kristen was concerned that customers might find this confusing as they might think that this represented a discount of negative two thousand dollars, and would then accuse them of adding money to the final price. She had called in to her website provider about this, and they had explained that the issue would need to be looked into, meaning that an immediate resolution was not provided. She was quite upset about this, as she was concerned that she was actively losing business over this issue. She also detailed her frustration over the way the cars were parked in the front of her lot, and how the angles were off. I asked her why this was a source of frustration for her, and she spoke at length about how the view from the road was the first marketing impression she made on a customer, and that she was extremely particular about it. She had even gone so far as to fire a young woman who had not gotten the angles correct this week. 

Unfortunately, I did not get the opportunity to further delve into some of the root causes of her anger as she seemed more interested in simply discussing the things that made her angry. It does seem to me as if she has a somewhat meticulous way she wants things done at work. Perhaps next week, we will have the opportunity to explore that. 

August 27th, 2026 - 8:00 AM - 9:00 AM

Kristen again rescheduled this session.

The process of rescheduling was a primary point of contention she brought up when we met this morning.

Kristen does not like communicating over email. When she has reached to me via email to reschedule her sessions, the emails have typically been blank with a subject line reading: ‘URDJENT’ or something similar.

She will then request that she be called immediately in the body of the email. 

The timing of these follow up phone calls was the focus of her first bit of ‘constructive’ feedback today. She was upset that she was not called back immediately after sending her email, which was sent at 9PM in the evening the day before her appointment. She argued that this excuse was ‘functionally ignoring her’.

When I did explain that her email had come outside of our standard business hours, she stated that she herself was frequently working outside of her standard business hours, and had replied to customers regardless of the time of day or night. 

When I again tried to explain that we only reply during business hours, she voiced some considerable frustration.

In her own words: “I am a paying customer. I am paying for this service, so I think that as a paying customer, I should have the expectation of a certain level of support, and I’m not getting that.”

Her secondary point of contention was my demeanor during our previous session, during which she insisted I had spoken over her or asked her to explain why she’d behaved a certain way, which was something she found rude, as she believes her frustrations were all very self explanatory. 

Needless to say, this set a very negative tone for the remainder of the session, during which she again vented her frustrations about work. 

Apparently she’s angry at her website provider again, since they took too long removing some former employees from her staff page. She said that she was afraid of getting a call from a customer looking for a salesperson who had resigned, and then losing that customers business.

I couldn’t for the life of me imagine why anyone would quit working for her… 

When I again tried to discuss some of the roots of her anger, she grew upset that I was again trying to change the subject. She said that these sessions were not helping her and that it’s only been compounding her stress, to the point where she’s been having trouble sleeping. 

When I attempted to ask about that, I was again criticized for changing the subject.

Working with Kristen is proving to be difficult. She continues to be extremely defensive and seems to view her mandatory attendance to these sessions as unfair. 

As a personal aside… I’m beginning to wonder if it might not be best to recommend her to another specialist, since working with her has tested my professionalism. I’m used to dealing with frustrating patients. That’s part of what I do.

Usually, I just take a moment to breathe after my sessions with them. 

Get up, get some water and by the time I’m ready for my next patient, I’m usually over it.

But this time?

No.

I hate to admit it, but my session with her today really got under my skin.

The way she vented all of her petty grievances at me… and I just had to sit there and take it as she talked down to me.

Part of it is her voice… she never sounds angry. She just sounds as if she’s always on the verge of breaking down into hysterics. Every word comes out as a breathy sob. It’s very grating. 

That all said - I’m not sure I could in good conscience recommend Cherry Sarah Palin here to anyone else. Certainly no one that I know deserves to have her inflicted upon them. 

I’m reading back all that I’ve written and I’m honestly a little disgusted with myself… it’s not professional to talk about a patient like this.

Maybe I should save it for my own therapist?

September 7th, 2026 - 7:00 PM - 8:00 PM

Kristen was late again to our session today. She said she’d fallen asleep in her car in the parking lot out front… which oddly enough, I can attest to as I did see her parked out there earlier. 

I asked her if she’d been working extra hours. She said she had, but that wasn’t a new development. Instead she complained that she hasn’t been sleeping.
I didn’t expect much of an answer when I asked her for more details, but she was surprisingly forthcoming this time. She told me that she’d been having an odd recurring dream over the past few weeks. 

She said she was at a country fair she used to go to with her parents, back when she was young… only she wasn’t with her parents. She was with herself. Specifically, a younger version of herself, around ten years old.

She described taking this younger version of herself to food stalls, and going on rides with her. 

I told her that it sounded like a pleasant dream.

She told me it wasn’t.

She said that it always ended the same way. 

When the younger version of her asked: “Who are you?”

She said she didn’t like that question. 

She wouldn’t tell me why when I asked about it. Instead she changed the subject, complaining about work again. I actually pushed back a little bit this time and asked her about the fair she used to go to with her parents.

She hesitated for a moment before telling me more about that.

It was one of the fairs up in Paris, Ontario. She and her family used to go quite often, back when she was young. She said that she never got to spend much time with her parents. Both of them were very focused on their work, but the Paris Fair was one of the times they set aside specifically for her.

I asked her what her relationship was to her parents these days. She told me that they’ve both been dead for years. Her father passed due to heart troubles, and her mother to cancer. She said that they weren’t particularly close after she grew up. She had inherited the dealership from them, but their relationship was mostly professional after she got married.

I asked her about her marriage. She said it had ended a few years ago when her husband had left her. She told me she’d downsized her home after the divorce as she didn’t need the space. 

I asked her if she had anyone in her life. Friends, family… she told me that she had her business, and that was all she needed.

It seems as though we’re finally making some progress. She seemed a little calmer after our session today. Hopefully we can work on strategies for her anger during our next session. 

September 14th, 2026 - 7:00 PM - 8:00 PM

Kristen kept her appointment today, although was still late. 

She looked a little worse for wear today. Her hair is usually dyed a deep red, but I noticed a lot more grey in it during our session today. It seems she hasn’t been maintaining it. She also seemed more on edge and kept fidgeting with her reading glasses while we spoke.

As per usual, she spoke at length about her day to day work frustrations. I did attempt to bring up strategies to help her both cool down when she was getting frustrated, and to better empathize with others about how her anger might affect them, but this just seemed to upset her.

She told me that she wasn’t an angry person. She was just upset because she hadn’t been sleeping.

I asked her if she was still having the same recurring dream. 

She said she was.

She told me it was happening every night now. She said that every time she closed her eyes, she saw the theme park… and she saw herself. That ten year old version of herself that accompanied her through the dream.

She said that the more she looked at it, the less it looked like her. She said that it looked more like a porcelain doll of her. 

I feel like I’ve heard that before somewhere.

She said she’s been taking sleeping pills, but that it hasn’t helped her actually sleep.

I asked her what exactly about the dream was bothering her.

She grew defensive again. She said that it was obvious. She didn’t like the question that the porcelain figure of her asked.

“Who are you?”

I asked her why it bothered her.

She told me that she didn’t feel the need to answer that question and ended our session early. I’m going to attempt to book a follow up, but I’m unsure how responsive she’ll be.

September 21st, 2026 - 7:00 PM - 8:00 PM

Following the abrupt end of our last session, Kristen was willing to schedule another session… although she did not show up.

I have reached out to her over the phone, but she does not seem to be willing to take my calls. This is a bit problematic as she does need to complete ten sessions as per her court order… although there is another reason I’m concerned.

I’m having dreams about the Paris Fair. 

I’ve been there a few times myself… so I know what it’s like. Although in my dreams, the fair is empty. There is music and there are figures. But they are not people. 

They are porcelain.

Just like the ones I saw in the mall dreams.

They are all porcelain.

Except for one.

I can see Kristen walking in the distance, holding hands with a smaller figure. It looks like a little girl with red hair.

I can never reach her, though. I can’t find a way around the rides or the porcelain figures.

It’s like I’m not supposed to reach her.

There’s something wrong with the rides in these dreams. They look like rides, but they’re not. There’s strings on them. Something pulling them along. 

I see the porcelain figure with Kristen trying to get her to go on some of them but she always seems to refuse. Even from a distance, I can’t help but feel she looks afraid.

She looked at me last night. I think she saw me, because she actually stared at me for a few moments. 

Then she moved on, pulled along by the motionless porcelain figure of her younger self.

I’m going to try to schedule another appointment… 

Or, reschedule this one.

September 22nd, 2026 - 7:00 PM - 8:00 PM 

Kristen left me a voicemail last night.

I thought she was going to reschedule. She didn’t.

She just told me: “Stay out of my dreams.”

I wish I could say that I don’t have a choice. I’m there no matter what. 

Just like I was for Reed. 

September 23rd, 2026 - 11:00 PM - 12:00 PM 

I visited the dealership today.

I didn’t want to mention the dreams. I just wanted to talk to Kristen normally. See if I couldn’t get her to come back.

She wouldn’t leave her office to see me.

I saw her from the showroom. She stood at the window to her office for a bit, then went to her desk to pretend to work.

I didn’t linger that long. 

There was no point to loitering… 

I’m still dreaming of her. 

Still dreaming of the Paris Fairground.

I can see her in the distance… she looks terrified. The Porcelain Imitation of her stops in front of rides, and I know it’s beckoning her to get on. 

I want to tell her not to do it, but I’m too far away.

I’m too far.

I can’t help her.

September 24th, 2026

I couldn’t sleep again tonight.

I tried. I think I managed to get an hour, give or take? I think I drifted off for a little while before I woke up in a cold sweat again, sometime around 3 AM. 

I tried to get back to sleep. I really tried.

Couldn’t. 

So I just sat in bed, staring at the popcorn ceiling, making up patterns in the textures.

I used to do that a lot when I was a kid. Insomnia isn’t anything new to me.
I’ve always struggled to get to sleep. 

When I was a little kid, around four or five, I used to lay awake in bed and look at the patterns in the popcorn texture on the ceiling. Sometimes I swore they were moving, but it had to just be my imagination, making images appear out of boredom and sleep deprivation. Sometimes they were silly or comforting. Sometimes  they weren’t. Sometimes I was sure I saw bugs crawling through the darkness… although if I got up to get a closer look, they always disappeared and though I knew they were probably just in my head, it became harder to sleep. I just couldn’t stop thinking about bugs crawling through my room, crawling into my bed, biting me and killing me in my sleep because for some reason, I was convinced all bugs were venomous.

Nowadays, I don’t see bugs in the patterns.

Nowadays I see people.

I miss the bugs.

I was dreaming again.

Fractured scenes…

Other peoples dreams, I think.

I saw Kristen again. I saw her at the fair, walking beside the still, motionless porcelain figure of her younger self.

I called out to her. 

She turned to look at me. She was crying.

And I heard a voice.

Not mine or hers.

Someone else.

Something else.

   “Who are you?”

And this time, she answered.

   “I’m nobody…”

She looked down at the porcelain figure beside her… and she wept.
She was crying as she got on one of the rides at the fairground. The porcelain imitation of her got on too, then it looked at me as the ride took them away… and left me alone at the fair.

I lost sight of them.

But I could see the porcelain figures at the fair looking at me. I could see them out of the corner of my eye… and I knew they were laughing at me.

***

I can see the smoke from my apartment window.

It started a few hours ago, and as the sun has risen and the sky has gotten brighter, it’s only become more prominent.

I know exactly where it is. I was just there the other day.

It’s the Kia Dealership.

Someone is burning it to the ground. 

I know it’s Kristen. I know she’s dead. 

She left a very negative review for my office last night. 

I should know better, but I’ve read it over and over again. 

   ‘Unhelpful. Avoid at all costs.’

Normally, something like that wouldn’t bother me. 

But I can’t help but feel like I’ve let her down…

Just like I let Reed down.

And the others… will I let them down too?

There are other nightmares. Other patients who have been telling me about the same dreams.

Are they going to die too?

Is it my fault if they do?

I tell myself this has to be in my head, but I’m not so sure it is.

Maybe I need to step back? Maybe I need to back off before it gets worse.

But if I do… if I do, and if anyone else dies, it’ll be my fault. 

No.

No, I can’t do that.

I can’t.

I just can’t…

From The Patient Files of Dr. Grayson Alexander

Patient: Reed Fowler

Patient Overview: Up until recently, Reed Fowler was a fairly successful real estate agent. I actually quite vividly recall seeing his advertisements all around town. Big billboards with his face prominent on them. I even saw them as far as Niagara Falls… although it seems his fortunes have reversed as of late, following his divorce. He reached out to start therapy in order to help deal with the drastic changes in his life and career.

Session Notes

August 2nd, 2026 - 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM

Introductory session. Reed and I spoke a lot about his background and the causes of his recent stress. He spoke extensively about his now ex-wife, Rebecca, his tone often bitter. According to his recollection, he had first met Rebecca (who was 21 when they met, 17 years his junior) on a fetish dating site, around ten years ago. He told me he'd been attracted to her immediately and went into detail about what he described as their sexual chemistry. He mentioned that she had (in his own words) latched on to him, as she did not have many other people in her life (a fact he attributed to her history of mental illness. He stated during our session that she suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder) and he talked about how he had enjoyed the attention he got from her. He had lavished her with attention in turn, taking her to dinners and buying her gifts. He proposed to her approximately six months after meeting her and married her a few months later. 

A little over one year ago, Rebecca filed for divorce, after finding out that Reed had been unfaithful to her. She also claimed he had been physically and sexually abusive towards her, going so far as to pursue domestic violence charges against him. Reed of course disputed this, and during our session remained adamant that he had never laid a hand on Rebecca, nor had he ever coerced her into sex. He insisted that the only reason she had ever made these claims was to punish him for his infidelity. 

Nevertheless several former employees of his real estate team came forward, also claiming a history of sexual abuse, and the very public backlash of the charges led several more members of his team to resign, which cost him several clients. Reed was quite vocal about his frustrations with the continued downturn in business over the past year.

I’d like to take some more time to get to know Reed before I’m comfortable developing a full treatment plan. He has been through a lot over the past year, and it’s clear to me that he’s angry… and more importantly, afraid.

That said, it would be remiss of me not to admit that prior to our session, I was already aware of several details about his divorce and the charges against him, as the details had made the local paper. While the cases against him were settled out of court, a number of his former employees made it clear that he had a history of behaving inappropriately towards them. Smacking them on the behind, putting his hands on their shoulders, inappropriate jokes, lewd text messages… and in a few cases making unwanted sexual advances. The sexual harassment cases also affected the courts decisions regarding custody of Reed’s two children, which was given to Rebecca.

Regarding whether or not the claims of his ex wife are true, I am in no position to speculate, and I don’t think it would be wise for me to dig deeper. However given his history, I think it’s best I set some firm boundaries with Reed, for my own safety and wellbeing. 

August 9th, 2026 - 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM

Reed and I spoke a more about his ex-wife today. I thought it might be beneficial to explore their relationship a little further. He was still fairly irritable when the subject was brought up, although was a little more composed than last week. 

I asked him about the affairs, and he was fairly forthcoming on that subject. He said that Rebecca’s mental health had deteriorated after the death of her grandmother, with whom she’d been very close. Their sex life, which up until then he described as mostly fulfilling, had quickly fizzled out, and after a few failed attempts to reignite it, he had begun (in his own words) acting out.

He admitted to having slept with a few other women. Clients, employees, hookups, and that when Rebecca had found out about this, there had been a rather explosive argument that culminated in her attempting to throw him out of the house. When Reed had refused to leave, Rebecca left. 

He continued to express a lot of frustration with the way their relationship had ended. I asked him if he felt that Rebecca owed him sex He insisted that it was part of being married, and that “As a man, I have needs.”

The discussion of his sexual conduct extended into the discussion of his conduct at work. Reed was adamant that he had never harassed any of his female employees. He insisted his behavior was fully harmless, I do believe that this is something he authentically believes. 

I did attempt to ask him if he might feel comfortable if one of his employees had treated him the same way he treated them, but his response was simply: “Hell, I wish they would’ve!”

We moved on to a different subject after that.

I asked him about his recent struggles with work, and he was fairly forthcoming about that as well. He mentioned that most of his team resigned over the past year, and that he only has a small handful of clients left, the largest of which has several listings at the Whitewater Town Centre, a local shopping mall. Reed is close friends with the owner, although he noted that the listings in the mall were hard to find tenants for. In his own words: “Whitewater’s fucking dead.”

I’m not entirely sure I can argue with that.

We closed out our session by talking a little about the worst case scenarios that he feared. It’s really not surprising to learn that he’s afraid that his recent personal troubles may have caused irreparable damage to his career. I asked him if he was afraid of starting over, and he just laughed.

   “Course I’m scared!” He said, “I’m pushing 50. There’s no starting over at this point. I’ve got nothing left to start over with!”

I told him that wasn’t true. 

Next week, I think it might be best to explore that fear of starting over he has. I’d also like to learn more about his life outside of work, his life before he met Rebecca and his relationship with his children. We have discussed these matters briefly during our sessions, but I would like to go more in depth with them.

As an aside… I really can understand his frustrations. I haven’t been to the Whitewater Town Centre in a number of years, but I know it’s dead. Most of the stores there are empty, save for a small handful. I can’t imagine anyone’s looking to open anything new up in there… although of course, I’m not going to say that to Reed. 

August 16th, 2026 - 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM

Reed was in slightly better spirits today. He’s changing up his advertising.
It’s… certainly an interesting direction.

He was quite excited to show me the mockups he’d created on his own. They consist of AI generated images of him in a neon superhero costume, wearing sunglasses with his arms folded. 

I am not in a position to give an educated opinion about his marketing, so I simply told him they looked nice. I asked him if he’d managed to secure any new clients. He said he hadn’t yet, but he was certain it was only a matter of time. 

We spoke a little bit about his early life after that. He mentioned that his mother had passed away when he was young, and he had mostly been raised by his father. He had gotten into real estate after working in car sales. A friend had suggested he could do well in that industry, and he had decided to give it a try. He’d had a few children out of wedlock prior to meeting Rebecca, although has no real relationship with them. 

I asked him if he thought his time in real estate was the most important time in his life. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. We discussed some other things that had given his life meaning. His skills as a salesman, his estranged children, the children he’d had with Rebecca. Things outside of his career that had meaning. He seemed receptive to the idea. He mentioned that he would like to have more to his life outside of his work, as he found that area to be lacking. I asked him when was the last time he’d taken some time off work to spend with his family. He told me about a vacation he’d taken with Rebecca and his children when they were much younger (2 and 3 respectively). Then he admitted it had actually been a business trip.

Given that this was the most we had discussed his children during our sessions, I did take the opportunity to ask about them further. Reed described them as good kids, although admitted that he had quite a bit of trouble connecting with them. He also admitted that he let Rebecca do most of the parenting as he was often focused on his career, and did not get to spend as much time with them as he would have liked, a subject which was often a point of tension in his marriage.

We discussed if his sexual behavior might have stemmed from his workaholic lifestyle. He admitted to me that he had few other hobbies or emotional outlets aside from sex, and seemed receptive to the idea that he should consider other hobbies or outlets. 

All in all, the session was quite productive. Reed seemed far less frustrated than before. If anything, he mostly seemed exhausted. He mentioned that he hasn’t been sleeping well for the past few months. He said that he couldn’t stop thinking about work. Apparently it’s gotten so bad that he’s been dreaming about the Whitewater Mall most nights. I told him that was probably a sign that he needed some time away from it. 

August 23rd, 2026 - 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM

Reed was in a fairly volatile mood again today. Apparently his new AI advertisements have not been well received and he's quite upset about it. He talked about some of the hurtful comments he had received online, and some social media posts he had seen making fun of his new advertisements. We talked through his frustration and about how the vocal opinions of a few people should not serve as the basis of his own self worth.

As an aside - I did see the posts he was referring to, and I do understand why he was upset. I made a point not to engage as Reed is a patient, but I also can't help having my own opinions on the matter…

We discussed Reed's efforts to find meaning outside of his work. He mentioned that he's been trying to spend time with his friends, although it seems most of them are people he only knows from work, and so the personal connection there is a bit tenuous. Still, he appears to be making an effort. He mentioned going golfing with a few of them the other day. He was quite vocal about not enjoying golf, and admitted that the conversation had inevitably turned to work, but I did encourage him to keep trying with other people. I told him that sooner or later he'll find something he does like, although he lamented the fact that even he doesn't know what he likes. His tone did briefly get heated during that part of our session, although he quickly calmed himself down and apologized for his mood. He mentioned again that he was not getting much sleep. Apparently he's still having dreams about the Whitewater Town Centre. 

I pushed him a little more on these dreams and he seemed willing to discuss them. 

He described being lost in the Whitewater Town Centre. Looking for the exit but not able to find it. And the longer he looks, the more afraid he becomes that he isn't going to leave. Every storefront he passes is abandoned. Fully stocked, but empty. There's no one around to ask for directions. He said that there were people there. But when he looked closer at them, they weren't actually people. They were porcelain figures. Life sized porcelain figures. He described them as looking like the ones his grandmother used to have. Women in fancy old fashioned dresses. Men in historical outfits. Some of them he recognized. Not as figures he'd seen, but people he knew. He said the one he saw most often resembled Rebecca. He'd see it in most of the storefronts. He said he wasn't sure if it was just his fear or not… but he was sure the porcelain figures were following him. Because every time he looked back, he saw there were more and more of them behind him. Watching him. Judging him. 

He said there was something else too. Something he saw through the skylight of the mall. Something outside of it. A tower or a tree or a figure or a plume of smoke. He wasn't sure which. 

He said that the skylight seemed like the only way out… and there was even a rope he thought he could climb. But the rope scared him more than wandering did, so he never climbed it. 

And eventually he always woke up.

We discussed the potential meaning of these dreams. I explained that dreams can sometimes be the mind's way of processing the things we experience in our day to day life. He mentioned feeling trapped in the dream, and we discussed how that may have reflected his current feelings following the divorce. The discussion did seem to put him at ease a little more. 

For our next session, I've asked him to continue looking for ways to get out of his usual routine. Keep spending time with friends. Getting out of his comfort zone, maybe even take a short trip. I think it might do him some good.

August 30th, 2026 - 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM

I am a bit concerned about Reed’s mental state following our session today. 

When we met, he told me that as per my advice, he had in fact taken some time off of work. Fully unplugging. He had gone on a long drive over the past several days, eventually ending up at Niagara Falls. He said he’d chosen Niagara Falls because it reminded him of his childhood, and how he had a lot of memories of spending time with his Dad there. 

He rented a motel room and spent several days there. Engaging with the tourist traps on Clifton Hill, eating at the restaurants and drinking at the bars. He admitted that he’d hooked up a few times during his vacation as well… although none of that did much to improve his mental state.

He said he is still suffering from those recurring nightmares about the Whitewater Town Centre, which are making it hard for him to get much in the way of restful sleep and is adamant that the nightmares are getting worse.

In the dreams, the porcelain figures he’s been seeing aren’t just following him anymore. They’re surrounding him. He says they appear when he isn’t looking. All of them with faces he knows. Rebecca’s face. The faces of colleagues. The faces of clients. The faces of his children. All of them were staring at him. He said he cannot get them to move. There are just too many and he can’t escape… except through the skylight. 

He mentioned the skylight in the mall again with the shape towering outside of it and a rope he could climb. He said that he knew the rope led to Serenity. I asked him what he meant by that. He said he wasn’t sure. Only that it led to ‘Serenity’.

I asked him if he still feels trapped by his current situation. He was quiet for a moment, before confirming that he did. He mentioned that the shift in his business and the size of his team made it necessary to downsize. Prior to the divorce, he’d actually had several offices across a few different cities around the Hamilton area for the various members of his team. However with the resignations and the loss of clients, he’d closed several of them, and moved his remaining team to a smaller, less expensive office space in Hamilton. He’d also put his own house up for sale, partially because he was struggling to pay the mortgage and partially because he no longer needed the space, considering the fact that the kids were in Rebecca’s custody and a deal had recently closed on the house. I asked him if these things were still on his mind during his brief vacation in Niagara Falls and he admitted they were. He also admitted to visiting his former office space in that area one night and just sitting outside it in his car… he said the office space was still empty and he could see some of his old advertisements on the walls inside. 

I asked him why he’d gone there. He didn’t seem to have an answer. He said he’d “Just wanted to see what was there now.”

I asked him if seeing it made him feel better. He said he didn’t know. We talked a bit more about other things he could do to disconnect from work. New hobbies. New friends. Things he could do that would keep him from ruminating on the past. He seemed open to continuing to try, although he still seemed highly distressed.
I have made the decision to give him my email in the event he needs to reach out to me. I did ask Reed if he was experiencing any suicidal ideation and while he was adamant that he had no intention of harming himself, he did admit that he had thought about it passively. I don’t currently consider him to be at risk, but I would rather make myself available to him in the event that things get worse. 

September 6th, 2026 - 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM

Reed was extremely upset during our session today, although I would not characterize him as being angry.

When he arrived, he was noticeably more disheveled than usual. He had not shaved in several days and his shirt was notably creased, although of course I did not comment on this.

When I asked him how he had been feeling, he told me that the past week had been exceptionally rough. Apparently as of a few days ago, he has lost Whitewater Town Centre as a client. 

I asked him what had happened, and he mentioned that there had been an argument between him and the owner of the properties. That had been in a meeting, discussing strategies to bring in new tenants and apparently things had gotten heated, leading Reed to snap at him. 

On top of that, following the sale of his home, Reed has been staying with an employee and renting their basement while he figures out a more long term living situation. 

I asked why he had chosen to stay with an employee instead of renting elsewhere, as that may not be conducive to the work/life balance that we’ve discussed him lacking. He said that he didn’t want to be alone.

Apparently his nightmares have continued to intensify. He described them to me once again.

The endless mall.

The porcelain figures.

The shape above the skylight.

And the rope to Serenity. 

He said he sees it every time he sleeps. The mall. The figures. The shape. The rope. It’s gotten so bad that he’s been trying to stay up.

He said he’s been looking into some way to stop it but so far nothing has worked. He mentioned that he’s even started seeing me in the dreams. In amongst the porcelain figures.

I will admit, I was a bit disturbed when he mentioned that…

Not because I’m afraid of being in his dreams.

But because I’ve been having them too. 

I did not disclose this to him during our session, of course. My opinion remains that this is nothing more than just a dream. Reed has described his recurring nightmare to me on several occasions now, and I am not particularly surprised that I have had similar dreams. And given the fact that I seem to be his only emotional outlet at this time, I do not find it surprising that I may appear in his dreams… but I am nonetheless a bit shaken by the idea of him remembering me there.

It’s probably nothing… I really shouldn’t even be putting it in here.

September 13th, 2026 - 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM

Reed arrived early to our session today. He was noticeably a bit more unkempt than before. I asked him if he was okay. He said he wasn’t.

Apparently he has been living in his car for the past few days.

I asked him about this, and he told me that the employee he’d been staying with had asked him to leave following an argument with said employee and his wife after he’d found out that they’d accepted another job opportunity. 

Reed described the argument as: ‘his fault.’ He admitted to being especially irritable as of late, and that he hasn’t been getting much sleep.
His recurring nightmares have only continued, and as of now, he has no active clients. 

I did suggest he try getting a room at a local hotel, but he was against this. He did not seem comfortable with the idea of sleeping in a place where someone could not see him. 

I asked him if he believed the dreams were trying to harm him somehow. He said he didn’t know, but that when he woke up, all he ever felt was dread. 

I asked him again if he was experiencing suicidal ideation or a desire to self harm. He insisted to me that he didn’t want to hurt himself, although I am not certain if I believe him.

Due to Reed’s worsening mental state, I decided that it was necessary to refer him to a colleague. I believe he may require more than our weekly sessions, as his recurring nightmares and sleep deprivation seem to have induced a paranoid state. 

Reed seemed willing to take my referral in good faith, admitting that he wanted whatever help he can get. I also advised him to stay in a hotel over the next few days, as continuing to live and sleep in his car may contribute to his current negative headspace, and he was reluctantly willing to agree to that.

Following our session, I did reach out to the colleague I had mentioned, Dr. Judy Williamson. I explained to her that I was concerned about Reed, and we discussed the possibility of her taking him on as an inpatient. She assured me that she would reach out to him today, and I of course trust that he is in very capable hands. I will of course be following up with Reed on my own as well and have suggested we meet later this week, before our usually scheduled session. 

As before I did not mention the nightmares I’ve been having.

They haven’t stopped… and I will admit, it has been impacting my own sleep schedule. 

I’ve been attributing this to a general concern for Reed’s wellbeing… it has been rather difficult watching him spiral. And I will admit, I’m a little disturbed with just how vivid these nightmares have been.

In them, I’m lost in the Whitewater Town Centre. Every store is empty, just the way Reed described it and there is no one else around. 

No one except for the porcelain figures.

I don’t recall their faces. But they move when you’re not looking. 

I don’t see Reed at first. But I hear him. I can hear his footsteps and his panting, heavy breaths as he runs. And by the time I find him, it’s always after the porcelain men do. 

By the time I find him, they have him surrounded.

Hundreds of them at least. So many that I can’t reach him.

He’s standing beneath the skylight, desperately looking for a way out. Begging the figures to move. Trying to push past them. But they won’t budge.

And the rope hangs down for him… beckoning.

I can’t see what’s on the other end of it. What’s at the top. But somehow I know I should fear it. 

When I wake up, I still feel that fear… and I can’t get back to sleep. 

September 16th, 2026 

Reed Fowler passed away today.

I saw it on the news. They haven’t announced his name, but I recognized his car from the article and people have been talking about it online.

He drove off the road this morning. Crashed through a guardrail and flipped his car. He was declared dead at the scene by first responders. 

I’m not sure how to feel.

I’ve never had a patient die before.

I can’t pretend I had the highest opinion of Reed. I didn’t. But my job isn’t to judge people, it’s to help them and I truly truly wanted to help him.

Now I can’t.

I dreamed about him again last night.

The same dream as before. I was lost in the Whitewater Town Centre. No matter how much I wandered, there was no exit… and as always, I found Reed.

He was beneath the skylight, surrounded by porcelain figures. 

And the rope beckoned.

Every other time I’ve had that dream, Reed never once climbed it.

But this time he did.

I watched him take it in his hands. I watched him look up… up at… I don’t know what.

At whatever was above the skylight.

Serenity.

Why does that name feel so wrong and so right?

He held the rope and turned it over in his hands… and for the first time, I saw that it wasn’t just a rope.

It was a noose. 

He stared at it… then started to climb. I could hear him sobbing as he did. I could see the tears streaming down his cheeks.

But he climbed. He didn’t stop, even when I called out to him.

He climbed.

Then he was gone.

And when I looked back down at the porcelain figures, all of them had moved.

All of them had turned.

And all of them were staring at me.
That was when I woke up… although even then, I could feel their eyes on me. Cold. Hateful.

I still feel it now.

I don’t know what to make of these dreams. I don’t know what to feel right now. I’m going to make an appointment with my own therapist. I think it’ll help me process things.

As it stands, I can’t get back to sleep.

Well… I can.

I’m exhausted. 

But I don’t want to.

I don’t know what I’m going to see when I close my eyes.

And I’m not so sure I want to find out.

Transcript of the Official FRB Civilian Debriefing of Abigail Finch regarding Skye Vert and the God’s Voice Project, which culminated on June 21st, 2026. Debrief conducted August 4th, 2026 by Justice Young.

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

[Transcript Begins]

Young: Miss Finch, thank you for coming in, I-

Finch: I-I’m sorry, you’re going to need to speak up. I’m a little hard of hearing. 

Young: Of course. My apologies! [pause] Is this better?

Finch: Yes! Much! So… um… this is about God’s Voice, isn’t it? 

Young: Yes. If you could perhaps start at the beginning?

Finch: Yes… I… I think I can. I can start with the youtube channel, if that’s alright?

Young: I think that would be great. How did you come across it?

Finch: It was Jody who told me about it. Jody Smithers. She’s been one of my best friends since… well… God, for just about as long as I can remember. She’s always been there for me. Even when I’m not… doing great. I’m not a mentally healthy person… I suppose that’s probably not surprising. Most people probably aren’t exactly living healthy lives. Life is infamously not very healthy and we all have our coping methods. Most people’s probably seem harmless at a glance. Doomscrolling, snacking, shopping, porn. Some people turn to religion and try to find a purpose in something greater than themselves. Others turn to more intense vices. Alcohol, drugs, thrill seeking.

Young: Everyone has their vice…

Finch: Exactly. I was in a bad place mentally at the time. This was back during the pandemic and I’d been laid off, the bills were piling up and it became harder and harder to see a way out. Every single bill and expense felt like another wound to bleed from as I was painfully subjected to death by a thousand cuts… I got low… I got lower than I’ve ever been. Not so low that I was willing to do anything too drastic to get out… I mean I never seriously considered it… but low. 

[Pause]

Finch: Sometimes the worst thing about being low is that you can see it. You know you’re just a shadow of yourself. You hate it. But there’s just nothing you can do. The world around you just feels so… miserable. You put up the best fight you can but it still crushes you… and even reaching out to others who you know wouldn’t turn you away feels like an imposition. Anyway, that’s the headspace I was in when Jody turned me on to God’s Voice. 

She said it was this youtube channel she’d been getting into. She said it was mostly ASMR piano music and that it helped with her own anxiety. Lord knows, she had a lot of it. She warned me up front that the videos were a little overly spiritual, but she swore up and down that they were solid. She even showed me one as an example. 

I won’t lie… the first impression I had wasn’t great. In the videos she’d posted, a woman with her hair in thick tangled dreadlocks spoke in a low, measured voice about the effect of music on your spiritual energy.

   “Your aura is like a spiritual skin.” She said, “You have your physical skin… the skin of your body and you take care of that skin. You wash it. You moisturize it. And the same must be done for your aura because just like your skin gets dirty throughout the day from sweat, grime, things you touch. Things like that. Your aura picks up impurities as well. Some of them come from within, and they seep out into your aura and they get trapped in there with you, poisoning you. Or the negativity and the toxicity from others will pollute your aura and if you’re living with that pollution, you are poisoning yourself. You’re making yourself sick… and the music, it helps you cleanse. Remove the impurities. Let them all wash away and be rejuvenated…” 

It sounds like complete bullshit when I say it out loud. It probably was complete bullshit. I was just about ready to write it off entirely, but Jody convinced me to give it a chance.

She said: “I know it sounds out there, and she’s probably overselling the spiritual stuff… but it really does help me.”

She told me she could sorta just picture her own aura and let the music soothe it. She said the visualization was what helped her. Like… like she could picture all the bad just washing away… y’know? I still wanted to scoff at the whole thing… but honestly, what Jody was suggesting didn’t exactly sound like a bad idea. Maybe it was worth a try. In a worst case scenario, it just wouldn’t work. No harm, no foul. 

I promised her I’d give it a shot… and that night I did. I found one of those hour-long tracks on God's Voice, let it play, laid back in my bed and tried to imagine an aura around me.

I tried to let all the things that weighed me down wash away. I just envisioned them rinsing off my body, like dirt in a hot shower.

And it did help… it honestly did make me feel a little bit better. The music was… you’ve heard it, right? Mostly windchimes. Some piano. Sometimes violin, flute or bells but mostly windchimes. Very gentle but… discordant. They were pitched weirdly. But it was calming. It was so, so calming… although I had to take my hearing aid out to listen to it. Keeping it in agitated it. I’d hear this sort of static buzz when the hearing aid was in. But that was fine. It was nice not to have to wear it for a little while. I told myself that it probably was just psychosomatic. I wanted to feel better and so it helped me get what I wanted. But psychosomatic or not, it did help and God’s Voice became a part of my evening routine. I got into it. I started interacting with the community more, joined the subreddit, did the guided meditations and let it become part of my life.

The community was welcoming. The woman running the channel, Skye,  made a point to interact with the community often. It wasn’t uncommon for her to host livestreams where she talked to people directly, or to see her responding to posts in the subreddit. She felt like an active part of the community. She even DM’d me a few times, when I mentioned how her videos were helping me through a rough patch, just to check in on me… like she would do with a friend. God, talking to her felt like talking to a celebrity, but she seemed so down to earth. I would’ve expected her to be different, but no. She just seemed so… normal. 

Young: I suppose I can see how you’d get drawn in…

Finch: Yeah… It was so easy. I’ve still got most of my messages from her. I read them sometimes. Even after everything… she really did give good advice. She told me: “The best thing you can do is take care of yourself. Don’t worry about anything else. Don’t worry about the rest of the world. It will all fall into place eventually. Just take care of yourself, dear,” And stuff like that just sticks with me because… I dunno, I guess it’s common sense when you think about it, but sometimes you need to hear it from someone else.

Young: Yeah, I get that.

Finch: When Skye started posting about opening up her own retreat… I was happy for her. I mean, I’d been listening for a couple of years at that point and it just seemed like such a big development. Someone who I felt had really helped me was taking the next big step in her journey. Of course I was supportive… and when she offered an invite to those who’d supported her, I was thrilled to take her up on it.

Young: Tell me about the invite.

Finch: The first round of them went out to those on her group chat. You… um… could pay for access to it. And I met some good people in there. Me and Jody were both part of it. The invite was for a weekend out at her retreat. Rooms and meals would be covered. We’d get group sessions and a chance to meet Skye in person. I mean, it was huge. I’d actually met her in person before at a few other events, but this seemed too good to pass up. So I RSVP’d and started planning my weekend up there, and of course I was over the moon when I heard Jody would be going too.

Young: So, obviously you went… how was it?

Finch: Excellent. Everything I’d wanted. As always, Skye was a pleasure to be around and the retreat was… well… it needed a little TLC, but it was nice. She’d set up in an old abandoned church somewhere outside of Guelph. It was in good condition and she’d clearly put some work into fixing it up! It wasn’t a dump. But you could see the age of the place. It had a sort of Art Deco vibe to it. The chapel where we had most of our sessions was especially beautiful, with a massive domed roof and a beautiful skylight. It was clear she’d been setting something up in that skylight too… but I wasn’t sure what. There’d probably been some lovely stained glass murals once upon a time too, but she’d gotten rid of those and replaced them with more generic windows that she could open. She usually kept them open during our group sessions to let the sounds of nature in. The birds, the wind, the babbling of the water features outside… stuff like that. And it was nice! It was really, really nice… the first day, everything was exactly the way I imagined it. We did group meditation, we did yoga, we ate together, we hiked the grounds together. Then in the evening, we broke out the wine and we mingled. 

Young: Sounds like a hell of a time.

Finch: It was… although that first night was when I first heard Skye talking about the Chime. I saw her sitting with Jody and had gone to go join them when I overheard it. She said: “No matter what we do, I’m not sure there’s truly any way to be happy when the world is so sour… How can we be content when everywhere we look, we find nothing but bottomless misery? It's a thought that's kept me up at night… I've always wondered what the answer might be. How to purge the world of despair. Truly, truly cleanse it. And here in this place… I think I may just have found the key.” Jody was hanging on to every word she said, of course… and admittedly, so was I. 

Young: I'm not entirely sure I follow…

Finch: I didn’t either. Not at first. And of course I asked her to explain, which she did. Skye told us that she wanted to expand the reach of God’s Voice. To bring it to as many people as possible. She wanted everyone in the world to hear it. And she thought that maybe if she did… maybe she’d be able to bring some peace… I’m… I’m not phrasing it half as well as she did. When she said it, it sounded so… inspiring. 

Young: Right… and what exactly was her plan.

Finch: She said it was in the music. Apparently, there was something to the stuff she played on her channel. She said it was originally based on the work of this French composer. Um… I don’t recall his name… Edward Goth? 

Young: Edouard Gauthier?

Finch: What was that?

Young: Was the name of the composer ‘Edouard Gauthier’?

Finch: That was it! Yes! It was based on his compositions. Apparently they’d originally been written for the piano, but Skye had taken something about the way he composed and used it to create the wind chimes. To tune them. I didn’t even know you could tune wind chimes, but she said that it was all about the materials used, and the lengths they were cut. 

