This is the personal journal of JackProctor, tortured novelist and literature critic.
Skip To: April 1923, May 1923, August 1923, October 1923, April 1924, November 1924
January 20th, 1923
It feels like I've been stuck here in Manhatten forever. It's not that I don't enjoy spending this much time with Martha - although I could do without having to alternately evade and placate her parents - but there are only so many glittering soires you can go too before they all merge into a sequined haze. Anyway, it's not all bad - I've managed to sell a piece ("TheViewFromEllisIsland") to one Mr. Henry Luce. He say's he's intending to put it in the first issue of a new magazine he's preparing, although he didn't promise anything, saying that he wasn't sure what sort of thing they were going to focus on. Sounds a bit fishy to me, but hey - he's already paid me. $75, which isn't bad for three evening's work.
Sounds like things have been getting rather interesting back in Unity while I've been away; I saw LisaDaVinci at a party the other week, and she explained that there's been a few wierd things. Some of it seemed like fanciful speculation - X-Ray ghosts, no less - but most of it had an awful ring of truth to it, and I've known her long enough to know that she's not a scatty as she likes to make out. One of Martha's friends, RebeccaSwarovski, went down a couple of weeks ago. I've told her to send my regards to the rest of TheUnitySociety.
I must go now. Martha's just got out of the bath, so I guess I only have two or three hours to fasten the collar to my shirt and tie my tie. Where is it tonight? Oh yes, the Alconburys. I can't wait.
March 26th, 1923
I've keep hearing stranger and stranger things from Unity. It all sounds implausible, but it fits with everything mentioned in the papers. In any case, if this dinner with the Landsmann's next week goes even one tenth as badly as I suspect it will, then I'll be leaving New York in short order, and I'll get a chance to see for myself.
The bizarre news, along with a letter I got from SarahCarpenter yesterday, has given me a little inspiration. I think I'm going to give horror stories a go - there seems to be a market, and I'm sure I could do something interesting with them.
April 1923
April 8th, 1923
The dinner with Martha's parents went even worse than I imagined; at one point mother and daughter were literally throwing the china at each other. Martha's been trying to mend things, but I think the only thing that will work is distance. I expect that we'll both be back in Unity before the week is out.
April 15th, 1923 (TheBookStopsHere)
It looks like the wave of strangeness that had apparently swept into Unity as I left is genuine, and what's more shows no sign of abating. We've only been back for a couple of days, and already I seem to have been swept along with it. Let me relate.
I was sitting in the tea room reading the paper, and enjoying one of HayesWebster's stronger teas. The usual crowd was there, plus Benny, a friend of Hayes. In any case, MrFlanagan arrives and announces that there is a gentleman to see us. It turns out to be an aging Russian with a beard that defies description. He introduces himself as an ArkadyKoldun, and says that he has heard that TheUnitySociety have a reputation for investigation. Apparently, a book was stolen from him a few years back, and he wanted us to track it down. He had little to offer, aside from his gratitude, but as he's apparently in line for some high-up position in the Humanities department at JenkinUniversity, said gratitude could well have considerable currency.
The book itself - KnigaIvana, or something similar, I don't know Russian - dated from the ninth century, and was the subject of Arkady's work. Lisa DaVinci and I checked TheLibrary for it, but to no avail. (She's persisting in calling me "Jackie". I must find a way to discourage her.) As it happened, the police caught the criminals a short while after the theft, but didn't recover the book. The were currently detained at the President's pleasure in LincolnDistrictPenitentiary, so EthanLocke and RobertJohnson decided to pay them a visit.
The rest of us went to check the second hand bookshops. After two or three unsuccessful attempts, we arrived at that literary Mecca, HucksBooks, just as Ethan and Robert were pulling up - apparently, the thieves had told them where they'd fenced the book. Hence, we'd spent half the day traipsing around town for nothing (although Lisa seemed to have fun.)
"Huck" (as he insists on being called) was reluctant to talk at first, but with a little financial lubrication informed us that the book had been bought by a man with impressive facial hair shortly after he'd acquired it. The man in question did not have a Russian accent, but rather an American one, although he did "give himself airs". We returned to 122, where Hayes, who has impressive facial hair served us drinks from bottles artfully concealed within empty book covers in the bookcase. Of course, when we mentioned the title of the book, he reached down to the bottom shelf, and presented us with the bindings - apparently, when Prohibitin kicked in, he bought a job lot of books to butcher, and the Russian's happened to be one of them.
He'd given the pages to MrFlanagan as scrap paper, and apparently the latter had put them out as bedding for Alex, a tramp who used to hang about the place. Alex disappeared, but a while latter some money turned up in a bindle; nobody is quite sure what to make of this, apart from MrFlanagan, who made a nestegg.
Benny kept mentioning a "history machine". I'm not sure what he meant.
Monday April 16th, 1923 (CohenUnderground)
A gentleman named AaronCohen arrived at 122 today. Apparently, the others had had some dealings with him a couple of months ago - something about a ghost at the SandersonHouse, that was in fact just an unimaginative miscreant covering up a smuggling operation or somesuch (not that smuggling is a bad thing, as long as that ridiculous ammendment is in force, but I digress.) Anyway, after a brief conversation with HayesWebster, he came in and talked to the assembled multitude. Apparently, he still believes his son is innocent, and wanted us to find out what was actually going on in the house. He made it clear that he would be diffusely grateful, although Hayes, at least, seems keen to bargain him down to something more concrete.
After Ethan had made quite sure that it wasn't going to get everyone thrown into a cell, we agreed to meet up with him, discretly, and go and have a look.