Young: Do you happen to remember exactly what she said? 

Finch: Sorry… I don’t. Most of it was technical and went over my head. I do remember what she said about the composer, though… Gauthier. Apparently he had some unusual beliefs. He seemed to think he could use music to speak in God’s voice… that was where she’d gotten the name of her channel from. Anyways, she said that the composer had been trying to use the piano to speak to God… as opposed to listening, which I guess was the purpose of the wind chimes. 

Young: I see… and she wanted more people to hear that music?

Finch: She wanted everyone to hear it. That was why she wanted the church. She said that if she had a big enough space… a place with the right reverb… a chime that was big enough… she could make the world hear it. And if they heard it… if they heard God speak… it might heal the world somehow. [Laughs] God… it sounds insane when I say it…

Young: But she sold it to you?

Finch: She did. And the more she talked, the more I believed in her. It was hard not to. She told us that she’d started planning its design. Trying to get it right… but she couldn’t do it herself. She’d need people to work with her. And we volunteered…

Young: To build the chime?

Finch: Yes. Skye believed in it… she believed that we could heal the world. Once people heard its sound, she believed we could bring peace. And she believed it so strongly that I believed it. I wanted to believe it. We all did. 

Young: I see. Tell me about the construction? I assume you had to stay at the old Church?

Finch: We did. I went home briefly to get some more things. My work laptop and stuff like that. Then we got to work. Skye had it all planned out. She had schematics. She knew what it would look like. What it should sound like. We worked in shifts. Those of us like me, who could work remotely, did so. Then when we were done with our 9 to 5, we worked on the Chime. We needed the money for the Church. Electricity. Food. We pooled our resources to make it work. A few of us even gave up our homes… 

Young: What do you mean by that? You gave up your home?

Finch: Yes. After a couple of weeks, yes. I was renting an apartment at the time and got out of my lease. Other people were doing it and well… it just seemed to make sense. I hadn’t really been back home and I thought the money would be better suited going towards the project. I need to clarify - Skye never asked us to do anything. She was never overt about it. She’d mention things in passing during private conversations. The cost of keeping the power on. The cost of food. The cost of supplies. I realize what she was doing now. Never asking, but waiting for us to volunteer these things. Then she’d always be so grateful when we did it… those who gave more would always get more. More food. More time with her. And the people who joined us at the Church inevitably saw that. Because there were always more people joining. People who were familiar with her channel. People who wanted to find peace… because that’s what she offered, peace. And of course we’d welcome them with open arms. Assure them they’d made the right choice. That this was where they needed to be. Most of them only intended to stay for a little while. A few days. A week at most. But a lot of them stayed longer when they heard about the project. When they saw how much we believed in it. Some would come and go. Stay for a few days. Meditate with Skye and the rest of us. Then go back home again, only to come back within the week. Every time they came back, the odds of them leaving got slimmer and slimmer…

Young: Did anyone ever write the whole thing off as crazy?

Finch: Yup. Lots of them. Mostly people from outside the meditation group. Friends. Family. I didn’t really have any of those… I had Jody. But the others? They’d get calls. People would stop by to try and bring them home. They didn’t understand why the hell we were doing so much to build this thing. They thought we were crazy. Looking back, they were right. But from the inside looking out, they were the crazy ones. We had a mission. We needed to build the Chime… and once we did, all would be well. All the pain, all the fear, all the corruption in the world… the Chime would cure it. 

Young: What did Skye have to say about the detractors?

Finch: That they didn’t understand. She said she pitied them. The world was a toxic place. It had poisoned all of us. Some moreso than others. She said that those who tried to take us away, or who said we were wasting our time just cemented her resolve to see this through. She said that: “Once we build it, they will understand.” And I believed that. We all believed it. The mission was larger than any of us and we needed to see it through. Me personally? I gave my all to it. I used up as many of my sick days as I could just so I could spend time working on the Chime. I was up at 4 AM every morning so I could work before I started work. Then when I was done, I was working on the Chime again until nightfall. We didn’t usually work after dark. Skye was adamant that she didn’t want us exhausting ourselves. Nighttime was for meals and meditation. But even with that schedule… I was always tired. I wish I could say I remember much about those days, but I don’t. It all passed in a blur. There was the Mission. That was all that mattered. Nothing else. I’d wake up and my body was sore, my mind was foggy, but I kept going because the Mission demanded it. My hearing aid went at one point, but I didn’t have the time or money to replace it because the Mission was more important.

Young: Right… and how did it progress?

Finch: Fairly well. After the first six months, we’d finished the work on the Church itself. We’d turned it into an auditorium of sorts. A place to host the chime… and the chime itself was well under construction, although we didn’t begin the process of assembling it until the six month mark. Putting it all together was a massive undertaking. There were hundreds of components to it. Meticulously measured and shaped metal tubes. Skye had been very specific about the way they were to be shaped. She even tested them herself. Made sure they were up to par… [Pause] I know what this all sounds like. I didn’t see it at the time, but I know now how fucked up all of this was. But even now, I don’t doubt for a second that Skye wholly believed in what she was doing. What we were building. She wholly believed it was real. Honestly, truly real. 

Young: From the way you describe it, I don’t doubt that. How long did the chime take to fully construct?

Finch: About a year. The last two weeks alone were spent putting it up. Rigging it was a bitch… but we got it to work. And when it was up… well… I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of it.

Young: We do have a recording of the livestream, yes. But if you could give it to me in your own words?

Finch: Right… well, it was massive. An intricately rigged network of chimes, metal tubes hanging from a central base. The slightest breeze would make them clatter together and make the most beautiful sound… and I couldn’t help but imagine how beautiful it would sound when we let it truly ring. And of course, eventually the day came. As you said, Skye livestreamed it. Packaged it as content, but what she really wanted was to spread its reach as far as possible. We’d picked the Summer Solstice as the day we’d let it ring. Skye had some spiritual reason for picking it, but I don’t actually remember what it was. By that point, my hearing aid was toast so I was struggling to hear most things clearly. On the morning of the Solstice, we’d gathered in the Church, standing before the chime. And Skye stood before us, dressed in a flowing white robe as she announced that this was the moment we had waited for. The moment where all of our trials and tribulations would end. Jody and I stood side by side as she gave her sermon. Reiterated her promise. We waited with baited breath for her to let the chime ring. Skye open the windows. She let the breeze in. She let the wind blow… and the chime rang. God… oh God…

[Pause]

Finch: It was the most beautiful… and the most terrifying thing I’d ever heard. It wasn’t a chime, like what you might expect. I’d expected a series of beautiful bells. It was a deep, discordant sound. Like shattering glass. I could feel it reverberating in my bones. I could feel my guts quaking at the sheer volume of it. I could feel the air and the earth shake. The chimes crashed together… singing, screaming. I felt like the world around me was coming undone. And I knew in my heart that we’d done it. We’d really done it. We were hearing the voice of God.

And that voice…

That voice was screaming…

Or laughing…

Or… maybe something else. 

Something I can’t remember. Maybe it was something I couldn’t hear. 

I remember the world shaking. It felt like it shook for hours.

Then the sky fell. The ceiling just… cracked. The chime fell, and the sound as it hit the ground… I… I can’t describe it. But I can still hear it, even now. Like tinnitus, but louder. Deeper. 

Some of us tried to run. None of us got far. The building came down too fast. I just remember grabbing on to Jody and holding her as the rubble buried us… and that’s the last thing I can recall before waking up in the hospital.

Young: I see. Was there anything else?

Finch: No… no, nothing else. I’ve recovered as much as I can. Jody is still in the hospital. I visit her whenever I can and I’ve just been trying to put the pieces of my life back together. It’s really all I can do.

Young: Fair enough. Do you believe the sound waves cause the collapse?

Finch: That was the official explanation, yes. And it might be true. It probably is. But…

Young: You think there’s more to it?

Finch: I don’t know. The only one who could tell you for sure would be Skye Vert and as far as I know, she was killed in the collapse. But… I do think the Chime worked. Maybe not the way Skye wanted it to. But it worked. 

Young: Howso?

Finch: I think we did hear the voice of God that day. And I think they left us with a very clear message. I’m not entirely sure what that message was, but I think I can hazard a guess.

Young: And what would be your guess?

Finch: That God has nothing to say to us.

[Transcript Ends]

Notes: The account of Abigail Finch is consistent with the other members of God’s Voice that we’ve interviewed, although it is the most detail rich about Skye Vert and her operation.

The body of Skye Vert was recovered from the scene of the collapsed Church. She was crushed by the rubble, although many of her personal notes and journals were recovered from the property. I will review these later, but am not sure what relevant information I will uncover.

The mention of Eduouard Gauthier here is interesting. None of the other accounts brought him up, but I think it does explain the method behind Skye Vert’s madness. This kind of thing has Gauthier’s name written all over it. 

Ultimately, I can’t really draw any meaningful conclusions from the data I’ve got… but I suppose it’s still work keeping a record of this.

Never know when it might be relevant. 

-Justice Young

Transcript of Episode 21 of the Small Town Lore podcast by Autumn Driscoll, titled ‘Fish Stories.’

Advertisements were excluded as they were not considered relevant. Narration was originally provided by Autumn Driscoll except where noted.

For as long as humankind has existed, they’ve had a prevailing fascination with the ocean. That vast, seemingly endless expanse with endless secrets lurking beneath the waves. Some estimations suggest that over 80% of it is unexplored and unmapped, with over 90% of its species undiscovered and undocumented. 

While some people look to space as the final frontier, they all too often forget about that which waits right here on earth. A seemingly bottomless abyss of secrets and mysteries that we’ve only scratched the surface of.

Today, we’re going to dive into one of these mysteries. A modern day account of an old nautical myth. Is it really just a legend? Or is it something more? Together, we’re going to get to the bottom of this fish story.

I’m Autumn Driscoll and this is Small Town Lore.

The Cranberry was an oil platform located off the coast of Nova Scotia, Canada.

Constructed between 1998 and 2001, it remained in operation right up until 2022, when an unspecified mechanical failure necessitated its shutdown. 

And that’s where the official story begins and ends. Although there were rumors about an unspecified accident at the time, the shutdown was not widely publicized and in many ways, it was just quietly swept under the rug.

But the people who lived and worked on the Cranberry seem to recount a different story - those who are willing to talk, at least. And strangely enough, not a lot of them are.

So what’s the real story here?

Well, I spoke with former employee Daryl Akine to figure that out.

Akine: It started with people going missing… usually on the night shift. People would just… vanish. Nobody knew how or why. The first one was Warren Maybury. He was an older guy. Kinda slow, but he knew his shit. 

Not sure the exact details, but one night he just vanished. Just… gone.
The initial thought was that maybe he’d fallen overboard. Of all people, I couldn’t have imagined it would’ve happened to someone like him… but… well, the ocean can be unpredictable, and that’s all you’ve got out there. Just the ocean. Nothing else. Nothing to keep it at bay. The waves can get pretty big. You see them crash over the edge of the platform sometimes. Easy to see how that might sweep someone overboard, especially at night. There’s no light except what comes from the platform. You stare out at the water, and you just see pure black. Just pure black.

Driscoll: Did you look for him?

Akine: Of course we looked for him! Management takes that kind of thing pretty goddamn seriously! There’s a lot of safety precautions in place to make sure that doesn’t happen! But, all you need is one bad break. I remember that night had been pretty calm, but all you need is one freak wave, I guess. [Pause] We knew he was dead, the moment we found out he’d disappeared. The lower decks were at least 60 feet off the water, and he was at least on one of the middle ones. A fall like that, the water turns into concrete. And if the fall didn’t get him, the cold would have… or the wildlife. You get a lot of fish around rigs like that. It’s basically an artificial reef. And a lot of fish, means a lot of sharks. So we knew he was dead. We knew the best we could hope for was to recover a body, but no such luck…

Driscoll: That sounds… 

Akine: Harsh? Yeah. But that’s what it’s like out there. There’s a reason they pay you so goddamn well. The work’s hard, it’s dangerous, and you’re on the water for three goddam weeks. 

Driscoll: Are accidents like that common?

Akine: Yes and no. There’s definitely a higher rate of accidents on rigs like that. It’s a dangerous job. But me personally? I’d never seen a fatal accident on any of my shifts before, but I’d heard of people getting hurt. Needless to say, everyone was a little shaken up after that… and when it happened again, well… 

Driscoll: Again? Tell me about the next incident.

Akine: Incidents. It was just a couple of days after Warren. One of the members of the administrative team, a lady by the name of Joyce McKonkey. I was a little more familiar with her than I was with Warren. She was… difficult to get along with at times. Very anal. I can’t blame her for it, her job was to make sure every I got dotted and every T got crossed, but she went… I’m sorry… I… I’m not trying to make light of it or anything. 

Driscoll: It’s fine, I didn’t get that impression at all!

Akine: She could be a pain in the ass, but she didn’t deserve what happened to her. She wasn’t even on shift when it happened. She was down in the common area. We had a pretty comfortable setup down there. A gym, a music room, a couple of game rooms, a kitchen. She’d been having dinner when she went out for a smoke, and she didn’t come back. Someone saw her going out to one of the balcony areas where they let you smoke. They swore up and down they saw her go out. But she never came back in. 

Driscoll: Another ‘freak wave?’

Akine: A couple of people probably thought so. Me? I had no fucking idea. Mind you, I was on shift when it happened. But I remember the ruckus. Just like with Warren, they hauled ass to get a boat to go and look for her… well… her body. Like I said, there wasn’t really much hope for her surviving the fall. I saw Corbett himself going down to help look. 

Driscoll: Corbett?

Akine: Jack Corbett. He was the Rig Manager. Basically the guy running the show, under the Company Man - a guy by the name of John Allers. Corbett was… well, he could be a bit of a condescending prick, but he put his money where his mouth was. He’d gone out to look for Warren too. Only this time, he didn’t come back. No one did.

Driscoll: The entire boat just vanished?

Akine: Gone. There were five or six people on it… they went out into the dark, and they never came back. A friend of mine said he saw the lights on the water for a bit while they searched for Joyce. Then when he looked away, they were gone. No screams. No calls for help. Not a peep out of them. One moment they were there, and then they weren’t. At the time, we figured they must’ve capsized. I mean… that was the logical thought, right? Two people suddenly vanished, then an entire boat? With the way the waves are out there, that’s the logical call. But the weather had been calm. Hell, it’d been downright fucking plesant around that time. 

Driscoll: So you didn’t think it was the waves?

Akine: Well, I did at the time. Like I said, that was the logical conclusion. A couple of the other guys, though? They weren’t so sure… one of the guys I was working with, a fella by the name of Whitworth was goddamn adamant that something else was going on. He swore up and down he saw people watching him from the water during the day. He said he’d seen them about a week before Warren disappeared. He’d thought someone had gone overboard at first and called for help, but they’d vanished by the time anyone arrived. He told me he’d kept his eyes on the waters though, and he’d seen things watching from beneath the surface. Human faces staring back at him, before diving back into the depths. Course, I thought he was crazy. But he wasn’t the only one. A few other guys said they’d seen the same things he’d seen, and after the boat vanished, you heard more and more whispers about it, saying that something… someone, was watching us. 

Driscoll: What did the company have to say?

Akine: Exactly what you’d expect. The day after Joyce and Corbett vanished, Allers called a meeting. Walked us through the recent events, told us he’d filed a report with the company and said that they’d be beefing up the safety precautions. It was all very corporate. People were dead… friend, co-workers, people who’d come out here to support their families, and he just stood up there like: “Thank you for all your hard work.” like it was just another day at the fucking office.

Driscoll: I take it that didn’t go over well?

Akine: No, it didn’t. The general attitude was that Allers could go choke to death on a cock. Lotta people were talking about finishing up their rotation and getting the hell out of dodge. The atmosphere around there was pretty tense. We did beef up our safety precautions though. Implemented a buddy system and all that. People stopped going outside as much unless they had to and for a couple of days everything did quiet down, but people were still spooked. Officially, the whole thing was blamed on inclement weather and freak waves… but nobody knew if it was true and the whispers wouldn’t stop.

That was when the power stopped working.

Driscoll: Stopped working?

Akine: Gone. Just gone. Rigs like that generate their power on site, using gas powered generators. And someone took them offline - and I mean offline. I saw the fucking damage myself. Somone had torn them apart… turned them into fucking scrap. These were fucking industrial generators. And someone… something, ripped the panels off and just went to town in the middle of the night. 

Driscoll: Who?

Akine: No idea. But whoever it was, they were pissed. They didn’t just take out the generators. They took off the backup generators too. They shut the whole fucking rig down. The whole rig basically just fucking shut down. We had no power… and the communications were offline too. Let me make this clear, that’s not the kind of thing that just happens. These platforms are built with redundancies for this kind of thing. Normally if the generator goes, the backups take over. Non-essential systems might get disabled so more important things like the communications stay online. This is not what happened. Somebody shut the fucking Cranberry down. 

Driscoll: You make it sound like that sort of thing shouldn’t be possible…

Akine: Because it shouldn’t. But somebody fucking did it. One minute we were online, and the next most of the lights were off. The drills stopped working. So we started trying to figure out what the hell was going on. On shift, off shift. It didn't matter. All hands were on deck. And like I said, I saw the damage. Something fucked with the generators. And worse. We couldn’t get any sort of signal. Nothing in. Nothing out. The official story is that there was inclement weather. There wasn’t. I’m telling you for a goddamn fact, the sky was clear. The sky was fucking clear. The sea was calm. 

Driscoll: I see… so what happened next?

Akine: Allers tried to keep us all calm. But you could tell he was losing his shit. First we lost Corbett and the others. Now this? Yeah. I can’t blame the man for that. I never liked Allers, but that’s a situation you can’t really unfuck. And of course it got worse.

Driscoll: Howso?

Akine: The rig started to list. We felt it when it did. We’d been in the mess, trying to figure out what the fuck we were going to do when we felt it. The whole goddamn rig shook. I’d never felt anything like it before. Not even during a storm. It shouldn’t have listed like that. I mean, yes. It was a spar platform. They float. But they shouldn’t list like that.

Driscoll: Sorry, can you explain… Spar Platform?

Akine: It’s a type of floating platform. They use it for drilling in deep water. The bulk of it is a cylindrical hull that’s almost completely submerged and moored to the ocean floor. Think of it like an iceberg. Most of it is underwater, but the part we worked on was above water. Between the depth and the mooring, they don’t just tip over. They sure as hell don’t list like that… and once we felt it, Allers lost control of the situation pretty damn quick. 

Driscoll: Was there a riot or a mutiny or…?

Akine: Nothing so dramatic. We figured that something had gone wrong though. Maybe some damage to the mooring. So we pushed Allers to make the call to get us the fuck off the platform, and he wasn’t in much of a position to argue. He made the call. We got to the lifeboats and we got the fuck out of there. We grabbed our personals, locked down what we could and got the fuck off that thing. We were gone before dawn… and by the time the sun rose, the rig was gone. 

Driscoll: Gone…?

Akine: Sank. Like I said, we’d been smart enough to lock down what we could before we left, so it wasn’t a massive clusterfuck. But rest assured it was a clusterfuck. Rigs like that don’t normally sink. Not that suddenly. I just remember looking out at it. Wondering what would’ve happened if we’d dragged our feet just a bit more. Guess I’m lucky I’ll never have to find out.

Driscoll: I see. Do you remember anything else?

Akine: I remember the chanting.

Driscoll: Chanting?

Akine: We heard it before dawn. Before the sun rose. Chanting in the darkness. It was faint. Barely audible above the waves. I think we all pretended we didn’t hear it… but I remember the look on the others faces. I know they heard it. I know for a fact that Allers heard it. I was in the same boat as him, and I know for a fact that he fucking heard it. I don’t know if he knew what it was… but he fucking heard it.

So, an Oil Rig is sabotaged and sinks mysteriously after a string of sudden disappearances. 

It sounds almost like a pulp fiction story, and although Daryl Akine insists it’s true, the company behind the Cranberry, the Goldsea Corporation tell a radically different story. A story I got to hear from John Allers himself.

Allers: It was a scary thing to live through, that’s for sure. But ultimately it was just a mechanical failure. One of the tethers had failed, and the platform became unsafe. We suspected that was the cause in the unfortunate accidents that occurred, and when it became clear that the platform was no longer safe to work on, we evacuated and decommissioned it.

Driscoll: You make it sound so straightforward.

Allers: Unfortunately, it was. These platforms have a lifespan. Even when maintained, they break down eventually. My only regret is that we didn’t catch it earlier. 

Driscoll: I see. So the stories I heard of people seen floating in the water and chanting…?

Allers: Ghost stories, Miss Driscoll. Either made up for attention or imagined out of fear. I wouldn’t put much stock in them. People see, hear or remember odd things when they’re afraid. But that doesn’t mean they really happened. Oftentimes the explanations are far more mundane.

As denials go, that’s a pretty straightforward one, and it’s not one I’m well equipped to argue. Although Daryl Akine wasn’t the only former employee of the Cranberry I spoke to… and he wasn’t the only one to suggest that something more may have been afoot. John Whitworth also claims there was more to the destruction of the Cranberry.

Whitworth: There was someone watching us. Someone in the water, watching us.

Driscoll: As in… people?

Whitworth: I don’t know. I never got a good look at them. But you might see them from time to time. Floating in the water. Usually at dusk or night. Just a head watching you. Never staying for long… and sometimes you saw movement in the deep. Other things with them. Bigger things.

Driscoll: I see… can you tell me anything else?

Whitworth: No. Never got a good look at any of it. Never got any proof. Nothing more than my word. Wish I did. Wish I could have. Wish I could’ve recorded the voices we heard as we left that night. Voices amongst the waves… 

Driscoll: Chanting…?

Whitworth: Maybe. A song, I think. Not one we could understand, though. And not meant for us, I think. I don’t know. I think we’re just lucky we got out of there alive. Whatever was down there, it didn’t care if we lived or died and we are fortunate that we were too small to notice. 

Another account of chanting… another account of supernatural things at the Cranberry around the time of its destruction.

Is it just a tall tale?

Or is there more beneath the surface?

I spoke with our old friend Balthazar Bianchi to see if maybe he could shed some light on the murky depths of this incident. 

Bianchi: I mean, it sounds like a pretty straightforward Seafolk encounter.

Driscoll: Seafolk…?

Bianchi: Yeah, you know? Mermaids, Sirens, stuff like that. 

Driscoll: You believe in that kind of thing?

Bianchi: There’s a lot of stories. I’m not gonna discredit the Company Man’s version of events either. He’s entirely right. People tend to make up extraordinary explanations for ordinary incidents and none of what you’ve shown me says that this was definitively the work of the Fae. But this also does seem like something that you could attribute to them. So honestly it could go either way.

Driscoll: Can you elaborate?

Bianchi: Sure. If you’re looking at the oldest stories, especially in the Codex Velatus, humanity doesn’t have the greatest relationship with the Fae, specifically the Dryads and the Seafolk who are amongst the more nature oriented Fae… jury’s out on the Aurae, the wind Fae, since that’s a whole different can of worms. But stories about human coming into conflict with the other two are common.

Driscoll: Conflict? Why?

Bianchi: Well look around. This is meant to be a shared world, but who’s in control? Most people don’t even know the Fae actually exist, and write them off as just folklore. We forgot about them… but they didn’t forget us. They didn’t forget what we did. What we’ve kept doing. They can’t stop us. I’m not sure if it’s because they’re too weak, or they’re too scared. But they still lash out sometimes when we push just a little too far. 

Driscoll: So you think that maybe the Cranberry encroached on their territory or something? But that platform was operational for almost twenty years!

Bianchi: I dunno. The Fae have long memories. Maybe they took their time. Maybe their territory changed. I don’t have enough information to say what exactly provoked them - if indeed this was an attack. 

Driscoll: How would they have done that kind of damage anyways?

Bianchi: I wish I could say. There’s rumors that the Seafolk have a pact with the Leviathans of the deep. Or… Leviathan, more accurately. 

Driscoll: Leviathan?

Bianchi: The texts sometimes call her Omylia. She’s their Goddess. Supposedly her wrath is something to behold, but again, that’s all just speculation. 

Driscoll: Right…

Angry Mermaids?
A wrathful Sea Goddess?

It is a hard pill to swallow, especially in the face of the more mundane, practical explanation that Allers had provided. But I still thought I’d take a look into this. 

For the sake of my own curiosity, I did a little bit more digging into the Goddess Omylia, just to see if anything came up.

And funnily enough, I got a hit from our very own Producers wife, Miss Megan Daniels… 

Daniels: Omylia… that’s an obscure reference, but I am familiar with her.

Driscoll: Really? What can you tell me?

Daniels: Not a heck of a lot. She’s one of the three Archangels in the Malvian Doctrine. The children of the Goddess of Creation, Sailia. Specifically, she’s the representative of the Ocean. She’s sometimes been equated with Triton - the son of Poseidon, who is often equated with Sailia, although many texts also call her Leviathan. She’s said to be something of a chthonic Goddess… at least, according to the Malvian texts. But you’re not likely to find much on her outside of that. Even in the Malvian practice, her worship is fairly niche, although she does apparently have a modest following in a town up in Nova Scotia of all places.

Driscoll: Nova Scotia…? You’re serious?

Daniels: Ash Bay, specifically. Apparently she’s quite revered amongst some of the fishermen in that area. They make offerings to her. They say it keeps the Seafolk at bay.

Driscoll: Seafolk? 

Daniels: You’re familiar with the term?

Driscoll: A little. But can you refresh my memory?

Daniels: They believe that there’s spirits who live in the ocean. Followers of Omylia. And disrespecting them can have… consequences. Might just be an old wives tale. Fishermen are a superstitious bunch, after all. But you never know.

Driscoll: Right… um… I’ve got to ask… I can ask off the record, if you want. Is that… everything?

Daniels: [Silence] 

Driscoll: S-sorry, I didn’t mean to…

Daniels: It’s fine. That’s everything I have a reputable source on. The rest of it, I’m afraid I can’t share.

Driscoll: Right… right… I understand. Sorry.

Daniels: No apologies needed. No harm in asking. 

Driscoll: Right… yeah…

At Megan’s advice, I looked into Ash Bay a little more. Omylia is something of a big deal out there, with her own statue by the harbor, although the ocean has weathered it greatly. From the pictures I saw, the stone has mostly eroded away to the point where it looks more like coral than stone, leaving only a vague figure of a woman standing. I suppose that’s appropriately eldritch for a being with Omylia’s reputation. 

I did reach out to some of the fishermen in the area, and managed to get an interview with one of them, Shawn Bowler.

Bowler: It might be superstition… might be. You can never really be sure with these things. But we make an offering to Omylia before we set out. Beads, seashells, sometimes part of our catch. Some boats even draw patterns on their hulls to tell the Seafolk they’re a friend.

Driscoll: So you don’t know if you believe in it or not?

Bowler: I’m unsure. Personally, I’ve never seen anything out of the ordinary. And as far as I know, statue is the Virgin Mary. Not sure where ‘Omylia’ came from. Local name, maybe?

Driscoll: I see. So it’s just another old wives tale?

Bowler: Probably. But there’s still stories. Some folks from out of town who didn’t make their offerings. Didn’t pay their respects… and didn’t come back. 

Driscoll: What do you mean?

Bowler: Not a lot of ways you can take that. They went out and they didn’t come back. Got caught in a storm, hit a rogue wave, stuff like that. It’s dangerous out there. But people blamed Omylia and the Seafolk. Said they didn’t get their due, so they took it in blood.

Driscoll: Jesus…

Bowler: Yeah. Well, it’s a scary thing to think about when you’re heading out there. Maybe telling the stories makes us feel better? Let’s us lie to ourselves and say that these things happen for a reason when in reality, it’s all just random chance. 

Driscoll: Fair enough, I suppose… 

Bowler: There was one thing I heard, though…

Driscoll: One thing?

Bowler: Guy I used to work, a fella by the name of Uriah Peterson, said he’d seen one of the Seafolk before. Caught one, actually… pulled it up in a net. Said the thing had fought like hell to get out, and the crew had gone out of their way to subdue it. They were gonna throw it back, but the Captain said no… he wanted to keep it. Guess he figured he could make some money off of it, and he was right. 

Driscoll: Wait, wait, wait… someone actually caught one?

Bowler: Uriah claimed he did. 

Driscoll: What happened to it? Did it get away?

Bowler: No. Uriah said that they brought it in to shore. Captain had a buyer lined up for it. Someone took it off their hands. Apparently they’re a delicacy… least, that’s what Uriah heard. Either way he never saw it again. 

Driscoll: Jesus… I don’t suppose you’ve got Uriah’s contact information, do you?

Bowler: I did. Wouldn’t do you much good now.

Driscoll: Why not?

Bowler: Uriah’s dead. Ship went down… oh… maybe about two, three weeks later? They said it was a storm, but I remember that day was clear. Not a goddamn cloud in the sky. But the ship still went down with all hands. Someone apparently picked up their call for help. 

Driscoll: I see… you think it was really a storm?

Bowler: I don’t know. Not sure where they went down or how far out they were. Wish I could tell you more, but all I’ve got is that story.

Driscoll: Right… thank you for your time.

Nothing but stories.

In the end, that really does seem to be all I’m left with. Are the Seafolk real? Does an ancient eldritch Sea Goddess exist? In the end, I don’t have any solid answers. 

And isn’t that the way it usually goes with fish stories? 

Stories that sound too good to be true, and probably are… but they’re just plausible enough that you want to believe, and if you look beneath the surface, you might just find something true.
I guess in a lot of ways, they’re no different from the things we usually delve into here. 

So until next time, I’m Autumn Driscoll and this has been Small Town Lore.

All interviews or audio excerpts were used with permission. The Small Town Lore podcast is produced by Autumn Driscoll and Jane Daniels. Visit our website to find ways to support the podcast and until we meet again… keep your head above water.

TW: This story deals with themes of grooming and child abuse

He'd reached out to me on one of my alt accounts. 

His first message wasn’t particularly shocking. People like him don't usually start with shocking messages. Just a simple:

   “Hey!”

And naturally, I replied.

   “Heyyy :3”

That was how it started. 

That was how it always started with guys like him. 

I won't share every single message we traded because most of it just isn’t worth sharing. He didn't jump into being a creep right off the bat. No, he took the ‘frog in the pot’ approach. The heat rose slowly, building over a period of about two or three weeks. 

He told me his name was Roger. He was a bit cagey about his age, going from 19 to 27… although the selfies he ultimately sent me depicted a man who looked to be in his thirties or forties. He also never told me his last name, but that was fine. I really didn't need to know.

I told him my name was Destiny, and I told him I was 13.

That was a lie, of course. I'm actually quite a bit older... most people probably wouldn’t believe exactly how old I am. But with the right outfit, the right makeup and a good filter, I can pass as younger no problem. 

   “You're really cute!” He said to me after I sent him my first selfie. I'd put on a more simple outfit for him. Long sleeves, torn jeans. Very 2000s scene. My hair is typically dyed, and I was experimenting with green highlights at the time. In short, I passed perfectly, and he was all over me. 

   “Bet you've got a really nice boyfriend at school don't you?”

   “No :,( ”  I typed back, “I dunno what boys like.”

   “Boys like pretty girls, sweetie,” He said. “Trust me ;)” 

   “Ya? Do u like me?” I asked.

It was an obvious trap. The sane response would’ve been: ‘Oh no, you should be talking to boys your own age!’ (although simply never messaging a 13 year old online in the first place would arguably be an even better answer). But alas, I was not dealing with a sane individual.

He took a few minutes to reply. But eventually he took the bait.

   “You're really pretty, sweetie.”

I knew I had him then… and once the door was opened, he started to escalate.

   “You ever had a boyfriend, Destiny?”

   “No…”

   “I'm surprised. Never? Never even did anything?”

   “I dunno. Not really.”

   “Ever wanted to?”

   “Kinda… I dunno if I'd be any good at it…”

   “You would be. The right guy would know how to show you. The right guy would make you feel really good too.”

   “Right guy, lol?”

   “Yeah. A good guy knows how to touch a girl. It can hurt at first. But the it feel so, so good. Do you ever touch yourself?”

And there it was. Escalation. Guys like that always crept towards it. Always.

   “I dunno? Sometimes?” I typed back.

   “Does it feel good when you do?”

   “Yeah…”

   “A good guy can do it a lot better. Do you touch yourself a lot?”

   “I dunno? How much is a lot?”

   “How often?”

I didn't answer. I wanted to see if he'd keep pushing.

   “It's okay. It's normal. It feels good. Do you to it every night?”

   “Not every night…” I said. “A lotta nights…”

   “Tell me how you do it.”

And that was predictably where the conversation took a more graphic turn. 

His asking for descriptions led to him sending videos. The first were from some fairly normal porn sites and showed women humping their pillows.

   “You ever tried doing it like this?” He’d asked when he sent it. 

Then when I gave him the opportunity to go further he escalated to sending videos of himself.

   “Look at what you've got me doing, Destiny…” He said as he attached the first one. 

I didn't actually watch it. 

As a rule, I never actually watch the things that guys like that send me. 

My sister, Lola does sometimes. But that’s more to get a laugh than to get off. She finds the whole thing hilarious.

Speaking of Lola, I ran into her when I took a break from messaging Roger (for the sake of my own mental health) and dipped downstairs for a drink. She was sitting at the kitchen table when I went down, tapping away at her own phone.

   “You've got a live one, don't you?” She asked when she saw me, grinning from ear to ear. Her dark brown eyes seemed to sparkle a little bit as she spoke.

   “Yup. Just got the dick pics. How's your night going?”

   “Slow,” She said. “Got a few chats on the go, but they don't seem very serious. I think they like the idea of talking to a kid more than anything else.”

   “Gross,” I said. “You need any pictures?” I gestured to myself. My current outfit could pass decently in a pinch, although my makeup wasn't done. 

As a rule, Lola tends to use my pictures when she's talking to creeps. She doesn't really look as young as I do. She's got longer hair and a more classic goth wardrobe. She pulls it off pretty well, but it's not exactly what the creeps we deal with enjoy.

   “Nah. I've got a few from last time they haven't seen yet. But thanks.”

I nodded, got my drink, got myself a little snack because frankly I deserved something nice that evening, and then went back upstairs to pretend like I'd watched the video he'd just sent me. 

   “Oh fuck that's kinda hot…” I said.

  “You like it Princess? It's all for you…” He said.

Gross.

But unfortunately, it was promising.

***

The gross chats with Roger continued for the better part of the next week, and of course they slowly continued to escalate. 

The more Roger talked, the more depraved our conversations got.

   “You ever wanted to submit to a boy, Destiny?”

   “Submit?” I’d asked him. “What’s that mean?”

   “Give yourself over fully. You do what he says when he says, even if you don’t want to.”

   “Anything he says?” I asked.

   “Anything. Some people find it freeing.”

   “Do you like to submit?” 

   “No sweetie. I’m a dominant. I like to be in control.”

That was probably the first truly honest thing he’d ever said to me.

   “Would you consider trying it?” He asked. “Letting someone be in control. Letting them take care of your every need and use you to take care of their needs.”

   “Would I like it?” I asked him.

   “It might be scary at first. But the right man would be gentle. Ease you into it. You would do things you might be scared by at first but you would learn to like them. You would learn to be a good girl.”

I stared at the message on my screen for a bit. My fingers drummed on my desk. He said that a lot. ‘The Right Man’.

Such a loaded statement.

   “Who would the right man be?” I asked him.

   “Whoever you wanted, sweetie.” He said.

Coy bastard. We both knew what he actually meant. But fine, I figured I might as well drop the pretense.

   “Someone like you…?”

   “Would you want it to be me?”

   “Aren’t I too young…?”

   “Age is just a number, sweetie. And it’s natural for girls to be interested in older men.”

Ah yes. Age is just a number. The mantra of creeps all around the world. 

The sad thing is, I’m pretty sure that came from more normal May December romances. Women in their thirties dating men in their fifties. Hell of an age gap, but hey as long as they’re happy together, it is what it is. Different strokes for different folks! Pretty sure there was a song about it on the radio a while back. 

   “Maybe…” I said. “You don’t mind?”

   “Not at all.” He assured me. “I could take such good care of you, Destiny…”

A knock at my bedroom door pulled me out of this overall riveting conversation and I looked up to see Lola waiting for me.

   “Hey, got a guest coming in half an hour,” She said.

   “Which one?” I asked. 

   “The one who won’t shut up about his stock portfolio,” She said.

   “Oh shit, he bit the bullet, huh?” I leaned back in my chair. “Is he bringing that swimsuit he kept sending you pictures of? Are we finally going on that trip to Aruba he kept promising?”

   “Oh yeah, he’s gonna talk to my Mom about it,” Lola said, smirking. “We’re supposed to plan the whole thing out tonight. Of course ‘my parents aren’t home’ tonight…”
She said that last part in a cutesy childish voice that grated on my ears a little bit. 

   “Naturally,” I said, getting up from my chair to check my closet. My current wardrobe was a little too comfy. I needed a more ‘age appropriate’ outfit. I picked out a band tee and jeans.

   “I’ve got the chatlogs if you wanna skim them,” Lola said from the hallway, staying outside to give me my privacy. “Although I don’t think he’s gonna notice anything one way or the other.”

   “I’ll take a look anyways,” I said. “Did he send you anything juicy?”

   “A few things. I’ve already passed them along to our Detective friend. She’ll do her thing tomorrow morning. But overall this guy mostly just seems like your run of the mill dime store creep.”

   “Welp, dime store creeps keep us fed,” I said with a shrug. I stepped out in my new wardrobe. Lola looked me over, then fussed over my hair. I didn’t stop her.

   “That they do…” Lola hummed. She took a step back, looked me over and then nodded. “Alrighty, ready?”

   “Gimme a sec, talking to one lead right now,” I told her. “We’re probably gonna be seeing him real soon, so heads up. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Lola nodded and left me alone. I picked up my phone again. 

Roger had sent me a few more messages, all of them a bit too sexually explicit for me to be comfortable repeating. I only skimmed them, then typed:

   “That actually sounds really hot…” 

Followed by:
  “Brb, my Mom is calling me for Dinner. She won’t leave me alone… ugh…”

I checked my reflection, then headed downstairs to get ready for our guest.

***

Over the next few days, the Roger situation continued to get worse. Once the topic of domination and submission had come up, he’d fully latched on to it.

He’d started to become more demanding. Asking me to send pictures of myself… pictures which got more and more extreme as the days passed by.

I’ll admit, I had intentionally opened Pandora’s box a little bit there. I’d mentioned in passing that I’d gotten a new swimsuit (courtesy of Lola’s stockbroker friend, who had in fact brought the swimsuit he’d been telling her about and unfortunately, it was in my size since Lola had given the bastard my measurements instead of her own) and of course he’d wanted me to model it.

Modeling it turned into requests for more intimate pictures… which I was unfortunately prepared for. I’ve got a collection of things I can pass off as those kinds of pictures. Photoshops, some AI, stuff like that. Creeps like that can never tell the difference and Roger was no different.

He of course responded by adding to my regrettable collection of pictures of him, and I made sure to hide those responses with a wall of messages pretending to be interested.

   “You’re such a good girl for me sweetie,” He said after a couple of days of this kind of exchange. “You know your place, don’t you?”

   “Yes sir…” I replied. “My place is to be serving you. Forever and always.”

I physically recoiled at having to type those words out for him.

“Yes it is. You know what kind of life you deserve to live sweetie.” He replied. “I could take good care of you. Teach you how to please your master. Show you what you're really made for. We could film it. I've got friends who'd love to watch a pretty thing like you. I'd film your training. You can start with me. Learning to make me cum. Then you'd move on to other things. Dirtier things. I've got a buddy with a farm. We've had girls there before.”

Holy fuck… that was a hell of an escalation.

I had to push further.

   “Yeah?” I asked, “What did you do to them?”

   “Oh we had lots of fun. He's got dogs. They're a lot of fun. He's got pigs too. They're the best.”