Tuesday April 17th, 1923
We traipsed down to the house (a very nice affair, split into seven flats - I must mention it to Martha) and Aaron showed us into the cellar.When we were out of the way of curious ears, Aaron also revelaed something else he'd found - a spent cartridge. The first thing we noticed, though, was a tunnel, big enough for a person, but only just, heading off towards the river. We were obviously too genteel to ask RebeccaSwarovski to investigate, so we sent Hayes into the darkness (figuratively speaking; in fact, he had a carbide lamp.) When he returned, he said that it seemed to open up into a sewer or something of that ilk.
We rustled up a rope, and sent Hayes back in to investigate further. While he was doing this, someone pointed out a bloody bullet hole in the wall opposite the tunnel. Julius had a look at this, and took some samples. Hayes returned, and said that the tunnel continued in much the same vain for longer than he could explore with the rope. He suggested that we go above ground and look for grills or somesuch. After a little discussion, we decided to set a fire and blow smoke into the tunnel with a fan, and then Benny could fly overhead and see where it emmerged. Julius brewed up some noxious substance or other to give really thick, colourful smoke, and Benny and Rebbecca went up in the plane. Hayes, Lisa and myself headed over to the graveyard of the ChurchOfTheHolyCross, which was in the direction the tunnel was heading, and seemed like a probably place for it to connect to.
Hayes and I had a cursory look around for graves bearing the name Sanderson,but had no luck. I tried the door to the church, but it was locked. After a while, the priest, one FatherAdrian, arrived, explaining that he'd just stepped out for a cup of tea (although the smell on his breath was more suggestive of, well, tea). Lisa was just introducing us when she spotted yellow smoke emerging from a mausoleum-type affair bearing the inscription "Boucher". It was at that moment that Benny chose to buzz us in his damned plane - far too low, he scared the life out of me.
We investigated the grave, and the second thing we noticed were some curious carvings that reminded me of something from back home, although I can't place exactly what. The first thing we noticed was that, where the door should be, there were simply a few rude planks. For some reason, FatherAdrian seemed to think it was unusual for strangers to turn up and rummage around in graves that had spontaneously started belching curious fumes, but we persuaded (or possibly confused) him into letting us investigate (I don't think the priest's suspicions were reduced by the fact that two of us already had carbide lamps with us). Inside was a low chamber with the remains of the stone door, a grate in the floor, and a modern-looking chest. Human remains were notable by their absence, which seemed strange, given that we were in a tomb.
At this point, the others turn up, further bamboozling FatherAdrian.Exploring the lower chamber, where the smoke was coming from, seemed to be the next step, so Benny and I lifted the grate (which turned out to be fairly light). AlsoudHassam explained that the reason that there weren't any bones was that it was usual to corpses in the main tomb until they had decomposed to skeletons, and then move them to the catacombs below to be filed like macabre paperwork. With this in mind, we began to investigate the lower chamber, Alsoud leading the way. Lisa had a look in the chest, but only found sackcloth and rags.
When we got down into the lower chamber there were still no bodies, or even parts of bodies, to be found. However, we did find another tunnel, and morecarvings. These were even stranger than the previous ones, disturbing in a way not easy to pin down. Rebecca, who was taking photographs upstairs, came down and took some of the newer carvings as well - at least we can study them from the warmth of the tea room.
Suddenly, Lisa came over all faint. Benny, Rebecca, and Julius rushed to her aid. They got her out into the fresh air, but it didn't seem to help. What's more, Julius came over a bit peculiar as well, although he's never the most robust of fellows. It was decided that the most prudent course of action was to send Lisa home, but Julius was looking so rough that we had to take him back to his surgery - the nurse started to treat him. Hopefully, he'll make a quick recovery.
Wednesday April 18th, 1923
I visited Julius on the way over to the club; he wasn't looking well, but the nurse was doing everything she could. When I arrived, most of the others were at 122, including, thankfully, Lisa - she said she was feeling much better. About the middle of the morning, Julius rang up and asked for a couple of books from TheLibrary. As Lisa was geting these, I had an idea. After a little checking (someone really needs to sort out the library), I found a book on grave carvings that looked promising. Comparing it to Rebecca's newly-developed photos, we found that the carvings were quite unusual for the area, but there was also a specific reference to the Boucher tomb.
After a bit more checking, it seemed that the only mason that was around in 1815, and was still going, was GoldsteinAndSons Monumental Masons (est. 1803), so we headed over to check. The office didn't have any recods before about 1912, but the chap said he'd check at their other offices. He also pointed out that the stone that the tomb was made of wasn't local, and suggested that it might have been imported ready-carved.
I dropped off the books to Julius and headed back. While I was there, he suggested that he could use some samples of the sackcloth from the tomb, so Benny and I donned masks and gloves and obtained some.
We got back to Julius, who seemed to be feeling much better. After examining the samples, he told us that there was some kind of spore on the sackcloth, but assured us that we were OK so long as we had worn masks. He gave us a little something just in case, but it's still a little worrying. Julius decided that it would be safest for anyone exploring the tomb any further to wear a special protective suit, and set about making one. He seems to know a lot about this kind of thing - maybe he was a graverobber in a previous life.
We bring swung by the club to pick up Hayes, and then went back to the church. After a little persuasion, Hayes donned the suit (which looked like an improvised version of the one that deep-sea divers wear) and tied himself to a longer length of rope. FatherAdrian needed a little convincing, but we managed. Julius set the chest on fire as a precaution, and then Hayes went down the tunnel. While he's down there, Julius asks me to help him with several large bottles of something he claimed was acid that he had in the car. He says they're for decontamination. I'm not going to be the one to tell Hayes.
As it happened, we still didn't have enough rope for him to reach a part of the tunnel he recognised, but at least we're now pretty sure that it joins onto the one from the SandersonHouse.
Thursday April 19th, 1923
We were in the club talking, and Julius mentioned that he'd treated four people for gunshot wounds at around the time somebody got shot in the Sanderson house. Why he didn't mention this earlier, I don't know. Anyway, shortly afterwards, he sloped off somewhere.