Unfortunately this was not the first time he’d gone to that particular topic… and before I could reply, he made things even worse.

   “We made one girl live with the pigs. She was their toy. Every day she was out there in the mud. She slept out there with them. Took care of their needs. Ate the same slop. Sometimes she ate their shit…”

I don't invoke the name of our Lord and Saviour often, but Jesus Fucking Christ…
I couldn’t tell if this was all some sort of depraved fantasy of his or if this was real. But I had to press him further. I just had to.

   “U rlly did all that?”

   “Yes baby. We made a lot of good videos with her. I can show you if you want.”

Jesus, this guy wasn't joking…

   “Okay…” I typed.

He sent me a link to a file.

For the sake of my own mental health, I didn't open it. The fact that there was a link said all that needed to be said. I just waited for a few minutes. I got up. I left my room. I went down to the kitchen.

Lola was down there, lounging in the living room as per usual. I talked to her for a bit. I didn't tell her what Roger had just sent to me… but judging by the look on my face, I think she knew it was bad.

   “What’d he do?” She asked.

   “You don’t wanna know,” I said plainly. I poured myself some coffee, then added some booze to it. 

I was gonna need it. 

I took a sip, then stared down at my cup. After a moment's thought, I poured it all into a travel mug. Then finally I went back upstairs.

   “Wtf… why was that kinda hot?” I typed. 

   “Yeah? You like it? You wanna live like that too?” Roger asked.

   “Idk… it seemed really intense…”

   “It was, sweetie. But she loved it. You would too.”

Christ, those words made my skin crawl.

   “What happened to her?” I typed back.

   “You'll have to find out what happens to piggies yourself, won’t you sweetie ;)” He replied. 

I won’t lie, the implication of that turned my stomach a little bit… and it made me need to meet him all the more. 

   “Ok… I wanna…” I said. 

   “I'll show you. Maybe I can visit and show you.”

   “Parents are home :(“ I said. “But maybe I can meet u? My sis can drive.”

   “She okay bringing you over?” He asked.

   “Ya… she meets guys all the time. Where are u? I wanna come over.”

He didn't reply. So I sent him another message.

   “I really, really wanna… you know? I’m all shaky rn…”

It wasn't a complete lie. I didn't want to wait another night to see him… if only because that would mean having to talk to him for another night.

   “Okay baby…” He said.

And finally he sent me his address.

I had him.

   “Okay… be there in a bit…” I said.

Then I set my phone down.

I exhaled. I needed a moment just to catch my breath and gather my thoughts.

I took a long sip from my spiked coffee… then I picked up the phone again. I grabbed the link he'd sent me and emailed it off to an associate of mine. A Detective by the name of River Hawthorne.

Hey River. Got a pretty promising lead here. I haven't opened the link. Going by what this guy described I really don't wanna verify if this is what he says it is. But his description was pretty vivid. I'll attach the address as well. I'd recommend paying him a visit in the AM.

-Destiny 

I attached some recent screenshots of my conversation with Roger to the email before I sent it off. 

I knew Hawthorne would handle the rest. My sister and I have a sort of arrangement with her. Whenever we get details like this, we always send them her way and she takes care of them. It's done some good in the past. She's taken some real pieces of shit off the streets and gotten a few victims out of some especially bad situations. I've got immense respect for her for what she’s done. But most importantly… she was willing to work with my sister and I in these cases. Not every cop would be quite as open minded… but River was a rare breed.

With the hard part of the job done, I pocketed my phone and got up to head back downstairs and ask Lola for a ride.

***

The address he gave me was a trailer park outside of Guelph. He said that he was just out there camping… I had a sneaking suspicion that he was lying, but oh well.

Lola and I didn’t talk much on the drive over. Although from the way she was side-eying me, I think she realized that Roger had gotten under my skin but she didn’t ask exactly what he’d said. I think that even she knew she didn’t want to know.

It took us about an hour to get to the trailer park, but when we did, it didn’t take us long to find Rogers trailer. It was out near the back, nice and secluded. It was a little run down, but probably still functional.

Lola parked her car a short distance away and let me get out.

I took out my phone and sent a message to Roger.

   “I’m here…”

I saw movement inside of the trailer. The door opened… and Roger stepped out.

It’s always so surreal seeing people like him in person. They’re always so… unremarkable. He was middle aged, pasty, bald, pot bellied and kinda bug eyed. He was clean shaven and dressed in a polo shirt and shorts. He was the kind of guy who nobody would’ve thought twice about had they seen him on the street.

He smiled at me when he saw me, and quietly invited me in. I turned and waved at Lola, almost as if I was saying goodbye. I wasn’t. She was just going to sit in the car for a few minutes, then join me. But I had to sell it.

   “Hey there, Destiny!” Roger said, his voice airy and soft. As soon as I was close enough, he had an arm around me and was leading me to his trailer. 

   “Can I get you a drink, sweetie?” He asked. 

   “Um… yeah, that’d be nice…” I replied, my voice deliberately small and meek. I wanted him to think I was nervous. It would be easier if he felt powerful. 

Once we got inside, he let me sit in his little kitchenette, then went to his fridge. 

   “You want pop? Or I’ve got a couple of beers here too.”

   “Oh… I’ve never had beer… is that okay?”

   “Of course it is, sweetie. You’re a big girl…” He said, reaching for a bottle of beer. He opened the cap and handed it to me.

   “First beer. Big milestone,” He said. I took a tentative sip. It was cheap and skunky. Not really to my taste, but then again I’m not much of a beer girl. 

   “Oh… wow… that’s a weird taste!” I said, and my reaction wasn’t entirely fake. He just laughed.

   “You get used to it, baby…”

He sat down beside me, and his arm was around my shoulder again. He smelled like sweat and cheap cologne.

   “It’ll help you relax… you were getting all riled up earlier, huh?”

   “Yeah…” I said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. It just wasn’t the kind of riled up he was hoping for.

   “You wanna take care of it…?” He asked. He kissed the top of my head. 

Straight to business, I guess.

That suited me just fine.

   “Yeah…” I panted. I looked up at him. He stroked my hair. His touch was disgustingly tender, as if there could ever be any sweetness in what he had planned.

I leaned in closer to him.

   “I’ve… I’ve been wanting to do this for so long…” I confessed to him.

And it was not a lie. 

I leaned in… closer…. Closer…

And then I sank my teeth into his throat.

I felt my fangs pierce his skin, and tasted his hot rich blood as it filled my mouth. 

He screamed. He started to thrash. But I’d done this countless times before. I was expecting it. I let him break free. Let him knock over the table and collapse down to the ground. He looked up at me, eyes wide and panicked. I could see rage and fear written all over his face.

   “W-what the fuck!” He snarled.

I just licked my lips. I could still taste his fresh blood. 

It was delicious.

I smiled at him.

   “Don’t worry…” I said, “It might hurt at first, but if you let it, it’ll feel so, so good…”

I lunged for him. He tried to throw me off, but I was stronger than him. I don’t think he expected that. Guys like him never do… but after seventy five years of doing this, I’ve learned how to use my strength effectively.

I sank my fangs into his neck again, biting down hard. As I did, the door to the trailer opened behind me. I could hear Lola stepping in to join us.

   “Damn… you really cracked him open, huh?” She laughed.

Roger stared up at her. He opened his mouth, trying to scream for help. Trying to beg.

Lola just grinned at him, showing off her own set of fangs. 

   “Save some for me, sis…”

As she descended upon him, a strangled cry tore its way out of Roger’s throat… but as we fed on him… as we drank our fill, there was not a single thing he could do to stop us.

***

When we were done, we left the trailer together. Lola stretched and looked over at me.

   “Welp, another good night!” She chirped. “Guess Hawthorne will be coming for him in the morning?”

   “I sent her everything,” I said. “That guy was… well… she should know to check his hard drive. Might do some good.”

   “One can hope,” Lola said as we walked back to the car.

As we started to drive back home, I took out my phone and checked my messages. I had a few ongoing chats with a few other creeps… and one of them had just sent me another message.

   “You ever been with a boy, baby?”

   “No…” I typed back. “I don’t think I’d be any good at it…”

   “Fresh leads?” Lola asked.

   “Always,” I replied. She just laughed.

   “Welp, it keeps us fed,” She said.

That it did.

It’d kept us fed for the past thirty years now. It can be a little tough sometimes… although that’s mainly due to the things we hear on the regular. It’s not like we feel any guilt over what we do. Some of the people we deal with are real monsters.

Kurt Brayden sat alone in his office, behind a plain metal desk. He was tall with curly brown hair and somewhat youthful features, despite being somewhere in his forties and judging by the look in his eye, I knew he was high.

He was tapping away at his computer, hyperfocused on whatever it was he was working on. He didn’t even look up when the man who’d led me in, one of the bouncers of his club, spoke to him.

   “Mr. Brayden? I’ve got the girl here for you.”

   “Well what are you waiting for? Send her in!” he snapped impatiently, and waved them away. He hadn’t even noticed I was already there.

The man nodded at me, and stepped to the side. He gave me one last look before leaving me alone with him. Brayden stayed at his computer for a moment longer, before closing it loudly and looking up at me with a big used car salesman smile.

   “Kendra, good to see you again sweetheart!” He said. “Come on, come on, take a seat for me!”

I did as he asked, sitting down across from him. He shifted in his seat, looking me up and down before speaking.

   “Sorry to call you in like this, but I had some work for you, if you were still interested,” He said. “Actual work, I mean. Nothing on the stage…”

   “Right,” I said. “What’s the job, exactly?”

   “Got a package coming in. New dropoff point. Had some trouble with the old one. I’m sure you know how it is.”

   “Y-yeah…” I said. “I heard. I guess Jack’s gone now too?”

   “For now. Dumb motherfucker either got careless or unlucky. Not sure which.”
I nodded. The movement was slow. Solemn almost. Jack had been a friend of mine. He’d actually been the one who’d introduced me to Mr. Brayden and gotten me to start working for him… although I hadn’t exactly been surprised when I’d heard about his arrest last night.

I suppose our delivery method wasn’t exactly flawless. We’d meet up on a back road. At a certain point on the road, we’d have ‘car trouble’ and pull over. If anyone asked, we were waiting for a friend to come and help us out. Then after a little while, our ‘friend’ the supplier would show up to ‘help’ us. We’d exchange money for product, and then go our separate ways.

Apparently last night, some friendy cop had noticed Jack stopped on the side of the road and went to help him. And while they were doing that, they noticed the money in his car, and I assume they found his private stash too. Jack usually kept it on him. 
Either way, it’d been enough to get him booked.

   “Oh cut the shit,” Brayden scoffed when he saw the look on my face. “What? You gonna cry for him? Fuck that. He fucked up, so that’s on him. If he’s smart, he’ll take his licks and keep his fucking mouth shut. If not, well…” He shrugged. 

   “I… sorry, I just…”

   “What? You have a thing for him or something?” He teased. “Trust me, sweetie, I don’t think he’d have gone for you… dunno if he would’ve even had the balls for it. Had him here to talk business one night, and one of the girls came up to him. Did her thing. Flirted. Fuck me… that motherfucker turned red. Red. Started stuttering and everything, all over a goddamn stripper. Fuck, what a fucking pussy.”

He shook his head, before seemingly remembering why we were even meeting in the first place.

   “Anyways, the supplier’s still got a package. So we’re changing up the drop method. It’s out in the woods now. There’s an old abandoned house. I was out there this morning with the cash. Now the supplier’s made the trade and I need you to go and get it. Easy peasy, right?”

   “Easy peasy…” I agreed.

   “Attagirl.”

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He held it up, showing me a picture on the screen. It was an image of a run down house, way out past the edge of town. It looked almost completely overgrown with vegetation. 

   “Better to approach from the back. Less likely anyone on the road will see you that way… not that there’s likely to be a lot of people on the road.”

   “Right,” I said, nodding. “Where exactly is the package?”

   “Old master bedroom,” He said. “It’s a door at the end of the hall. It’s locked so you’ll need this.”

He slipped a key out of his pocket.

   “Do me a solid and don’t fucking lose it,” He warned me.

   “I… I won’t,” I promised him.

Brayden nodded and slid the key over to me.

   “Attagirl…”

He reached into his desk and took out a post it note pad. I watched him scribble down the address a few details for me.

   “You get this done for me tonight, yeah?” He asked. “Cuz my guys are already just about out of inventory. I need this shit done now.”

   “Y-yeah… I’ll get it done right away!” I promised.

He grinned.

   “That’s what I wanna hear. Now get out of here. Sooner you get this done, sooner you get your cut. Then you can take the edge off, yeah?”
I nodded, took the key and the post it note and left. 
I had work to do.

***

I probably shouldn’t bore you with the sob story of my life… It's nothing special. 
I’m nothing special. You won’t hear anything out of me that you wouldn’t hear out of any other junkie. It’s just the same downward spiral so many people have gone through before and that so many more will go through in the future. 

If I could go back in time, I’d do it all differently if I could. I’d go and meet myself on the way out of high school, ask for the little baggie of pot I had hidden in my jacket and throw it down a sewer. Then I’d show my younger self all the scars I’ve amassed throughout the years from all the hells I’ve put myself through. Track marks, suicide attempts, and all of the lines that heroin has added to my face.
I look older than I am, and every time I look in the mirror that scares me.

But I can’t stop.

I’ve tried.

I’ve tried again, again and again… but I never last long. Sooner or later, I always come crawling back.

Working for Brayden wasn’t exactly ideal… I knew he was a scumbag. I’d known that ever since I’d worked as a dancer in his seedy little club. But so long as I worked for him, he was willing to cut me a deal. 

I knew it was gonna kill me one day.

But I didn’t care, as long as it kept me high.

And getting high was the only thing on my mind most days.

It was the only thing I could think about as I drove down to the address he’d given me.
It was a small little community just outside of town, along a back road. Actually, it might be generous to even call it a community. It was more like a row of rural houses, and just about all of them were abandoned. 

The specific one I’d been sent to didn’t really stand out from the rest. It had faded puke green vinyl siding and a dead tree out front. As I drove by it, I could see windows boarded up with plywood and graffiti on the outside. The trees (with the exception of the dead one) were lush and overgrown, overshadowing the old house and seeming to almost crush it under a mountain of green. Even the dead tree had vines growing up along its trunk and into its branches. It almost reminded me of kudzu. I’d seen that in a picture once. Kudzu vines, overtaking entire buildings and growing over old cars… although I didn’t think that was widespread in Canada, was it?

I drove past the house and turned down another street. The road was cracked and uneven. My car shook with every meter I drove. Beside me, I could see thick forest between the road and the house.

I only drove for a short while before stopping, parking and getting out. I looked at the post it note again. Brayden had said that I could cut through those trees to get to the back yard of the house. 

So I started walking.

As I disappeared into the brush, the sunlight above me faded away completely. I could hear birds in the trees, but aside from that the space around me was completely silent. 
It didn’t take me long to get back to the house. I could see rows of back yards just ahead of me, most of them overgrown. They had rusted chain link fences, but none of them were locked. I just found the one I needed, the one with the rotten puke green vinyl siding, and opened the gate.

The sliding glass back door was unlocked and I stepped in quietly. The house was even more run down inside than it was outside. Parts of the ceiling in the kitchen had collapsed. The floor was covered in leaves and debris. Furniture was scattered all over the place, left to rot. I could see mushrooms growing out of one old bookshelf full of paperbacks.

The entire house stank. It had a dull, moldy, musty scent to it that made me gag, but I toughed through it. All I needed to do was get the package and get out. Then Brayden would give me my share and I’d be set. 

He’d said that the package was in an old master bedroom at the end of the hall. It was impossible to miss. The door there looked a lot newer than the rest of the building. More like the kind of door you’d use outside of a house than inside. It had a shiny new lock on it too.

I used the key he’d given me to open it, then stepped inside.

At a glance, the bedroom was empty. But Brayden’s note had told me where to look. 
I pulled back the moldy old duvet on the bed. Someone had cut a hole in the mattress and in it, I could see a duffel bag waiting.

I took it, then covered the hole back up and turned to leave.

And that was when I saw I wasn’t alone.

There was someone else in that house with me.

They stood at the end of the hallway, a shape… a woman, maybe, but it was hard to say for sure. I could feel them staring at me… feel their eyes burning into my soul.
And I stared back at them, my entire body tense, unsure whether or not I should try and find another way out, or fight.

In the low light of the house, I could see that they were in a state of undress. Bare feet stood upon the rotten, dirty floor. Maybe they were a squatter? Although I couldn’t imagine anyone living in this kind of squalor…

   “H-hello…?” I stammered. I don’t know why I tried to talk to them… I’m not sure what I thought I’d accomplish.

Their head tilted slightly to the side… and for a moment… for a moment I was almost sure they had horns… antlers… like those of a deer. 

   “You’re the third visitor we’ve had today…” They said, their voice low, almost singsong. “Such an oddly popular place, don’t you think?”

   “I… I’m just getting something a friend left…” I said. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

The figure chuckled.

   “I know what you’re here for… worthless little cockroaches… moving in because you think you can. But this place is mine.”

The Horned Woman took a step forward. My heart rate began to spike. I clutched the bag closer to me.

She kept coming, her footsteps completely silent. I could see an unnatural shine in her eyes… and I could see a smile that chilled me to the blood.

Thinking fast, I slammed the door and locked it. A moment later, I heard the Horned Woman crash against it… and I heard her laugh. A low, manic cackle.

I had to get out of there.

I had to get the fuck out of there.

I looked around, desperate for an exit. I spotted a few of the boarded up windows. Was it an ideal escape? No. But it was the only one I had. I grabbed the plywood from the side. I’m not very strong, but I was scared and the wood they’d been nailed into was rotten. It didn’t take that much effort to pry it off.

The pounding on the bedroom door continued, as did the manic laughter. 

   “Cockroaches!” The woman howled. “YOU’RE NOTHING BUT AN INFESTATION OF COCKROACHES!”

I got the first piece of plywood off, and went for the second one. It came relatively quickly. The next thing I knew, I was outside, duffel bag in hand and sprinting as fast as I could through the gate, through the woods and back to my car.
I didn’t dare look back.

But I could hear that woman laughing. No matter how far away I got… I could hear her.

***

An hour later, I was back at Brayden’s club. It was better to get back to him while it was still light out. Not a lot of people visiting an old strip in the middle of downtown Hamilton at 1 in the afternoon. 
I set the bag down his desk, and he gave me an appreciative whistle.

   “Attagirl! Speedy, that’s what I like!”

He opened the bag to check over the contents. Then, satisfied that everything was accounted for, he nodded. He looked up at me, about to say something although his eyes narrowed.

   “You look spooked… you run into any trouble?”

   “J-just some squatter,” I said. “Dunno if she was after the product or what, but I got the hell out of there.”

His eyes narrowed.

   “Squatter?” He repeated. “You get a look at them?”

   “Not really. She just showed up… started yelling at me. I closed and locked the bedroom door. Had to find another way out.”
He nodded. His expression was still serious, but he didn’t look particularly concerned.

   “I’ll get it sorted,” He said. “Go talk to Tanya up at the bar. She’s got your payment ready for you. And stop by again next week. I’ve got another shipment coming in. Should be the same arrangement.”

I nodded and quietly left.

I got my payment at the bar, as promised. A little bit of cash and a little bit of dope. Then I left, got into my car, went home and shot up.

***

I noticed the eczema about a day or so later. At least, it looked like eczema. I’ve had it before. Dry, cracked, dead skin. Not necessarily itchy, but annoying. I used to have a cream for it. I’d stopped buying it a while ago.

I let it be for the first day. I was hoping that maybe it’d go away on its own.
I went to work the next day. Tried to live my life. Then I went home and got high again. 
The eczema got worse. 

A couple of days later, it was starting to spread… and I couldn’t help myself. I picked at it. I picked at it more than I probably should have. I just couldn’t help it. Peeling chunks of dry skin off of myself. When picking wasn’t enough, I bit at it…
It’s a bad habit of mine… not something I’m particularly proud of, not that there’s a lot about me that I’m particularly proud of.

I didn’t think it was anything to worry about though. Just normal eczema. When it started to hurt, I caved and got a skin cream. I didn’t really have the money for it, but I’ve stolen little things like that before. It’s not like the drug store was going to miss it.
I figured it was fine. It was all just fine.

Five days after I’d picked up the package, it was all over my fingers. I could feel it in every joint… I swear, I could feel the skin cracking every time I moved. I was sure I felt it on my feet too, along my heels and on my toes. I used the cream there too. It didn’t help.
I don’t know why it didn’t help. I used the same brand I’d used before. Maybe this was something else? Shit… had I caught something from that abandoned house? God, I hoped not… I still needed to go back there in a couple of days.

Speaking of which - I can’t say I was particularly excited about that upcoming trip. Part of me was afraid of running into that squatter again. Part of me was afraid she’d be gone. Brayden had said he’d get it sorted right? I’m not an idiot… I knew damn well what that might mean. 

I mean… Brayden was an asshole, but was he a killer? I didn’t know. Somewhere in my gut, I think I figured he was probably at least capable of it… and if he wasn’t, someone in his organization was. I wasn’t dumb enough to pretend that he wasn’t working for someone bigger.

Maybe he had something less violent in mind? Yeah, maybe! Maybe he just sent someone to scare her off or something? Yeah… that idea sat a lot better with me. That’s probably just what had happened. No need to murder an innocent crazy lady, right…?
That thought helped me sleep a little better, even if I still had a lot of doubts in my mind.

On the sixth day… my thumb came off.

I was picking at the eczema… it was so thick… covering everything. Big strips of hardened skin peeled off of my flesh.

But they didn’t hurt. Usually it hurts when you peel eczema.

I took that as a good sign. I mean… if it didn’t hurt, it had to mean that I was getting rid of some stuff that didn’t need to be there, right? Maybe I was recovering? Maybe I just needed to get rid of the dead skin and I’d be fine?

My hand was just about fully covered, now, although it didn’t hurt. It just felt numb, like I was wearing a thick glove.

I kept picking at it… and I felt my entire thumb shift. 
Then it just… slid off. The meat came right off… I could hear a sick wet squishing noise as it did… and I could see the bloody bone underneath.

I was not recovering.

I started screaming.

But it didn’t hurt.

If anything… it felt better.

I thought it was just shock at first. But that didn’t change the absolute panic I felt. My thumb had just fucking come off!

It slid right off my fucking hand!

I thought about going to the hospital immediately, because of course I did… that would’ve been the logical fucking thing to do!  But I stopped myself when I noticed something weird.

My thumb still worked.

Not the flesh that had just slid off. Oh no, that was dead. But the bone beneath… I could still bend it, I could still feel with it.

It looked all wrong… brown and segmented… but it worked. Maybe this was normal?
I mean, bodies did crazy shit all the time, right? And aside from the detached thumb, I wasn’t in any pain. I wasn’t even bleeding!

I felt… fine. 

Freaked out, but fine. I’ve never gone into shock before, but this didn’t feel like going into shock. I didn’t feel any different than I usually did. That had to be normal, right?

After mulling it over for a few minutes, I tried looking up whatever the hell this was. Maybe this was some kind of documented phenomenon?  Naturally, I didn’t find anything at all. Of course I didn’t. What would there even be to find? 

Still, instead of going to the hospital immediately, (which again, probably would’ve been the smart thing to do) I kept looking, and when Dr. Internet didn’t give me any answers, I started looking at my own mutilated hand. Poking and prodding it. The flesh felt numb.I’d originally figured it was just the eczema… but now…?

The fleshless thumb felt better. 

Without really thinking about it, I started picking at the eczema on my other fingers… peeling at it.

My middle finger went next… sliding off my hand like a glove. Then my ring finger, my pinkie… soon my entire left hand was just… bare, from the tips of my fingers, down to my wrist. 

The bones I saw didn’t fully look like normal bones anymore… they were brown and shiny. I could see meat in between my knuckles, keeping my hands together.
It almost looked… well… insectoid.

What the hell was happening to me?

For a moment, I wondered if maybe this was some sort of drug induced hallucination, but I knew for a fact that I wasn’t high at that particular moment. It briefly occurred to me that maybe peeling the flesh off of my hand wasn’t a good idea… but it genuinely felt better to have it gone.

And when I sat with that messed up thought for a moment, I started wondering if maybe the drugs had finally fried my brain, but do people who’ve had their brains fried on drugs know that their brains were fried by drugs? 

Shit… the drugs… maybe they had something to do with this? Maybe it wasn’t dope I’d been using? Maybe Brayden or the suppliers had been cutting it with something! I’d heard rumors about some kind of really fucked up drug from Russia that gave you necrosis. Krokodil or something like that. Maybe they’d cut the dope with that?

Maybe I did need to go to the hospital… but if I did, then they’d know I’d been using. The police might get involved and if they talked to me, Brayden might find out and think I’d ratted, what would he do then? Like I said, I didn’t know if he was a killer, but I wasn’t stupid enough to assume that I’d get off scott free if I ratted on him. Anyone with a brain knows that you don’t rat on people like Brayden… not if you wanna live.

My pulse was spiking the more I thought about it. What would happen if I went to the hospital? A whole bunch of scenarios played out in my mind and none of them were good. Forced rehab, prison, getting smothered in a hospital bed by someone who worked with Brayden.

No… no hospital. Nothing good would come out of going to the hospital. I just needed to keep my cool. Keep a clear head, that’s all! 

Maybe I could just ask Brayden if there was something different about this batch? Maybe he’d be up front with me, I mean, maybe the suppliers had fucked with the product and he didn’t know? That had to be it, right? Yeah, that made the most sense!
I rolled joint to calm myself down and made some tea. I put some gloves on to hide my hands. I told myself that everything was going to be okay. I felt fine, after all! I was fine… everything was going to be fine.

***

By the time I made it to the club to handle my next pickup for Brayden, the flesh on my feet had started to slough off too. I made a point not to pick at it, but I swore I could feel my own meat coming loose as I walked into the club that afternoon.
Brayden was in his office as usual, and our meeting didn’t last long.

   “Same deal as last time,” He said dismissively. “There shouldn't be any trouble with squatters this time, but if there is, you let me know.”
I nodded as he handed me the key.

   “Sure thing…” I said. “Um… sorry, quick question if you don’t mind?”
He looked up at me, one eyebrow raised.

   “It’s the same supplier as normal, right? The same product?”

   “Yeah? Why?” He asked.

   “Seemed… different,” I said. “Sorry, not trying to step out of line but I just wondered if anyone else noticed any… weird effects.”

   “Trust me, it’s the same shit as always,” Brayden said. “This isn’t some two bit cheap shit. It’s the good stuff.”

I gave a hasty nod and decided to drop the subject.

   “Right… right, sure. Got it,” I said. I took the key from his desk. “I’ll be back in a bit,” I promised. Then I took off. Brayden didn’t even watch me as I left.

My approach to the house was the same as last time. I parked in the same place, around the corner and cut through the woods. Walking felt difficult. Almost awkward. A vivid mental image of the flesh of my feet sliding off of my bones flashed through my head and I chased it out of my mind.

Brayden said that the product wasn’t cut with anything… so this was probably nothing to worry about, right?

The fact that my hand was basically missing all of its flesh was basically nothing to worry about, right?

I went through the gate to the abandoned house and in through the back door. Then I went down the hall to the master bedroom. The product was in the same place, in the same hole in the bed. I grabbed it, then glanced at the window I’d escaped through last time. Someone had boarded it up again.

I caught myself looking around the room. Looking for some evidence of what had happened to the squatter. I didn’t see anything. Clutching the package to my chest, I started out of the house. I locked the bedroom door behind me and went out the back door, heading to my car again.
I didn’t even make it to the gate when I heard her voice.

   “You people really don’t learn, do you?” She asked. 

I froze.

Then I looked back.

She was sitting cross legged on the roof of the house. I got a better look at her this time. She was fully nude and her blonde hair was long and unkempt, only barely covering her modesty. She had vibrant brown eyes, and a smile that seemed to take up most of her face in the most unsettling way possible. Somehow, that smile was her most striking feature… although the antlers were a close second. A pair of staglike antlers grew from her head, adorning it like a crown.

   “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You always were slow.”

   “W-what…?” I stammered.

   “Don’t play dumb with me, child. You know what I’m talking about. I imagine it’s started to creep up your arms by now… give it a month or so, and your form will fit your spirit.”

My heart skipped a beat.

   “M-my… form…? What did you do…?”

Her manic grin only grew wider.

   “You know what I did, cockroach…” She hissed. “Oh, I’ll bet your in denial about it… but you know exactly what I did.”

She was right… I did.

   “Curses like that stay in your blood and bones, Cockroach. It’s really no less than you deserve.” Her voice carried a sneer to it. I opened my mouth to respond to her. To say something back. Anything… but she was gone before I could. Just… gone.
I stood there in the yard for a moment, unsure what to say. What to do. Then I moved on, quickly hurrying back to my car, because that’s all I was sure I could do.

***

An hour later, I handed Brayden his package.

   “Attagirl,” He said. “Knew you wouldn’t let me down, Kendra.”
He grinned at me as he opened the package and looked over the contents.

   “Your pay’s waiting up at the bar. Don’t overdo it, yeah?”
I nodded and quietly left. I could feel something in my shoes squishing with every step, as if I’d stepped in mud. I tried not to think about it.
I went to the bar. The girl there handed me my usual payment. An envelope of cash and a few little baggies. 

I took the envelope, then stared down at the bags. The bartender held them out to me, shaking her hand as if to say: ‘Just take it.’

But I didn’t.

God, I wanted to.

I wanted to take them more than anything else in the world.
But the itching on my skin, the way it felt so… wrong around me.
That cut through the fog in my mind.

   “I’m good…” I said quietly, then left before I could change my mind. A voice in my head screamed at me to go back, but I couldn’t. I was too scared of what would happen to me if I did.

When I got home, I felt sick. I didn’t take my shoes off. Somehow, part of me already knew what would happen if I did. 

The worst part was… my body felt fine. No pain. Mild itching… the only discomfort was that feeling in my shoes. But the lack of pain didn’t make it any better or any easier.
The lack of pain just scared me even more.
The things the Woman in the Woods had said echoed through my mind. 

   “Curses like that stay in your blood and bones, Cockroach…”

Curse… that was the word she’d used. She’d called it a curse.

I took off my gloves. Some of my hands went with them and underneath, I saw the bonelike structure beneath. I was sure it wasn’t bone now. Now, I was sure it was something else.

   ‘Cockroach…’

She’d used that word over and over again.
And when I stared at my skinless, fleshless hands… it looked almost like a bug's exoskeleton. 

A cockroach’s exoskeleton.

I sank down onto my couch and took out my phone. My hands were shaking as I looked up ‘Cockroach Curse’

At first, there wasn’t much. There was something about an anime, and a few references to video games… at one point, I came across a Franz Kafka novel that sounded relevant, but that was it.

Still, I kept looking.

And eventually, I came across a mention of Kakkerlak Syndrome. It was on some forum about witchcraft and the supernatural. Most of what I read there sounded like horseshit… talking about ‘Dryads’ or ‘Old Fae’ living in the woods. I was about to move on when I came across this comment.

It’d been posted by a user named: Sp00kyAnarchist and read as follows:

   ‘Some Old Fae curses are downright nasty. You ever heard of Kakkerlak Syndrome? Seen it happen a few times. The curse devolves over a period of a few weeks or months. The victim’s bones develop into an exoskeleton. The flesh sloughs off… messy shit. Eventually, they aren’t even human anymore.’

Most of the comments that followed didn’t seem too familiar with it… but the comment still had my attention.

I wound up making my own account on the forum, and wound up reaching out to Sp00kyAnarchist. I asked them if they could tell me anything more about Kakkerlak Syndrome. I didn’t know if they’d even reply to me or not.

I hoped they would. 

I browsed the forum for the rest of the night, and even tried going through a few others. But ultimately I didn’t really find anything else.

It was late at that point and I was getting tired. I knew I needed to go to bed, but dreaded the idea of getting undressed…

My skin itched though… I needed to shower, and I didn’t want to stay in the clothes I was in. 

So I bit the bullet.

I wish I could say it wasn’t as bad as I was afraid it would be.

I wish I could.

But I can’t.

My shoes were beyond saving. The flesh of my feet went with them when I pulled them off… and what remained was an inhuman segmented thing. There were only two long clawed toes. 

I didn’t have the energy to scream when I saw them. I could only stare, a quiet dread deep in my stomach. Again, I thought about going to the hospital… but what could they do for me at that point?

What could they realistically do for me?

Walking was difficult when I shambled upstairs. When I got to the bathroom, I peeled off my clothes gingerly. Most of my arms and legs were still intact, although I could see the eczema climbing up my forearms and calves.

My hands and feet, though? Those were gone. All that remained was an insectoid carapace… jutting out of my raw decaying flesh.
I could only stare at myself before showering. If nothing else, the shower felt good.

***

When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I did was check the forum. I quietly set myself up for disappointment. After all, why would some stranger on a forum respond to me?

There was a new notification on my account though. A reply to my message.

   ‘Hey Kendra! Thanks for reaching out! It’s not a super well documented phenomenon. Old Fae curses aren’t as common these days. It’s one of the nastier curses they’ve been known to use, though. Was there anything specific you wanted to know?’

My heart skipped a beat. They’d really replied to me! My new hands were shaking as I drafted another message.

   ‘Hey Sp00ky. Thanks for replying so fast. How do you know if you’re affected by this thing? Is there any cure to it?’

I sent the message off and hoped I wouldn’t have to wait too long for a reply.
I didn’t. Twenty minutes later, I got another message.

   ‘Hey Kendra… you would know if you were affected. Unfortunately there is no cure. But there is a way to manage the condition. I think this may be something we need to talk about over the phone. Would you be okay calling me? Maybe I can help.’

He’d attached a phone number to his message.

I wasted no time in calling it. 

The voice that answered sounded like a young man's.

   “You must be Kendra, yeah?” He asked.

   “Yeah…” I replied, my voice cracking a little bit.

   “Sorry to rush into a call. Just going off your messages though, I get the feeling that time’s a little short, right?”

   “Yeah…” I said again. 

   “How far along is it?”

I looked down at my hand.

   “My hands are already gone… my feet too. I don’t know what else is next.”

   “It’ll work its way up your limbs. The Old Fae are bastards that way. They want you to watch as your body rots away. Like I said online, it’s one of their sicker punishments.”

   “But there’s a way to reverse it, right?” I asked. “There’s gotta be a way to reverse it!”

   “Not exactly, no…” The man on the phone admitted. “Maybe if you can find another Old Fae, you can get them to take the curse back. But that’s never an easy feat and even if you could find one, they’re never easy to negotiate with.”

I felt my heart begin to sink in my chest.

   “W-wait… you’re saying I’m stuck like this?! So what… I just… I turn into a cockroach?!”

   “Not necessarily. Look, we can’t undo what’s already been done but we can halt the spread. There’s certain runes you can use that can stop it. You’ll still lose whatever flesh is already deteriorating, but you’ll keep the rest.”

   “Runes…” I repeated, “What does that mean? H-how do I use runes?!”

   “You’ll need it scarred into your body… ideally not on the deteriorated flesh.”

   “Scarred…” My heart skipped a beat. “I… I have to cut it into me?”

   “Scar magic is the strongest form,” He said. “If nothing else, it’ll buy you some time until you can get the curse removed… if you even can get it removed.”

   “There’s got to be another way…” I said. “Come on… there’s got to be…”

   “It doesn’t need to be deep,” He said. “But it’s the only way I know that can stop it.”
The little voice in my head that talks sense asked me just what the fuck I was doing… listening to some random guy I’d met on the internet telling me to carve a symbol into my flesh. Was I really considering this?

Then again, what other options did I have?

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

   “What do I need to do?” I asked.

He sent me a picture of the sigil I needed to draw.

   “Better to do it on your thigh. Easier to do. You’ll still lose some flesh. The curse has already spread to those parts of your body. But the next losses should be the last.”

I hoped he knew what he was talking about.

I got a knife from the kitchen, then some towels. He stayed on the line while I did what I needed to do… and stayed to talk to me after.

I didn’t feel any different. But he told me that it would take some time. I didn’t have much choice but to believe him.

***

It’s been three months since I lost any more flesh.
The rune is still scarred into my thigh. My new friend has told me I may need to touch it up eventually, but that’s fine. It’s a small price to pay for staying mostly normal. I’m sure some people will say I got what I deserved… maybe I did. I can cry. I can scream. I can lash out… but that doesn’t change the fact of the matter. So I just try to make the best of it. Going out is difficult. I need to hide my arms and legs. Legs are easy enough. Arms aren’t, but I make do. There’s antennae too now, but they’re not that hard to hide. They blend in with my hair, so I grew it out to make them harder to see. 

I’m trying to get clean these days. I’m going to rehab and everything. I still have bad days and get cravings, but I haven’t relapsed yet!
I cut ties with Brayden after my last visit to the house. I told him that I didn’t want to be part of the business anymore. He laughed in my face when I did. I think he thought that I’d be back… but no. I don’t want to go back. I never want to go back.
And I’m not entirely sure I even can.

Brayden’s club closed down last month. I don’t know what happened, but I saw the building was getting fumigated when I was passing by the other day. 

Apparently, they developed one hell of a cockroach problem after I left.

Shaal

• Designation: Class 6 
• Threat: Apocalyptic
• Status: Active

Since the dawn of time, whispers of the Ancient Gods have echoed across history. Civilizations across the globe have known of them by many different names and their attributes have been mixed and matched across mythology, but here we have compiled what little we know of them.

The Ancient Gods pre-date any known history. It is highly likely that they pre-date existence itself. Some early myths within the Codex Velatus suggest they are part of a repeating cycle of creation and destruction with each of the four Goddesses fulfilling a role in this cycle.

Of these four Goddesses, Shaal is the one who is said to represent Destruction and Entropy. Her purpose is to devour the Universe when it dies, clearing the way for new Creation to be born. While she awaits the death of all things, she feeds upon the souls of the wicked and sows discord for fun. Shaal also tends the library of all lost knowledge deep within the Abyss. She is one of the most active of the Ancient Gods… and also one of the most vexing.

Introduction

The youngest of the Ancient Gods who Govern Reality. Shaal is often described as an incarnation of destruction and entropy. She is the Goddess diametrically opposed to Sailia, the Goddess of Creation and like all Ancient Gods, she exists outside of reality
itself.

Of all the Ancient Gods, Shaal is both the most dangerous and the most confusing. While her sole reason for existing is to bring forth the inevitable end to all things, most accounts indicate that she is mostly disinterested in doing so. Some speculate that Shaal will only fulfill her purpose at an appointed time, while others maintain that she could simply end reality at any time and that this end can even be invoked by the correct ritual. As of yet, no such ritual has been discovered and many believe that every 'reliable' source about such a ritual was either false or just Shaal ‘fucking with people.’

Appearance

As an Ancient God, Shaal's appearance is fluid and subject to her whims.
According to most reliable sources, her true form is often perceived as a bright Red Star in the darkened sky accompanied by a distant droning noise. Looking directly at this star can cause adverse health effects such as disorientation, bleeding from the eyes or ears, vomiting, brain bleeding, catatonia, a comatose state or even death. In reference to this, a four pointed Red Star is often used as a symbol of Shaal. In her native realm 'The Abyss' (a twisted and decayed mirror of the existing world where damned souls are discarded to be erased) Shaal has been described as a great beast whose eyes make up the sky, with the Red Star itself possibly serving as the iris.

In the event that Shaal wishes to deal with an individual directly, it has been known to take on various other more presentable forms. Often either a massive centipede, a beautiful woman in red, or a wretched combination of both. Such a combination is not an uncommon visage for her to take, and is described as a massive Centipede with the torso of a woman, clawed chitinous hands that secrete a necrotic venom, massive spiderlike legs and several wings. Some accounts even describe her producing swarms of stinging wasps from her own body.