Lisa and I looked in the library for more information about the Boucher tomb, while some of the others headed off to the stonemasons. Lisa found a little bit of information, but I came up empty-handed. I think she is privy to some secret about that library that is beyond the grasp of mere mortals like myself.
When everyone was back, Aaron showed up. Julius mentioned that he'd treated someone for a gunshot wound, and this got his attention. After a little gentle prying, it emerged that Aaron shot somebody breaking into the cellar - apparently, he'd been lying in wait, intending to apprehend the villain, and he'd been lucky. However, he's not exactly an expert marksman, and by the time he returned with the police, the less-than-dead intruder had upped and left. Julius wrestled with his concience a little (a very little, it seemed), then revealed the identity of the man in question. As this throws considerable doubt upon Ben's guilt, it was decided to take the matter to the police. To general amazement, it was decided that I was the most respectable person to accompany them (actually, third most, but Ethan and Robert had been summoned as witnesses), so I got home and changed into a suit. That amused Martha no end, until I told her why I was doing it.
We got to the police station, and eventually convinced them to take statements regarding the matter. It's not much, but it might help Ben's case - and it looks like he needs it, given the readiness of the police to convict a "yidd", with guilt an optional extra. As to the society, we've done our bit, and presumably been rewarded (that's Hayes' department). I for one am not sure if Ben's innocent or not, but I can't see much else we can do, or for that matter much reason we should do it.
Monday 23rd April, 1923 (CohenUnderground, TheBookStopsHere epilogue)
Ben lost the court case. Alex O'Reilly, the man Julius incriminated, has disappeared into the bowels of Unity's law enforcement operation (the members of which don't all seem to be as upstanding as FrankShort). And ArkadyKoldun came back asking after his book.
Eric started off giving him an edited version of events, but, perhaps because we had been drowning our sorrows in Hayes' fruit teas, it turned into more-or-less full disclosure. He seemed unusually interested in the details of the tree from which the robbers were attacked, attaching a particular significance to pine trees. He tried to pass this off as simply a metaphor in a story, but it didn't ring true. I get the feeling we haven't heard the end of this.
May 1923
Sunday 6th May, 1923 (TheGoldenYears)
The Centenary of TheUnitySociety, and we were celebrating in fitting style at ChezHenri (shame Robert couldn't make it, but I'm sure he'll have a whale of a time with his wife's sick aunt). Thanks to the usual arrangement, Henry had managed to stock up on the finest, ahem, grape juice, and it looked like Martha and I were in for a rather enjoyable evening out. The others seemed to enjoy themselves too - Eric in particular - although Lisa seemed a bit quieter than normal. I guess it's because Tony was there. In any case, she only called me "Jackie" once during the entire evening, which is a definite plus.
A little pre-dinner entertainment was provided by GilCobbett, a friend of Hayes. Well, not quite a friend. What's the word? Oh yes. Enemy. An enemy of Hayes. In any case, the young lady he was dining with (he didn't look quite old enough to have a grown-up daughter, so we have to assume a less familial relationship) slapped him around the face and stomped out, at which point Hayes sent him over a drink. Most amusing, and just what you need to put you in the mood for a meal.
The food was, as always, excellent, and more than made up for the speeches. I think ThePresident is a little out of practice; I've certainly not seen him sampling Hayes' wares all too often. The whole thing was capped with a huge cake. Fortunately, everyone's jitters about someone (or something) leaping out of it proved unfounded, although several of the others seemed a little wary of anything sweet. I asked Eric, and he related a highly unusual tale about BlackMolassesSugar; I'll have to remember to ask Rebecca for the photographs.
In any case, we were just finishing up, when all the lights went out at once (a bizarre thing to happen, certainly, but one I'll have to remember). I grabbed Martha's hand across the table - I don't know if it was for her benefit or mine. As various matches and lighters were lit to provide some scant illumination, there was a bright flash, and when sight returned we were presented with a floating, white-robed, glowing apparition of an old man.
A ghost. A ghost that looked every inch the cliched staple of gothic romance.
However, this one wasn't in an ancient castle badgering some unsavable sinner or ineffectual heroine. It was in the bloody restaurant. I gripped Martha's hand even tighter.She seemed quite shaken by the thing, but after a moments reflection I came to my senses and realised that it was probably some sort of practical joke. A few of us got up to investigate.
For a second I wondered why Eric had asked to borrow Rebecca's parasol, and then it became clear - the drunken sod started to poke the damn thing in the ribs with it. To our great suprise, it went straight through. It it was a practical joke, it was a particularly well-executed one. However, just as I started to pull Eric back, the apparition began to speak, and offered us a possible motive for someone to go to all the effort.
It introduced itself as IsaiahJenkin, and then singled out Alexander Isaiah Jenkin II, who was also dining there that evening, and demanded that he make amends for his ancestor's misdeeds. Alexander was considerably shaken by this, and embarrassed himself in a most visceral way. After it's speech, the ghost dissappeared with another flash, this time accompanied by shattering glass as the windows blew inwards, and lightning tore the previously calm night sky.
The electric lights then came back on, as did the gas; fortunately, Alsoud and some of the other customers and staff had the presence of mind to switch the latter off before too long. Julius' nurse went to check on the stricken Mr. Jenkin, and the rest of us went to check for evidence of how the whole illusion was created.
The others seemed to be handling things fine, so I went back to check on Martha; she was scared rigid, the poor thing. It was then that the police arrived, but a few quick words from Tony and they were on their way with only the most perfunctory glance around the place. At that point, Julius asked me to fetch his black bag from 122, which provided the perfect excuse for me to drop Martha off at home on the way; I left her with Mrs. Kline, who was brewing sugary tea as I left.