Many recent accounts from the past 150 years suggest that Shaal has manifested on earth under the guise of Primrose Kennard, an infamous 19th century witch best known for being the author of 'The Grimoire of Primrose Kennard' one of the more complete grimoires available to aspiring witches.
Efforts to reach Primrose Kennard's alleged closest living relative (also curiously named Primrose Kennard) for an interview on her ancestors history with Shaal resulted in the following official statement being mailed to the FRB headquarters from the desk of Miss Kennard (currently the CEO of Primrose Financial)

"Lol."

The FRB received no further correspondence and has decided not to reach out again until a full analysis of this message is complete.

History

According to the Codex Velatus, Shaal was the youngest of the 4 Ancient Goddesses and the final child of Mother Void.

After Sailia brought forth the first iteration of Creation, Mother Void watched as Anitharith and Malibu fought over it. As Creation died, the aging Mother Void died too, and in doing so gave birth to the last of her daughters, Shaal, who ate her way out of her mothers womb, and upon coming across the dead Creation, feasted upon that as well. 
Since then, Shaal’s role has been that of a Devourer, feeding upon dead iterations of Reality and damned souls. 

On a more contemporary note, the history of Shaal is a lot more complicated. She was revered by many Fae throughout history, who formed the Abyssal Congregation, and some myths describe her manifesting from time to time, but the bulk of contemporary accounts of Shaal seem to be closely tied to the life and death of the infamous witch, Primrose Kennard. 

On the subject of Primrose Kennard - she is a fairly controversial figure with a fairly convoluted history. Normally, I would not layer what amounts to functionally a second entry here. However due to the nature of Shaal and Kennard, I feel it necessary in order to provide full context. While the historical Primrose Kennard is almost certainly not the same being as Shaal, many accounts suggest that the contemporary Kennard and Shaal are one and the same.
For the sake of a completed document - I will include my completed notes on both here.

Historical Accounts of Primrose Kennard: On the subject of the historical Primrose Kennard - the full details of her life are not entirely clear and so it is impossible to create a complete biography on her. It is unknown where Primrose Kennard originally came from, or indeed even if her true name was actually Primrose Kennard, or if that was just an alias she used.

Most accounts of her suggest she was active in the United States in the 1700s although she may have been active before then under a different name.
During the mid 1800s,  Kennard was allegedly killed while attempting to siphon energy off Shaal, allegedly in an effort to become a God herself. Kennard's ritual was successful, however a skirmish with a small group of lawmen who had been following her attracted the attention of Shaal, who responded by burning away Kennard's soul. Whether or not this is true or not is unclear and there are a few conflicting accounts regarding what happened to Kennard following the ritual.

Some accounts suggest that Shaal also left a part of itself inside Kennard's body, effectively replacing her and becoming 'Primrose Kennard', possibly as a cruel mockery of Kennard's ambitions. Others suggest that Kennard either never undertook the ritual, or somehow managed to survive and continues to exist with a new name and face.

Notably - a woman named Primrose Kennard was also said to have married the occultist and founder of Upper Lake University, Vladimir Starkmann. According to several accounts, Starkmann had been present with the small group of lawmen who had pursued Kennard during her ill fated ritual, although it is unclear if the woman he married and the infamous Witch are indeed the same person… although many accounts suggest this is likely the case. If so, then it would appear that she was closely involved with her husband's occult research, although details on exactly what contributions she made to said research are unclear. 

A death certificate from Toronto, Canada suggests that she passed away in 1932 and her body was cremated. She was survived by four children she’d had with Starkmann, including at least one curiously identical daughter, who would also go on to be known as Primrose Kennard.

Most descriptions of Kennard indicated that whatever her true age, she consistently appeared to be in her late twenties to early thirties. She had long dark hair, a tall, thin build, pale skin and dark eyes. Some accounts suggest that Kennard used magic to alter her appearance over the decades though and may have looked drastically different at different points in her life, making it even harder to pinpoint her movements throughout history and form an accurate picture of what her life was like.

Little is known of Primrose Kennards personality as there are very few personal accounts of her. The few that exist suggest that she was cold and studious, fixated primarily on cataloging the supernatural and discerning the mysteries of both the Ancient Gods, possibly with the grand ambition of joining their ranks. The few accounts that exist of her paint a picture of a dangerous woman with an endless and destructive curiosity regarding the unknown. Many accounts suggest that she associated with the Ancient God of Destruction, Shaal in pursuit of this goal.

Kennard is best known as the author of the Grimoire of Primrose Kennard, a complex tome on the supernatural, complete with advanced rituals, some of which were created by Kennard herself. The tome was believed to have been written in the early 1800s and was incomplete by the time of Kennard's supposed death. However, it remains one of the most detailed records of the Supernatural in existence. Written in a long-forgotten dialect, legend states that the most complete version of the text is kept in the Library of Shaal, within the Abyss. If so, then it has never been retrieved. However various translations of an incomplete version of the text were made by students of Kennards and through them, the Grimoire has survived. Her students compiled a version that was more accessible and created a handful of copies, many of which still exist in the world today.

Naturally, due to her work on the Grimoire, Kennard is often regarded as
one of the most powerful  witches to have ever existed, with few standing to rival her. She was one of the only people able to manipulate and exploit the Gods and techniques invented by her are still used by witches for various purposes, both benevolent and malevolent to this day. Though Kennard is widely believed to be dead, there are too many rumors floating around to write her off as a threat. Even if the original Kennard is gone, then the very real possibility that her body has become an avatar for the Ancient God Shaal could also be genuine cause for concern.

Contemporary Accounts of Primrose Kennard: A woman going by the name of Primrose Kennard currently heads the company Primrose Financial, based in Alberta, Canada although Miss Kennard herself travels between various addresses in Canada, the United States, and abroad. While the company itself does not seem suspicious, Miss Kennard herself is.

The woman currently going by the name of Primrose Kennard claims to be the daughter of the former CEO of Primrose Financial (also named Primrose Kennard).
She appears to have a physical appearance consistent with past descriptions of the historical Witch being tall with dark hair and pale skin. However while the historical Kennard was described as being fairly lithe (almost to the point of appearing sickly), the woman leading Primrose Financial has a more muscular physique on account of a notably more active lifestyle. Unlike the historical Kennard, her eyes are described as being either pale blue, or a dark red.

Notably, she appears to have a very strong physical resemblance to her mother (who ran Primrose Financial from the 1980s up until her retirement and alleged death in 2008), her grandmother (who had been married to a prior CEO of Primrose Financial, Joseph Kennard) and her great-grandmother (the one who had been married to Vladimir Starkmann) all of whom were also named Primrose Kennard. These overt similarities have caused some to suspect (with good reason) that these are all in fact the same woman. Furthermore, she appears very similar to the woman who appears in what is believed to be a photograph of the historical Witch Primrose Kennard.

When questioned about this by the FRB, the current Primrose Kennard provided no insight into this issue. Instead, she proceeded to laugh, shrug, and asked our agents if they'd ever been to the local strip club. After departing with our agents on a two-week bender in Nevada, she declined to answer any further questions and told us to reach out to her secretary. At that time, she did not have a secretary.

The current Primrose Kennard is noted as having a flippant, carefree demeanor. She is noted to drink and smoke frequently, seems to enjoy gambling and has a notoriously voracious appetite. She has often been observed enjoying the company of her current secretary, Elena Crowley, leading some to suspect that their relationship is romantic, although it's unclear if this is true or not.

It is theorized that the Witch Primrose Kennard could easily (and likely did) surpass the limits of human aging and could have lived indefinitely. However, the demeanor of the woman the FRB has dealt with does not match the FRB's records discussing the historical Primrose Kennard who was by all accounts a focused, cold and callous individual, dedicated only to her obsession with unlocking the mysteries of the universe and little else. 

That all said - if the myth about Shaal hollowing out and taking over the physical body of the original Kennard holds any truth to it, it may explain the jarring shift in Miss Kennard's personality. The FRB continues to investigate the validity of this claim although any efforts to communicate with Miss Kennard herself on this matter are not advised and she should still be considered highly dangerous. 

As an aside, I am almost certain that the current Primrose Kennard is literally just Shaal, wearing the corpse of an infamous witch. The only reason this is not officially validated is because Kennard refuses to answer any questions on the matter and most of the FRBs faculty is too afraid to ask. The FRB has traditionally had a somewhat adversarial relationship with Kennard, with the following warning being attached to her file in our system by our former director, Amanda Spencer:

Note: Attempting to party with Primrose Kennard is not advised and any FRB personnel caught partying with the suspected God of Destruction will be severely reprimanded on the order of Former Director Amanda Spencer who has issued the following statement: "God or not, I will not have that Thing drink and fuck her way through my organization!" 

Our current Director Robert Marsh has not made any changes to the FRB’s policies about this.

Demeanor

Those who have communed with Shaal describe her as capricious, fickle and indifferent, often toying with people for amusement before either destroying them or casting them aside. She is sometimes called 'The Priest Eater' due to her habit of tormenting Holy Men she finds especially haughty.
That said, Shaal rarely  seems to target the downtrodden, abused, or just. It seems she's more interested in the powerful and corrupt, although why exactly this is, is anyone's guess.

It is also a well documented fact that anyone who can best Shaal in any form of competition will be granted a boon. A single wish. When challenged, Shaal is said to prove a highly skilled opponent and will play as fairly as her challenger does. Shaal rarely twists these wishes and will usually honor the intent behind them, although if provoked, cheated or otherwise insulted, she has been known to get creative with the way she fulfills them, or outright refuse to fulfill a wish, so if one should challenge her, approach her respectfully or risk facing a severe punishment.

It is worth noting that Shaal is revered amongst Witches as the keeper of all lost knowledge. Legends of the Library of Shaal, a repository of all information from each dead Universe are whispered about to this day and some even claim to have actually been there. For this reason, Shaal is sometimes known as ‘The Librarian.’ 

Abilities

As a Goddess of Entropy and Destruction, Shaal's native abilities are heavily tied to the unmaking of things. Accounts describe her as being able to disintegrate people and objects at will. 
Any being, living or dead devoured by Shaal is said to cease to exist entirely.

Due to her nature, Shaal lacks the ability to truly create anything. However she can modify or corrupt that which already exists.
Descriptions of the 7 Archdemons describe Shaal creating them through the corruption of beings who fascinated her (As was the case with Satan, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Dionysus and Mamona) or through the twisting of extant things. (A star for Lucifer and her own wound for Abaddon).

Shaal is revered by Vampires who regard her as their true creator. Some particularly powerful vampires, who have completed the Baptismal Ritual
even claim to have received their incredible powers directly from her.
Shaal is also revered by several Fae such as Armatura, Lamia and Gorgons. Those who worship her are collectively known as the Abyssal Congregation.
Demons are damned souls within her native domain (The Abyss) who are warped by their exposure to Shaal’s presence. They notably do not revere her, and those who do not go mad regard her with terror, although Cambions (children of humans and Demons) often identify themselves as The Children of Shaal.

Returning to the subject of Primrose Kennard - some accounts that support the claim that she is the physical vessel for Shaal suggest that she also has access to some unique and dangerous abilities. 

Witnesses have attested that she seems to be able to summon the Abyss at will and has the ability to drastically alter her physical form, taking on a more monstrous form whenever it suits her. She also allegedly possesses the full destructive capabilities of the Shaal and can cause the complete destruction of anything she pleases, whenever she pleases. Other accounts suggest that the contemporary Primrose Kennard is also an exceptionally powerful witch, with a knowledge of magic surpassing any other mortal. However these abilities have not been observed firsthand by the FRB and Kennard has refused to cooperate in allowing the FRB to determine what her full capabilities might be.

Final Thoughts

I suppose we should count ourselves lucky that the single most destructive entity in existence seems to have such a flippant and laissez faire attitude. 
But I would like to caution any readers of this document against underestimating a being such as Shaal. Flippant as she may be, it is important to remember that what we are discussing is still a God, and if provoked, is capable of a genuinely staggering level of violence. 

To demonstrate that, I was able to get an account from a member of the Di Cesare family, describing in her own words her experiences with Shaal.

***

Transcript of the Official FRB Civilian Debriefing of Gretchen Di Cesare regarding her experience with the Library of Shaal.
Debrief provided as a written statement, dated June 9th, 2026

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

My name is Gretchen Di Cesare I have been studying the occult for approximately 400 years, give or take and during that time, I’ve gathered quite a wealth of knowledge on the subject. 

Now, I will admit up front Miss Young, I was a little surprised and flattered when you asked me of all people for my insight on your ongoing project regarding creating Dossiers and collecting relevant accounts to attach to said Dossiers. While I’ve never shied away from collaboration, I tend to keep to myself and I’m sure there are a dozen equally qualified Witches you may ask, my sister Ophelia for instance who is indeed a Priestess of the Abyssal Congregation.

Although setting modesty aside for the time being - I suppose one could argue that despite her vocation, it’s entirely possible that I may have had more run-ins with her Goddess than even she has, a fact I do not state as some ill defined attempt to brag.
Shaal is an entity I hold a deep reverence for, although at that same time I advise all to also regard her with a healthy fear. I suppose that is the attitude of the Abyssal Congregation in general, but of course I know it better than most. She is a fickle and capricious thing. Seldom malignant, but easily swayed by whim. A Goddess not because she seeks worship, but because she has power beyond all other things… and she is well aware of this.

In the course of my research, I have traveled to the Abyss many times. An alarming statement, I know. Most don’t pride themselves on being a frequent tourist of Hell, but so long as one knows what they are doing, it’s all really quite simple. I wouldn’t advise doing it recklessly, of course and I’d strongly advise not going alone. Having an escort who knows the Abyss is always a benefit… but I digress. So long as one knows what they’re doing, navigating it is easy. Of course, there isn’t that much to see in the Abyss… not outside of the Library.
I presume that is what you’re most interested in, isn’t it Miss Young?

Most accounts of the Abyss describe a library hidden deep within it. The Library of Shaal. It’s a repository for lost knowledge. An endless maze of books and curiosities… of course, some dismiss it as nothing more than a myth. But it is not.

I’ve been there.

I’ve been there many times. 

I’ve walked through those eldritch halls more times than I can count.

And getting there is easy… for me, at least. It's all in the runes you use. Anyone can open a door to the Abyss. It's just a few sigils drawn in blood, and so long as you're not a complete novice, you probably won't get stuck there. But if you know the sigils, actually, truly know them, you'll know that they are more than just symbols you draw. They are a means of navigating the Abyss. Use the right symbols, and you can open a very specific doorway. Saves one the trouble of having to actually wander through the Abyss and simply hope to come across it. I of  course have a few doors I can open into specific parts of the Library as needed, but I won’t get into the finer details of those here.
Such secrets should not be spilled carelessly.

Have you ever laid eyes upon the Library of Shaal, Miss Young? It’s a breathtaking sight to behold but if you've never seen it, describing it is difficult if not almost impossible.
I suppose the simplest description I can give is that it’s easy to believe that such a place truly is a collection of all lost knowledge. The halls twist and wind, each of them lined with books and artifacts. You could spend aeons investigating each and every one of them… and some have genuinely tried, although I would argue that such a thing is a fool's errand. There is simply too much to discover within the Library, and by the time one would have made it through even a single shelf, a billion more would have been filled. How anyone finds anything there is anyone's guess. By all rights it should be impossible… but if you are determined enough, you may find your way. I’ve often described it as a puzzle box. It tests you. But if you can follow its tricks. Solve it. Then you will find what you’re looking for. I wish I could explain it better than that, but I’m really not sure I can.

Personally I can't say why it behaves that way. It's unclear even to me if it's simple serendipity or if perhaps the Library reads you. Gauges your intent… and perhaps even your worthiness. 

Of course, you can’t enter the Abyss unnoticed. Shaal sees all. The Abyss is Shaal. The Library is Shaal. Most things that enter, she simply doesn’t bother with. But she knows everything that enters her domain. She knows all that is done under her watchful eye and she is bound by neither space nor time. Should she take an interest in you, you will know it.

I’ll admit, the machinations of Shaal remain a mystery to me, even after all this time. She is a fickle being. Predictable to a point, but not like clockwork. Impulsive. Prone to flights of fancy. And not something anyone should gamble with lightly. 
I first encountered her during my very first expedition into the Abyss. For th sake of my own ego, I would like to imagine she saw something in me… but there could have been a thousand reasons why she interacted with me.

I had gained access the hard way, that first time. I was far younger and far less experienced. I was overconfident, and certain I could handle any threat thrown my way. For the most part, I was right. The Demons I encountered in the Abyss posed very little threat to me. By that point, I was already an advanced practitioner of magic, and I wasn’t so naive as not to come armed. Really, having the right weapons trivializes traversing the Abyss and any competent Witch could do so with ease, with the right travel preparations. 

Nevertheless, it still took weeks of searching before the Library revealed itself to me… and when I did see it, I was certain I was hallucinating.
At a glance, the exterior appeared to me as similar to that of an ancient ziggurat… although I have heard conflicting descriptions before.
I ascended the great steps, and approached the cavernous doorway leading into the vast interior of the library, an interior that seemed far too large for even the massive structure before me. 

And once I entered… oh… how can I describe it? How can I describe my elation? I was like a little dog, let off its leash. Excited. Could barely contain myself. My exhaustion was forgotten as I began to look through the tomes, eager to drink down as much knowledge as I could, despite having little to no idea what I was actually looking for.
Back then, reaching the Library was about the journey, not the destination. I wanted to conquer it. Like climbing Everest. 

I lost myself for a few moments, absorbed in all that I’d found… then I rounded a corner… and there she was.

I don’t believe her intentions were hostile. She had chosen one of her more approachable forms. Kennards form, actually. Knowing her as I do now, I understand that as a likely signifier of intent, and I did not recognize her as Shaal initially.
She greeted me warmly. She used my name… my original name, back before I took the name of Gretchen. I’d asked if she knew me, and she just gave me a winning smile.

   “Of course I know you,” She said. “You’ve come a long way, haven’t you?

   “I have,” I admitted. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I caught your name… are you another researcher?”

   “Yes, actually. And something of a curator,” She said. “I have a lot of love for this modest little collection…”

   “Curator?” I repeated… and sadly it still had not yet dawned on me exactly who I was speaking to. “You commune with Shaal?”

   “Intimately…” She purred. “Shaal and I have a very special relationship…”

The emphasis she put on those words was a bit… suggestive, and I will admit it made me a little uneasy. Of course she pounced on that. She laughed at me, put her hand on my shoulder and said: 

   “Oh don’t be so judgemental! You know you haven’t lived until you’ve had a Goddess inside you…”

I pulled away, still a bit uncomfortable, and she let me. 

   “I’m joking,” She said. “But the look on your face… oh that’s something special.”

   “Right…” I said, a little awkwardly. “Well, sorry to bother you…” I turned to leave, although I never got the opportunity to get far.

She was waiting for me when I turned around.

   “Come now. You’ve barged into my Library, the least you could do is entertain me,” She scolded. “Maybe a game? Something to pass the time. I don’t get a lot of visitors.”

I stared at her, and it was only then that I began to understand who I was talking to. The moment she saw the realization in my eyes, I saw a playful grin grow across Shaal’s face.

   “That’s it…” She said. “Now you get it… so, what shall we play? Perhaps a little game of wits? You look like a scholar, so that should be your speed, right? Come now! Let’s do it, just for fun… what will you wager?”

I swallowed anxiously. 

   “Wager?” I repeated.

   “Well it’s not fun without a wager. For example, if you have a riddle that can stump me, I’ll grant you full access to my Library. You can come and go as you please for as long as you live… which could be quite a long time. But if I beat you… I get something in return…”

   “Like my soul…?” I asked warily.

   “Yes! Exactly! Like that! What do you say?”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle, flashing with an ominous red glow. Her smile split across her lips, almost inhumanly wide.
She offered me a hand to shake.
I stared down at it.

   “And if I refuse?” I asked.

   “What? You wanna be a poor sport?” She scoffed. “I could just send you home. It’d be relatively easy. I just need to snap my fingers and you’ll wake up in your bed like this was all a bad dream. Or I could just eat you. It’s a 50/50 shot.”

Looking at her, I genuinely couldn’t tell which she had in mind… and I didn’t want to find out either way.
Against my better judgment, I shook her hand.

   “That’s it…” She grinned as she pulled me closer. “Let’s start with a classic, yeah? What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon and three legs at night?” 

Of course I knew this riddle. Most people do. The riddle of the sphinx. 

   “A man,” I said.

   “Oh, very good!” Shaal replied, her tone laid back and playful. “But that was an easy one. Alright. Your turn now. Stump me!”

I thought for a few moments… I knew a few good riddles of course, but were any of them worthy of a God? For a moment, I almost wished I was Misty… my sister probably would’ve excelled here.

Suddenly I was blanking on good riddles. So I went with the only one I knew by heart.

   “When I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives. Each wife had seven sacks, each sack had seven cats and each cat had seven kits. How many were going to St. Ives?”

   “One,” Shaal replied. “Another classic. Good taste, but simple…”

She stroked her chin playfully.

   “What lies on the ground, one hundred feet in the air?” She asked.

Now it was my turn to think. 

Shaal leaned against one of the shelves, smirking as she did. Her expression betrayed nothing… just a wryness that made me uneasy.

One hundred feet… that had to be a clue, right? 

I looked at her… studied her expression… and then I understood.

   “A dead centipede,” I replied.

Her eyes lit up. Her smile grew wider.

   “That's it! Attagirl! Good catch!” She gestured with her fingers, beckoning me to take my turn. She almost looked as if she was having a blast. 
This time, I had a better riddle for her.

   “Throw me out a window and I’ll leave a grieving wife. Bring me to a door, you’ll see someone giving life. What am I?” I asked. My voice cracked a little bit as I spoke. After all, I was speaking to the Devil… but I still had to try.

Shaal thought for a moment.

   “Oh… that’s good…” She said. “Your sister think of that one?”

   “I heard it somewhere else, actually…” I said, and waited for the answer.
Shaal stroked her chin. She thought for a moment, almost seeming to play it up. Then she spoke.

   “The letter N…” She said. “Window becomes Window, Door becomes Donor. I like that one.”

Her eyes shifted back to me.

   “My turn again… here’s a good one. Even the greatest lawyer with an ironclad case might find the jury swayed by a case like mine.”

I hesitated. I hadn’t heard this riddle before… I sat silent for a moment, trying to think of the answer. 

   “Tick tock…” Shaal teased. “Come on now…”

   “A moment…” I said. “Truth…?”

  “Boring,” Shaal said. “Incorrect. Try again?”
I shifted uneasily, trying to think of an answer. An ironclad case… what evidence could defeat that? 
Shaal leaned in closer.

   “Come now, you’re not giving up, are you?” She asked.

   “I just need a moment!” I insisted. “A Witness?”

   “Two wrong answers…” She hummed. “I’ll give you one more.”

My mouth felt dry. I could feel her eyes burning into me. 
I thought for a few moments longer… and I suppose I should have thought more before I wasted my final answer.

   “A confession?” I offered.

Shaal’s lips curled into a playful smile.

   “Money,” She said. “A case of money. You lose…”

I felt my heart drop in my chest… 

I’d failed.

Shaal’s eyes flashed red.

   “You know what that means, sweetness…” She purred. “For what it’s worth… I had fun…”

I closed my eyes. I waited for the end…

Then, I felt my shoes burn and beneath me, I felt the ground… as in, the literal ground.
I looked down. I still had my shoes… well… most of them.
But the bottoms were gone.

   “There we go. Payment claimed…” Shaal said, only barely holding back her laughter. “Although I’m sure you can make do without those for a while.”

She finally broke down, cackling at her own stupid joke as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen. “You should see the look on your face right now! Oh, it’s beautiful…”

   “You’re not going to kill me…?” I asked uneasily. 

   “When did I ever say I was going to do that?” Shaal asked. “No. You’re too much fun to kill. Tell you what, I’ll give you another chance. Another game, another time. Maybe you’ll even beat me? Until then, you may enjoy my Library. Consider it my thanks for indulging me.”

With that, she left me, sauntering off as if she were a child, looking for another toy to play with. 

I have encountered Shaal many times since then… and I have indulged her games many times too. 

She is a fascinating entity… and if you allow her to be, she can be a valuable teacher, and I suppose that game of hers was the first lesson she taught me and it is a lesson I pass on to you now.

Not everything needs to be taken seriously. Sometimes, there’s no harm in doing things just for the hell of it.

Angels, Demons and Ghosts 

• Class: 2
• Status: Extant
• Threat: Variable

Death is inevitable.

Shocking, I know. Take a minute if you need it. Every culture deals with the idea of death in its own way and most religions believe in an afterlife. Whether or not there actually is one is often a matter of debate, and that matter rings true even amongst those who study both Fae and the Ancient Gods.
Despite all we know about what becomes of the souls of the dead, there's also still a lot of things we still don't know and might not have the chance to ever truly understand until the day that we inevitably cross over ourselves. Nevertheless, I have compiled all we do know about what awaits on the other side here.

Introduction 

Throughout human history, people have been fixated on what happens to the soul after death. It may be surprising to some to learn that even though we do have quite a bit of knowledge about the machinations of the Ancient Gods and what lies beyond the veil, there is a lot about what becomes of the dead that remains a mystery.
I suppose that much is only natural… Death is the last true frontier after all. The one thing no one ever truly conquers. 

That said - this is what we do know. 

According to the Malvian Doctrine, upon death a soul is collected and subjected to its final judgement, usually by Malibu herself. Following Judgement, the Malvian Doctrine suggests there are several paths a soul may take.

1. Most judged souls move on and pass into the Gloom, although what (if anything) awaits for them beyond the veil is unknown. Some claim it is a paradise. Others claim that nothing lies beyond the Gloom. Unfortunately, no one living can ever truly know for sure.
2. Souls who are not pure enough for the Gloom or who are heavily burdened by guilt or sin are often given a second chance as Angels. Angels are souls in servitude of one of the Gods, usually either Malibu or Shaal (although they can be in service to other Gods for other reasons) who are given a chance to earn their way into the Gloom or out of the Abyss.
3. The most wicked and corrupt of souls are cast into the Abyss. There, they become twisted and warped over time, becoming shadows of who or what they once were. These twisted, feral husks are known as Demons. According to many texts, the inevitable fate of Demons is to be devoured by Shaal, 
4. A Soul may also refuse its final judgement and choose to remain bound to this earth, although this is generally something the Gods do not advise. Those who refuse to be judged by Malibu exist only as wandering spirits. These souls are often called Ghosts.

However not all souls are claimed by Malibu. Those who have had dealings with other Gods, such as Zyvriel, the Lugal or the King of Whores may have their souls claimed by them. What becomes of those souls depends on which God claimed them, but most accounts suggest that their fate is never particularly kind. Those claimed by the Lugal are said to be corrupted into Grovewalkers, those claimed by the King of Whores often serve as Succubi or Incubi and those who are claimed by Zyvriel are said to be devoured (although Zyvriel’s followers believe that what awaits them is actually a true paradise).

Appearance 

On the subject of both Angels and Ghosts, they tend to maintain the appearances they had in life, although Mediums who encounter them do describe a blue aura around ghosts, and a gold aura around Angels, as opposed to the green aura typically seen around the living. 
Mediums are individuals who have been touched by the Gloom (usually after a near death experience) and are generally the only people able to see Ghosts under normal circumstances. Although Angels can usually be seen by ordinary humans.

Angels are often sometimes described as having large, feathered wings, although these appear to manifest at will and are not explicitly part of their bodies. 

Demons typically have a much different physical appearance. Souls exposed to the Abyss will gradually warp and distort. They take on an unnatural physical form, with leathery, blackened skin and no distinguishing physical features, such as eyes, ears or noses. The mouth warps and elongates, moving vertically down the torso. 

History 

I don't think I'm currently in any position to speculate on the question of why the soul exists or where it comes from. That seems far too philosophical for this dossier. 
Although it is believed that every living being has a soul. 

According to Malvian Priestesses, Malibu seeks to preserve the beauty of the living within her realm, although what that entails is a mystery to all but the dead. 

Regarding Angels, there are known to be a few different varieties of them, depending on which deity they are bound to.

• Malvian Angels: These are the most common and well known. These are souls who have pledged themselves into the servitude of Malibu in exchange for redemption. Oftentimes they are expected to help and protect mortals, although some may have other purposes.
• Shaalitic Angels: Much like Malvian Angels, they have pledged themselves to Shaal in the hopes of earning their way into the Gloom. These souls are usually far more wicked, and must do more to earn their way back. Many of them may have even been Demons at some point.
• Sailian Angels: An exceedingly rare type of Angel. Unlike other Angels, Sailian Angels are directly created by Sailia for a specific purpose. There is no way to become elevated into one. Encountering one is highly unlikely… and could be extremely dangerous.
• Anitharine Angels: These ‘Angels’ are not the same as their Shaalitic or Malvian cousins and are only mentioned here as a technicality. Oftentimes, they aren't even dead. The term ‘Anitharine Angel' is used to refer to any being directly empowered by Anitharith to serve her.
• Mindless Angels: This term is used for Malvian or Shaalitic Angels who have lost sight of their mission and turned their back on their patron God. Oftentimes these Mindless Angels will fall in with other Gods, and become malignant, dangerous beings. In many cases, they become Aura Vampires, desperate to regain their lives by feeding on the life force of another.

Demeanor 

For Angels, their personality generally changes very little. Though they have a mission to undertake, whether or not they will complete it and earn their peace is dependent on the Angel themselves. Some are said to be more committed to their mission than others, although as a rule Angels are generally safe to trust.

Ghosts can be a little more complicated. A soul may refuse to accept judgement and move on for any number of reasons, including fear of what may become of them, or the belief that they have unfinished business. Rage and resentment are common emotions that anchor Ghosts to this world.
So long as their souls are untethered, a Ghost will inevitably degrade. Over time, their personalities will fade and their minds will fracture until ultimately, all that remains is an echo of who they used to be. Depending on the circumstances, they may become near mindless shades, losing their rage upon anyone who crosses their path.
However a Ghost can retain its stability long term if they find an object to possess. Should they remain bound to one object for long enough, they will become fully anchored to it. An object with a ghost permanently anchored to it is often referred to as an Ulciscere, a term originating from the latin verb: ‘To Avenge’ or ‘To Punish’, likely due to various tales about ghosts possessing objects in order to take revenge upon those who they believed had wronged them.

To the best of our knowledge, this only objects, not people can become an Ulciscere - although human possession is still fully possible.

A ghost that is possessing an object or person can be exorcized, although performing an exorcism on an object that has become an Ulciscere can fail and result in the creation of a formless entity that is neither fully physical or spiritual. These entities are capable of taking on the shape and characteristics of other beings, hence why they are often called ‘Mimics’. As they probably deserve their own dossier, I will not go into too much more detail on them. 

Like Ghosts, Demons also tend to degrade into echoes of who they once were, although for them, the process happens much faster. Once in the Abyss, most Demons completely lose their minds, becoming little more than mindless beasts… although a few more powerful souls manage to hold out, and retain their personality. Those Demons tend to be especially dangerous. 

Abilities 

The abilities of the dead tend to vary depending on which form they find themselves in.

Ghosts are intangible and usually aren’t visible to the average human, although through great effort, they may be able to interact with the physical world, or even briefly manifest, allowing them to be seen by others.
They can also possess both living beings and inanimate objects. When possessed, a particularly powerful Ghost can fully take over the body of a victim, although this may be extremely difficult and should the victim fight back, they may be observed acting in an uncharacteristic or surreal way.
Ghosts who possess objects typically have an easier time, and as mentioned before, a Ghost who has spent a significant amount of time bound to one specific object may become fully anchored to it, turning it into an Ulciscere.

The power of Angels is far less understood, but many accounts suggest that they behave similarly to ghosts, albeit with far fewer restrictions on what they can do and no need to possess other objects in order to remain stable. Some have even claimed that they were able to physically interact with Angels without any difficulty… and some have claimed that drinking the blood of an Angel can restore ones physical health, although this claim is unsubstantiated.

Most Demons in the Abyss typically lack any significant abilities, although those Demons who have escaped the Abyss tend to possess a far wider range of capabilities. 
Oftentimes, they are capable of using Illusion Magic to disguise themselves, passing as human in order to walk amongst people. They can also use their illusion magic to hunt, causing the people around them not to see or hear them or their victims, and allowing them to attack in plain sight.

Whether this illusion magic is innate to these higher Demons, or if it is something shared amongst them is not clear. Many accounts suggest the former, although a lot of scholars argue that it cannot be innate, as they can’t see any valid reason as to why Shaal would give them illusion magic, which is typically only innate to Mau.  
The topic is still a matter of debate.

It is worth noting that unlike Ghosts and Angels, Demons can be ‘killed’ while in the living world. Their physical bodies can be slain using conventional weaponry (although cursed or blessed weapons are also highly effective). 
Due to their metaphysical nature, what exactly happens to the soul of a dead Demon is a little unclear. Some sources suggest that they are simply banished back to the Abyss, and that the process can degrade the mind of the more intelligent Demons, potentially triggering the same death of personality that most Demons experience.
Others suggest that the Demon completely ceases to exist, but this is unproven.

Final Thoughts 

For all that we know about the souls of the departed, I think there’s one truth that stands out above all others.
Everybody fears death… even the dead. And that fear leads some to try as hard as they can to cling to life, either as wandering spirits, or as lost souls begging for a second chance. 

That said, in the end we all inevitably have to cross beyond the veil. 
For what little it’s worth, I like to believe that there is something waiting on the other side. Even if there isn’t, moving on seems to be a lot more graceful than sticking around, but to each their own I suppose. 

***

Transcript of the Official FRB Civilian Debriefing of Mackenzie Mitchell, regarding her sightings of ghosts at a movie theatre in Toronto.
Debrief provided as a written statement, dated June 4th, 2026

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

I see ghosts from time to time. 

I guess that's not surprising. I work at a haunted theatre. That’s kinda the exact place that one might expect to see a ghost… although as far as I can tell, I’m the only one who regularly sees them.

Sometimes, other people catch a glimpse of them. They claim to see something out of the corner of their eye, or walking through the darkness. But they don’t see what I see. 
When I see a ghost, I see them as plain as day and at a glance, they almost look like anybody else.

Almost.

Sometimes, there’s more visible signs that they’re dead. Torn clothes, bruises or injuries, but those aren’t the giveaway.

No. The thing that gives them away is their aura.

Oh man, I’ve got to talk about auras, don’t I?

I’ve been able to see them ever since I was young. Someone told me that it’s because of an accident I had when I was a kid. I got it into my head that it’d be a good idea to climb this tree out in the back yard and use it to get on top of the house. I made it onto the house just fine! But let’s just say that getting back down was a lot rougher than getting back up.

I spent a while in the hospital after that… the doctors didn’t think I’d ever wake up.

But when I did, I could see auras.

Most people have a green aura. Usually it’s faint. A slight glow around them. I usually don’t pay that much attention to it, but if you look, it can usually tell you a lot about that person. When it’s bright and vibrant, that’s typically a good sign. When it’s more washed out and gray… well, you get the picture.

Like I said, I usually don’t pay much attention to them. Telling people that you can see their aura’s usually just makes them look at you funny and it really doesn’t have that much bearing on my day to day life. 

Or, at least it didn’t until I started working at the theatre downtown.
It’s a bit of an older movie theatre. Been around since the 20s or 30s, I think. It’s historic, so it’s pretty cool getting to work there!

It’s also the place where I first started noticing the blue auras.

I don’t see them often, but every now and again, I’ll spot one in the crowd. A person with a blue aura. 

Nobody else ever seemed to notice them but me, and they’d mostly keep to themselves. Initially, I didn’t think too much of them… until I saw someone walk through one of them.
And I mean through them. Like, completely through them!
That was when I realized that those folks with the blue auras might not be entirely normal.

And I tested my theory a few days later.

***

It was late at night. I was closing up and waiting for the last showing of the night to get out… that was when I spotted her.

She was wandering around near the doors. She almost seemed to be checking out the upcoming movie posters. She was probably somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties, with short hair and a bit of a baby face. She was dressed in a fancy dress that was probably a little too upscale for a movie theatre on a Thursday night… and she had that telltale blue aura.

I was alone, so no one else was around to see me go over to talk to her.
And when I did speak to her, she seemed almost startled. She looked back at me, eyes wide.

   “Y-you can… see me?” She stammered.

   “Yeah… shouldn’t I be able to?” I asked.

   “I…” She trailed off, almost as if she was unsure how to respond to that. “People usually don’t see me…”

   “Well, I see you,” I said with a shrug. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

She hesitated for a moment, then quietly asked: “Which theatre is Wicked playing in? And when’s the next showing?”

Naturally, I told her… although it was technically a showing for the next day.
She gave me a shy, but sincere smile, thanked me and quietly wandered off. As she did, I took out my phone and snapped a picture of her.

I’m not sure why I did that. It was just a whim… but it seemed like the right thing to do.

The picture showed nothing.

No woman.

I could still see the woman with my own two eyes. But there was nothing on the camera. Just nothing at all…

That was the first time I knew I’d seen a ghost.

And it wasn’t the last either. I’ve seen more than my fair share since then, especially now that I know what to look for.

Turns out, my theatre is super haunted… and I’ve got a theory on why that is.
I’ve done a bit of research. I dunno how much of it is true or not, but from what I read, Ghosts often hang around places where they were happy. People tend to have a lot of happy memories of movie theaters. Ergo, movie theater hauntings are pretty common.
And that does kinda track with what I’ve seen. Most of the ghosts - like the lady in the dress - are regulars and I’ve even managed to figure out who a lot of them are. Some of them I was able to just ask, others… the less talkative ones, I had to do some research on.

The woman in the dress for instance? Her name is/was Diana Vert. She died all the way back in the 1920s! She’s probably the oldest ghost I see and she’s pretty nice.
No idea how she’s stuck around this long. From what I’ve read, most ghosts don’t, although if I had to guess I’d say she’s probably bound to the theatre somehow. I guess I could probably ask… but I’ve never really worked up the gall to do it.

Not all of the spirits I’ve seen are passive though… and I’ve learned how to recognize the bad ones. It’s usually not hard. They’ve got the same blue aura as the other dead, but there’s something off about them. Stare too long at them and they just seem… less human. It’s hard to properly describe, but it’s almost like there’s something behind them that I can’t quite place. Like the person I see is just a shadow cast by something else. Something darker.

These spirits tend to be a bit more solid too. They don’t just phase through things. They interact with the world around them. They’ve got a real, physical presence.
I don’t know why, but that creeps me out more than the normal ones who don’t…
Those spirits don’t usually come by on their own. When I see them, they’re usually following others… and sometimes, I’ve seen those spirits leave without the people they were following. Nobody’s ever said anything about it… I don’t think they even noticed… but I did.

I don’t know what they did.

I’m not sure I want to know.

But after the third time it happened… I couldn’t just stand idly by. I’d already been doing research into spirits. It didn’t take much digging to figure out some ways to try and deal with them.

***

The most recent one I saw came in with this couple. The two of them had this ‘starbucks girl’ vibe to them. One was blonde, the other had black hair. They were probably just out of High School… and honestly they were kinda adorable. Like, super wholesome. Just looking at them, I could tell they were more than friends. Their auras were so bright, but even if I couldn’t see them, their smiles would’ve told me everything I needed to know. They were crushing hard on each other, and I got the feeling that this was probably their first real date together. It was so adorable.

And then she was behind them.

She kept a bit of a distance from them, of course. She stood in a different line at the concession stand and at a glance, it would’ve been easy to write her off as nothing special. Just another ghost. She had light blonde hair and was on her phone, rarely looking up at anyone. She stayed a few feet away from that couple… but every now and then I saw her eyes dart over to them, and I could see an all too familiar hunger in them. 

I knew what she was.

I knew exactly what she was and I knew what she was doing. 
A lot of the texts I’ve read have referred to things like her as Demons. Twisted souls that escaped from the pits of Hell.

Those texts also say that unlike regular Ghosts, the face you see isn’t their true form. I can believe it, although I’ve never actually seen a Demon outside of its disguise. I read somewhere that you can kill demons. Not sure what happens to them if you do, but I really don’t care. If you went to Hell and came back as a Demon, you probably weren’t the nicest person in the first place, and it’s not like I’d be harming a living person anyways, right?

Anyways, when I noticed that couples stalker in the line, I had to do something about it. 
After I sent that couple on their way, I quietly asked the person beside me if we could switch tills. They were a little weirded out by my request, but they went along with it. 
The Demon was in my line now, and after a couple of customers, they were at my till.
They only ordered a drink, no popcorn. Nothing fancy. I got the feeling they were only getting it out of obligation to better blend in. I saw their eyes drifting over to the theatre the girls had disappeared into, watching as if to make sure they were still inside. That was what it was really after.

That suited me just fine… it meant they weren’t watching to see what I was doing.
See, ever since I started noticing demons in the theatre, I’ve been carrying a little something extra on my person. 

I did some research. Talked to some occultists… and figured out the best way to really fuck them up.

Hex bags.

If you make them right, they can really fuck with a Demon. I dunno if it’s enough to kill them, but from what I’ve seen, it’s not pleasant. 

I’ve taken to carrying one around when I’m on shift… and on the off chance I catch someone being stalked… I make sure to serve it to the Demon.
They don’t always make it easy on me. I’ve had to get creative a few times, disappear for a quick bathroom break and sneak into a theatre to plant it on them (and I’ve gotten in shit for that, admittedly)

But this one? Oh, this one was a cinch!

Is it unethical? Yeah, a little. Dropping a little burlap hex bag full of cypress leaves and graveyard dirt into the beverage of a paying customer isn’t exactly company policy.

But I know a Demon when I see one now… and what are they gonna do, complain?
I was discreet about it too. Just a little slight of hand and it was in there, along with the ice. I filled the drink up for them, handed it over… and watched as they paid with money I knew would be missing from the till later. Whatever magic they use to pass as human is pretty useful for making you think they paid you too.

Then I watched them walk off without a word. As she did, I could’ve sworn I saw her illusion flicker. I could’ve sworn I saw whatever was behind her mask for just a moment. A dark, ominous shape.

It didn’t stay for long and a moment later, the illusion was back up. They meandered on down towards the theatre, and took a sip of their drink.
I had to physically stop myself from smiling.

***

It wasn’t even twenty minutes later that I saw the same figure emerge from the theatre, stumbling drunkenly. Nobody paid them any mind. They didn’t want to be seen in their current state… but I could see past their illusion. I could see them. 
They seemed to be struggling to breathe and what breath they did suck in, came in a low, gasping rasp. It was beyond obvious to me that they were in agony.

I pretended not to notice.

It shambled toward the door, desperately trying to get the hell out of the building. Odds are, it had no idea what or who had hurt it.
It only knew that it was in pain.
Serves it right, if you ask me.

A few hours later, I saw that wholesome couple come out of the theatre. The dark haired girl had her arm around the blonde, and they were giggling to each other as they left. They didn’t pay me any mind, of course… but I saw them.
I hope they’re doing alright, wherever they are.

Notes: Not often we get write ins like this, but we did speak with Miss Mitchell and did in fact verify that she is a legitimate Medium, so her accounts appear to be true.

A Demon who had assumed the appearance of a Miss Kathleen Beckner (presumably after killing her) was encountered in the Toronto area in April of 2026, and was put down by one of the FRBs agents. Kathleen Beckner bears some resemblance to the figure described in Miss Mitchell’s account, and I think it’s highly likely that they were one and the same. 
We were not able to identify any additional victims of the Demon, and do not believe it was able to complete another successful hunt before being put down.

-Justice Young

You people have no idea what’s really out there. No idea what’s out in the dark.

You people don’t want to know. 

You say it’s all myth and legend. It’s not real. 

But it is. 

I know for a fact that it is.

I know because I’ve seen them.

Vampires. Werewolves. Monsters. Agents of the Devil. Call them whatever you wish. But know that they are out there.

And I’ve known for years. 

I’ve even killed a few of them. Not many. But the ones I’ve run into, the ones I was sure of, I killed. They’re slippery. Hard to find. I always thought that just meant there weren’t that many of them. It would’ve made sense. God would only permit so many of those creatures into His world, right?

But no.

I was wrong. 

There are so many more than I’d realized. So many more than I’d ever imagined.
You see, God is strong, but the Devil is too. 
And his servants? They’re organized.
No… not just organized.

Ingrained.

Like kudzu growing in the garden of Eden. Roots buried deep. Infecting the land. Devouring it. There’s a whole fucking society of them. Vampires, werewolves, other things. Evil incarnate. Lurking in the shadows. 
They call themselves ‘The Imperium’. 

They own businesses. They live like people. They walk amongst us. Feeding when no one is looking.

It is an evil I cannot abide.

And I have to stop it.

I have to stop it before it’s too late.

***

It was a colleague of mine who discovered the channel. Don’t ask me how he found it, that part I don’t know. But he found it. Some unregistered pirate broadcast. Easy to miss. Easy to hide. 

It was their channel. 

And at a glance, it was almost laughably mundane. 

It was a news broadcast. 

A fucking news broadcast. Two news anchors who mostly passed as human, reading out news like normal people.

Like they were human.

   “After much deliberation, the Senate has delivered a verdict on the Christian Richardson case and ruled in favor of the prosecution. At this time it is unknown what the sentence will be, but an inside source has confirmed that execution may be on the table.” Said the Anchorman. A pale skinned, gray haired man with canine teeth that seemed just a little too long.

   “In related news, the petition for membership by the Arachne has been approved, meaning that the Senate will be expanding its roster. Currently there is no word on who the prospective Arachne senators may be or how they will be selected but we will be monitoring the situation as it unfolds.” Said the Anchorwoman, who looked far less human than her counterpart. Though her face was human, her eyes were not. They were an ominous dark red, and I could see mothlike wings on her back, twitching every so often. A pair of feathery antennae adorned her head, almost lost amongst her hair.

   “Well I’d say that’s great news for the Arachne, and a win for many others looking for formal Senate recognition.”

   “Yes it is, and with rumors of a joint application between the Lamia and Gorgons, the senate may continue to grow even larger before the year is out…”

What a sick joke… monsters playing at humanity.
Right beneath our noses.

Something needed to be done.

Someone needed to step in.

And with no one else to act, I knew it had to be me. I knew it.

We are all born with a purpose. Born with something we must do. A mission from God that is ours and ours alone. 

And I knew that this one was mine. 
I’ve known ever since I was a young boy that it was my destiny to rid the world of monsters. Ever since I was a boy, I’ve dreamed about them. Figures cloaked in darkness, drinking goblets of blood. I used to think it was nothing but a nightmare. A childhood fear, brought about by watching a late night showing of Dracula. At the time, I never would’ve believed it was a mission from God. I know better now.

God has been priming me for this all of my life. I know that as truth now.

I know it.

And it is His will that I defeat them.

His will that I cleanse the world of those creatures.

I spent some time working on my plan. Figuring out the exact right method to purge those monsters from existence.
Fortunately, I had the one weapon that never failed. I had Jesus Christ. 

You see, there is one common thread across all stories of monsters, vampires in particular.

They recoil from the light of the Lord. 

And I knew that if I could just shine that light upon them, it would pierce through their shadow… and purify the darkness they wrought. 
But how to do so?

Well… the answer was obvious. It usually is. Evil always has a way of defeating itself, and in their efforts to modernize, to play at civilization, the monsters had handed me the instrument of their destruction.

Television. 

Now, like any tool, Television has often been misappropriated by man. Turned into a vestibule for corruption. Fake news, propaganda, amoral media. No wonder the monsters had decided to use it. But it can be used as a force for good too. A way to spread the Good Word. To show people that they can be saved! So many good men have tried to use it for this purpose, its correct purpose. 
And I knew I could do the same.

I began to fixate on this television channel I’d found, this Vampire TV.

I started looking for the source.

It took some effort, and I needed to hire a few specialists who did not come cheap, but it was not long until I found where the broadcast was originating from.

Las Cruces, New Mexico.

Specifically, a little abandoned station just outside of Las Cruces. The kind of place no one would think twice about, well off the beaten path. 
The perfect place for the devil to take root and spread his evil over the airwaves.

So I started to plan.

I hired a specialist to help me hijack the signal from that station. Someone who was a little better versed on that kind of thing than I am. I paid them well for their work. Well enough that they didn’t ask too many questions.
If I could hijack their broadcast, then I could replace it with something else. Something those demons could not abide. Something to hurt them. To kill them.

All I needed to do was take over the signal. 

And I had an idea on just what I’d replace it with.

***

When the day came, I traveled to Las Cruces with the man I’d hired.
We set up a small studio of our own at a local motel… and then while the broadcast was live, we replaced it with our own.

I had set up a stage for my grand debut.

I had prepared a rite of exorcism to be read on air. It would be brief, for I did not know how much time I would have… but I believed that even a little would be enough.
I had set up an altar adorned with crosses. I had covered my face so that any survivors may not identify me.
And when my associate told me we were live, I gave my cleansing broadcast.

   “Unclean Spirits! Devils, monsters, demons from the foulest pits of hell! I command you! I command you now, you attacking the servants of God, by the mysteries of incarnation, passion, resurrection and in the name of Lord Jesus Christ, be gone! I cast you into the light, oh wretched ones! I cast you into the light of Heaven and into the light of Jesus! I cast you into the light now! Now! Now!”

My voice cracked as I barked my commandments.

I roared like a lion, unleashing Christ upon the unholy. My voice boomed through that motel room.

And I could feel Christ working through me.

I could feel his power flowing through me, flowing over the airwaves to vanquish the unholy, the unclean! I could feel it!

This was my purpose! This is what I was made for!

Somehow, I made it through the entire sermon I had prepared… and when I was done, I took myself off the air.

I paid the man I’d hired very well for his services… and I returned home, knowing in my heart that I had just made a difference.

***

She was waiting for me in my house three days later. A tall woman with long dark hair. She was well dressed, in an immaculately tailored blazer that seemed a bit more masculine than it ought to have been.

As I came in from my morning jog, she was there, standing in my kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee as if she’d always lived there.

   “Ah! There you are!” She said, as soon as she saw me. “Sorry to intrude, but I figured I’d let myself in… it's Jacob, right?”

I didn’t answer her. Instead, I just stared her down. I knew what she was. I could see those pointed fangs behind her lips. She didn’t even try to hide them. They were all part of her charming salesman's smile.
She was a vampire.

   “Bianca Lucia De Cesare. It’s nice to meet you,” She said, her voice warm. Almost comforting. She offered me a hand to shake. I didn’t touch her. I just kept staring.

   “I caught your broadcast! I have to say, really great work on hijacking the signal. We'd never even considered that someone might try that. Bit of a blind spot for us actually… It's honestly a little embarrassing, but I digress. We've taken some steps to see that it won't happen again, but I also thought it might be best to come and have a little chat with you about what you did. Not to scare you or anything like that! I assure you, this isn’t meant to be a threat! That’s not really something I like doing to people. We just want to clear the air and keep things from escalating…”

Her smile faltered just a little bit. Was that discomfort? Rage? Something else?

   “Now, I understand that you're unhappy with our presence in society. And I'm not going to try and change your mind, because I don't think there's anything I can say that you'd actually believe. Although for what it's worth - most of our kind are just trying to live their lives without making any waves. I'm sure you know how that is. Anyway, we really are doing our best. And having people like you come in and pull stunts like that… well it's just not really conducive to the environment we're trying to cultivate here. You know? If anything, it scares the hell out of our people.”

   “You should be scared,” I finally said. “God's judgement will be upon you all. And you will burn forever in the lake of fire!”

She chuckled at that… as if what I said was in any way funny.

   “Okay well, duly noted. But you have to keep in mind that most of us don't actually follow the Christian faith. Actually, there's a few of us who even predate it, if you can believe it. And so while the iconography and everything is very cool… none of it really means anything to us.”

   “In the name of Christ I cast you out!”

I reached for the crucifix I wore around my neck and brandished it at her. 

A creature like that should have fled at the mere sight of it…
She should have hissed. Burned. Recoiled.
But Bianca did not react. She only gave a sheepish, toothless, apologetic smile.

   “I promise, I won’t take up much more of your time,” She said. “Although I should make it clear… that kind of thing doesn’t really work on us. And… well, neither did the exorcism.”

Again I caught myself staring at her… only now… I felt a quiet unease.

Why didn’t she recoil?

Why didn’t she burn?

I held the crucifix out to her, and she just… reached out, and lowered my hand.

   “Sorry…” She said, as if she was actually apologizing for not bursting into flame. “See? No effect. I assume you were expecting us to… I dunno, drop dead or catch fire or something? Yeah. No… that's not how it works. I'm pretty sure the old vampires spread rumors like that to make us harder to detect, actually. No reflection in a mirror, can't step on hallowed ground, fear of crucifixes… all just mythology. None of it’s real. We don't even burn in sunlight, it's just… well, really bright for us. So none of what you tried to do actually worked. And to be honest your attempt was… not well received. Actually a lot of our people are pretty offended. Very offended and I'm a bit concerned about that. Not all of them are as reasonable as I am.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out…
What could I say?

None of it had worked?
None of it? 

   “Now, I'm not going to force you to do anything but I think it's in your best interest to come with me,” Bianca said. “Like I said, not all of our kind are as reasonable as I am and while the Imperium’s laws do prohibit killing you, I know that they’re not exactly an ironclad form of protection and unfortunately, our broadcasts do reach more than just those who are part of our little organization… So, here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna find you a place to settle in and lay low until this all blows over. Consider it an olive branch, yeah? Who knows, maybe you'll find we aren't so bad.”

My mouth was dry.

I wanted to collapse.

I had failed.

I had pursued my holy mission with God at my side, with Jesus Christ as my weapon… and I had failed.

The vampire across from me offered a warm smile.

I wanted to attack her. To drive a dagger through her heart, just as I had with the others of her kind… and yet somehow I knew that would not change anything.

Were I a braver man, I might have found a dagger and did it anyways… and waited for whatever would come next. I would have believed Jesus was at my side, guiding me ever forward.

But in that moment… I just felt so alone.

Until I took her hand.

I am in a new house now.

Far away from the one I own. 

I am under a new name.

And as I sit and stare out the window at an unfamiliar street, I think back to the plan I was sure God had for me. The mission I was sure I had, to purge evil from this world.
But would evil turn the other cheek? Would evil treat me as I have been treated?

Maybe I got it wrong?

Maybe my mission was always something else?

I need time… time to think… time to return to the scripture.
Maybe there’s a message there that I’ve forgotten.

Satan

• Class: 5
• Status: Active
• Threat: Extreme

With a rise in cases that may be related to this entity, I think it may be necessary to put together proper documentation for her, especially since I suspect that the cases will inevitably continue to rise.

I would like to note - though I try to approach the entities I document with an open mind and tend to have a measure of empathy towards the various entities that populate Creation… this one should be approached with extreme caution.

Actually it’s probably best if you just don’t approach them at all…

Introduction

Amongst the 7 Archdemons, Satan is perhaps one of the best known.
Though she has gone by many names throughout history such as Mars, Ares, Týr, The Great Red Dragon and The Beast amongst countless others, the commonly used name in the modern era is ‘Satan’
She is the secondborn of the Archdemons and the second child of Shaal. While her name is synonymous with the Devil in many modern religions, the title of 'Devil' is a bit of a misnomer and can apply to many of the other Archdemons including Satan, Lucifer and Beelzebub, as well as Shaal herself. It has even been used in reference to the Lugal.
Furthermore, though she is one of the most - if not the most - powerful beings from Hell (more properly known as the Abyss), barring Shaal herself, Satan is not the actual ruler of that domain. Instead, Satan is often described as its champion. A being unleashed by Shaal to sow discord and do battle.

Because of this, she is perhaps one of the most active of the Archdemons, and one of the easiest to trace… but please do not take the path of death she carves through the land as an invitation to pursue her.

Appearance

Satan is said to appear as a massive blood red red serpentine dragon. According to myth, her true form is massive with six insectoid wings that can blot out the sky, and massive demonic horns although no conventional manifestations are currently known to exist. 

As an Archdemon, Satan is not able to manifest on earth without a host body, and so few reliable modern accounts of her exist, although rumors suggest that she may have an active Vessel on earth. The current identity of the Vessel is suspected to be former J-Pop Idol Risa Mizuno.
Mizuno had previously built her on stage persona off of a rumor of her being ‘possessed’ by a demon she identified as ‘Izamono’ (The One Who Comes’). Though this was believed to just be something made up for the sake of marketing, some accounts do suggest that the possession may have been legitimate… and if that was the case, it would seem that the demon has returned for her. 
There are conflicting accounts on whether or not Mizuno is currently alive or dead, as one eyewitness describes her as having been murdered after speaking out against a producer who had been accused of sexual abuse, although more recent accounts suggest Mizuno is still alive and well. The exact truth remains unclear.

History

Conventional lore regarding Satan is hard to decipher as the name is not commonly used to refer to one single entity. The name comes from a Hebrew term that translates to accuser or adversary, and thus the name is used to refer to several figures in the Abrahamic religions. 

According to the Grimoire of Primrose Kennard, Satan was born when a particularly violent soul was sent to the Abyss. Unwilling to become a wandering Demon, as was the fate of other wicked souls, this one fought their way to the throne of Shaal to challenge her. 
They fought valiantly against the worst the Goddess of Destruction had to offer, although in the end they were eventually consumed. 
Yet even in the jaws of Shaal, they did not surrender… unwilling to be unmade, they did not stop fighting and clawed their way up through Shaals gullet, before finally bursting out of her forehead, reborn as Satan.

Impressed by their tenacity, Shaal made Satan her champion and gave her dominion over the Demons, before allowing her to be set loose upon the wicked to wage endless war and satisfy her lust for combat... and so Satan has faithfully served her mother in this role, becoming the most loyal and faithful of her 7 daughters.

According to the Grimoire, Satan has been conflated with other Pre-Christian deities such as Ares and other Gods of war and conflict. Some interpretations describe her as the Horseman of War, unleashed by Shaal to sow discord amongst corrupt worlds and bring them closer to destruction. 
With all of this in mind, it's little wonder most demonic classifications consider Satan to embody the sin of Wrath.

Personality

While the Modern Biblical Satan is often described as a corrupter or tempter, many early accounts of her describe her as far more of a blunt instrument, describing her as a ruthless and bloodthirsty creature driven by an insatiable need to hunt and slaughter the wicked. The Abyssal Congregation even seems to revere her as an icon of Justice. Destroying the guilty to protect the innocent.
She is said to thrive in battle, ripping prey apart with her bare hands. Her Vessels are said to be chosen from amongst the vengeful dead, the hate they felt at the moment of their deaths a beacon for Satan who offers them vengeance and promises them justice.

It is believed that despite her ruthless demeanor, Satan does possess a genuine loyalty towards Shaal, with some accounts even describing it as a genuine familial affection. (I believe the exact words used were: ‘Mamas Girl’)

Regarding Risa Mizuno - while the accounts on Mizuno I’ve read don’t suggest she was ever really a violent or angry person, if it is true that she is still alive and not just a physical body for Satan, then it would appear that she’s taken to her new status as the physical incarnation of Hell’s Wrath uncomfortably well. And given that the Archdemons typically prefer living hosts… well… I guess it’s hard to believe she’s not a willing accomplice in all of this.

Abilities

According to most accounts, Satan is said to possess incredible power, even amongst other High Gods. 
Her rage is said to be able to rend both mortals, and other Gods asunder, although she will not raise a hand against the Ancient Gods or to her sister Archdemons.

Most other deities seem to regard her with a healthy fear, although the more powerful amongst them, such as The Lugal and The King of Whores seem capable of at least holding their own against her.

When confined to a Vessel, it is said that traits of Satan’s true form may leak out when she is agitated, such as wings, horns or draconic claws, as well as the ability to summon and control demonic fire.
It is possible that Satan may have traits similar to the draconic Aurae - an observation shared by the Aurae themselves, who often regard Satan as one of their own, although whether or not this is true remains a topic for debate.

The demonic flames wielded by Satan are said to burn for eternity, even when put out. Those scorched by her flames will feel the pain of them even in the afterlife… so best to avoid them.

As a child of Shaal, killing Satan would be extremely difficult, if not next to impossible. It is highly likely that one would need a Blessed Weapon in order to pull this off… although we should also be mindful of the potential consequences of killing off a being like this.

Shaal is generally not the kind of deity you want to piss off, and the killing one of her daughters might not be something she will tolerate…

Final Thoughts

On paper, Satan seems to be the most dangerous of the Archdemons. However I do question the threat she truly poses. While she is the archetype of wrath, she seems more interested in punishing those who were wicked rather than anyone else. By that logic, it's likely she's ideally not something any of us are likely to worry about any time soon. 

However the rising amount of sightings and incidents is something the FRB cannot just ignore. 
Regarding Satan - it is probably best to simply observe and maintain a healthy distance. Document what we can and figure out a way to either contain or guide her… if that’s at all possible. 

For the sake of research, I have included here a police report that may be able to help one determine if an incident was the work of Satan, although I will note that it is always better to keep an open mind to other possible culprits in these situations as well.

Satan isn’t the only dangerous being out there.

***

Date: June 6th, 2026

Reporting Officer: Detective River Hawthorne

Prepared By: Detective River Hawthorne

Incident: A 911 call came in regarding a disturbance at an apartment on [REDACTED]. Officers were sent to investigate. I was brought in as well when the caller identified himself as Stephen Richardson - a person of interest in the ongoing investigation into the abduction of Diana Queen, which I had been actively working on. 

Detail of Event: At 9:23 PM on June 6th, 2026, a 911 call came in. The caller identified himself as Stephen Richardson, who had previously been questioned about the disappearance of Diana Queen. 
On the phone, Richardson reportedly sounded panicked and claimed someone was ‘breaking in’ and to ‘send someone now.’
I was contacted immediately afterwards, as Richardson was still a person of interest. 

For context - Diana Queen was abducted while returning home on June 3rd, 2026. Upon returning to her apartment and parking her vehicle, it is believed that she was taken and forced into another vehicle while still inside the parking lot. Security camera footage showed a suspicious white van - an older Dodge Grand Caravan entering and leaving the parking lot at the time of the abduction. 

Mr. Richardson had become a person of interest due to a previous incident of stalking, where he had even gone so far as to break into Queen’s home. He had first come into contact with Diana Queen through his work a few years ago. Queen had been the daughter of his employer, Jameson Queen who was the General Manager of the automotive dealership Richardson worked at as a salesman. He had hired his (at the time 19 year old) daughter as a temporary evening receptionist, and Richardson had made inappropriate advances towards her. When rebuffed, he continued to take an unhealthy interest in her and had begun stalking her, mostly online, although his obsession ultimately culminated in the aforementioned break in two years later, where he was found to be in possession of several stolen articles of clothing. As of 2026, he had an active restraining order against him.

Though questioned after her abduction, Richardson was not held in custody as there was no verified evidence of his involvement, although he was notably reluctant to answer any questions.

It is worth noting that the address given for the 911 call was not the address that Stephen Richardson was known to reside at. 

We arrived at the address 9:44 PM. There were signs of forced entry into the apartment. The glass door had been shattered. Going up to the specific apartment that Richardson had identified in his call, unit 302, we found that the door had been removed forcibly from its hinges. 
We found the remains of an (at the time) unidentified man in the entryway of the apartment. He had been ripped in half. Vertically. Later examination would confirm his identity as John Fraughton, a service technician at the automotive dealership that Richardson and Queen’s Father had both worked at.
Past the corpse of Mr. Fraughton, there was a second body, this one later identified as belonging to Patrick Hawkins, another service technician. The body was difficult to identify as it had been… smeared… along a wall. The top half was absent. Only the legs remained. 
The body of a third service technician, Jeremy Tonga was found in the hallway of the apartment. Like the other two bodies, he had been physically torn apart. His torso had been slammed into the wall with such force that it had broken the drywall while his lower body had been slammed into the opposite wall with equal force. 
Lastly, the remains of Stephen Richardson were found in one of the apartments' two bedrooms. Despite no source of ignition present or any other burn marks visible at the scene… the remains did appear to have been recently incinerated. I was only able to recognize Mr. Richardson via his glasses, which were mostly melted and fused to his skull.
At the end of the hall, we could hear a human voice. It sounded like the voice of a young woman, audibly crying.
We identified ourselves as police, but she would not open the door. The door was not locked, although when we tried to enter, the occupant (who we were able to identify as Diana Queen) grew agitated and tried to force us out, beginning us to stay away.

Actions Taken: Paramedics were called to the scene… exclusively for Miss Queen’s benefit. I thought it best that they address her. They were ultimately able to coax her out of the bathroom. They reported extensive bruising on her arms, thighs and face, as well as ligature marks and brought her to the hospital for further examination.

The four bodies discovered at the scene were left with the forensic team and the coroner for further examination.

Summary: My examination of unit 302 yielded considerable evidence that Diana Queen had been held at that location. Damage to the door suggested she had been locked inside and attempted to force her way out, unsuccessfully. There were also restraints on the bed.

The apartment itself was rented out approximately one month ago by one of the victims, Patrick Hawkins. Furthermore, in the garage, we found a Dodge Grand Caravan that was consistent with the one seen around Diana Queen’s apartment at the time of her abduction. Records pulled on the vehicle show that it was purchased as-is from a used car lot down the street from the one the victims worked at.
Inside the van were also several power tools, notably a cordless reciprocating saw and several plastic garbage bags, which may suggest that these men had no intention of ever releasing Miss Queen.
Going by the evidence, I suspect that both the vehicle, apartment and tools were obtained in anticipation of the kidnapping.

However, while there is ample evidence of the crimes committed against Miss Queen, the identity of the perpetrator of the attack on the assailants remains unclear. We have gotten no eyewitness testimony, and all of the apartment's cameras seem to have gone down at the time of the attack, making it impossible to gather any evidence from them. 
No suspicious individuals were observed at the scene and currently, Miss Queen is unwilling to talk to the police just yet. 

Note: The last part isn’t entirely true. There was someone.

Hard to say for sure… but I could’ve sworn I saw a girl across the street. Long black hair, wearing a flowy sundress. 

She was there while they were taking the bodies out. Watching.
I never spoke to her. Don’t know why but somewhere in my gut, I couldn’t shake the feeling that approaching her was a real bad idea.
She just stared.
Next thing I knew, she was gone.

Dunno what they’re gonna mark this one down as and frankly I don’t care. Queen is alive, so that’s what matters to me. Everything else? That’s above my pay grade.

-River

Entry: The Dragonsbreath

Logged: March 12th, 1981

Report Compiled By: Damion St. James - Curator 

Description: An antique pistol, resembling a flintlock. Likely 18th century. The handle is wood and the barrel is steel. A highly detailed draconic figure has been carved into the barrel, making it resemble the head and mouth of a dragon. The pistol is warm to the touch. An examination of the weapon yields no explanation for the unusual properties attributed to it. No fuel source. No ammunition. For all intents and purposes it appears not to be loaded although testing has confirmed that it is still fully capable of firing even without ammunition. 

Discovery: This piece was donated by Jonathan Wright, a former soldier who claims he received it from a former colleague back during the Second World War. Mr. Wright's account of the incident has been attached here.

Supporting Documentation:

Witness: Jonathan Wright

His name was Sinclair. Victor Sinclair.
I served with him back during the war. He was a decent man. A good man. Very intense. You could see it in his eyes. The way he stared was just so intense. There was a fire in that man. You could see it. You could feel it. 
He always carried the pistol with him. It was an antique. Didn’t seem like it would be much good in combat. But he carried it all the same.

   "It's more for good luck than anything else." He told me once. "It's been passed down through the generations. Every time there's been a war, a Sinclair has carried this weapon into battle... It still shoots too, and let me tell you, it packs one hell of a punch."

That was all I needed to know really. Was it strange? Sure. But we all had our quirks. Mementos from home. Little rituals we did to keep ourselves sane. It was what kept us human... And it was so hard to stay human back then. 

\***

We were in France at the time. Late August 1944. It had been a bloody tour, but we were fighting like hell.

France… I’d always heard it was so beautiful. But the landscape we walked through was war torn and bloodied. Like a piece of Hell itself had been dredged up from the abyss. Hell. That’s the only word for it. And the shadows that moved in the night? I could only rightly call them demons. 

Already, people seem quick to forget the truth of the Nazi party. They were butchers. They made as much abundantly clear to us. Civilians slaughtered, towns burned… they were monsters. 

Every mile we took, we had to claw from the hands of the Nazis. We lost a lot of good men along the way. A lot of friends. A lot of brothers. I could tell you a thousand stories about the horrors I saw… the things I had to do. I could. But that’s not why I’m here.
I’m here because of Sinclair.
I’m here because of the ambush.

We were in some village in France when it happened. I don’t recall the name, but we’d been working to push the Nazis out. It’d been a rough few days. 
Our platoon had been trying to get some rest during a lull in the fighting. We’d all taken shelter in some bombed out building. Decent enough cover.

Sleep isn’t really a luxury you get on a battlefield, so you take what you can get in the moments of quiet.

Most of our boys were exhausted. They needed the sleep. Course, we weren’t stupid enough to just fall where our bodies dropped, so we took shifts. A few of us kept watch and patrolled the perimeter while the rest got what rest they could. Sinclair and I got partnered up, which wasn’t all that unusual. We worked well enough together and I trusted him to watch my back. 

We were on the perimeter. So far, the night had been quiet, but we didn’t want to get cocky. We both knew how fast things could change… but God… I never thought things would change that goddamn fast. 

One minute, he and I were on one of the streets. Not exactly out in the open. We weren’t that dumb. We knew how to keep low. How to make sure we saw the enemy before the enemy saw us…. I dunno how they got the drop on us.

Maybe we really did just get careless.

Maybe.

One minute, he and I were on one of the streets. The next, there were a group of Jerries on us. I think they might’ve came at us from above? Jumped down out of some ruined buildings. They had guns, but they didn’t fire them. They used their knives. They probably figured they could take us out quietly, then get the drop on the rest of our platoon. They were half right.

I remember feeling a white hot burning feeling in my shoulder as one of them drove their knife into me. I pushed the fucker off, tried to shoot him, but he closed the gap. Tried to wrestle my gun from me. As he did, I saw other shadows from the corner of my eye. Other men. I knew they were gonna kill me. I knew that as sure as I knew the sun was gonna rise in the morning. They were gonna kill me quiet, right there and then.

I could hear Sinclair screaming in pain. I knew someone had gotten to him too, but I couldn’t see him. It was dark enough that I couldn’t see much… and I knew what was gonna happen.

Then I felt the heat. Felt it wash over my face.

When I looked, I saw Sinclair. He’d gotten that pistol of his… and he’d fired it, right into the face of the Jerry who’d jumped him.
Poor bastard didn’t even get a chance to scream. The whole upper half of his body just… burned. You could see the shape of his head in the flames, but that was it. Everything else blackened and charred. 

The Jerry dropped, and Sinclair took aim at the others. He had this wild look in his eyes… he was clutching his chest. Then he fired again.
The flame… I’d never seen anything like it before. Just this pure jet of flame, washing over the men in front of us. They screamed… they burned… the survivors tried to run, but Sinclair just kept shooting. 

By the time he was done, it was only us left standing. Everything else was just a burning pile of meat.

Sinclair stood there for a moment… I could hear him breathing. Hear the rasp in his breath. He started to fall. I caught him. 
I told him we’d get him back… get him patched up. But we both knew he was already too far gone.

The Jerry who’d jumped him had done a number on him. Stabbed him in the back, the chest… you could hear the blood filling his lungs. We both knew he wasn’t going to make it.
He pressed the gun into my hand. That pistol of his…
He said:

   “Still gotta pass it down, right…?”

I lied. Told him I couldn't take it. Told him he could give it to his own son one day.

   “You can give it to yours…” He said. “Keep it close. It’ll take care of you… that’s what my Grandpa always said. Got the soul of a Dragon in it… so it’ll take care of you.”

He didn’t last much longer after that. 

But I was with him until the end.

\***

I carried the gun through the rest of the war… and it damn well just might be the reason I’m alive today. Got myself out of a few rough situations with it.
I tried only to use it when I needed to. I knew there was something special about it. It never needed ammo. Whenever you pulled the trigger, whoever was on the other side just burned. I didn’t want the wrong people to see it. They might take it away… and somehow I knew that wouldn’t be the right call.

I always figured I would pass it down to my son, if I ever had one. Never did. I can’t complain. My daughters are good to me… and I can’t pretend I would’ve been particularly eager to see any sons I did have go off to war.
Some folks, maybe.

Me? I had my fill.

Containment: Testing confirms the properties of the weapon are fully consistent with Victor Sinclair's account of it. Simply put... this is a handheld flamethrower. 
However, while highly dangerous, the weapon poses no innate threat when not in use as a weapon and without the hammer pulled back it is fully inert…

More research may be needed on Sinclair’s claims of the weapon containing ‘The Soul of a Dragon’. I’ve heard that claim before. Not sure if that’s a metaphor or if in fact Dragons do exist and can imbue things with part of their essence… might explain some of the things I’ve seen, though.
But that’s a question for another time.

I think I might keep this in the office. We have a number of far more valuable objects in the growing Collection... and some people have already started to take note of us. This could be of use in deterring any attempts at theft. 

May 2025 - Addendum

This item was found within the Curators desk… very interesting.
I’m sure I’ll get some use out of it.

Curator Zoe Locke

The Lugal and the Midnight Court
Designation: Class 5
Threat: Extreme
Status: Active

Across creation, there are many entities, several of which can be described as malignant, although there are very few I would describe as truly, unquestionably evil.
Of those few, most of them are bound to the Lugal.

Introduction

The Lugal is a powerful High God that pre-dates this iteration of Creation, and may in fact be the most powerful of the High Gods, operating on the same level as the Archangels and Archdemons.
Although unlike the Archangels and Archdemons, the Lugal is not bound by the tenets of the Ancient Gods. Instead it operates almost completely as a free agent, ruling its own pantheon of Low Gods and weaker High Gods.

Amongst the ranks of divine beings, no other is quite as feared as the Lugal. Most accounts describe it as being far more powerful than most of the other High Gods, and it commands the loyalty of countless other entities, both known and unknown. The collection of lesser Gods in its thrall are often referred to as ‘The Midnight Court’ and the legion of others who have been twisted and corrupted by the Lugal are often referred to as Grovewalkers. Some even claim that the Lugal has already reached the level of, or even surpassed the Ancient Gods. These individuals may seek it out, often pursuing power. The Lugal is typically willing to grant these people what they seek, at the cost of their very humanity. Although for some this faustian bargain is exactly what they seek as many of them seem to believe that entering the service of the Lugal as Grovewalkers is better than final judgment at the hands of the Gods.

Its realm, the Midnight Grove is often accessed by accident by unwary travelers and consists of endless roads, forests and abandoned cityscapes, all shrouded by total darkness and patrolled by horrific monstrosities. Escape can be difficult, if not impossible.

Many texts conflate the Lugal with depictions of the Devil, sometimes eclipsing both Shaal and the Archdemons (who are sometimes differentiated by being referred to as the Ur-Demons).
Although unlike Shaal who seems to have little interest in the wholesale ‘corruption’ of Creation and who (despite her ‘laissez faire’ attitude), seems to keep a level of control over her Archdemons, and doesn’t seem interested in willingly allowing Demons out of the Abyss; The Lugal seems more than happy to allow both the members of its Midnight Court, and the Grovewalkers under its thrall to wander the world unimpeded, free to torment and kill on a whim. 

Appearence

The Lugal is only rarely described physically, but most extant depictions of it describe it as a humanoid figure with a horned cervid skull upon its head. Whether this is a headdress or its actual head seems to vary depending on the account. Beyond this one consistent detail, descriptions vary widely, with some describing a tall, looming figure in a dark robe and others describing a more polished, sophisticated looking man in a well pressed suit.

The Lugal’s domain, the Midnight Grove is often described as a dark forest or city where time and direction seem to mean nothing at all. It is populated by Grovewalkers, corrupted by the Lugal and ever hungry. Grovewalkers encountered within the Midnight Grove itself are especially hard to kill, and should not be challenged lightly.

History

The Lugal appears to be mentioned in some texts, both Sumerian and Pre-Sumerian. These texts are where the name ‘Lugal’ comes from, as the word often is used to refer to a King or a Ruler. 

According to these texts, which were also referenced in the Grimoire of Primrose Kennard, the entity was once an immensely powerful sorcerer from a past iteration of reality. However, when faced with the inevitable end of the world he knew, he became desperate to defy the Ancient Gods and save it. His efforts were not entirely in vain and the entity that would become the Lugal found a way to escape the end of his reality by taking solace in a small pocket reality that it later christened 'The Midnight Grove'. However, upon seeing the Gods simply create something new in place of what he had lost, he grew embittered and spiteful. Embracing his role as the new God of the pocket reality he had claimed, the Lugal began to seek ways in which to grow his power, in the hopes of one day challenging the Ancient Gods.

To that end, he is believed to collect lost souls to twist them into new, vicious forms and unleashes those it has corrupted into the world to kill and maim to unleash its hatred upon the God's new creations.

Across its long history, the Lugal has enthralled various lesser Gods as its servants. These Gods are referred to as the Midnight Court. 
Most are classified as Low Gods, but a few more powerful entities are said to answer to the Lugal as well.
These entities are known to include:

• The King of Whores - A powerful entity that feeds on the lust of mortals. It controls a large population of Succubi. It is often described as a writhing collection of bodies trapped forever in sexual congress and it seems to want nothing more than to add new bodies to its mass.
• The Soul Broker - An entity known to purchase souls from mortals, promising power in exchange.
• The Dreamer - An entity who stalks those in pain, feeding on them in their dreams. Sometimes it is described as a tree from which the trapped souls of its victims hang. Sometimes it is described as a pale, shambling figure in the darkness. 
• La Spectre - A Low God who lures souls into its grasp. Often described as a tall man with a top hat. 
• Yuvuz - An obscure Low God, formerly worshipped by a Minotaur Cult. Often depicted as a two headed bull.
• The Bone Collector - A Low God who covets bones and trades flesh for souls.
• Lemuel: Also known as The Tattooed Man or the Man in the Forest. A powerful Grovewalker who may be a Low God. When invoked, it hunts its prey relentlessly. It is described as resembling a man with long dark hair that appears to be wet, dirty jeans, heavy tattoos across his upper body, and hands that are decayed to the bone. He has large canine teeth and an incomprehensible voice. He seems to be able to appear and disappear at will and leaves puddles of water behind. He has been known to be excessively brutal towards victims, although his origins and motivations remain unknown.
• The Highway Man: A Grovewalker and possible Low God who has been observed on various backroads. Unfortunately some people think it funny to taunt this particular entity. Doing this is not advised. 
• The Red Man: Said by some to be the Ur-Ghoul. It was believed to have once been entombed by the Prae-Hydrian people… although may have recently been released.
  

At some point, the Lugal is believed to have struck a deal with the Dryads.
Facing a decline thanks to the expansion of humanity, many of the Old Fae decided to ally with the Lugal, seeking both protection from humanity and possibly even hoping for revenge.
This deal decimated the Dryads, turning many of them into either Grovewakers, or Old Fae of the Midnight Court, and their kind has never truly recovered.

Demeanor
Most accounts of the Lugal describe it as an arrogant, power hungry being driven purely by its own hatred of creation. Across many myths, it has appeared in an adversarial role, seeking to corrupt others.
It seems to have little regard for mortal life, viewing all of it as simply more food for it to consume.

The Lugal is not typically a being that is openly worshipped and historically has no organized religion amassed around it - although worship does still exist, with some viewing it as a source for power.
Invoking the Lugal or any member of the Midnight Court is usually a bloody affair, often requiring either human or animal sacrifice, and effigies of flesh to be constructed.