When I got back, Benny was having a go at the Maitr� D' - I think he was looking for more evidence, but the staff wanted to start cleaning up. Anyway, people were still looking for evidence of trickery. Julius and Alsoud were checking at the back of the resteraunt, while Eric and Rebecca went over the road to check the library. I joined them.
Now, I've mentioned how drunk Eric was, haven't I? So it will come as no suprise when I tell you that, upon spotting an open window, he immediately seized upon the idea of breaking in and wouldn't let go. We discussed the merits of this idea, Benny and Lisa came out and joined us, and eventually we decided to go ahead with the ill-conceived scheme.
Benny and I helped Eric up, and he threw a rope down for everyone else. We found some kind of storeroom, piled high with boxes. In the dust, however, we saw a distinct set of footprints between the window and the door - someone had been looking out from that window recently. Anyway, Rebecca walked inside the footprints and tried the door, but it was locked; Hayes went and managed to pick the lock (he's a man of many talents, that one), but the trail disappeared on the other side. Damn carpet. Anyway, Hayes managed to mangle the lock trying to close it again, and we only just got out before Tony turned up to escort Lisa home. We'd all had about enough of the whole game by then, so we followed their lead. When I got back, Martha was sound asleep.
The next day, we all met back at 122. The first thing each person did as they arrived was to check the papers; sure enough, there was the story of the "ghost" in both the credulous Reporter and the sceptical Times Chronicle. Everyone went and tried various things to get a handle on just what the hell was going on. Something occurred to me, and I had a check in our Library. Apparently, the club was founded a week or so after the death of IsaiahJenkin - and his grave was "vandalized" on the centenary of his death. This is too neat to just be a coincidence - someone is having us on.
<<< Details of the second half of TheGoldenYears to follow when I have my notes to hand. -- RobHague >>>
August 1923
Sunday 19th August, 1923
Got something of a shock today. Martha and I returned from New York (she'd been trying to patch things up with her parents, so it had been a weekend filled with intense caution and hidden meanings), and on the way up to the flat I knocked on MrsKline's door to see how she was. When I got no answer, we started to worry - she's usually in on a Sunday afternoon - and, after we'd shouted until we were hoarse, I broke the door down. We found MrsKline sprawled on the floor of the kitchen, piss and vomit everywhere. She must have had some kind of fit or something. We put her in Marsha's car, and rushed her to LincolnDistrictHospital. I'm writing this from the waiting room there; the doctors say they're not sure what it was yet, but they'll let us know when they do. I imagine that this will be a long night.
Monday 20th August, 1923
Dead. They still don't know what happened. They asked us to try and find some way of contacting her next of kin; there must be something in the house, but I can't bring myself to look for it right now. Maybe tomorrow.
Friday 24th August, 1923
Just got back form the funeral; I'd managed to round up a couple of her friends from around town, but it wasn't exactly a great turnout. Afterwards, everyone simply drifted off; they seemed to resent the effort of even turning up. Within a few minutes, it was just Marth and myself, the priest, and a dirt-spattered coffin.
October 1923
Monday 15th October, 1923 (HereBeDragons)
Got back from New York late last night. Martha's been patching things up with Mother, which has involved me being out of the way for extended periods. This suited me fine, as it gave me a chance to get back on an even keel, and get things back into perspective. In any case, we got back late and dropped straight into bed, so I still has things to sort out. I left Martha sleeping, picked up the post, and headed over to 122.
I sat in the tea room with Ethan and Lisa going through the letters (one was from Geoffrey Caius - I'll have to arrange an appointment and see what he wants), when Hayes turned on his latest toy - a wireless set. Jazz drifted out, and when the tune came to an end, it was replaced by the voice of Ethan, or more precisely, NathanLocke, his twin brother.
Nathan announced a competition; answer some trivial question to win tickets to a couple of football games (not proper, Association Football of course; that bastardised version of rugby that they play in the colleges over here). Naturally, Lisa was enraptured by the idea of 'phoning in and winning something, so she did. With a little help from Ethan, she got the right answer (well, almost the right one, and the producer was willing to give her some leeway when he heard her surname). They repeated the winning moment for the benefit of the listeners at home, and then Lisa was the proud owner of the tickets. Unfortunately, it didn't end there.
She carried on talking to Nathan off air, and eventually weedled out of him that he was having a degree of romantic difficulty with a woman named Sarah. Could this be my friend SarahCarpenter, I wondered? If only I were that lucky. It was, in fact, Martha's little sister. And Lisa promised to help.
She figured out that the place to start would be to ask Martha. I tried to dissuade her, and when I failed I leapt on my bike and tried to get home and give poor Martha a little warning. Unfortunately, I didn't get back in time to explain fully; Lisa arrived and took the reins, and Ethan and I retreated to the kitchen. It emerged that Sarah was at AuntAgatha's, and we were off again.
When we arrived,Agatha told us that Sarah "wasn't home to Mr. Locke", but when it was explained that this was Ethan, and not the nefarious Nathan, she reluctantly agreed to an audience. Sarah bounded down the stairs and threw Ethan a look.
At this point, I should note that both Agatha and Sarah are following Lisa's lead, and called me Jackie. I am not happy.
Anyway, Lisa persuaded Sarah to confront Nathan at WHPL Radio; our ill-conceived convoy resumed its journey with another soul in tow. We arrived at the radio station, and Lisa and Sarah charged in, with Ethan and I swept along in their wake. They continued straight past the red sign intended to warn people that the station is "On Air", and Sarah had her moment with Nathan.
I'd like to say that she made a compelling case, but unfortunately she took Lisa's already half-baked sub-Freud hokum, and mixed it up to such a degree that it lost what little sense it had. Nevertheless, Nathan was convinced, and the pair left the studio, thrusting the microphone into Ethan's hand as they went. He flustered something to the producer about putting another record on, which I'm sure was broadcast, and then managed to extricate himself to the opening strains of another jazz number. Just as we were leaving, Rebecca called the radio station. I said I'd explain when we got back to 122.
Everyone met up back at 122, and explained what was going on. As I was waiting, I opened the mail - it turns out that Caius wants to see me regarding Mrs Kline's will - probably just a tedious routine thing, but I'll have to make an appointment. When the others arrived, they had had quite a time down at the University; thing are afoot with the football coach, and that odd Russian gent that visited the club a while back. And Rebecca's bought a dog. Called Henry.
As we were catching up, MrFlanagan mentioned that PaulTatish had paid a visit whilst we were all out. The others had appraently been pretty friendly with him (at least ot his face) when he came round a few days ago enquiring about membership, so Flanagan has assumed he was on probation and let him in to the library. The others were aghast at this, and gave the poor fellow something of a hard time, but it seemed like an honest mistake to me.
Anyway, a little later, Julius and Eric turned up, and the latter announced that, while in New York, he'd found out something about a company that Tatish is mixed up in; apparently, a major shareholder is someone named "Hazzard", who the others have had dealings with before. Moreover, the company in question has a warehouse in Unity. Naturally, we decided to go for a snoop.
Julius stayed in the car whilst the rest of us walked nonchalantly (very nonchalantly. Painfully nonchalantly), leading Henry along. When we got near to the warehouse in question, the dog simply sat down and refused to move. Robert's efforts to get him moving were rewarded with a nasty bite on the hand, so we let him sit there. We were just about to set off and have a closer look when Eric spotted some goons guarding it. He let off a shot, which fortunately went wild, but drew attention thaat we could've done without. We headed back, planning to return at night and have another look.
When we got back to 122, Flanagan had a message for Alsoud and Robert; FrankShort had called and said that there had been a murder. We guessed (correctly, it turned out) that it was Koldun, and headed over to the University. The place was lousy with police, most notably the line of dog handlers, whose charges were refusing to go near the crime scene (presumably due to the pine smell the others had noticed). Lisa, fresh from meddling in Nathan and Sarah's love life, saw this as the perfect opportunity to set Rebecca up with a nice young man, and started to guide her in the direction of the line. I tried to help her by distracting Lisa, with only limited success. Sometimes, I despair.
I wandered off away from the others (crowds are fine, but sometimes you're better off without them), and stuck up a conversation with a bored-looking UniformedOfficer at a lonely outpost of the Police Line. He was friendly enough, but didn't seem to know much about what was going on, so I went back and found the others. I eventually tracked down a subset thereof chatting to the police doctor, one QuincyJones. Whilst we were there, although not in Jones' earshot, Julius came up with a theory; the monster was connected - physically - to Tatisch in some way, and the two depended on each other. This would account for the latter's advanced age - him and Koldun seem to have been hanging around for over a century, if the incidental evidence is to be believed - but it seems far-fetched to me. At that point, Benny asked for a hand looking into the hole they'd found in Tatisch's office. We didn't find anything, but then turned our attention to the glass cases with the pine cones in. Benny went off, and returned with a white rat. We found that placing it in the cases terrified the poor thing - apart from the last one, with the broken lid. This suggests that the cones in there still contain nascent thingies. Unfortunately, Robert got a little carried away, and left he rat in one case for too long. The poor thing seemed to literally die of fright.
Night rolled round, and we decided to check out the warehouse. We kept it small this time; just Eric, Benny, Robert as driver, and myself. Benny insisted on giving everyone pseudonyms - I was Mr. White. I'll have to use that as a pen name if I ever have need of one. The plan we (eventually) came up with involved me letting off a shot a little way from the warehouse, then circling back to the airstrip where Robert had parked. Meanwhile, Benny and Eric were to sneak a look into the warehouse whilst the guards were distracted. I enacted my part, and was halfway back when I heard Eric betraying his avowed Gaelic ancestry and shouting something distinctly Anglo-Saxon. Assuming the jig was well and truly up, if not buggered entirely, I high-tailed it back to the rendezvous. Benny was already there, but Eric was missing - he had apparently seen something disturbing through the window (hence the outburst), and run off in panic. We jumped in the car and sped round to his house, but he wasn't there. We returned to the club, and found him in the tea room, his hand clasped shakily around an uncharacteristically stiff drink.
He described what he'd seen; Tatish and some others had got one of those slug things described in the book, and set it on a hapless victim. It was sucking something out of him - maybe courage, maybe something a little more scientific, but in any case it more than explains Eric's reaction.
We decided that we needed to do something about this, and quickly. The best plan we came up with would be to form a distraction, while Alsoud uses a heathen gesture he learnt to become invisible (a year ago I wouldn't have believed it, but now I'm not so sure), and plant a bomb in the warehouse, destroying the creature and all of the evidence. I just hope it works.
Tuesday 16th October, 1923 (HereBeDragons)
Last night went as well as could be expected, I suppose. We waited until the guards changed, then Alsoud (every bit as invisible as he said he'd be) sneaked in. We waited for what seemed like hours, then we heard a dull bang from inside the warehouse. General panic was just beginning to erupt from its doors when Alsoud's voice appeared in the car, and Benny got us out of there. I was glad he was driving, and not me, because moments later the whole place went up in an apocalyptic explosion; I guess whatever they were taking out of those people was flammable. Benny kept his cool, and we got back to 122 with our nerves shattered but bodies intact.
We were pleased with the night's work (nothing and noone could've survived that explosion), but everyone agreed that we had to work out what to do with the SerdtsePiyavka still extant - namely, those sat dormant in pine cones, in terraria in the University. It might also be a good idea to find out a bit more about them, just to be safe. Hence, we decided that Robert and Rebecca should take the Russian book to the latter's chemist for translation, whilst the rest of us (chiefly, Benny and myself, who seem to be consistently lumbered with the messy or dangerous jobs) go to the woods and collect some pine cones, then switch them with the suspect ones from Tatish's office.