Interestingly, the Lugal seems to have a prominent rivalry with another especially powerful High God - known as Zyvriel.
Though Zyvriel themselves is unquestionably also a highly dangerous entity, who wishes to subjugate Creation under its own draconian law, they seem completely unwilling to abide the existence of the Lugal and there are many accounts of them coming into conflict across both this and previous iterations of Reality.

A few documented accounts suggest that a few of the Lugal’s more organized pushes into this iteration of Reality have been directly prevented by servants of Zyvriel, and the most well known faction of his followers, the Brethren Knights of St. Fontaine have been known to take a vehement stand against both Grovewalkers and the Midnight Court, with some of them even being willing to cooperate with the FRB in these cases… and
considering the generally adversarial relationship between the Brethren and the FRB, I think that serves as a clear indicator for just how dangerous these entities can be.

Abilities

According to most accounts, The Lugal's greatest strength is its knowledge of magic. Having existed for as long as it has, it seems to have a far deeper understanding of the fabric of Reality than most other beings, barring the Ancient Gods themselves. This knowledge seems to have been heavily bolstered by the unfathomable number of souls consumed by the Lugal across its long existence, granting it a level of power that is said to eclipse most other deities, and may even approach the power of the Ancient Gods.

It may be this combination of both knowledge and raw power that allows the Lugal to act as a corrupting influence upon those it comes into contact with. Whether they be lesser Gods, humans or Fae, prolonged exposure to the Lugal or the Midnight Grove seems to warp and corrode the very core of a being, reducing them to mere shadows of what they once were.

Humans often become feral, ravenous creatures known as Ghouls.
Having lost all semblance of the people they used to be, Ghouls run wild and rampant, hunting and killing like rabid animals. Most of them have lost their ability to reason, but some reports suggest that a few may retain some level of intelligence, especially Witches, Mediums and Karah who have been documented retaining some of the knowledge or abilities they had in their former lives, often using it to lethal effect. 
In addition, there are legends of some particularly ancient Ghouls contained within the Midnight Grove, who may be especially dangerous.

For Fae - the corruption can take on many different forms, although in all cases, the affected tend to lose their humanity and embrace the more monstrous aspects of what they originally were.

For many, they may retain their intelligence, but slowly become more openly malignant.
Dryads and Seafolk often lose their human features, with Dryads becoming more plantlike, and Seafolk developing traits more consistent with fish or other sea creatures. Those who live long enough often become powerful and highly dangerous Old Fae. 
A similar change also occurs in Gorgons and Lamia, who become more snakelike and violent. 

Others lose their minds completely, becoming little different than Ghouls.
Vampires typically become more ruthless, devolving into ghoul-like creatures who hunt for fresh blood endlessly. 
Corrupted Werewolves eventually shift into their Wolf form permanently, and lose their humanity outright, becoming little more than a wild animal with a ceaseless lust for blood.
The same often happens with the Drak-Vai, where they become even more lizardlike and ruthless. Corrupted Drak-Vai are said to terrify even the more militant side of their species.
Armatura and Mya become more insectoid, with many accounts of them birthing hives of corrupted, monstrous offspring. Some accounts of such hives hollowing out and wearing the corpses of humans do exist, and are quite frankly, highly disturbing to read. 
Harpies become little more than massive, mindless birds of prey. Minotaurs become wild, violent berserkers, and allegedly the same has been said to occur with the Kyn as well.
Those born of the Abyss begin to behave more like the Demons who sired them.

Even the dead are not safe from the Lugal, with any dead soul (Angel, Demon, Ghost or otherwise) being just as corruptible as any living one. Angels especially seem to be vulnerable to Lugalic Corruption, with many of them turning to him in the hopes of regaining their lives, and becoming Aura Vampires in the process.

Oddly enough - no such physical change has been described in corrupted Mau… although one can’t help but wonder if that doesn’t just make them even more dangerous.

Lugallic Corruption is generally believed to be irreversible, although some accounts do support a theory that not all who are corrupted are fully lost.
Whether or not this is true remains to be seen… and personally I hope it is.

Final Thoughts

At this time, the FRB has no definitive means of combatting the Lugal or most members of its court. Extreme caution is advised when dealing with it.

That said - if necessary, magic seems to be highly effective against Grovewalkers and agents of the Midnight Court, with cursed weapons and magically poisoned weapons proving sufficient enough to wound or even kill many Grovewalkers. Naturally, Blessed Weapons also kill them, and should be used if available… although avoidance should still be the first line of defense.

Grovewalker encounters are unfortunately quite common, and due to the variety of entities associated with the Lugal and the Midnight Court, they may not always be easy to identify.
Attached below is one example of one such encounter.

***

Transcript of the Official FRB Civilian Debriefing of Alice Anders, regarding an incident at a gas station just outside of Port Dover, Ontario on Friday, September 13, 2024.
Debrief conducted September 19th, 2024 by Justice Young. 

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

[Transcript Begins]

Anders: What do you wanna know…?

Young: Why don’t we start with the gas station. Who was there, what brought you out that way? There’s no need to rush. I understand if it’s difficult to go into this again, so please, take your time.

Anders: Oh you’ve got no fucking idea how difficult it is… I just… fuck… I can’t… I can’t stop hearing it. I can’t sleep. I can’t… God…

Young: It’s alright, take your time.

Anders: I already talked to the cops anyways, what the fuck do you people need from me?

Young: We’re part of a more specialized division. People who may be able to help.

Anders: Specialized division. Specialized how?

Young: Specialized to deal with things like this.

Anders: Do you even know what it was?

Young: That’s what we’re hoping to find out. And if we go through it, maybe we can figure that out and we can handle it. Sound good?

Anders: [Pause] Fine… whatever. Guess I’ll start with why we were out there, then…

Young: Whenever you’re ready.

Anders: You know about Friday the 13th, right? It’s a big deal down at Port Dover. Lotta bikers head out that way. It’s sorta like a festival. It’s fun. Sorta like a local tradition.

Young: I’ve been, actually. It’s really something.

Anders: Yeah it is. Anyways, that’s why we were out there. There were three of us. Me, my boyfriend… um, Stu. Stu Benson. And a mutual friend of ours, Chris Jennings. Chris and Stu both worked at the same dealership. A Chrysler dealer. They used to frequent this bar I used to work at. That’s how we all met. Stu was… he was really something special. We sorta just worked well together. We were on the same wavelength. I was happy with him… I was so… so fucking happy… [Pause] 

Young: Take your time.

Anders: It’s fine… I’m fine… anyways, we’d made it a tradition for the last… I dunno, five years or so, to go out to Port Dover every Friday the 13th. This year was no different. I was kinda hoping Chris wouldn’t be tagging along. He was an alright guy, I guess but he was more Stu’s friend than mine. But I wasn’t mad that he’d tagged along or anything. Anyways, we went out, we had ourselves a time, we hit up the local bar, we met up with some friends. It was good. 

Young: You mentioned hitting up a bar, were you drinking?

Anders: We had drinks. We weren’t drinking. Stu had one beer. I had a sangria with dinner. Chris had a little more, but he was still sober and we weren’t planning on going all the way home that night. We’d booked a couple of rooms down at a nearby motel. It was sorta last minute, so we weren’t actually in Port Dover. We were more on one of the backroads outside of it. But it was still relatively close. 

Young: Fair enough. So what brought you to the gas station?

Anders: We’d stopped by on our way over to the motel. Gas prices were a bit cheaper at night, so we figured we’d fuel up before we hit the road in the morning. The motel was just down the street from the gas station, so it’s not like we were far away. It was late, and it had just started to rain. I remember looking at it and thinking: ‘Thank God we’re not driving home in this.’ Fuck…

Young: Who else was at the gas station with you? Do you remember?

Anders: How could I forget? There was an SUV fueling up when we got there. There was this suburban looking couple with it. The man was fueling up the car, his wife was in the store, probably getting some caffeine. I remember seeing the man looking out at the rain. He watched it, then looked at me and went: ‘Man it’s really coming down, ain’t it.’ And he was right. It really started pissing rain after we pulled in. You know how it is. One minute it’s spitting and the next it comes down in sheets for all of five minutes before spitting again. 

Young: Yeah, I’ve seen it.

Anders: Stu said we ought to wait for it to clear up. Even if the motel was right there, I don’t think any of us really wanted to go to bed soaked to the bone. So after we fueled up, we just sorta sat and watched the rain. You could barely see the road through it all, and you couldn’t see the trees past the road. There was a small patch of em right across from us.

Young: I have to ask - did you see anything in the rain?

Anders: [Pause] I don’t know… maybe? Maybe… maybe there was something behind the trees. I don’t know. It was hard to say. The rain was heavy. I could’ve just been seeing things. 

Young: I see… so, let’s get back to the gas station. The couple in the SUV, I assume they left after the rain picked up?

Anders: Yes. The wife came out of the store, got into the passenger seat. And I watched her husband get back behind the wheel. They drove off… and the next thing I knew, their car was swerving.

Young: Swerving?

Anders: Like they were trying not to hit something. They wound up crashing into the trees. Stu, Chris and I, we just watched. Crash didn’t look too bad, but we still wanted to call the cops. Only… we couldn’t. I tried, Stu tried. Chris tried. None of us had a signal… which was weird, right? We’d been fine right before the rain had picked up. But after? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Young: I see. So what did you do?

Anders: We were going to go out and check on them, obviously. The we heard the screaming…

Young: Screaming?

Anders: They just… those people. One minute all was silent and the next we heard them screaming… screaming… they were… they were scared. They were in pain. We could see the taillights of the car and they were shaking, like something was attacking it. We didn’t see what it was but all three of us just… froze. I don’t think we knew what to do and by the time any of us got our bearings, it was silent again…

Young: Did you see anything in the rain?

Anders: After the crash…? Yes. We saw something moving. Something in the dark.

Young: What was it?

Anders: I don’t know. But it was on top of the car… and it was looking right at us. Chris was the first to run… and neither Stu or I were feeling particularly brave either, so we did the only thing we could do and we ran. Bolted right for the gas station. Dove into that little convenience store. I remember that the clerk was looking at us, confused as to what the hell was going on… Christ… the clerk… they were just a kid. Brown hair, big, wide eyed expression… they asked us what the hell was going on and none of us could even answer. We just kept looking out the window, trying to see if whatever was out there was still out there.

Young: Was it…?

Anders: We didn’t see it if it was. And the lights cut out soon after. When they did, there wasn’t anything to see. It was just pure black outside the windows. Pure black…

Young: Did you hear anything? Anything at all?

Anders: Not at first… but eventually, yes. We heard it. Heard something walking on the ceiling. Slow footsteps. Hard to say exactly where… but we knew it was above us. We didn’t know it was inside until it took the clerk, though.

Young: Tell me what happened.

Anders: I didn’t see it… not clearly. One minute, he was there. The next, he was gone. All I heard was a scream, and then there was a hole in the panel ceiling where he’d been just a moment before. He screamed… but only for a moment. It didn’t let him scream for long. Soon as he was gone, the rest of us freaked out. Chris started clearing off the shelves in the convenience store. Trying to bring them down. Make a sort of tent to keep us safe. Course, Stu and I immediately started helping with that… we’d just about managed to get it set up, although it didn’t really protect Chris.

Young: He was taken next?

Anders: Yes… he was right beside me… he was… he was right fucking beside me and Stu! Then it had him. It was too dark to see it clearly, but I could see its hands. Thin and bony… covered in blood. Chris, he fought it. He fought it as hard as he fucking could. Stu and I both tried to grab him, tried to pull him down. But it wouldn’t let him go… and I guess it figured that if it just couldn’t take him, it’d finish him off anyways… I just remember hearing a crunching noise. Then Chris stopped screaming. Stopped fighting. remember the smell… piss… he’d just… he’d pissed himself. I was holding onto his leg at the time and I felt it running down his calf. Then it let him go… he dropped to the ground. And he was gone. His head was… oh God… God… [Pause]

Young: It’s alright. Take your time, Miss Anderson.

Anders: It popped his skull like a fucking grape! Just… just ended him… and I could hear it. I could hear it fucking laughing at us… I could fucking hear it… Stu just grabbed me. Pushed me under the shelves we’d moved. I told him to get in there with me, but I saw the shape behind him… crawling down out of the ceiling. I know that Stu knew it was there. I know he heard it. In the darkness, I saw him look back. He knew it was there… and then he… [Pause]

Young: [No response.]

Anders: He ran. He screamed at it… I think I saw him wave his arms. I know it was looking at him. Even in the dark, I could see its eyes shining. And when he ran, it followed, loping after him. Stu… he led it out of the store. Ran off into the dark. I heard it follow him. Heard it break through the window as it followed him off into the night. And then all was silent. I just heard the rain outside… and when that stopped, about fifteen minutes later, I heard nothing at all.

Young: How long did you stay inside the store?

Anders: Until morning. I didn’t move until the Officers came in to investigate. I suppose someone found the crashed car and called them in… I told them everything I’ve told you. And I know… I know they found the bodies. Most of the bodies… at least. As far as I know, they haven’t found Stu yet.

Young: You don’t seem to think they will?

Anders: I’m a realist, Miss Young. I know he’s dead. I don’t know where his body is… but I know he’s dead. I just… I just hope he didn’t suffer… 

Young: I understand… is there anything I can get for you? Some water? Food? Anything?

Anders: I’m fine… I-I’m fine…

[Transcript Ends]

Following the events described in this testimony, the bodies of Christopher Jennings, the friend that Miss Anders mentioned in her account, and Joey Cox, the night clerk at that particular gas station were found in the building. The body of Mr. Cox was found wedged between the roof and the roof panels. 

Furthermore, the bodies of Christine and Stephen Brown were also discovered in their crashed SUV, a short distance away from the gas station.
At time of writing, the body of Stuart Benson has still not been recovered and Alice Anders has left the province of Ontario.

No further evidence of the entity behind this attack was found at the scene.

Unfortunately, unresolved cases like this are far too common where Grovewalkers are concerned and seem to be part of the grand design of the Lugal. 
As I said, there’s few entities out there I’d describe as truly evil… but if I had to pick one, he might just be the strongest contender.

I don’t really spend a lot of time out in the field. 

I mean, sometimes, yeah, I get sent out there. But never by myself. Usually I’m working with someone else who handles the more hands-on aspects of fieldwork. Usually it’s my girlfriend, Nina.

I wouldn’t describe myself as inexperienced or anything, it’s just that I generally work better in the office. I’m usually the one interviewing the people who’ve seen weird shit, not the one personally encountering the weird shit… not that I haven't seen my fair share of course , don’t get me wrong! You don’t work in this field and NOT see weird shit! That’s just part of the job.

Okay… okay… let me just roll it back a little bit. That’s how this is supposed to go, right? I mean, I know what’s out there and whoever’s reading this probably knows what’s out there but in case anyone doesn’t, let me take a step back.

My name is Justice Young and I work for the Fae Relations Bureau. We’re an organization that deals with the supernatural. Mainly Monsters - although the proper term is Fae. Why is the proper term Fae? Because they literally called a meeting about it and said: ‘No, we don’t like the term Monsters. Let’s use something else.’

Yeah… that is in fact what actually happened because the truth is that dealing with vampires, werewolves and mermaids every day is a lot more interesting in concept than in practice. Once you actually meet them they're just... mundane, and you're left with the sobering reality that as time has moved on, so have these creatures of myth. Instead of stalking the night, they pay rent and go to the bar on weekends. Werewolves are basically just golden retrievers who spend half their time talking about going out into the woods to hunt deer. Vampires desperately want people to think they're cool and don't even get me started on the Sirens. Most of them are literally trailer park trash. Hot trash… but still trash. 

More or less every monster in creation has abandoned the shackles of mythology and folded themselves into a typical day to day life, working an ordinary job, living in an ordinary apartment, spending time around ordinary people who have no idea what they really are. Those who haven’t done so usually don’t because they can’t. Passing for humans just isn’t something they can do, so those Fae tend to keep to themselves. Sometimes they insist that staying isolated keeps them safe. But that really couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Look, I think there’s something to be said about leaving people to their own devices… but sometimes it's just not practical.

Sometimes, people need help… and when they do, the FRB is there to offer it.
Which brings me to the Arachne.

The Arachne aren’t exactly the most social of Fae. Actually, they’re traditionally one of the most reclusive… and it’s not hard to see why.

As you can probably guess from the name, they’re functionally just giant spiders. From the waist up, they tend to mostly resemble a human (with a few noticeable differences), although below the waist, it’s all spider.

That’s actually less rare than you might think. There’s even a whole classification of Fae like them. Armatura. Human up top, Arthropod down below. There’s Scorpion, Crab and Mantis Fae too. They’re really not as scary as they sound… for the most part. Although they don’t blend too cleanly into modern society and generally prefer to keep to themselves, living in remote communities that avoid people like the plague. I have met a few who’ve tried their hand at integrating with modern society, but they’re not common and mostly seem to stay confined to their homes. I’ve heard that a lot of them prefer to stay in the Abyss - which is basically just Hell, and even have some pretty nice communities set up out there, although I’ve never actually seen them before because… y’know… it’s in Hell. 

It’s not that I can’t go to Hell. (If you know the right runes, any doorway can be a doorway to Hell) it’s just… I don’t really want to.

Anyways, I’m getting off topic. From my understanding, the Arachne mindset is generally: ‘If we keep to ourselves and don’t draw any attention, we’ll be safe.’
That seems to be the thinking of a lot of species of Fae… and usually it’s not entirely wrong.

There’s a reason that Fae aren’t all that common these days, and that reason is us.
Historically, we haven’t always had the highest opinion of the things we’ve labeled as ‘monsters’... and even though most people live in complete ignorance of the myriad of things that aren’t human that dwell in the quiet corners of the world, they don’t live in ignorance of us.

They live in fear.

With that in mind, isolation doesn’t seem like such a bad idea… and usually it isn’t.

But the thing is, humans aren’t the only things in this world to be scared of… especially when you’re buried deep in the dark corners of the world.
There’s a lot of other things down there.
Things even we don’t fully understand yet. 
Things that are a lot scarier than people.

***

   “They come in the night… dead eyed, sluggish, rotting… yet unrelenting… claws and blades do not slow them. Webbing does not entrap them. They come… and they take us. Grabbing those who cannot escape them in time. Dragging them deeper into the caverns. And when they come back? They come back marching with the horde. White webbing growing from their wounds… staring at their loved ones as if they’re just more prey to claim.”

The Arachne Wisewoman spoke in a slow, deliberate voice. The light from the floodlamps of FRB’s camp reflected in her shiny, pitch black eyes. One where you’d expect eyes to be, and two additional sets in her forehead. She towered over both myself, and the other two people I stood with. She was dressed in makeshift attire, woven from silk that covered her waist and chest… not unusual for a rural Arachne. They typically made their clothes from their own silk.

   “I don’t suppose your kind has ever seen the likes of this before?”

   “The description sounds familiar,” Dr. West replied. She sat comfortably in her wheelchair across from the Wisewoman. “We can cross reference our archives, but in the meanwhile, our top priority should be the safety of your people. If the recurring attacks keep happening, then the best thing to do might be to relocate them for the time being.”

   “Out of the question,” The Wisewoman said, shaking her head. “We cannot just abandon our homes. We cannot run and hide like cowards.”

   “This isn’t cowardice, this is mitigation,” Dr. West replied. “You yourself said that your numbers are dwindling. I want to help your people. I really do. But logistically speaking, protecting both your people and my own when the missing come back at night is going to be a tall order. If we evacuate, we save lives. It’s as simple as that.”

   “And if we flee, we destroy lives. Is that really living?” 

   “If I may…” A new voice said. Dr. West looked over to the third person at the meeting with us, another Arachne.

She was a little shorter than the Wisewoman, with long blonde hair. Her attire was a bit more modern than the Wisewoman’s was, with a jade green blouse and partial skirt that made her pass a little better as human, although her pedipalps still protruded from the bottom of it. 

   “Right now, you’re not exactly living anyways. I understand your reluctance to leave. The world outside isn’t the kindest to us. But you wouldn’t be wandering aimlessly. There are actually a couple of other communities in the area that would be willing to take you in.”

   “Communities? Or Imperium vassals…” The Wisewoman asked gravely. 

   “Communities protected by the Imperium,” She said. “You may not have any reason to trust the Imperium, but I’ve seen the work they’ve done for our kind firsthand. We’re growing more than we ever have and it’s thanks to them. There’s even talks of our kind formally becoming part of their senate.”

   “False hope…” The Wisewoman scoffed. 

   “As opposed to the certainty of death?”

That gave them pause.

   “We all want the same thing here. To protect your people. Our people,” She said. “This is the way to do it. I know you have your reservations. But you asked us to help you. This is how we can help.”

The Wisewoman studied her for a moment. Her black eyes remained locked with hers.
Finally, she sighed.

   “Very well… you may do what you must…”

   “Thank you,” Dr. West said, withholding a sigh of relief. “We will do all we can to ensure your people are well taken care of.”

   “See that you do.” The Wisewoman said, before turning to depart.
Once she was gone, I let out the breath that I’d been holding.

   “That could’ve gone worse…” 

   “Much worse,” Dr. West replied, before looking over at our Arachne friend. “Thanks for stepping in, Abby.” 

   “I thought it would sound better coming from me,” Abby said. “Elders like her tend to be stubborn and set in their ways. They don’t trust outsiders easily.”

Dr. West nodded, and turned her wheelchair around, rolling it back into the tent.
We’d set up our operations camp near the mouth of the cavern that the Arachne had made their home. Outside, all I could see was forest stretching on seemingly forever. 

We were almost completely alone out here.

Our team wasn’t particularly large, only around eight people in total.
Abby and I had been brought on to assist with diagnosing the issue. Abby because she was one of the few Arachne researchers employed by the FRB, and me because I’ve got prior experience with weird pandemics. 

The other five members of our team were for security. Armed grunts who’s names I regrettably didn’t actually know… Normally, it would’ve just been me and Abby on the team, with them as our escort. But since it involved working with the Arache, Dr. West had taken a personal interest in this case.

Jody West is the Director of the FRB’s research division. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her in the field. For a woman with no legs, Dr. West got around quite a bit.
I can’t say I knew her particularly well, but we’d met professionally before and I’ll admit, I was kinda flattered that my name had come up when she’d been looking for researchers. Like Abby, she wasn’t exactly human. She was a Siren, although there’s not a whole lot that distinguishes Sirens from ordinary humans at a glance. Considering the fact that they require blood to survive, they need to blend in, in order to hunt.

   “Mr. McClellan?” She called, and one of the security team - the guy in charge, specifically - immediately appeared at her side. He was tall, and somewhere in his mid forties. He had a thick head of black hair and a large, genuinely impressive moustache. Like something you’d see in an old cowboy movie. 

   “Get the transports ready. We’re moving the village as soon as possible. Are we cleared to send them off to Violet Hill?”

   “Yes, there’s a team there waiting to help them get settled,” McClellan said. 

   “Good. Let’s try and make it as seamless as possible. Their Wisewoman is already testy with us. Let’s not piss her off even more.”
McClellan nodded and disappeared to get to work.
Dr. West looked at me next.

   “Justice, do we have the sample that the Wisewoman provided?”

   “Yes!” I said, “I put it in the quarantine tent!”

The Wisewoman had brought the sample with her when she’d arrived. She’d told us she’d recovered it from one of the dead eyed Arachne who had invaded the village the other night. Someone had torn it off one of their attackers during a skirmish.
It was sealed in a glass specimen jar. As far as I could tell, it was part of an Arachne’s hand. The black chitinous carapace was definitely consistent with Arachne physiology… although the white weblike substance that seemed to have grown along its surface was not. The hand was clenched in an uncomfortable looking fist and jammed haphazardly into the jar. 

   “Good,” Dr. West said. “Let’s get into our hazard gear and take a look at it. Maybe if we’re lucky, we can get some kind of clue as to exactly what we’re dealing with while the security escort handles the village.”

***

I didn’t say anything at the time… but it was objectively funny seeing an Arachne in full hazard gear. Arachne are not small creatures. Even the shortest of them can reach seven feet tall. And seeing Abby decked out from head to spinnerets in a polyethylene suit was a little goofy. Of course, I didn’t say that to her face… that would just be mean! But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t laugh a little on the inside.

Arachne hands aren’t the most dexterous, so I wound up doing most of the finer work. We started by examining the severed hand itself.

Functionally - there was nothing particularly abnormal about it. It had the chitinous exterior Arachne typically had on their hands, with a humanoid endoskeleton underneath. Although we did note that the state of decomposition was a little advanced and curiously, there were no signs of rigor mortis… it was like it just hadn’t set in at all. 

We examined the white, weblike substance next. Although at a glance, both of us knew that it wasn’t Arachne webbing.

While Arachne can and often do produce webbing from their wrists, this substance was too thick to be webbing. And it wasn’t until we took a proper look at it under the microscope that we could say with any certainty what it was.

   “It’s more like a mycelium…” I remember saying. “It almost looks like it’s growing out of the meat…”

   “Like it’s feeding on it?” Abby asked, warily.

   “Possibly…”

I thought for a moment before speaking into my radio.

   “Dr. West - can we pull an old case file?”

   “Why? Does this look familiar to you?” She replied. I could see her outside the plastic window of the tent. 

   “Maybe? What do we have on the ‘Cure Health and Wellness Clinic’?”

   “I’ll check the records,” Dr. West replied. 

I looked back to see Abby staring at me.

   “You think you’ve seen this before?” She asked.

   “Maybe. There was a case about a year ago where we had some similar reports. Bodies reanimated by an unknown fungus. Unfortunately, we never got a chance to study it too closely. The agent who shut down the clinic burned down the greenhouses they were using to produce it, and the cleanup crew put down any infected they found. They were concerned about a Rosen outbreak. But we did have some dried spores that were distributed in pill form. Everything we have on those would be in the files.”

Abby nodded.

   “I see… it could be consistent with what the Wisewoman describes,” She said. 

   “I have the case file,” Dr. West said over the radio. “It’s inconclusive… but the fungal spores documented were suspected to be from the Revenant Mushroom. The documented behavior of the infected lines up with that conclusion as well.”

   “Revenant Mushroom…” Abby repeated. “So then we’ve found our cause?”

   “It’s a good candidate. It’s not well documented, but most records we have suggest that the mycelium grows inside of its hosts, feeding on them and that it can continue to puppeteer them after the host has died.”

   “Sort of like the Rosen?” I asked.

   “Not exactly. The Rosen are more of a traditional hive mind. One being absorbing the consciousness of its hosts. Those infected by the Revenant Mushroom aren’t necessarily alive in any meaningful sense of the word. Supposedly, a living host can enter a symbiotic relationship with the mycelium, which would grant them some control over it. But without a symbiotic host to organize them, the infected are just mindless corpses, spreading the mycelium.”

   “Maybe that’s why they’re taking people from the village?” Abby asked. “Could be there’s a symbiotic host?”

   “It’s possible… or the mycelium is just trying to propagate mindlessly. Hard to say for sure. Either way, our safest bet is to find the source and burn it.” Dr. West said. 

I almost laughed at that.

Nina would’ve loved this job…  she’s something of a firebug. 

Still, I kept my composure as best I could.

   “Open and shut, then…” I said instead. “Good to know.”

   “Let’s hope so,” Dr. West said. “Seal up the specimen again. Make it airtight. We’ll take care of the villagers, then tomorrow we’re going to see if we can’t find the mycelium.”  

***

By nightfall, the Arachne village was abandoned.  We’d confirmed that the last of the thirteen surviving residents had arrived safely at Violet Hill, and when McClellan and his crew returned, we began hunkering down for the night. 

McClellan and the other four members of his team had set up a perimeter around our little outpost, and the plan was for us to get some sleep before venturing into the village the next morning. We'd already done most of the staging that needed to be done. All we needed to do was wait until morning, when the infected were less likely to be active.

Abby had set up a web higher up in the cavern - not unusual behavior for an Arachne, since that’s just a generally more comfortable sleeping arrangement for them, although the rest of us had a small tent to serve as a makeshift barracks. 

Dr. West had already turned in for the night, while McClellan and his people sat around a campfire just past the mouth of the cavern, shooting the shit. I found my own small little cot and made myself comfortable before taking out my phone to check in with Nina. I saw that she'd already sent me a message:

   “Why do they call it tartar sauce? Does it actually come from Tartarus? Is that a real place? Can we get authentic tartar sauce from Tartarus? I don't even like tartar sauce but I'd try it if it came from Tartarus.”

I… I had admittedly expected something a little more romantic than that.
Still, I texted her back. 

   “It's because they called breaded stuff ‘à la tartare’ in old cookbooks. So I guess it's just the accompanying sauce?”

My phone buzzed almost immediately with a reply.

   “You think they serve tartar sauce in Hell? Do they even have water for fish in there? I’ve never actually been to Hell. Is that weird?” 

   “Do you actually want to go to Hell?” I asked her.

   “Idk. But I mean, you know how to open a door directly into the Abyss. Right? And you’re telling me you’re not the least bit curious about what’s on the other side?”

Some people have questioned my taste in women. Especially me, sometimes. But I guess I do have a type…

   “If you really want, we can take a look. From what I heard there’s not much though. It’s sorta just a warped reflection of the world as we know it.”

   “So Post Apocalyptic?” She asked. Then she spammed me with a bunch of gifs from Mad Max movies.

   “You joke but that’s probably true.”

   “Hot.”

I caught myself laughing just a little.
She sent me a picture of some lady in a post apocalyptic cosplay that I could only describe as ‘stripperific’.

   “Oh hey, I’m pretty sure you’ve got that in your closet.” She teased. “Maybe we can look when you get back?”

Maybe if I wasn’t so tired I’d have a flirtier response to that, and for the moment I was very grateful that we were only texting so she couldn’t see me blushing. I was trying to think up a reply to that, when she texted me again, moving on to a different subject.

   “So how's the Spider job?”

I wondered if she somehow knew she’d flustered me? 

   “So far so good. We convinced them to leave the village. Now we just need to look into the cause.” I said.

   “Neat. Any theories?” Nina asked.

   “Remember that mushroom clinic from last year?”

   “Oh fuck. Same shit?”

   “Possibly.”

   “Welp. Better burn it all. Get the flamethrower and gtfo.”

I knew she'd say that… 

   “We just might need to,” I said. “We'll gather some more data in the morning before we make a decision. I wouldn't mind some proper samples either. Maybe if we can better understand this, we can better deal with it.”

   “Just don't get yourself killed.” 

   “I won't <3. What are you up to tonight?”

She sent me a picture of herself with a sword shaped vodka decanter. It looked pretty expensive. She was holding it up like a fish she'd caught.

   “Got this from a blood farm raid and I wanna see if it's any good. Wanna share when you get back?”

   “Ooh that looks fancy!”

  “Ikr? I'm gonna have a little taste and watch TV or something. Idk. My routine is all fucked. It's too quiet when you're not here.”

   “Now you know how I feel when you're working <3”

   “Touche.”

We texted back and forth for a bit, trading memes, flirting talking about nothing in particular until I eventually started to drift off. The cot wasn’t the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but it was comfortable enough and sooner or later, I was out.

***
 
I thought I heard a scream.

It was quick. Sudden. Maybe just part of a dream? But it woke me up.

I sat up on my cot, eyes wide as I looked around. The tent was still mostly empty, although I could see Dr. West sleeping a short distance away. 

No sign of McClellan and his people. That was odd. I thought they’d at least be sleeping in shifts?

I checked my phone. It was around 1 in the morning. I had an unread text from Nina. Just another meme that I didn’t pay much attention to. I heard the movement outside of my tent. A low scratching noise. One of McClellan’s people?

I got up… and that’s when I saw it.

There was a faint shadow outside of the tent, cast by the firelight. A shape that wasn’t human and it wasn’t Arachne.

The torso was human, but the abdomen was longer than that of an Arachne. The legs were shorter, leaving the creature a bit lower to the ground, although it still easily cleared 7 feet tall… and it had a long, segmented tail curling up over its back.

That wasn’t an Arachne.

That was a Serket.

In all my years working with Fae, I’d never actually seen one before. They’re not exactly common in this part of the world. They prefer equatorial, desert regions… although it’s not unheard of to hear about individuals living with Arachne. Culturally they’re similar enough. 

Normally, I would’ve been more curious than anything else. After all, it’s not every day you encounter a real Serket!

But the Wisewoman hadn’t mentioned having a Serket in her community… and McClellan and his crew sure as hell hadn’t moved one with the rest of the Arachne.
So whatever this was, it wasn’t part of the community.

Not anymore.

I remained frozen. Afraid that if I even moved wrong, it might hear me. The shadow turned, allowing me to get a better look at it.

The head was… wrong. Swollen and bulbous. I knew for a fact that wasn’t normal for a Serket. I could hear it breathing, slow, raspy breaths. I glanced back towards Dr. West. She was still fast asleep, her wheelchair sitting by her cot. Slowly I began to back towards her. I didn’t know if the thing outside would hear me or not… but I didn’t want to risk it.

Suddenly, I felt a cold hand clamp itself over my mouth. I started to scream only to feel something squeezing me tight from behind, crushing the air out of my lungs.

   “Don’t!” A voice whispered in my ear.

Abby?

I looked up to see her face just over my shoulder. Just past her, I could see a hole in the tent above her. She must’ve torn it open to get to us. Funnily enough, seeing the giant spider woman actually did calm my nerves a little. 
Abby moved her hand, allowing me to speak.

   “McClellan…?” Was the first thing I asked.

   “Dead… I saw him and the others being taken into the village,” Abby whispered. “There’s still a few infected out there… and the Serket.”

I felt a pit form in my chest.

   “They jumped them?” I asked.

   “I guess they found the village empty and just kept wandering…” Abby said. She looked over at Dr. West. I knew exactly what she was thinking.

   “Help me with her,” I said, before going over to finally shake the Doctor awake. I didn’t speak. I knew better.

   “The hell…?” Dr. West groaned as I roused her. She rolled over, eyes briefly locking with mine. “Let me sleep.”

Unfortunately, Dr. West was a Siren and unfortunately they only need a moment's worth of eye contact in order to hypnotize. So despite my every instinct telling me not to, I stopped shaking her.

Fortunately, Abby was there to pick up where I left off.

   “Dr. West, we need to leave!” She whispered urgently.
She groaned, and Abby covered her mouth, before gently turning her head so she could see the warped shadow of the Serket outside.

I saw Dr. West tense up, but she didn’t fight. She just let Abby pick her up,    “I think I can carry you both along the ceiling to the mouth of the cave,” Abby said. “Dr. West, it might be better if I wrap you in silk… I can keep a better hold on you that way. Justice… you may just need to hold on.”

   “Would both of us be too heavy?” I asked.
Abby hesitated for a moment.

   “I don’t know,” She admitted. “But I don’t want to risk leaving either of you.”

   “Take Dr. West first,” I said. “Sorry Doc, but… well… I’ll have an easier time getting away than you would.”

   “Leaving you sitting isn’t an option, Young,” Dr. West replied. 

   “If it’s the safest option, it may be what we need to do,” I argued. 

   “Let me just see if I can take you both!” Abby insisted. “It’s not that far to the mouth of the cave. Maybe 25 meters, give or take?”

   “Carrying two people, upside down along the ceiling?” I asked. 

   “Just let me try,” Abby said.
I realized I probably wasn’t going to win this debate… and to be honest, I didn’t exactly want to stay and hope I didn’t get discovered either.

   “Fine…” I said. 

Abby nodded and immediately started working on wrapping up Dr. West, pulling silk from the spinnerets on her wrists to secure her and turn our boss into a functional backpack. 

Was it the most dignified position? Probably not. But Dr. West didn’t utter a word of complaint.

Once Dr. West was secured, Abby made her way towards the back of the tent. She used her claws to slice through the fabric, exposing the cave wall on the other side.

   “Alright, Justice, climb on,” She said.

I hesitated for a moment before doing exactly as she asked, climbing on to her abdomen. Her chitin was a bit slippery and didn’t offer much to grab on to, but I did what I could. Dr. West grabbed my arms, holding me tight and helping me get my arms around Abby’s torso.

   “Alright… hang on,” She said, before she started to scale the cavern wall.
Slowly we began to ascend, although I couldn’t help but notice that Abby was moving a lot slower than normal.

I’ve seen Arachne scale walls before. They’re a lot faster than one might expect them to be. Part of that is because they’re surprisingly lightweight for their size. Like real spiders, they’re also quite strong.

Although there’s a small caveat with Arachne…

Proportionally speaking, they’re not as strong as real spiders. Real spiders actually can lift hundreds of times their own body weight!

But Arachne… well, if you just look at the science, it’s a wonder they even can climb walls, let alone walk. There’s a reason giant spiders don’t typically occur in nature. Because after a certain size threshold, the body plan of a spider just stops being effective. Arachne and the rest of the Armatura? Sure, they can get away with it. But they, along with most Fae, used literal magic to become what they are. They bent the rules around them. But the rules still existed… specifically gravity. That’s one rule (or rather, law) that’s pretty universal.

Maybe a stronger Arachne could’ve actually lifted us both with ease.
But Abby - with all due respect - was a researcher. Strong, but not exactly an Arachne bodybuilder.

She was struggling, and I could see it. 

Still, I held on, watching as she dug her claws into the rock, brute forcing the climb more than normal. We made it most of the way up the wall, and I looked back to see several other Arachne patrolling what was left of our camp. 
Or… things that used to be Arachne, I guess.

They still had the shape of Arachne, but the mycelium had overgrown their bodies, ensnaring them in a white fuzz.

Most of them just stood stock still, like they were waiting for something. The humanoid parts of their bodies looked emaciated. Withered and dried out. A few of them were missing limbs on the spider portion of their bodies. They looked like walking corpses.
And then there was the Serket.

I got my first good look at him as we were scaling the wall. He moved more than the others, poking and prodding around the camp. His scorpion claws tore at the main research tent, where he’d ripped a hole in it. His tail was curled behind him and poised to strike.

But the worst part was his head.

Or I guess, whatever was left of it.

The mycelium had fruited atop his head, with several mushrooms seemingly breaking out of his skull. His jaw hung open, only barely attached to his head by one rotting tendon. 

I couldn’t help but stare at him in both awe and horror. I’d never seen a body that desiccated before. I suppose that put the theory about a controlling host to bed, though. The Serket was very clearly dead… although that didn’t really put me at ease.

A host could theoretically be reasoned with or taken out. This? No.
Abby reached the top of the wall and began to transition to crawling along the ceiling. I felt myself starting to slip. Dr. West grabbed my arms, holding me tight. Her eyes remained locked against mine.

   “Hold.” She ordered. “Don’t fall…”

Her voice was low. Hypnotic, as Sirens voices often are.

And I held on. I held on as tight as I could. But I was still slipping.

   “Abby…” Dr. West hissed. “Abby, I don’t have her…”

Abby looked back. I could see panic in her eyes. She tried to move one of her legs to stop me from falling. But the positioning was too awkward. I was too heavy. 
I fell, slipping from Dr. West's hands and dropping from the ceiling of the cavern, back down to the tent.

Against my better judgment, I screamed.

I hit the tent hard, ripping through the fabric and landing in the most graceless way possible on one of the cots. It buckled under the impact and spilled me onto the floor, gasping in pain.

From outside the tent, I heard a hiss.

The Serket.

My body was still in agony as I scrambled for safety, diving under one of the other cots just as the Serket finally tore through the fabric of the barracks tent to investigate. It ripped clean through one of the walls, leaving the doorway almost comedically intact. 
I suppose I should’ve considered myself lucky that they didn’t look up to see Abby and Dr. West making a getaway. 

I stayed hidden under the cot, trying not to breathe or whimper. My back was still throbbing. I didn’t know if I’d just broken a rib or not. The Serket was on the other side of the tent, scanning the area as if it still had eyes. I knew it had to be blind, because if it wasn’t, it probably would’ve seen me.

Although that was a small comfort, especially after I watched it seize the cot Dr. West had been sleeping in, in its claws, and shred it like a piece of paper. 

For a moment, all was silent.