We met up again this morning and went pine cone hunting. Given the stories of these things biting your fingers, we were particularly careful, and used my motorcycle gauntlets, but didn't have any problems. Henry didn't object too much to the cones we collected, so it seems safe to assume they're clean. We've decided that Benny and I will use the football match this afternoon as cover for breaking into a crime scene and tampering with evidence; hopefully, almost everyone will be there. We'll still have to get past whichever unlucky officer drew the short store to stand watch, but Haye's wireless set has just given me an idea...
(Later that day)
Benny and I went over to Jenkin as the others were leaving for the plate match. There was a single UniformedOfficer stood dejectedly by the door, but unfortunately no other practical way in the office. Playing to our strengths, we decided that I'd distract the guard whilst Benny switched the offending articles. I put together the wireless I'd bought from Hayes, and wandered around the corner, "trying to get reception"; I enlisted the copper's help to hold the aerial, with the promise of maybe hearing the game, and this was more than sufficient. We stashed the cones - locked in a box - in the boot of Benny's car, and hightailed it to the game. We arrived at half time. The home team won, but only just. We returned to 122, and shortly afterwards Flanagan arrived with the Reporter. Far more interesting was another story, though; "Warehouse owner found screaming in wreckage". Rebecca called RobertaHenry to find out more, and it transpired that Cobbit, who we knew for a fact was in the warehouse when it went up, was found unhurt at the site. He was still in custody in UnityHills police station.
Just before nightfall, Eric and I went to the edge of town and set fire to the tree where the creature first attacked; we left a sign reading "Jenkin Burn In Hell", so hopefully people will come to the obvious conclusion and leave it at that.
Wednesday 17th October, 1923 (HereBeDragons)
We'd run out of coffee, so Martha and I headed to 122 to for breakfast. Halfway through, the whole gang burst in with Acier in tow. He explained that Tatish was still alive; he too had survived the explosion. Unlike Cobbit, however, he was on the loose. Moreover, whereas Cobbit was insane enough to be harmless, Tatish was by all accounts mad enough to be dangerous, and probably headed to New York, planning to who knows what to throw the Jeffersons game. Eric and Robert took Acier to teh hospital - he was pretty far gone - and the rest of us (plus my bike) packed into Benny's plane). Being a cargo plane, it wasn't exactly luxurious, but it allowed us overtake the train (which the others had tried but failed to catch) and get to NY first.
We landed, and I sped round to the station to wait for the train; the others arrived just before it did, so we had plenty of eyes watching the platform, but - no Tatish. We managed to wrangle accommodation costs in New York from WHPL, and I also got a ticket for Martha; then I called her and sheepishly explained where I was. She wasn't best pleased, but hopefully if I treat her a little while we're here I can start to make things up to her.
Thursday 18th October, 1923 (HereBeDragons)
The radio station had laid on a pretty nice slap up meal for us before the game; as well as Martha, Nathan and Sarah (very much back together), Eric and Robert came up from Unity. When we actually got to the game, we got a little bit of a surprise - EugeneHazzard, who was by all accounts a weedy little oik the last time any of us saw him, was playing for the Jeffersons. Said team did appallingly, and conceded in the third quarter. This was probably not the fault of young Eugene, but rather the lack of Tatish's unnatural enhancements.
Worse was to come. The others caught up with Eugene after the game. He was friendly enough, but was quickly called away by his father, invisible in the back of a black-windowed limo. The driver closed the door, and turned around to smile at us. It was Tatish. He got into the driver's seat and pulled away.
Monday 22nd October, 1923
Martha and I stayed in New York for the weekend; it was nice to get away from things, and just spend some time together. The last week was pretty stressful (and that explosion shook me more than I let on). In any case, we had to come back because I had my appointment with Caius about MrsKline's will. I thought it'd just be a routine thing; I vaguely remember her mentioning something about listing me, so I was expecting to act as executor, and spend weeks tracking down long lost relatives and donating money to orphanages. But it wasn't quite like that.
She's left me the bloody house.
Actually, I am the executor, but she's left most things to me anyway, so it's a pretty simple job. The house, though. I didn't realise that she thought of me as close, even. I'm going to need a while to get my head around the idea.
April 1924
Tuesday 22nd April, 1924 (TheGreatestShowOnEarth)
New member turned up today; DavidSchreiber. Seems like a nice enough chap, though I'm not sure what he made of us. The TravellingCircus is in town, and an unusually prurient headline in the Times Chronicle - "Goat boy missing from circus", or somesuch - got us onto the subject of freaks and monsters we have known, which understandably confused David. In any case, Eric said he could get cheap tickets for the circus, so we decided to go. David tagged along with some high-minded idea of documenting the plight of the deformed and exploited sideshow performers. I asked Martha, but she decided to give it a miss as she was feeling ill. She was better by the evening, but in any case has an appointment to see the doctor the day after tomorrow. I hope she's OK.
The circus was the usual stuff - balancing acts, knifethrowers (Benny wasn't impressed; he didn't hit her once), and a magician. The latter was mediocre, but I nevertheless felt compelled to donate five dollars on the way out. Eric also stuffed a bundle of notes into the collection bucket; there's definitely something fishy going on.
The freak show was far more intriguing. Most of the exhibits were animal-headed people (including the goat boy, who'd apparently been recaptured). The lighting was kept dim, but I was still struck by how well done they were - you really couldn't see the join. The strangest thing, though, was that they seemed to understand us. I tried talk to the goat boy, but the guard bullied him into silence.
We retired to the club for a cup of tea or two, and were just about to head our separate ways when there was a fearful banging on the door. Eric got there first, and through the peephole he saw the eye of a goat. We sent Flanagan away, and opened the door to admit one of the ghastly chimeras from the show. However, on closer inspection, we realised that this wasn't the same goat-headed wretch that we had seen earlier. After a little pantomime, I went to fetch pen and paper, and the creature used this to communicate it's terrible tale...
I can hardly bring myself to commit it to paper. It seems that T P Burnham, the circus owner, posessed a machine that can turn ordinary people into half-human abominations. He was creating the freaks himself, using innocent people as his clay! The man in our hallway was in fact JosephCarey, a doctor and a member of the club. He and his wife had been kidnapped by Burnham, and had been incarcerated in his "museum" for ten years. Carey had effected his escape last night, whereupon Burnham had simply taken some poor lad off the streets, and turned him into another unspeakable grotesque.
Once we learnt this, we had no hesitation in joining Carey in a bid to rescue his compatriots. The circus site was easy to enter. I accompanied Carey to the freak show; I didn't follow him in, and I don't want to know what he did to his erstwhile captors, but he emerged sometime latter with the other victims in tow. We met the others at Burnham's tent. With a little of Benny's persuasion, he had agreed to take us to the machine, hidden in the hall of mirrors. However, this turned out to be a double-cross - he tried to give us the slip, under the cover of a berserk ape (I didn't mention the ape, did I? Hell, it's not that important). Benny gave chase, and found him in the tent that did in fact house the machine. By the time the rest of us arrived, Burnham was no more, and the tent was strewn with an indescribable mix of organic debris. Benny won't talk about it, and in any case I have little desire to ask him.
Carey had seen the machine in action, and was confident he could reverse it's effects. Sure enough, he managed to undo the transformations of his wife (formerly rabbit-headed), the fish-headed man, and the new goat boy. Then he sat in the machine himself, and Alsoud (with admirable composure given the circumstances) followed Carey's instructions, and transformed him back to his former self. We released the ape as a distraction, then returned to the club.
Carey says that there are others that have been victims of Brunham's infernal machine. He's dedicated his life to finding and restoring them. The man is a miracle - if I'd been through what he has, I would be fit to do nothing more than crawl into a hole and hide. In any case, the machine is locked away in 12 Devon Lane. When the last victim is cured, we will destroy it. I doubt that I will ever sleep well again, though, even after it has gone.
May 1924
Saturday 17th May 1924 (HowlsInTheNight)
I don't know if I can cope with this. When I woke up this morning, I knew what was going on, how the world work, and where I fit into it. Since Martha... I've no idea what to do.
I'm going to be a father.
I need to have a drink, try and get my head around this. It's too much. I'm going to 122; hopefully there, I'll get some peace, or maybe distraction.
Later
Distraction, yes, but a distinct lack of peace. Benny, Eric and David were there, and the talk was all about the wolf attacks (werewolves? who knows any more). Apparently, the attacks of a couple of months ago are being repeated, both here and in a couple of towns upstate. We took a trip up to the amusingly named Woonsocket, but my mind was, understandably, elsewhere. In any case, I got Benny to drop me off at home well before nightfall. For one, Martha and I needed to talk, and for another, I didn't want to take the chance that this was more than just a couple of wayward animals.
Sunday 18th May 1924
Didn't get much sleep last night; Martha heard something in the night that scared her half to death. I looked, but couldn't see anything outside (although people were scurrying about like frightened rats). Neither of us got any more rest before dawn.
I was meant to meet the others at 122 to go and ask around in Woonsocket, but I was so worried about Martha, especially given her present condition, that I decided to make sure she was OK first. After breakfast, I took her around to Lisa's, and left the two of them together; they should be fine, at least until nightfall. I headed over to the Society, but they'd already left, so I went round to see if FrankShort knew anything more. He didn't, despite having been up all night.
The others got back from Woonsocket a little after lunch; they'd confirmed that something huge and wolflike had been on the prowl. It seems that Benny (and Henry) had heard things last night, too. We decided that the best plan was to arm ourselves with silver (just to be on the safe side), and hole up in 122 for the next night or two. At dusk, I headed over to pick up Martha. I think Lisa will be fine - even a Lycanthrope would be foolish to break into Toni DaVinci's house. Martha was a little unsure about staying the night at the Society, but, perhaps given what she heard last night, I was able to persuade her. I told her that it's just a precaution, and it's probably nothing. I hope I'm right.
Later - probably around midnight
They're real. One of the things - whatever they are, they're certainly like no wolf I've ever seen - attacked 122. This is perhaps misrepresenting things a little; we saw it chasing some pour soul down the road, and Eric took a shot at it (I tried, but the damn silver bullets jammed my gun). He missed, but ran downstairs to have another go; I followed him. He got out of the door just in time to see the creature tearing apart its prey. Benny ran to his car to try and get to her. He took another shot, which served only to attract its attention. As it bore down on us, eyes glowing like coals, he shot again, still without effect. Three shots, with bona fide silver bullets, and not a scratch. What is this thing? It started to run, and Eric just managed to bound up the stairs and through the door, with David and I slamming it behind him, before the creature smashed into it. Thankfully, the door held. We shot the bolts, then peered out through the letter box. It had disappeared. When we were absolutely sure that the coast was clear, we let Benny back in.
Martha's nerves are shot. She's sat in one of the armchairs in the library, wrapped in a blanket but still shaking like a leaf. I think she'll pull through - she's strong, stronger than I am - but I'm more worried about the baby. Even though I've only know for a day, already I can't stand the thought of losing it (him, I suppose, or her).
What's that? The howling's back. Oh god; it's all around, and it's getting closer!
(At this point, a number of pages seem to have been torn out of the journal)
November 1924
Monday 24th November, 1924 (SignedSealedDelivered)
Got back into town late last night. I can't believe how big Martha's become since I was here last (note: find a less intensive way of saying that, or avoid the subject entirely). Must remember to thank Lisa for looking after her while I've been away.