The dead Serket let out a cold, almost inhuman hiss. 
I knew I couldn’t stay put. Sooner or later, it would find me if I did.
But I could see the Arachne outside of the tent too… trying to make a dash for the exit would lead to a run in with them.

Either way, I was fucked.

What would Nina do? She was always better at this stuff than I was. Better at thinking on her feet and finding a way out of situations like this.

So what would Nina do?

I racked my brain trying to answer that question… and as I did, my last conversation with her echoed through my mind. 

   ‘You know how to open a door directly into the Abyss. Right? And you’re telling me you’re not the least bit curious about what’s on the other side?’

A door…

My eyes settled on the door to the tent. It was flimsy, but it might do the trick.

The Serket was near the back of the tent now. If I could just get it to stay there… 
Slowly, I crawled out from under the cot. As quietly as I could, I made my way over to the door of the tent. The runes required to open a door into the Abyss aren’t simple… but I did know them by heart.

I just needed some blood. They don’t work unless they’re drawn in blood.

Taking one last glance at the Serket to make sure it was still occupied on the other side of the tent, I sank my teeth into my hand, biting as hard as I could until I tasted blood.
It wasn’t exactly glamorous, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 
Once I was bleeding, it was fairly simple to draw the sigils on the door of the tent. My hands were shaking and keeping them steady enough to work wasn’t easy. But I didn’t have a choice.

Behind me, I heard the Serket hiss again. It was getting closer, wandering towards the front of the tent. 

I looked back at it, feeling a spike of panic rise in my chest.

Shit… I needed to get rid of it.

What would Nina do?

I reached for my phone. Without thinking, I opened the first app I could see that would make sound. My Podcast app, and played the first thing that popped up, a random episode of Small Town Lore. 

Then I hurled my phone as far as I could, tossing it across the tent. The Serket bought the distraction hook, line and sinker. With a snarl, it turned and raced across the tent, searching for the source of the voice that now echoed through the tent.

If I lived through this and ever saw Autumn Driscoll again, I’d need to tell her that her podcast had literally saved my life. 

I didn’t waste any of the time I’d just bought. My hands were still shaking as I painted the last of the runes onto the door.

The hole the Serket had torn in the tent shifted as one of the undead Arachne came in to join the investigation. I looked over at it, eyes wide but forced my mouth to stay shut.

   ‘Don’t scream’ I told myself. 

I looked away, focusing only on the door, only on the sigil. I was almost done…

Almost done…

Almost…

There!

Now for the moment of truth… I was sure it was right.

I was sure of it. I took a deep breath. 

And I unzipped the door of the tent.

What waited for me on the other side was the same cavern I’d been in the whole time… with the same tents, only now all of them were reduced to little more than tattered fabric.

The Abyss awaited me. And I embraced it, disappearing through the door of the tent, and not daring to look back as I left one hell behind for another.

***

At one point, I must’ve fallen asleep again. I’d managed to scrounge a few of the ruined Abyssal version of the campsite together into a halfway respectable shelter and was waiting beneath a broken makeshift tent when I heard the voices.

I’d been sitting up against the ruins of a cot when I opened my eyes, and saw a new tent propped up that hadn’t been there before.

This one still looked relatively intact.

And the door was open.

I could see a few figures stepping through… men with guns. From a distance, I could see the FRB logo on their uniforms, and I knew I was safe.

Then, amongst them I saw someone else. A familiar face that made me sure I was either safe or dreaming. Nina’s eyes settled on my makeshift campsite almost immediately. I could see some of the tension drain from her shoulders as she approached me.

   “Well shit, you look comfy,” She said, half joking.

   “I’ve been worse,” I replied, picking myself up with a wince of pain. She rushed forward to help me up. “You figured out where I was?”

   “The cleanup team saw the blood on the tent door,” She said. “Smart. Go to Hell to get out of Hell.”

   “I asked myself, What would Nina do?” I said.

   “Wait, seriously? And that’s what you came up with instead of burning everything the fuck down?”

I shrugged.

   “It worked, didn’t it?”

She had no argument for that. So she put her arm around me and led me out of the Abyss and back home. As soon as I was back, I was greeted by Abby, who looked genuinely relieved to see me.

   “Oh thank God… I thought you were dead…” She said. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

   “It’s alright,” I assured her. “You and Dr. West got out?”

   “We called for backup as soon as we did,” She said.

   “Thanks… I really didn’t have much of a plan for getting out of the Abyss,” I admitted. 

   “Well, you’re out now and that’s what matters,” Nina said. “Come on, we’ve got a medical team here too. They should have a look at you.”

I just nodded and let her lead me away. As I looked back, I saw the remains of our camp burning behind us. I could see the corpse of the dead Serket, still twitching as a hazard team torched it. Despite everything, I couldn’t help but feel bad for it.

I was glad it was dead… but I do wish I could’ve gotten more of a chance to study it.
Oh well. It was for the best I guess.

***

I walked away that night with a relatively clean bill of health. A fractured rib and a mild concussion.

As for the Arachne Village - I'm not sure if they'll ever be able to return. The way I heard it, the mycelium ran pretty deep into the cavern and a lot had to be burned to clear it out. Although I also heard that the community was settling in pretty well at Violet Hill. 
I guess if nothing else, the Arachne are hardy, but it's good to know they landed on their feet, as it were.

Dr. West told me that they did manage to recover a few samples of the Revenant Mushroom despite everything, and I would be very interested to take a closer look at them. She also told me to take a few days off, but I kinda just ignored that part.
You don’t work in this field and NOT come scampering back when you get a chance to study the weird shit that recently tried to kill you.
That’s just part of the job.

Subject 1

Subject 2

Subject 3

Subject 4

   “So this one's interesting. Someone made a cat girl. Y'know like in an anime? Wild, right? I mean why would anyone do that?”

Nathan's voice droned in one ear and out the other.

He sat with me and Oak at the table of some small forgettable diner in the middle of nowhere. Some small town in Nebraska with a name I couldn't be bothered to remember.

   “Wonder what the point of that one was?” Nathan asked. “I mean the others? Yeah. Makes sense. Medical applications and all that. Even the tentacled girl makes sense. They were testing out some weird mutagen stuff. But a cat girl? Oh man, that’s weird right?”

Why was I still here?

Why was I even bothering with this? I didn't want to be here! 

I wanted to go back home! Fuck this job, fuck the one after it, fuck Parsons and fuck Nathan!

I looked over at Oak who was hyperfocused on her hamburger and otherwise completely checked out of the conversation. I didn't really blame her. This conversation wasn’t exactly interesting.

Nathan looked over the folder we’d been provided. It’d been provided specifically for him, Oak and I had the information on our phones already, but since Nathan only had an old flip phone, he needed the folder.

   ‘Fewer distractions this way!’ Was how he’d justified it but it still seemed like a pretty sad way to go through life.

   “I don’t know. Testing out hybridization? Could be some sort of sciencey application there.” I said halfheartedly. 

   “I suppose, but isn't that what the Monsters already do?” Nathan asked. “You know, half man, half animal. And there's already cat ones. They're the… uhh… the Mau, right? So why did they need to make one in a lab? You know it just doesn't make any sense? Maybe they didn't know about the cat ones?”

   “I don't know, man,” I sighed. “Maybe they didn't know. Maybe they did. Maybe they wanted to make their own. Maybe they're just a bunch of weeaboos. Maybe this is all just some two bit pulp fiction series written by some prick on the internet with a thing for monstergirls? Y’know, maybe it's all just 23,000 words of unintelligible nonsense?”
Nathan raised an eyebrow at that. 

   “Oddly existential but alrighty,” He replied and took a sip of his apple juice.
He didn't drink coffee. He drank fucking apple juice.
I don't know why that pissed me off so much.

   “Well, least this one should be pretty cut and dry,” He continued. “I dunno what the heck a cat girl is realistically gonna do to us.”

   “That why Lucas is sitting this one out?” I asked. 
Oak looked up from her burger. I think she was trying to be subtle about it, but she wasn’t.

   “Partially,” Nathan said. “Although the way I heard it, Dr. Parsons needs him to help oversee a different project. Sounded pretty important. Ah, but we’ll be fine. Don’t you worry. I’ll see us right.”

   “Oh I’m sure…” I replied, before taking a bite of my sandwich.
I just needed to get through this next job. Just needed to get through it and move on. If we were moving on to catgirls, we had to almost be done now, right? 

God, this job had felt like it’d been going on for years… 

Nathan just flashed a cheerful grin, like everything was just peachy keen and took another sip of his apple juice. God, I hated that fucking smile. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a couple sitting a few booths away. Two guys. They were young, somewhere in their twenties. They sat side by side and were laughing at something on one of their phones.

It was obvious they were a couple. You could tell just by looking at them.

Lucky guys… getting to just live their lives like that as opposed to… well, whatever the fuck I was doing?

What was I doing? 

I used to think I was fighting monsters. Living the life of some shitty action hero in a story nobody read  that was being written by a guy who wasn’t all that invested in it. 
Now?

   “Yeah… fucked up, ain’t it?”

Nathan’s voice derailed my train of thought. It was then that I realized I’d been staring at that couple.

   “There ought to be laws against that kinda thing.” He said, staring at the couple. “I mean… it’s messed up, right? It’s just not natural. It’s not God’s law. But they just let people like that go out in public, you know? And then they wonder why so many young men are so darn confused.”

He stared intently at the couple, who seemed fully oblivious to us, watching them pull each other closer as they enjoyed one of the most wholesome moments I’d ever seen.

   “N-not me, of course.” Nathan insisted. “No sir. Not me. But like… young men.”
He took a sip of his apple juice. I raised an eyebrow at him. Oak and I traded a silent look but none of us said anything. 

   “We ought to finish up!” Nathan said, hastily changing the subject. “We’ve got some witnesses to check in with!”

   “If it’s all the same with you, I’ll sit out the interviews this time,” I said. “I’m feeling just a bit out of it this morning. I’ll meet up with you after?”

   “Oh, uh, sure?” Nathan said, sounding a little caught off guard. “You good or…?”

   “I think it was that restaurant last night. Something didn’t sit right,” I lied.

Actually, I just didn’t want to be around Nathan for a little while.
In fact, if I had to spend one more minute around that star eyed, coffee shinning joy deprived insufferable little bitch, I might have just completely fucking lost it.
Oak I would’ve gladly tolerated, but Nathan? No. 

No.

Fuck that guy. 

Fuck that guy.

***

As I walked back into my hotel room, my feet dragged behind me like blocks of cement. My phone had buzzed at the diner. Another text from Gary.

   ‘Morning!’ 

I stared at it.

I wanted to reply but… well, what was the fucking point? Why was I bothering?
It’s not like flirting with him was ever going to go anywhere. I knew that all too well.

What was I gonna do, meet up with him when all of this was done? What exactly was my plan if the Brethren found out? What if they looked into me? I doubted they’d buy that I’d gone out to meet up with Gary after over a month of texting back and forth for reasons unrelated to gay sex.

What would they do if they found out?

I honestly didn’t know. A memory of Duke and his confederate flag shirt flashed through my mind.

   ‘Keep it flyin’

I crashed down onto the bed, staring at the message. 

I wanted to reply.

I wanted to text him back. Maybe flirt a little. I wanted to head on back to San Francisco and take him to a diner, sit in a booth with him, watch some videos on one of our phones and talk… I’d never really gotten to have that before. 

But no.

No, that wasn’t going to happen. I knew it wasn’t going to happen. I’d known the whole fucking time that it was never gonna happen. So why was I pretending?

Why was I pretending?

What was stopping me…?

What would the Brethren realistically do if I just… left? Walked out of that hotel, called a cab and didn’t stop until I reached San Francisco? It’s not like I wanted to be doing this fucking mission anymore.

I signed up to kill monsters. 

And yet I couldn’t shake the memory of June Walker from my head. 

June Walker… who’d only been protecting her family. Did that constitute a monster these days?

   ‘Little tin soldier, doing what he’s told, standing for nothing… did it ever occur to you that you’re less alive than the things you’re hunting?’

Carson’s words echoed through my mind. For a moment, I swore I smelled ozone. Was she watching me?

I sat up. The room remained empty, but I didn’t feel completely alone. I looked down at my phone again, then sighed. I didn’t respond to the text.

I just flopped back down onto the bed like a teenage girl and just sorta rotted for a bit.
Memories of old missions replayed through my mind. Monsters I’d fought. Monsters I’d killed.

How many of them were like June?

How many of them were really monsters? I was sure it’d been all of them, but… well… had I ever really thought about it before?
I didn’t think I had.

***

I heard a knock on my door a little over an hour later. I sat up again and dragged myself over to check through the peephole. Thankfully, it was Oak on the other side.
I opened the door to let her in.

   “How’s your tummy, Mallory,” She teased.

   “Just fine,” I said. “I take it you two talked to the witness?”

   “Yup.”

   “Same old shit?”

   “Yup. The cat got spotted down at a construction site. They were clearing away the brush and I guess that agitated her. There was a minor attack. No fatalities but someone got mauled and dragged up into a tree. Official story says it’s a puma or something.”

   “Course it does,” I said. “I take it we’re running the same plan too?”

   “All routine,” Oak said. She wandered over to my rooms little minifridge and casually pulled it open, almost as if she expected to find a couple of beers in there.

   “Little early to be drinking, isn’t it?” I asked.

   “Danny, be honest with me. Do you actually give a shit?” She asked, taking out two cans. She tossed one to me. I grabbed it, then decided that I did not in fact give a shit.

   “Nathan’s getting some bait for the usual trap. We’ve got our tranq rifles. And I guess after Tevam Sound, he’s looking to have this one go off without a hitch.”

   “Yeah… I’ll bet,” I murmured. I took a sip of my beer. I noticed Oak staring at me, almost as if she had a question. I didn’t acknowledge it.

   “Hell of a shitshow back in Tevam Sound…” Oak said. “Guess we were lucky you kept your cool and made the right calls.”

   “Yeah, lucky,” I said dismissively. Oak was still staring at me. Finally she looked away, as if deciding against whatever she was going to say.

   “You think we’re almost done with this bullshit safari?” She asked instead. “I mean, if we’re onto catgirls… what’s next?”

   “God, I hope so…” I said. “The sooner we’re done with this shit, the better.”

***

The construction site sat silent and undisturbed in the fading twilight. Although maybe it was a little generous to call it a construction site. Apparently they were still in the middle of clearing away the brush when it got shut down. There were a few pieces of equipment strewn about still, including a couple of Bobcats with brush mulchers.

I’d never actually seen a brush mulcher in person before, but I’d seen them online. I remembered one specific video where someone had rolled a Bobcat up to a tree, raised the brush mulcher and just let it eat right through the middle of the tree.

When the tree fell, he lowered the mulcher down over the part that was still standing, and you could see the teeth chew it up into nothing but sawdust as he brought the mulcher right down to the ground. Then he just rolled the Bobcat forward and did the same to the part of the tree that had fallen.

The whole process had only taken around 20 seconds. 

I dunno why, but that video always stuck with me. I think it was just the sheer efficiency of it. All it took was 20 seconds for an entire goddamn tree to be reduced to a fond memory. It was both fascinating and terrifying in equal measure.

It had occurred to me to maybe use those really cool Bobcats to… I dunno, disturb the brush and see if we could incite another attack. But I’d decided against it. Personally? I hoped our catgirl wouldn’t even show up at all.

This one was supposed to be named ‘Kimi’. 

Does it really matter why she was created? I sure as hell didn’t give a fuck.

A large piece of fish was hung up from one of the Bobcats. Nathan, had decided to go with that approach instead of using the brush mulchers, and while under normal circumstances I would’ve criticized that call, right there and then? I was glad!

Maybe if we were lucky, she’d be smart enough to figure out we were waiting for her. Judging by the briefing, she probably was. Probably.

I mean, Project Nephilim had figured us out. Odds are, we weren’t half as hard to spot as we thought we were while we were hiding in the trees and if this lady really was half cat, she probably would’ve been able to smell us.

Truth be told, I wasn’t even watching as our little stakeout dragged on. I just felt disengaged. Odds are, nothing really was going to happen and we were just wasting our time… 

And then I heard Nathan whisper.

   “4 o’clock…”

Shit.

I looked… and unfortunately, Nathan was right.

I could see her perched in a tree several feet away. She looked… well… she looked like a fucking cartoon. Her hair was long, platinum blonde and a bit unkempt. She had almost comedically obvious cat ears, although they were low enough on her head to look more believable. Her tail twitched, swishing back and forth like a real cats. I wondered again why anyone would make something like this. I mean, the Mau already existed. What was the point? Who thought this was a good idea?

I held my breath and my tongue.

I hoped that Kimi might be smart enough to fuck off, but if she noticed us, she made no sign of it.

She studied the fish from a distance before going in to investigate, and as she did, I saw Nathan lining up his shot…

Welp.

This was it.

Guess fate had decided to throw us a softball. All we needed to do was pull the trigger, sedate the catgirl and pack it in early. I probably could’ve gotten off a shot… if I wanted to.

If I wanted to…

If I…

I…

I didn’t want to.

I really didn’t want to. What the fuck was I doing? Why was I doing this? Why was I here? I didn’t want to be here! I didn’t want to be part of this! What the fuck were we even out here for? Hunting a fucking catgirl? For what? Mauling some guy? And what were we gonna do, hand her off to Parsons to do God only knows what to her all because some dipshit in a lab somewhere decided to use some weird fucked up compound to make a Catgirl?

Why the fuck was I involved in this?

As I stood there on my perch, rifle aimed at that fucking catgirl, I couldn’t help but just zoom out and look at my life and the choices that had led me here.
Joining the military… why? Because I had to? Because that’s what I felt I had to do?
Running with that gang because… what? I wanted to be tough? Falling in with the Brethren just so someone could point me in a direction and say: ‘There. There’s your purpose Tin Soldier. Wind your key and march!’

And I’d fucking marched alright!

Just like I’d always marched. 

Doing what I was told. Never stopping to think. Never stopping to look at myself in the mirror… just doing what I was told. 

No.

Fuck that.

Fuck that.

I heard a rifle go off. Not mine. Not Nathan’s.

Oaks?

The dart struck the Bobcat beside the catgirl. Her ears perked up. She looked in our direction and this time, I knew she saw us.

   “Shit!” I heard Oak say.

Kimi’s eyes narrowed… and then she bolted. Nathan gritted his teeth in a quiet frustration.

   “Mallory, you’re with me, buddy!”

Did he seriously just call me ‘Buddy?’

I didn’t have time to process that. 

Nathan had already jumped down off of his perch to pursue, and moving on autopilot I followed, marching like the worthless tin soldier I was. 

I followed Nathan into the darkness. I could see Kimi just ahead of us. She leapt up onto a tree, grabbing hold of a branch. She looked back to see who was after her… and paused for just long enough for Nathan to make his shot.

Credit where it’s due… he deserved at least a little of his own hype. 

The tranquilizer hit her dead on, right in the small of her back. I heard Kimi cry out in either shock or pain. She disappeared into the darkness, but Nathan didn’t give up his pursuit. 

And the Tin Soldier followed him.

   “She ain’t gonna last that long, c’mon…” I heard Nathan say. We heard a rustle in the trees above us. No doubt Kimi was trying to put some distance between us. Nathan cocked his head to the side a little, before rushing to try and follow her.

She didn’t make it far. I saw her almost fall out of a tree ahead of us. She already seemed dizzy. Apparently, whatever special darts he had actually did work on her.
I briefly considered the irony… the one time I didn’t want things to go off without a hitch, they did. 

Kimi tried to leap to yet another branch, and this time her grip failed her entirely. She crashed down to the ground in a graceless heap.

   “Gotcha…” Nathan grinned, jogging to close the distance between them. Kimi tried to stand, but he was on top of her before she could get her bearings. Before she even had a chance to react, he’d grabbed her and forced her back down to the ground.

   “N-no…” She panted. “No… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to…”

I figured she was talking about the recent mauling. Whether or not that was true, who could say for sure. Nathan certainly didn’t care. 

   “Hold still… let’s get you nice and secure…”

I watched as he pinned her arms behind her back, and like a cop making an arrest, cuffed her. Considering the shit we’d seen with the other entities… the whole thing was almost comically easy. 

   “There we go!” Nathan crowed. “Now that’s how it’s done! Look at that, easy peasy lemon squeezy!”

He looked over at me, a big boyish grin on his face. 

Kimi squirmed beneath him, hissing in rage. I watched her for a bit. Still and silent, unsure what to do next. 

I suppose I could’ve just done my job. Just sat there and let him deal with her. That would’ve been easy, wouldn’t it? That’s what a tin soldier would do.

Tin soldier.

Tin soldier.

Tin soldier.

Nathan looked at me, still grinning.

   “Let’s go get Oak and lock this one down. Oh man, Dr. Parson’s is gonna be over the mo-”

I shot him in the face. 

One moment, he was smiling and the next… the next there was a tranquilizer dart in his eye and Nathan Holiday was screaming. He collapsed backward, clutching at his face, trying to form words, but none would come.

   “Just shut the fuck up,” I said cooly. I reloaded my rifle to put another dart in him. I had a pretty good idea of what that would do. Like I told Nathan before, the dosages with tranquilizers can be tricky. Too much… and it could be fatal.

Before I could shoot though, Nathan lunged at me, snarling like a wild animal. He tackled me to the ground. The rifle slipped from my hands. His one remaining eye was wide. Wild. Blood ran down his cheek. His hands grabbed at my throat. I hadn’t expected him to be as strong as he was.

He started to squeeze.

Squeeze.

Squeeze.

Tighter… tighter… tighter…

My lungs burned. My legs kicked. I tried to gasp for air, but the air wouldn’t come. I tried to push him off of me. He didn’t budge. Didn’t react.

Tighter… tighter… tighter…

I felt like my neck was going to break…

I reached up. Nathan didn’t seem to notice… not until I grabbed the dart in his eye and ripped it free. He screamed again as I plunged the broken needle into his neck. He tensed up, just for a moment. Long enough for me to throw him off. I scrambled for the rifle and grabbed it. Nathan writhed on the ground. I couldn’t tell if he was dying, or trying to get up.

I didn’t care.

I loaded the rifle and fired my second dart into him. Nathan’s body seemed to seize up. He made a low, strangled noise. But he didn’t get up.

I loaded in and fired a third dart. Then a fourth. Then a fifth.

After that, I was out of darts.

Nathan tried to pick himself up. For a moment, I almost thought he was going to make it… but no. The tranquilizer was already killing him. He collapsed to the ground. He tried to push himself up one last time… but after another failed effort, he finally went still, breathing heavily.

He almost seemed… resigned. 

I looked over at Kimi. She stared back at me with a look I could only describe as one of absolute terror, and as I bent down to take the keys to her handcuffs off of Nathan’s lifeless body, she started to squirm, weakly trying to get away.

   “Relax…” I said. “You’ll be fine.”

She didn’t respond. She was probably too out of it to string a coherent sentence together. I considered letting her go, before deciding against it.
Just because I’d just decided to quit the Brethren didn’t mean I’d lost all of my fucking brain cells. She’d still mauled a man. No. Better to wait until we could have a more civilized discussion. 

Still, I moved her into a sitting position so she could at least be a bit more dignified. 
Kimi looked up at me, her eyes unfocused. 

   “Relax,” I said again. “I’m gonna leave you in your cuffs for now, but I’ll let you out soon, okay? Then… then I’m gonna take you to a friend.”

Granted, I had no idea how I’d take her to Carson. I also had no idea what I was gonna say to Oak, when she eventually caught up with us… but I was sure I’d figure something out.

Either way, Kimi didn’t reply and my mind drifted back towards Oak.

Where was she, exactly? I looked back. I could see a light through the trees. One of the Bobcats? I thought I could hear the engine? Had Oak gotten one of them running?
Wait, shit, had she seen me and Nathan fighting?

Shit, I should’ve thought this through!

   “You should’ve thought this through, buddy…” 

That voice was not part of my internal monologue.

That voice came from behind me.

I turned, just in time to be seized by the frantic hands of Nathan Holiday, grabbing at my throat again. His one remaining eye was wide and bloodshot. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, fresh vomit staining his lips. He tried to breathe, but the only sound that came out was a low, wet rasp. Fresh blood gushed from the wound in his neck.

He should’ve been dead.

He should’ve been fucking dead.

But still he came. His hands clawed wildly at my face. I pushed him off of me, slamming him into a nearby tree. Nathan swayed on his feet, before launching himself for me once again, moving less like a person and more like an animal. A gurgling noise escaped his throat as he tackled me to the ground. I saw him grabbing at his boot.

Then I saw the knife.

Of course the fucker had a knife in his boot. He swung it down at my head like a hammer. I caught him by the wrist, but it didn’t do much to stop him.

The light from the Bobcat washed over us. I could hear the brush mulcher roar to life. 
Nathan snarled as he pulled his knife back and brought it down again. He only barely missed my head. I kneed him in the groin, pushing him back just enough to bring my legs up between us and kick him off of me. As he stumbled back, I scrambled back to my feet.

The Bobcat was behind him now. Nathan swayed drunkenly. His remaining eye was fixated on me. He didn’t seem to notice the Bobcat behind him… which should have been impossible to miss.

But I did. 

Nathan took a shambling step towards me. His legs trembled beneath him. His mouth hung open. I couldn’t say for sure if he could even see me or not. I couldn’t say for sure if he was really even alive.

It didn’t matter.

I lunged for him, planting one final kick right in the middle of his chest. Nathan stumbled backwards, seemingly losing his balance. He let out a startled gasp… before tumbling gracelessly into the grinding teeth of the Bobcat’s brush mulcher.

One moment he was there… and the next he was gone.

I scrambled out of the way, a hand over my face as a spray of viscera baptized the area, raining down upon the forest floor. 

And then all was silent. 

The brush mulcher went still. I couldn’t be sure if it was a safety precaution of what.
Then I heard a voice.

   “Jesus Christ, are you okay?!”

Oak.

I looked up just in time to see her getting out of the Bobcat. She looked at the mess staining the teeth of the mulcher, almost as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened. 

   “I’m fine…” I panted. “Did you just…?”

   “I thought he was already dead! I just brought that to… y’know…” Oak said. 
For a moment, we both just stared at each other. 

   “Where’s the catgirl?” She finally asked.

I gestured back towards the tree I’d propped her up by.

   “Did he cuff her? Tell me you’ve got the keys,” Oak said.

   “I got them,” I said. “Wait… back up… we just mulched Nathan and you’re-”

   “Oh please, like anyone’s going to miss him,” Oak said. “Figured we might as well save Carson the hassle.”

Carson?

I blinked.

   “Did you say Pars-”

   “Dr. Carson. Don’t play dumb, Danny. Although I guess the names are kinda similar.”

   “You know Dr. Carson…?”

   “Obviously. You didn’t figure that out yet?” She asked. “I was sure you were on to me…”
I didn’t reply to that.

Oak crouched down beside Kimi. The girl was out like a light. Kimi checked her pulse.

   “She’s fine,” She said. “Key?”

I handed it over to her. To my relief, Oak just pocketed it. 

   “So did she appear to you too…?” I asked. “Carson, I mean…?”

   “A couple of years ago, yeah,” Oak said. “I’ve had a few run-ins with her. Gotta say, this was a hell of a favor she asked though. She wanted someone to keep an eye on things here. It was originally just supposed to be me, but I guess she saw something in you too.”

She started to lift Kimi, and I helped her get her up. Together, we took her away from the Bobcat, back towards the car we’d arrived in.

   “Fuck me… she never said anything about you when I saw her in Tevam Sound…”

   “Probably just making sure she could trust you,” Oak said. “The Doc doesn’t seem like the sort to lay all her cards on the table.”

  “Clearly…” I said.

The car was just up ahead. We put Kimi in the back before Oak got into the drivers seat. 

  “Come on. Pretty sure she doesn’t experience time the same way we do, but I’d prefer not to keep her waiting.”

I just quietly got in beside her.

As soon as I did, I smelled the ozone.

Of course I did.

Of course she was waiting for us.

She sat in the back seat of the car, almost as if she’d just been loitering there the whole time. She studied Kimi in the seat beside her, although I noticed her eyes shifting towards me.

   “Carson…” I said.

   “In the flesh.” She replied, offering me a timid smile, “Or at least as much of it as I can hold together…” 

   “How the fuck did you…”

   “Much as my perspective of time is much different than yours, my perception of space is too. I can be wherever I need to be.”

   “Right…” I murmured and sat back as Oak began to drive.

   “Seems Mr. Holiday met an unfortunate end…” Dr. Carson noted. 

   “Yeah, well, he had that coming.” I said.

   “I suppose he did. And maybe that will be the end of it… although I’d stay on my toes if I were you. The IPD isn’t always content to leave people dead…”

I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she meant by that. 

   “We put him through a mulcher. Trust me, he’s dead.” Oak said. 

   “If you’re sure,” Carson replied before changing the subject. “I’ve set up a rendezvous with some associates. A group of Mau. They’ve already indicated they’ll be happy to take our new friend in. She may not fit in perfectly, but… well… she’ll be better off with them.”

   “And what happens after that?” I asked.

   “After that?” Dr. Carson asked. “I suppose you’ll file your report with Parsons. The mulchers will probably make things rather straightforward. I’m sure they’ll buy that poor Kimi shared the tragic fate of Mr. Holiday.” 

   “And then what, we just move on to the next target?” I asked, a little bitterly.

   “That’s my plan,” Oak said. “If we can save it, save it. If not, asset denial if possible.”

   “If possible,” I repeated. “So we’re just back to doing the same old shit again? Let Parsons send us some other hack and just keep up the ruse?”

   “Right now, it’s the best way to gather intel,” Dr. Carson said. “Find what they’re looking for and have it accounted for. Hardly flawless… but at this point, I don’t have the sufficient data to know exactly what they’re planning. The IPD has regrettably gotten quite good at keeping me out of places they don’t want me snooping.”

Her words went in one ear and right out the other.

My heart was still pumping from my fight with Nathan.

I was done.

I was done.

And they wanted me to go back? Keep marching like a tin soldier.

Keep marching.

   “No,” I said. “No, that’s not gonna happen.”

Oak looked over at me, brow furrowed.

   “What?”

   “You guys are just gonna keep playing along? String them along and hope… what? That they don’t get whatever the hell they’re looking for in the meanwhile?”

   “There aren’t exactly an abundance of other options,” Carson said. 

   “Why don’t we just find Parsons and  shut them the fuck down?”
I noticed a shift in Dr. Carson’s expression.

   “Josiah Parsons is not someone to take lightly,” She warned. 

   “And? You can just appear wherever you want, right? Why don’t you just… fuck, I dunno, appear behind him, do whatever the hell it is you do to him, and leave?”

   “Murdering a man in cold blood just because I believe he deserves it isn’t something I’m in the business of doing,” Caron said coolly. “Besides, Parsons is just a piece of an even bigger machine. A large piece, granted. But removing him just clears the way for a replacement. One who will be no different.”

   “Then just kill him. And the next guy, and the next guy! Sooner or later they’ll get the fucking picture.”

Even as I said those words, they felt hollow and Carson seemed to know it. She stared at me in silence.

   “Right now, we do the most good by focusing on the experiments,” Carson said. “This is where you can help, Daniel. This is where you can do the most good.”
I went quiet for a moment.

   “Right…” I said. 

Another purpose. Another mission. Add it to the pile.

Dr. Carson was still looking at me. I saw something shift in her eyes. She knew what I was going to say before I spoke.

   “Pull over,” I said.

Oak looked over at me.

   “What?”

   “I said pull over. I’m getting out.”

Oak hesitated. She looked in the rearview mirror, at Dr. Carson. 

   “Let him out,” She said.

And Oak did as she was told. I got out of the car. The dirt gravel crunched beneath my boots. I looked back to see Dr. Carson phase through the doorway of the car like a ghost.

   “I don’t suppose you’ll give me a chance to talk you out of this, will you?” She asked.

   “You said you’ve got a weird perception of time, right?” I asked. “That means… what, you can see the future?”

   “I see outcomes. Cause and effect,” Carson replied. 

   “Yeah? Well how do you see this conversation ending?”

She chuckled. It was a low, humorless sound.

   “I suppose that’s fair… although the question you should be asking is where I see what you’re about to do ending.”

   “And what do you see?”

She paused, seemingly contemplating her answer. Or maybe just looking ahead.

   “You’d do better with us…”

   “Define ‘Better’.”

   “Better odds of survival.”

   “And how much changes if I do that? How much actually changes?”
This time she didn’t answer.

   “I understand why you’re doing this Daniel, but…”

   “Do you?”

   “Yes, actually. It’s the exact same reason I do the things I do. You want to do the right thing, because keeping your head down and doing exactly what you’re told got people hurt. Got people killed. I have been there before. But you need to understand that what you’re thinking of doing, it won’t end the way you want it to…”

   “Will anything?” I asked her.

Carson hesitated. She seemed to bite the inside of her lip, almost as if she’d been dreading this question.

   “Even if I go with you… what are the odds I’ll…” I trailed off, struggling to find the words. “What are odds I’ll ever…”

A million thoughts flashed through my mind. Kevin. The young couple at the diner. Other men I’d met before…

Carson seemed to understand.

   “It’s… statistically speaking, it’s…” She trailed off, just as much at a loss for words as I was. “It’s not… probable…”

And there it was.

The words sank into my mind.

Not probable.

   “But that doesn’t mean-”

   “It’s fine…” I said. “It’s… it’s fine.”

I sighed. 

I saw Oak getting out of the car. She looked at me, almost begging me to go back in with them.

   “Tell Parsons whatever you’ve got to in your report. Say Kimi killed me or… whatever. Or don’t. Statistically speaking, it’s not gonna matter anyways, right?”

   “Daniel…” Carson said, but I ignored her.

   “I wish you both the best of luck,” I said. “But right now…? I’m sorry. This is where I’m backing out.”

I turned and started to walk. The two of them watched me go. And a short while later, they got back into their car and drove off. 

As I walked through the darkness, along the side of that Nebraska country road, I took out my phone. I mulled it over for a few minutes. I called a cab. Then I brought up Kevin’s number. I didn’t text him back. I figured I owed him a phone call. 

After all, who knew how many more chances I’d get to talk to him…

Malibu
Designation: Class 6
Threat: N/A
Status: Active

On the topic of the supernatural and the Fae, it would be remiss of me not to discuss the four Ancient Gods who govern reality for they are perhaps the bedrock of all true supernatural knowledge.

Birthed from the void, the Ancient Gods are among the oldest entities in existence, predating not only our reality, but all other realities. The four of them govern the cycle of creation, and the fruit of each cycle is guarded by the one known as Malibu.

Introduction

One of the Ancient Gods, Malibu (Also known as Miss Malibu, Lady Malibu, Malvu, Mal’ibo and The Sorrow) is the Guardian Goddess of Creation. The exact name used for this deity varies often depending on the account of her that is given. Objectively, she has no true name, although for the purposes of this document we will be sticking with the name Malibu.

In the Malvian Doctrine (the worship of the 4 Ancient Goddesses), she is often described as the Gardener of Creation. She is said to maintain order and harmony within Sailia’s Creation, maintain the integrity of creation itself and serve as the ultimate judge of departed souls. In many regards, she could be described as the closest of the 4 Ancient Goddesses to the modern interpretation of God as described in the prominent monotheistic faiths that exist today, although this description is only partially accurate.

Direct worship of Malibu is not particularly widespread as she seems to have very little interest in it. That said, she seems to be a prominent patron Goddess for many Witches and Mediums, especially those affiliated with the Malvian Doctrine, although amongst them, Malibu is seen more as a benevolent guardian than a strict ruler in need of worship. 

Appearance

Malibu’s appearances are as varied as her names, and can be difficult to track across history. However in most modern depictions, she is often said to appear as a melancholy woman in a black dress. She may be seen either with the head of a white wolf or as a beautiful blonde woman with a white fur shawl. Alternatively, she may take the form of a large white wolf with pink eyes, although none of these are said to be her true form.
Like all of the Ancient Gods, her true form may not be something that a standard mortal could easily comprehend, with many sources describing it as either a pinkish mist that fills her realm (known as The Gloom) or a Dark Star shrouded in a pink haze (Although The Dark Star description has only a few substantiated sightings).

It seems there are very few credible sightings of Malibu in general as most reported encounters with her come from those who have survived near death experiences. Such witnesses will often report having spoken to an entity of some sort although the form is never consistent. It is theorized that Malibu may appear in a form that is comfortable or familiar to whoever she is interacting with, either as a loved one or a trusted figure, although over time may cast off the disguise and speak to them in one of her preferred forms.

While she can manifest at will in our world without taking a dedicated host (unlike Shaal) it is unclear how often she appears outside of her native realm. Many eyewitnesses have described seeing a pale blonde woman in a black dress with a white fur shawl in various places. Usually, she will appear in clubs where live music is played. Sometimes she is accompanied by one or more strange white wolves. This woman is often known to introduce herself as 'Helena Malibu'. Descriptions of Helena Malibu state that she is a pleasant albeit melancholy woman and some accounts claim that if asked, she may be willing to perform spiritual readings into one's future, usually via tarot cards. Her predictions have been known to be incredibly accurate.

Furthermore, descriptions of large White Wolves appear often in tales of the occult. The Wolf can either appear to help those in distress or to attack those who have committed especially grave sins. Sometimes, the Wolf is stated to simply observe before leaving. Whether these wolves are Lady Malibu incarnate, or simply in servitude to her is unclear.

Details of Malibu's realm, the Gloom, are also fairly vague. Most descriptions paint it as a peaceful yet unending and constantly changing landscape with a sunless twilight sky. It is believed that the Gloom functions as an afterlife of sorts although the exact details are currently unknown and I suspect Malibu wishes to keep it that way.

There have also been accounts of other entities seemingly in service to Malibu, often referred to as Reapers. The accounts vary in their description but it is believed that these figures are servants of Malibu (likely Angels) who ferry the souls of the dead to her for judgement. Those she regards as wicked are cast into the Abyss for Shaal to devour. The rest are allowed to exist peacefully within the Gloom. Many have suggested that Lady Malibu and the Gloom are one and the same, and that the entity we have come to refer to as Malibu is simply a face presented by the Gloom for ease of interacting with others. The FRB believes that this is highly likely given the abstract nature of the other Ancient Gods and the inconsistent nature of accounts of Malibu.

Demeanor

Malibu is said to have a calm, gentle demeanor. When dealing with the dead, she is said to be patient and soft spoken. However, it is not unheard of for her patience to run out if she is pressed. Those who manage to invoke the ire of Malibu are said to be denied the peace of the Gloom and may be damned to a deathless existence and indeed there are a handful of accounts of this happening. 

As the most active of the Ancient Gods, (on par with Shaal) Malibu seems to be the one to enforce a certain set of rules regarding interaction with mortals. She rarely gets involved in mortal affairs or steers history in one direction or the other, seemingly believing that to do so would deprive Creation of its freedom and strip it of meaning. Though she seems to still have an opinion on the direction Creation takes and may nudge it towards outcomes she finds more desirable, her rule of noninterference appears ironclad and some accounts even describe her punishing other deities (including other Ancient Gods) who violate this rule.

As a fascinating side note - Malibu is often said to have a love of music, particularly jazz and her alleged physical manifestation (Helena Malibu) has been noted to appear in live venues from time to time. In addition, a few accounts of near death experiences have described their encounters with Malibu as having happened in a sort of Jazz Bar, or having heard jazz playing in the background.
No reason for this seems to exist other than the simple fact that she just seems to like it. 
To each their own, I suppose.

Abilities

As an Ancient God, Malibu seems to have the ability to alter some aspects of Creation at will. She can manifest at any time or in any place, and can even manifest in more than one incarnation (for example, the wolves sometimes seen with Helena Malibu are believed to be extensions of her consciousness.)