Anyway, I popped into 122 for lunch, and bumped into the regulars. They were a little surprised to see me. I wasn't planning to tell them about the talisman, but they were all (understandably) a little skittish until I explained. Even then, Eric still wasn't convinced; I think it'll take time. I suppose it's for the best that it's out in the open, thought.
Apparently, a gentleman named DrGarfieldParrish has offered to show us around some sort of archaelogical dig in town. It sounds remarkably tedious - just the sort of thing to take my mind off the last few months.
Tuesday 24th November, 1924
Visited DavidSchreiber at Jenkin this morning - he wanted some photographs of the Talisman, so he could research it. I imagine that the more people know about it, the more comfortable they'll feel around me. We then headed over to Parrish's office. He wasn't in, and the door was locked. We had a quick look out onto the the quad to check he hadn't jumped, and then sat down to wait. Interesting books; quite a few about Native American history, which is as of late a subject of quite some interest to me. In any case, after Parrish didn't turn up for a while we headed asked around, and eventually got the department secretary to open the door. There had been a breakin - the secretary shooed us out and called the police. Alex and I kept people talking while the others had a quick snoop around; apparently, there'd been signs of a struggle.
When the police arrived, they turned out to consist of Frank Short, which simplied the explanations considerably. Eric and I accompanied him to Parrish's house, but needless to say there was no answer. We headed back to 122 to discuss matters, and decided that we should pay a visit to Hilary Merritt, who was sponsoring the dig. I nipped home to change, then Robert and I went over to his house, which happens to be a posh little pile on an island in the river. He's evidently not short of a bob or two, but I suppose that's something of a precondition for being a philanthropist.
His butler opened the door, and showed us into a sitting room to wait. After about fifteen minutes, a well-scrubbed looking young lad arrived and showed us upstairs to a library. Merrit was friendly enough, and offered a drink, which was especially decent of him given that we were basically there to accuse him of offing his archaeologist. After a little while, Alex and David joined us; the boy (Jones, his name turned out to be) showed them up. We talked for a little while, and then left; I was in two minds as to the man. Maybe he knows something, maybe he doesn't. In any case, we decided that the churchyard may hold more clues. The others are heading over there now to stake out the place; I'll join them for a little while, then head back to Martha.
Wednesday 25th November, 1924
I'm writing this from hospital. The stakeout didn't go according to plan last night, but at least we found something out. A little while after we got up there, we noticed a light go out in a room at the top of Merritt's house. Moments later, a creature, something like a bat but the size of a man, emerged, and headed straight for us. Robert lost it, but Eric and I keep our wits about us at least enough to shoot at it. I don't think either of us scored a hit. Due to my stupid, melodramtic affectation (which I really must try and get over), I had to duck behind a gragoyle to reload. By the time I had, the thing had arrived at the roof and was trying to bite a chunk out of Eric. Not wanting to risk shooting him, I charged over and attempted to grapple with it. Unfortunately, my aim was a smidgen off, and I pitched head first from the roof.
The next thing I remember was Robert tying a makeshift bandage around my head. The creature had taken Eric, so we jumped in the car (I needed a little help) and gave chase. Almost as soon as we sighted the creature, it dropped Eric. We picked him up, and headed to hospital. He's in the next room. I'm sorry to say that he's in a far worse state than I am, but it's nothing that won't mend. I've phone Lisa and she's said she'll go over and keep Martha company. I hope she doesn't worry too much.
Later
A little while after I finished the last entry, Robert came to visit. Apparently, Eric had said that the thing had a person inside. He dropped me off at home; Martha made me promise not to hang around on any more church roofs, a promise I gladly gave.
Latter, I headed over 122 to find out what was happening. Eric was still confined to hospital, but the rest were around. David and I headed over to the University to see if there was anything that could help us there. We found extracts from Symbolica (a book that Parrish apparently took out of the society library around the dawn of time), and a picture of an artefact that he'd apparently found at the dig. We searched, but we couldn't find the latter anywhere in the office; it seems likely that it was taken the same time Garfield was. Back at 122, Robert recognised the extract, and went to check to see if the book was still out. As it happened, Parrish didn't have it, but Merritt did. We headed over to visit Eric, and after much fruitless discussion we decided to simply ask Merritt if he had the book. Unsuprisingly, he said he hadn't. Things were about to get unpleasant, when it occurred to Alex that the signature in the library book wasn't the same as the one he'd seen on Merritt's cheques. Merritt mentioned that Jones sometimes signs for him, and we had our culprit.
We headed over to Jones' house, and there was no sign of life. Looking closer, there was a candle burning in the cellar, and we could just about make out a prone body. Fortunately, the door wasn't locked, so we made our way inside. When we got down to the cellar, it looked more like some kind of wierd laboratory. A tangle of glasswork seemed for all the world to be distilling darkness. In the middle of all this was Garfield Parrish, stone cold unconcious. I gave Alex my gun, and started to pick my way through. I was nearly there when I heard the sounds of a struggle. I couldn't see what was happening - the preternatural gloom meant that even carbide lamps made little impact - so I pressed on, and got to Parrish. He seemed unhurt, but I couldn't rouse him. I picked him up and gingergly carried him back out. When I got there, the others had a prisoner - Jones and the bat-thing were indeed one and the same. He had Symbolica and some other book, but he destroyed a key page before Robert could stop him. He was a babbling wreck; he claimed that Merritt was some kind of sorcerer, but refused to pass his knowledge on. We'll have to keep an eye on that one. The good news is that Parrish seems fine, and remembers very little of his ordeal.
I must stop writing now; Martha is calling. I've been neglecting her over the last couple of days - time to correct that.