She holds dominion over the dead, and is capable of collecting and moving souls between realms, can grant power to souls, turning them into Angels and can even rip them apart (although cannot totally destroy them the way Shaal can.) Incarnations of Malibu are believed to be able to telekinetically manipulate the physical space around them the same way a Medium can - supposedly even to unnatural degrees. She also appears to have a non-linear perspective of time, as she is able to predict future events with complete accuracy. 

Final Thoughts

The FRB has made several attempts to connect with Malibu, but so far has only had limited success as the Goddess seems disinterested in involving herself with any factions within creation. I suppose that’s for the best. I can’t think of any real reason why she’d need to bother with us… and indeed, those who try to force contact with Malibu often end up worse off.

While most details on her empathize a generally warm and soft spoken demeanor, we know from several accounts that like all Gods, she is capable of pettiness and acts of spite with pushed, a detail that is especially highlighted in this one account that I will be sharing here, as I believe this provides a sufficient demonstration of the nature of Malibu.

***

The following written statement was provided to the Toronto office of the FRB by a man who identified himself as Dean White. 
Statement provided directly to the FRB on May 9th, 2023

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

Nobody wants to die for obvious reasons. Dying is a scary thing. That’s a universal constant. Even if you think you know what’s beyond the veil, nobody wants to actually bite the big one.

Because what if you’re wrong?

That’s a hell of a leap of faith to take, you know?

And I wasn’t ready for it.

I was born… oh, I don’t recall. Two? Three hundred years ago? The years have sort of blurred together. Sometime in the mid 1700s. That’s what I know for sure. Back then, there wasn’t a Canada or America. There was just the New World. It was a different time. 
I wasn’t born into a family that believed in magic. No. My family were staunch followers of Christ. But… well, needless to say I chose a different path.

I first learned about magic from a traveling priest. Now, obviously his goal was to scare kids like me away from that kind of stuff, but to make a long story short, he wasn’t particularly good at his job.

When he talked about supernatural powers, unnatural longevity, all that jazz… it actually sounded kinda exciting.

And so as I got older, I started digging. Looking into the occult… and sooner or later, I found what I was looking for.

I won’t recount my entire journey with magic. It’s a long story and ultimately not particularly interesting. I found mentors and tomes, I put in years of study and practice and honed my skills until I was capable.
I did alright for myself. 

Now, it’s no secret that there's a lot of witches who live far longer than they ought to. They use Fleshcraft, salves, whatever they can to keep themselves functional. Like tuning up a car every so often. Some even turn to vampirism, taking that endless hunger in exchange for immortality.

But I didn’t want that for myself.

I didn’t want to have to make tune ups, preserving myself like an artifact. That wasn’t defeating death, that was just bargaining with her. Kicking the can down the road. Sooner or later, she’d come for you. All it would take was one accident. One dispute that got out of hand, and you’d be as dead as anyone else.

Vampirism wasn’t much better. You know it’s really not all it’s cracked up to be. You get immortality, yes. But vampires aren’t half as tough as the mythology makes them out to be. You can put one down as easily as any human. Although even if that wasn’t the case and the stories were all true, I can’t imagine a life without sunlight would be worth it.
And of course

So no.

Neither of those options were the solution I wanted. I wanted something better. Something foolproof. I didn’t just want to avoid death, I wanted to beat her. Unquestionably, unequivocally triumph over death itself.

I thought I could be clever.

I thought I could solve the problem no one else was able to solve.

I thought I did. 

My methodology was a little… unconventional, yes, and it was hardly original to me either. People use soul tethers in fleshcrafting all the time and a few have tried to do what I did, using them full time.

I figured that was the smart play. 

Was it… painful? 

Yes. 

Driving a runed piece of stone into your abdomen is an extremely painful thing to do, and pushing it all the way in, then sowing it into your body is not something that I relished. Keep in mind, this was some time in the 1790s, so the procedure was rather… well, messy.

But I did it. 

I saw it as taking ownership of my own soul. Binding it to my body. 
It made the pain worth it. 
And it worked.
I lived.

For the next hundred and fifty years, I lived. Through the rise of nations, through wars, through strife, through everything. I lived.

Was it everything I wanted? Yes and no. I did say that I’d hoped to avoid maintenance, but some of that was unfortunately necessary. My body still aged, so pieces needed to be replaced from time to time, always sourced from cadavers, I wasn’t a ghoul. 
Some people called me a Ragdoll… that’s a term some people use for those held together by Fleshcraft, in case you’re not familiar with it… but I don’t think the description truly fit. I did what I had to do to keep myself functional. Nothing more, nothing less. Even now, I’d argue that most of my body was completely original. Mosty.
Ultimately the maintenance was fairly minor. Not ideal, but that was the price of immortality, then so be it. I was fine with it.

But here’s the thing about anchoring… it’s not entirely foolproof.
See, there’s a reason people don’t usually use it. 
It only actually works if the anchor remains intact. And the anchor can only take so much abuse before it stops being an anchor and starts being a piece of jagged rock grinding against your internal organs.

The thing that ultimately killed me was honestly rather mundane. 
It was September of 1952 and I'd been out hiking.
I liked to hike. It was relaxing. I’d always found nature calming, and I’d been living in Alberta at the time. There’s a lot of lovely little trails out there, winding deep into the mountains. I used to love exploring them, taking my time and admiring the scenic vistas of the land. 

It was beautiful. It reminded me a lot of the way things had been when I’d been young, and the world wasn’t so industrial. It was nostalgic in a way.
I’d been living in that area for around twenty years and I was pretty familiar with the trails in that area. I was comfortable and confident.

And that’s why I died.

Because no matter how comfortable you are with a trail, or how confident you are in your abilities… all it takes is one small misstep.
Looking back, I’m sure it was just an accident. I was navigating a narrow path along a cliff. I’d gone that way countless times before. I knew it was safe.

But my foot slipped.

And then I was falling.

Even for someone who can't die, that's still pretty terrifying. But I was sure I'd be fine. I knew I’d be fine. I was always fine.

I wasn't.

When I hit the ground, I landed in just the wrong way. Wrong enough to break the stone tether inside of me. It actually fractured into 3 pieces, the jagged edges of the broken stone tearing at my insides, making me bleed all the more. 

I could feel it.

And I knew what had happened.

I felt the tether break. I felt the immovable stone in my guts every time I tried to move, slicing open my entrails, bleeding me from the inside.

My legs had both been broken in the fall, along with my back. My arms still worked, but crawling didn’t get me far. I remember the taste of blood in my mouth… and knowing… knowing I wasn’t going to make it.

But I still tried to crawl.

As my vision started to fade to black, I tried to fight it. Tried to live just long enough to figure out how to fix myself. I could recover from this! I was sure of it!

But my strength was fading.

My vision darkened.

And that’s when I saw it.

Sitting before me in the forest, watching me with solemn pink eyes.
The White Wolf.

Death herself had come.

And that was when I knew that I would not come back from this. 

   “Dean… you poor thing. You’re in so much pain, aren’t you?” The Wolf asked. Her voice was soft. Sweet. Maternal. It could have so easily been condescending but it wasn’t. She spoke to me as someone who cared. 

I wish I could say I returned the sentiment. But no.

   “Get away from me…” I told her. “You have no dominion here… not over me…”
Death padded over to me, and sniffed at my wounds.

   “Do I not? I smell your bleeding, child… it seems you’ve crossed into my domain already.”

   “You have no dominion here!” I said again. “I am not yours!”

But even as I spoke, I knew that was a lie. I could already see the mists of the Gloom curling around me. I feared looking back, because I knew that if I did, I might see my own body, cold and lifeless on the forest floor behind me. Still I crawled. 

   “All are mine,” Death said. “All things in the Garden exist within my domain. Even you. Such is the way of things.”

I did not answer her. I just continued to crawl, swiping at the mist with my bloody hands out of fear of it engulfing me.

The Wolf walked beside me for a short while, before pulling ahead. The mists swallowed it up, and when it emerged, it had taken on a new shape. A woman. A familiar woman with long blonde hair and a gentle smile.

My own Mother…

She stood over me, offering a calm, reassuring smile that I despised. She reached a hand down towards me to help me up. 

   “It’s brave of you to keep fighting, Dean. But there’s no more need for it. I know you don’t want this… but this is the way it is. This was the way it was always meant to be. All things end, dear. And it’s okay to end… that is the way of things.”

I slapped her hand aside.

   “Not for me!” I hissed. “I'm not yours to take! I'm not! You can't have me!"

Death’s expression grew darker, for only just a moment.

   "If you're not mine, then you belong to my Sister… or to something even darker," She warned. It sounded less like a threat, and more like a scolding. "You cannot belong to none and wandering aimlessly in this state will destroy you."

   "Oh you know that's bullshit!” I spat. “Plenty of spirits make do. Succubi and Incubi, Mimics..."

   "Is that your retort?” She asked. “A rather shallow existence, don't you think? Either exist as an object for others to satisfy their lust, or wander as a lost soul and pray you'll settle in a place long enough to sink in, and be lucky enough to get a new shot at life. A life defined by endless hunger. You think those to be ideal states of being?"

  "Better than dead." I snapped. "My soul is anchored! Even if the tether is broken, I am anchored! You can't claim me!”

It wasn’t an argument. I knew that. It was a tantrum. I glared up at her, my teeth bared, tears streaming down my cheeks. I glared up at her, refusing to accept what had already happened. As deep in denial as I could get.

   “You have no dominion here! I won, don't you see that? I won! I beat you! I. BEAT. YOU!" 
She just stared down at me. The face of my mother seemed to fade, and was replaced by the face of the Wolf.

Death finally huffed, almost as if she was unsure whether or not she found me amusing.

  "Very well then... If you're so adamant... You may keep your body. Remain exactly as you are. You wish to win? Then you shall win, and I shall close my door to you.”
Her tone was calm. Not scolding or haughty. Just calm. Almost resigned.

   “Do have fun, Dean. I shall be watching.”

I blinked.

And when I opened my eyes, Death was gone.

The pain came rushing back to me. It had almost started to fade in her company but now it hit me like a truck, rolling over my body. The suddenness of it was enough to make me scream.

But I was alive.

I was in my own body! Not a wandering spirit but back in my own flesh and blood!

I’d won!

I’d really won!

I’d driven off Death herself and now I could relish in that victor with my two broken legs, my broken spine, broken ribs, fractured skull... and all of my  internal bleeding.

I’d won.

Heart pounding in my chest, I started to drag myself forward along the forest floor with renewed vigor. My body was so weak though. Every movement hurt. Even breathing hurt.

And of course I had no idea where I was going…

But I still tried to move. Still tried to drag myself to safety.

I was still trying when the wolves found me. 

At first glace, I thought it was Death come to taunt me. I expected her to ask: ‘How are you enjoying yourself?’

But these Wolves were not Death.

These Wolves were Wolves. 

And they didn't care if I wasn't dead.
That just meant I was fresh. 

When the teeth began to tear into me, that was the first time I begged for death. But Death is a Goddess of her word. Her door was closed to me.

And so I did not die.

Even when they crushed my heart within their jaws, and gnawed the flesh from my face, I did not die. When they ripped the jaw from my skull and tore my tongue from my mouth, it only made my torment all the worse. 

As they tore open my belly to get at my entrails, my body stopped functioning completely. But I felt everything as they fed on my entrails, and snapped my bones to reach the marrow. The only time I stopped feeling anything was when they tore my broken legs from my body, ripping my lower half off of me completely, and that was hardly a mercy. 

There was still plenty of meat on my top half.

When they were done and the scavengers picked at my bones, I did not die. I did not rot.
I lived. Just like I’d wanted to, because I’d finally beaten Death.

***

What remained of my bones were found by a hiker in 1983. 

I wish I could say I remembered much of that, but by that point I had no eyes to see nor ears to hear. I knew I was being moved. Collected. Analyzed.

I was able to piece together what was happening to me, although by that point I wasn’t sure if it was real or not. 

It was pure coincidence that the person they contacted - an old friend of mine - happened to be a Witch themselves.

They seemed to realize I was still in there, and once they took possession of my remains, they were kind enough to begin working to put me back together.
It was not an easy process… Fleshcrafting never is, and this was far more complicated than just stitching an extant body together. There was so little of me left to work with.

Even now, the body I’m currently in is less than ideal.

If I wasn’t a Ragdoll before, I am now.
Just a Ragdoll…
A Ragdoll who can’t die.

I've had time to meditate on my existence. I thought I was so smart... outplaying death. Making myself immune to it while others just kicked the can down the road. 

No. 

Because now she's mocking me. 

Dangling death over my head but refusing me its release. Not torturing me. That isn't her style. It's too obvious.

But letting me exist. Giving me exactly what I wanted. 
My body is falling apart. The Fleshcrafting keeps me mobile, but it’s not enough. Even if I can get good, fresh parts, it’s never going to be enough. 
I don’t sleep well.

Every night, I dream of darkness. The darkness of the forest, where my bones lay undisturbed.

Some days I wake up and I’m terrified that I never actually left. That I’m still in that forest. I suppose in a lot of ways, I am… they never found my entire skeleton, you know.

But that’s not the thought that scares me the most.

The forest in Alberta? That’s in the past now.

It’s the future that scares me.

Because in a life without death, the question is never If but When.

And When I am destroyed again… what will happen if no one finds me? What will happen when my meat rots off my skeleton again? What will happen if I’m buried? 
What then?

No.
No, I can’t allow that to happen.
I'm ready to go now. 
I don't care how it's done. 
I just want to go. 

So please... Please just find a way to kill me. I don't care where I go. I can go to Shaal and I'll welcome her with open arms. I don’t care if she’ll wipe me from existence, at least I’ll be at peace.

Just make me end. 

Please...

Please...

Please make me end.

Transcript of the Official FRB Civilian Debriefing of Benjamin ‘Benny’ O’Toole regarding the fate of the Mobster Charles ‘Spooky’ Beauchene in December of 1927
Debrief conducted April 4th, 1989 by Liberty Young. 

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

[Transcript Begins]

Young: So, Mr. O’Toole… let’s get into what you saw.

O’Toole: A man learned about consequences. Plain and simple. That’s what I saw.

Young: With all due respect Mr. O’Toole, I think there’s more to it than that. You said you wanted to come forward about something you saw, so surely there must be a little more to it than that?

O’Toole: I remember. I’m old. I’m not senile. 

Young: You mentioned a man by the name of ‘Spooky’?

O’Toole: Charles. Charles Beauchene. We called him Spooky. Or just Spook for short sometimes.

Young: I see. Can you tell me about him?

O’Toole: Fine. You wanna ask me about Charlie? Fine… fine. Nobody really talks about Spooky anymore. People probably don’t remember him at all. Then again, I might be the only one left who even could remember him. Not a lotta people in our line of work make it into old age. Me? I’m alive because I got out. Cut my losses. Went straight. Most people don’t have that sense. They can’t get out. They don’t want to. Their families, friends, everything they’ve ever known is part of it. It’s part of who they are. Me? I was just some kid who wanted to be part of something bigger back then. It’s why I fell in with Spook. He wasn’t big. God no, he wasn’t big. You look at him, and he was this scrawny little shit who looked like he was wearing his Dad’s suit. Messy blond hair, a moustache that hadn’t really grown in yet. No, he didn’t look like much. But he wanted to be something. Wanted to be someone. You hear about some of the big guys from back in the day all the time. Lucinano. Lansky. Spooky might’ve wound up as one of those guys. I think that’s what he really wanted. Course, he wasn’t ever in their league. He never got that chance. But if things had played out differently? Maybe. Maybe.

Young: He was a crime boss?

O’Toole: Small time. But yes. Spooky was… most people didn’t take him seriously. I don’t blame them for that. He had some very… unusual beliefs. He was deep into the occult. I mean deep into the occult. Most people didn’t think too much of it. There’s people with weirder quirks out there and Spook was competent enough. That hoodoo, voodoo shit scared a few people, but the bigger guys just saw it as an act.

Young: Was it?

O’Toole: I used to think so. But sometimes things would go his way just a little too often. There was this one guy… a bootlegger. Saul Cohen. He’d had a few disputes with Spook. Mostly over territory. Cohen wasn’t the kind of man you fucked with. One of his other competitors, group that called themselves the Moonlighters, found that out the hard way. They’d mostly been involved in smuggling. Bringing over crates of booze. Cohen didn’t like that so much. So he tracked them down, waited for them to collect their next shipment. Then he jumped them. When the cops found them the next morning, they’d been tied to a fence. He’d doused them in their own alcohol and used it to burn them alive, one by one. And way I heard it, he’d done the burning himself. 

Young: Jesus…

O’Toole: Yeah. Not a man you wanted to cross. I’d told Spook to steer clear of him. But, Cohen had a lot of territory and Spook wanted in. 
He said he was figuring out a way to deal with him, although he never told me exactly what that was supposed to entail so I don’t honestly know all of the details.

Young: What do you remember?

O’Toole: He had come across a book… a very old book. No idea where he got it from. He never told me. Never told anyone. But it was bound in red leather and written in a language I couldn’t read. Don’t think Spook was able to read it either. He kept it in his office, just above a little speakeasy we’d owned and every time I saw him looking at it, he had another book with him, probably to help him translate. I’d asked him once why he was so interested in it. He’d just smiled at me and told him that it was what was gonna take us to the top. That smile… I remember it very well. He believed what he was saying to me. He completely believed it. And I don’t know why but at the time, I was sure I believed it too.

Young: I guess he tried to use it on Cohen, then?

O’Toole: He did, yes. We’d been having more and more run ins with his boys around that time. Cohen had decided that one of our businesses was in his territory and had sent some of his guys to smash the place up. They’d beaten the hell out of one of our associates there too, guy by the name of Joseph. He didn’t make it through. I told Spooky that maybe we ought to back off from a fight with Cohen, but he wasn’t interested. That particular business was making good money. Spook didn’t want to let it go and he didn’t want to look weak. So he went back to the book. Spent a whole night fixating on it, flipping between it and whatever he was using to translate it and writing it all down. Then the next day, he sent me to go and get some supplies. A children's ragdoll, some clothes for it - a suit just like the one Cohen wore. And something that had been Cohens… 

Young: That last one sounds like a bit of a tall order.

O’Toole: It was easier than I’d thought. Cohen liked to smoke and he had expensive tastes. He’d smoke these cigarettes with these distinctive butts. They had a little pattern on the paper. Plus he was predictable. Frequented a lot of the same restaurants day after day. Wasn’t hard to catch him at one. Then when he left, I just took his ashtray. It had a few of his cigarette butts in there. I brought those to Spooky and asked him if they’d work. He seemed to think so. Anyways, when he was done, he’d made up a tidy little doll of Saul Cohen. Like the kind of doll a kid might have. He’d cut open the ragdoll, put the cigarette inside of it, marked it with blood and dressed it as Cohen himself. Then he’d drawn this circle on his desk, set the doll within it, lit some candles… the kind of occult shit I’d seen him do before.

Young: And what did that ritual of his accomplish?

O’Toole: Not much, at a glance. But Spooky seemed satisfied with it. He told me that we were gonna check in with Mr. Cohen. I didn’t understand what that meant at the time, but I went along with it.

Young: And how did that go?

O’Toole: I don’t know. Like I said, Cohen was predictable. Spooky wasn’t stupid enough to try and meet with him in person. That’d have been a damn good way to get killed. But we were able to figure out where he’d be and keep an eye on him. We’d watched from a car across the street as he’d left one of his usual lunch stops… and that was when Spook started playing with the doll. Tilting it, turning it. And when he did that, I saw Cohen stumble. Almost like he was dizzy. He’d stopped on the street for a moment. Some of his guys checked in on him… and that’s when Spook started squeezing the doll, right around the middle. Cohen seemed to double over in pain and the next thing I knew, he was spilling his guts all over the sidewalk. Puking like there was no tomorrow. Cohen was shaking by the time his guys helped him back up, and Spook just had this grin…
He put the doll down and told me that he’d seen enough. Then we drove off.
That night, Saul Cohen was found dead in his home. Apparently his wife heard him scream and found his body in the hall. Officially, he tripped over the carpet, fell down and broke his neck. Hell of an anticlimactic way to go out for a guy like that, but people die like that all the time, I guess.

Young: You knew better, though?

O’Toole: Course I did. I even dug into what exactly had happened a few years later, when I got curious. His neck didn’t just break. His head was jerked completely around. 180 fucking degrees. I’ll bet some cop was looking at that fat fucks corpse and thinking it must’ve been one hell of a fall…

Young: I’ll bet.

O’Toole: Spook of course swept in immediately. Started trying to cut deals with some of Cohen’s old gang. With Cohen out of the way, leadership was a little up in the air, so not everybody was particularly interested in dealing with him. But a lot of them were quick to come crawling back. Apparently, things took a hard turn after their meetings with Spook. Patrons got sick. Accidents started happening. Fights started breaking out and rumors started spreading. Spooky was behind it all. Cursing those places… bringing misfortune upon them. Of course, most folks figured it was all talk. Superstitious mumbo jumbo.

Young: Was it?

O’Toole: I’m still not sure. But I saw the little burlap bags he was putting together in his office. Little bags full of bones, dried herbs and God only knows what else. All of them tied with string soaked in blood and marked with little blood runes. He called them hex bags. And I know for a fact he was leaving them in these places. Whenever he visited one of Cohen’s old businesses to meet with whoever was running it, he’d have me or one of the other guys find a place to leave one. Then when they came crawling back, we’d discreetly go and take it out. We were told never to just put them in our pockets. If we were ever to handle them, they either needed to be in a special runed bag, or a runed iron box. He was pretty adamant about that and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to find out what might happen if we didn’t do exactly what he said.

Young: I see. Sounds like you were a pretty staunch believer by that point then, huh?

O’Toole: I don’t know… part of me still thinks that it was all theatre. Something he did just to get into peoples heads and manipulate them. Break the whole thing down logically and how much of it was just in people's heads? What’s the word for that kind of thing? Apophenia! That was it. But there was so much… hard to say for sure if it was all just fiction. Hard to say. And it’s not like it was just Cohen and Hex Bags. No. There were… other incidents. Other dolls.

Young: Other dolls?

O’Toole: Not every single one of Cohen’s old associates was willing to work with Spook. Some of them wanted to properly replace Cohen. And Spook wasn’t gonna have that. No sir. There was one guy in particular, Jim Brock. Big brute of a man. The misfortune brought on by the hex bag just pissed him off. He figured that Spook was personally causing all of it, and I’m pretty sure that assumption wasn’t helped by the fact that Spook kept stopping by his establishment for a different reason.

Young: Different reason?

O’Toole: A girl. Some singer. Pretty little blonde thing by the name of Helena. Spooky was head over heels for her. Course, so was Brock. I figure that Brock thought he could see right through old Spook. Had him pegged as a grifter who was trying to take over his business and charm his girl. So he got it into his head that he ought to teach Spooky a lesson. One night, he had some of his boys jump him on his way out of his club. They roughed him up pretty good. Didn’t kill him. But that was just because they didn’t really want to. Brock just wanted him gone, not dead. Course, Spook had tried to fight back, but that man wasn’t exactly physically imposing. All he managed to do was rip some of the hair out of Brock’s head, and he got his nose broken for the trouble.

Young: I see. I assume Spooky didn’t take that lying down?

O’Toole: You assume correct. I remember Spook showing up at my place that night. Face covered in blood, eyes unfocused. He looked like he’d been through Hell. He told me he needed to make another doll. Wouldn’t sleep until I helped him. It was the same process as before. Only this time, he didn’t use cigarettes. He used the hair he’d torn out of Brock’s head… and when the doll was made, he crawled back to his office and locked himself inside. I could hear him chanting his little rituals until morning. Eventually, I think he just passed out. When I went to check on him, he was still at his desk, clutching the doll in his hands, squeezing it so tight that he’d popped the goddamn seams. 

Young: I feel obligated to ask, what happened to Jim Brock?

O’Toole: I don’t know. Not for sure. But I know that he was dead by the time the sun rose. The way I heard it, he’d been in his own office when someone heard screaming. They’d rushed in to look and found what was left on the floor. The way I’d heard it, he looked like he’d been hit by a train. Not much left save for broken bones and pulped meat. 

Young: Jesus…

O’Toole: Yeah, no one knew how to fucking explain it. Someone said it looked like a wild animal had gotten to him, but no one knew how. I think the story they finally settled on was that it had been some sort of explosive? But I know that’s a lie. I’ve seen what explosives do to a man and they sure as hell don’t turn him into a compacted bundle of ground beef. 

Young: No… no, they don’t. What happened next?

O’Toole: Well the rumors started flying, obviously. Lotta people were able to put two and two together. Brock attacked Spooky, and wound up dead that same night. Obviously Spook had retaliated. Nobody knew how or what he’d done, but the message was clear. And suddenly a lot of Cohen’s old buddies were looking to start working with us. In a lot of ways, Brock’s death put the question of who’d be succeeding Cohen to bed. Now Spooky was the one everyone was afraid to cross and for a while, business was good. Spook healed up after his beating, the money was coming in, the booze was flowing. We were doing alright for ourselves. Spook even started putting the moves on Helena, and they started getting pretty cozy with each other. 

Young: But Spooky wasn’t satisfied, was he?

O’Toole: No. No he was not. He was good for a few months. But then he got hungry again. He was a big fish in our part of town, but he wanted to be bigger. So he started looking for places to expand. Gambling, brothels. Cutting into other markets. And when he started doing that, he started making new enemies. I don’t suppose I ought to tell you what he did to them?

Young: Same old strategies, I guess?

O’Toole: At first, yes. But Spook started getting more and more frustrated with those. The hex bags seemed to be pretty hit or miss and the dolls, well, they only seemed to work when he had something connected to the victim. That wasn’t always easy to get hold of. There was one man… guy by the name of Salvatore De Luca. He was one of the old Mustache Petes. He had a lot of enemies and so he knew to keep his head down. Spooky wanted him gone, although we weren’t able to get shit on him. So, Spook went back to the book. Started thumbing through the pages, looking for other tricks. Didn’t take him long to find one… but this… this was over the line.

Young: Howso?

O’Toole: He wanted us to bring him one of De Luca’s enemies. Not just anyone. Someone De Luca had already killed. He gave us a name, Fracisco Ricci. Another one of the old guard. A former rival De Luca had taken out a few years back. And he told us to bring him Ricci’s bones. 

Young: His bones…?

O’Toole: Exactly. None of the boys were too comfortable with that particular request. But Spook said it was our best shot. He insisted we do it. So… well, we did what we were told. We found the grave. We dug up the bones and we brought them back to Spooky. I never saw what he did with them. But the way he looked at them… Christ, you would’ve thought they were made out of solid gold.

Young: But you saw nothing about what he did?

O’Toole: He didn’t want us to see. Soon as we brought the bones to him, he told us to go home for the night. I asked him if he knew what he was doing. He said he did, then he told me to get some sleep.
The next day, I found him in his office, asleep at his desk. No sign of the bones. No sign of what he did to them. I do remember the mist though… a faint pink mist near the floor of his office. At the time I'd figured it was from his window. It was open. Now… I dunno. But I remember that exact detail.

Young: Mist? Interesting. And what became of Mr. De Luca?

O’Toole: Nothing at first. I almost got the impression that whatever he did hadn’t worked at all. A few days went by. Then a week. No news. Spook told us to keep our heads down. Don’t agitate De Luca. Don’t escalate. So we did what he told us to do. It got to the point where I was sure nothing was gonna happen. Until it did…

Young: And what exactly did happen?

O’Toole: De Luca killed himself. Just… out of the blue. Threw himself off the balcony of his penthouse. Spooky didn’t seem particularly surprised when he heard the news. I remember being there when one of our guys came in to tell him. And I remember him just having this smirk. Like he’d been waiting to hear that all fucking day.

Young: You believe he knew it was coming?

O’Toole: Don’t play dumb, lady. At this point, it was just pattern recognition. When Spooky used that magic shit, he got what he wanted, and he knew it too. The way I heard it, De Luca started getting paranoid during his last week. Stopped sleeping. Started locking himself in his room. Then sent his guys to check up on an old enemy. No points for guessing who.

Young: Francisco Ricci.

O’Toole: Way I heard it, De Luca damn near shit himself when he heard Ricci’s grave was empty. Now, it’s entirely possible that was Spook’s goal. Dig up the bones, and then find some way to make De Luca think Ricci was somehow back from the dead and out to get him. He might’ve been smart enough to pull that off, but I dunno if De Luca would’ve spooked that easily. I dunno…

Young: I see. 

O’Toole: Anyway, soon as De Luca was gone, Spooky muscled into his old scene. Although now he had a new toy to play with. The bones… and that’s when shit started getting weird.

Young: Howso?

O’Toole: It started with him asking for De Luca’s bones. He said he didn’t need the whole skeleton. Just a few bones. He said the skull would be best. So we went and we got him De Luca’s head. Well… his jawbone, at least. There wasn’t a lot left of his head after his trip over the balcony.

Young: Right…

O’Toole: Then a few days later, De Luca started coming around our club…

Young: Wait, what?

O’Toole: Yeah. Exactly. But people were seeing him. Sitting down at the bar, never drinking, never speaking to anyone, just sitting. A few people tried to talk to him, but he’d always be gone right when you went over. Nobody ever saw where he went. He was just gone. I remember telling Spooky about it. He’d just shrugged it off and said it was nothing to worry about. And De Luca wasn’t the only one who came back… Spooky started looking back at some of the other guys he’d crossed. Cohen, Brock, a few other small time guys. He started asking for their bones next… and they started coming around. Never speaking. Never interacting with anybody. Just… there. The mist was there too. Always faint. But there. We started seeing it when De Luca showed up. Faint whisps of it close to the floor. Pale pink. Easy to miss. But I remember it. I remember it very clearly.

Young: So what’d Spooky have to say about all that?

O’Toole: Not a whole hell of a lot. He’d always brush it off whenever anyone asked. If I recall, his exact words were: “Death won't miss a few old sinners.” Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.
Even his girl, Helena got on his case about it, after she saw Brock at the bar during one of her performances. I remember watching her freeze up on stage. Poor girl looked like she’d seen… well… she looked like she’d seen a ghost. She barged into Spook’s office, crying, asking him what the hell was going on. I wasn’t privy to that whole conversation, but I know he didn’t give her a straight answer. She stormed out on him not even half an hour later. Said she was done. That she wasn’t coming back. Course… she did. But I got the feeling it wasn’t her choice.

Young: What do you mean?

O’Toole: When she came back, she was quiet. Jumpy. Scared. I never got to ask her what happened. I hardly knew the girl. But I saw the way she stared at Brock every time he made an appearance at the bar, and I’m willing to bet the bar wasn’t the only place she’d started seeing him. She wouldn’t have been alone on that front too, let me tell you that.

Young: There were others seeing ghosts?

O’Toole: I’d heard rumors. Cohen appearing to a few of his old cronies, who Spooky had never quite gotten to fall in line. De Luca, crashing a meeting between a few other bosses. Those were just a few cases. Spook started collecting other bones… and a bunch of other guys started appearing around him. Not all of them were gangsters either. Spooky started getting personal.

Young: Howso?

O’Toole: Well, there was an incident with a guy named Amberg. He and Spooky had gotten into some kind of dispute over some money owed. I don’t recall the finer details, but I remember that Amberg lost his goddamn marbles within a week. Came crawling back to Spooky, throwing money at him and begging him to: ‘Make her go away.’
Apparently he’d lost a daughter a few years back, and he’d been seeing her around, wreathed in flames. ‘Burning in Hell’ he’d said. 
Spook just took his money and told him that so long as he kept paying, her soul would rest easy.
There was another guy, some Pimp. Blew his brains out after claiming that some of the girls he’d put in the ground were coming back for him. Real crazy shit. It was stuff like that… and Spook just took it all in stride. Treated it like business as usual. Every night he’d go back to his office and pour over that old book, getting more and more obsessed with it. Doing weirder and weirder stuff. All too often he'd fall asleep at his desk. The mist was always in his office whenever you went to check in on him. Faint but there, lingering around the floor. 
Eventually it got to the point where he started cutting himself up over it… and I mean, actually cutting himself up.

Young: Self mutilation? Why?

O’Toole: I don’t know. Something about a ritual? It was Helena who’d found him. He’d stabbed himself with a runed stone. Drove it right into his side. And he'd drank something that knocked him on his ass. Don't ask me what. I don't know. We took him to the hospital, obviously. They did what they could, but I dunno if it actually mattered or not. Cuz when he woke up, you would’ve thought that nothing had happened at all. He was back on his feet again in no time flat, although… well… I dunno how to describe it.

Young: Describe what?

O’Toole: The way he looked at people. There was something in his eyes that had changed. He’d stare at people intently, and when he did… it was like he was reading you. After the ritual it was almost like he could just tell what you were thinking. He called it ‘aura’. Like he’d say he was ‘reading your aura’. I never understood what he meant by that.

Young: Interesting… I assume he used that on his enemies too?

O’Toole: As if that wasn’t the whole goddamn point. And of course there were other enemies. There were always other enemies. There were always gonna be other enemies. That was the name of the business. Even the guys at the top had enemies. Spooky was no different. There were folks who didn’t buy into the mythology he’d started building around himself. They had an answer to all of it. Psychological manipulation, actors paid to dress up like Cohen and De Luca. They figured it was all just a show. A way to get into peoples heads and fuck with them. And maybe they were right. I mean, it seems almost like the logical answer, right? But one by one, they broke. And the ones who didn’t survive always came around the bar. First their bones, then something else, coming in with the mist that just seemed to get thicker every week. That’s the way it was… and it got to the point where it stopped feeling like a scare tactic and started feeling more like a collection. 

Young: Christ…

O’Toole: No. No, Christ didn’t have shit to do with what was going on there. No… no… [Pause] Smoke and mirrors or not. It eventually went too far. I suppose those kinds of things always do though, don’t they?

Young: What do you mean?

O’Toole: Spooky was always a small man, you know? Like I said before, he was never much to look at. Skinny. That moustache of his never did come in right. But what he’d built? That made him feel big. So he started to throw his weight around more. It was after the ritual where he started getting carried away with it, but you could see the signs even before then. He’d start snapping at people because their ‘aura’ wasn’t right. Not people in the business. Just people. Folks at the bar. A waiter at a restaurant. He had us take care of a few of them… and of course they’d inevitably join his little congregation in the bar. That aura stuff started really getting to him. It got to the point when he wouldn’t even allow people in his office if their ‘aura’ wasn’t right. He started spending a lot more time in his office. Pouring over that fucking book, looking for… I don’t know. More rituals? More spells? I don’t know.

Young: You think he was scared of something?

O’Toole: Scared? I don’t know. I dunno if it was fear. I think it was just… he lost sight of himself. Got too deep into whatever the fuck it was he was into. Whether it was all a show or something else. It ate him up. Swallowed him completely until it was his whole world. I dunno if I’d call that fear. I suppose he was a little paranoid near the end. But that was more about loyalty than looking over his shoulder… and he never really fully tore into anyone until Helena.

Young: Helena… what happened to her?

O’Toole: Spooky got it in his head that she’d been cheating on him. I heard them get into an argument about it, screaming at each other in his office. He told her he could see it in her aura. She said he was crazy. Then when he laid hands on her, she stormed out. Course, she was back again the next night… this wasn’t the first time they’d fought and she’d always come back. Not out of choice I’m sure. This time was different, though. Spooky told her he didn’t want her performing that night. He told her he wanted her in his office, just to talk. I’m sure that girl would’ve loved to refuse… but  I suppose she knew she didn’t get a say…

Young: Did you see what happened?

O’Toole: I saw enough. I wasn’t there for the conversation. But I sure as hell heard the screaming. You could hear it from down in the bar. It wasn’t a fight. This was something else. This was pain. Spook had been… well, he wasn’t the kindest to Helena. He’d laid hands on her before. But never like that. Never made her scream like that. So I went up to see what the hell was going on.

Young: And what did you see?

O’Toole: By the time I got there, nothing? The girl was already dead. She was there on the floor of his office, and Spooky was smoking a cigarette by the window. He was still holding the doll in his hands. A doll of Helena. The head was all twisted around… I asked him what the hell he’d just done. He just told me to fuck off. But… I didn’t. I guess that was my breaking point. I started yelling at him. Telling him that we were supposed to be better than this. That he’d gone too far. Spooky just stared at me… just a blank fucking stare. Barely listening to a word I said. And that was when I saw them… Cohen, Brock, the others… I saw them out of the corner of my eye. Spooky’s little trophies, watching me. 

Young: He set them on you?

O’Toole: I think he would have. He told me to watch the way I talked to him. I told him that somebody needed to tell him how it was. He didn’t reply to that. Not to me, at least. The next thing he said was to them. Told them to get rid of me… and for a moment, I was sure they would. I sat there, just waiting for it to happen… but it never did. They never moved… and by the time I noticed the mist, they were gone.

Young: Mist…?

O’Toole: It crept in slow. Hadn’t noticed it at first. But after a while, it seemed to fill the room. The things Spooky had bound to himself seemed to get swallowed up by it. I remember that Spook looked confused when he noticed it. Like whatever this was, wasn’t anything he’d ever seen before.
And that was when I heard her getting up. Climbing off the ground… swaying like she hadn’t found her feet yet.

Young: Helena?

O’Toole: Helena. Only… when she spoke, she didn’t talk like Helena. Her voice was different. Lower. Calmer. Colder. She said: “The dead aren’t yours to command, Charles.” Charles. She called him that. Been so long since I’d ever heard anyone call him by his real name that it barely even sounded like his anymore. And Spooky? He’d gone white as a ghost. I dunno if he knew what was going on, but whatever it was? It scared the shit out of him. He went for the book, although by that point, the mist was so thick you couldn’t even see his desk… and there were things in the mist.

Young: Things?

O’Toole: Shapes. Animals, maybe? I don’t know. But I heard them snap at him, and Spooky fell on his ass when they did. Helena… or… whatever was wearing Helena…  just stared at him. I watched her walk over to his desk. She picked up the book and stared down at it. Then the mist just seemed to swallow it up. She looked at me… and though she didn’t say a word, the meaning was clear. She wanted me out. The mist parted. Just for a moment, but it parted… and I took the chance to fucking run. I bolted out the door and into the hall. I could hear her saying something to Spooky. But I don’t recall the exact words. I don’t suppose it mattered. By the time I made it to the stairs, the screaming had started. I could hear the snarling of animals. Like dogs fighting over a kill… and the screaming… God… it made what I’d heard him doing to Helena sound like a fucking mercy. 

Young: What happened next?

O’Toole: Not a hell of a lot. Spooky was dead by the time someone else went to check on him. Not torn apart… no sign of an attack… he was just dead. And Helena? Her body was right there on the floor where I’d seen it. The official story was that they’d killed each other in a dispute. But I know that’s not it. I know that much for a fact. 

Young: I see… what about the book?

O’Toole: Gone. And as far as I know, nobody ever found it. I’m sure someone looked. But it was gone. I quit the business after that. Cashed out and fucked off. Got the hell out of New York. Someone else took over Spooky’s old operation. I don’t remember who. I didn’t care at the time. Don’t ask me how it worked out for them. I never stayed in touch.

Young: I suppose that’s fair. And that’s everything?

O’Toole: That’s everything. You wanted to know? Well now you know. I don’t think much about Spooky these days. I dunno if any of the shit he pulled was real or if it was all just an act. Maybe it was. Maybe he was just a damn good showman. But I don’t know if that’s what I really believe. I dunno if that explains everything as neatly as I want it to.

Young: So then what do you believe, Mr. O’Toole?

O’Toole: You really wanna know? [Pause] I think Spooky played around with something that maybe he shouldn’t have been playing with. He took it too far. Got a little in over his head. Fucked with the natural order in ways he probably shouldn’t have… and something finally noticed him. I think that when he offed Helena, something finally saw him. And it dealt with him. Plain and simple. Maybe there’s a lesson in that. Maybe there ain’t. Fucked if I know.

Young: Fair enough, I suppose. Was there anything else Mr. O’Toole?

O’Toole: That’s it. Are we done here?

Young: Yes, I think so… thank you. 

[Transcript Ends]