Outside the Outhouse

You recall that the Library is on MAIN STREET
Check the pages for a map and an inventory list

Our story thus far... Emails:

Adam

Aite yo I want to finish this shit so we can sit down and write it into a formal narrative. Facebook is prob not gonna work. Do you want to do this over email? I'm down.

Eric

Hell yes.
Recap: you're outside the church. There's a terrible clamor from the bell. Wanna go in?

Sent from my iPhone

Adam

Shit yes I do.

First thing's first: INVENTORY.

Also: TIME.

Eric

oh god.
Ok I need to look at the backlog one sec

Sent from my iPhone

Adam

Take your time bro, it'll give me a sec to get back in Calvin's character.

Eric

It is 9:00

You have

POCKETWATCH
SIMON'S LETTER

SMALL KEY
BIG KNIFE

Adam

Go INTO the church.

Eric

        The interior is poorly lit and strangely cold. Your eyes have not yet adjusted but you can make out the pews. The white townsfolk are here; those at the front are in their Sunday finest while in the back sit the crabmen and cannery workers in only their overalls, likely their only clothes. In between from richest to poorest sit bedraggled townspeople, filling the pews only barely, with considerable gaps in the crowd. Lord’s Landing is not as large as it used to be. 

         Everyone shares a dazed expression as they listen to the sermon over the clamor of the bells. You once saw someone give testimony under hypnosis, this is not dissimilar. No one has noticed you walk in.

        You can’t see behind the podium. There is only a begrudging line of light from a slit of a window which illuminates the front of it. Behind the podium you hear the REVEREND’s sermon, which now sounds like a high pitched hissing, strangely articulate and audible over the bells.

Of the reverend himself all you can see in the half-light is a hunched silhouette and a DULL GLINT.

            “…of the unfaithful and insubordinate women in scripture, none are more exemplary then Lot’s Wife. As she turned and gazed upon the ruination of Sodom she was transformed into a substance as worthless as her disobedient soul. Salt! Salt which poisons the oceans, salt which aridifies the land, salt that chokes the life out of cropland!” 

“But the world is a waste as treacherous as those of the orient, and all cities are Sodom. All sinners need to wait only for their deaths for their souls to be transformed into something fittingly vile. Slime! Excrement! Something that runs disgustingly into the swamp to nourish the lowliest frog-scum. And when this swirling charnel of the wicked overflow their cesspits, so too are created the wastelands of the world!”

Eric

          REVEREND CLEER leans forward into the slit of light. The DULL GLINT dazzles briefly, disorienting you. It comes from his false eye, a steel grey ball that sits lazily in his left socket. His other eye, a pale blue, stares with a manic intensity. Cleer doesn’t seem to have aged a day, he appears to be the same old man from when you left.

          “The Orient is a desert of salt!” Now he is shouting, “Wicked souls all, who perished and added to the ruinous monument that is the Sahara, the Yeshimon, the Negev! And we here in Lord’s landing sit upon a foundation of wasteland which is the very same wretchedness but wet instead of dry!  Mark my words, it will soon overflow and consume everything.

“Man cannot have two masters. The law of Roosevelt now competes with the law of the LORD! Roosevelt punishes obedience, rewards idleness, elevates perverts and homosexuals, turns away from the LORD and embraces the Red anarchy of the east.  Washington seeks to transform us all into creatures as wretched as the CROWS who are as magpies. At one time the crows were taught humility and industry from guiding white hands, but now they caw and chatter disgustingly, clamoring for undeserving jobs and stealing things of wealth to add to their pitiful nests. Shall we all be such slavish dependants? Will we all contribute to the river of filth?

           "No! We follow the law of the LORD, which will triumph over the whores: Washington, Moscow, Rome, Babylon!”

Cleer is tall, perhaps taller than yourself, and very narrow, with long legs and arms and fingers. Pale, angular, boney, he resembles nothing so much as a chattering skeleton. The thought makes you shiver.

Cleer withdraws back into the darkness, his voice a whisper again. All you can see is the DULL GLINT, but you have a terrifying feeling that he is staring straight at you.

“The LORD knows all and the LORDS sees all. There is nothing you can do that I cannot see for the LORD is my witness. You cannot hide. I will always know.”

The bells have stopped ringing. There is a silence as he closes the book in front of him and heads toward a door you can see in the back. Not once was a prayer uttered. He opens it, slides into darkness, and the door slams shut. The noise seems to wake everyone up from their stupor. People begin idly chatting as though they had sat through a particularly boring lecture. No one notices you.

Adam

Get the fuck OUT of the CHURCH. Real quiet like.

NORTH; LOOK.

Eric

You slink out unnoticed and head up the lane NORTH and up a depression, walk past several hedges and find yourself in the front a worn down, but cheery looking SCHOOLHOUSE. 

There is a sign up front painted white with children's handprints on it in many colors. You guess that sign was an art project. It reads "Community Summer School and Daycare! Weekdays 9-3! Speak to Miss Virginia Blair for registration."

Vines have covered the side of it facing you, except for a portion of the WINDOW. Children are laughing inside.

To the NORTH and WEST is a broad fence that looks over the SWAMP. To the SOUTH is the CHURCH. To the EAST are lovely FLOWER GARDENS.

Adam

EAST; EAST; LOOK.

Eric

You pass through some GARDENS with a dry fountain overgrown with ivy, past some hedges until you find yourself in front of the TOWN HALL. To the west are the GARDENS, to the EAST is the TRAIN/TELEGRAPH STATION and POST OFFICE. To the NORTH is the only road out of town. To the SOUTH is MAIN STREET. You can see people populating the streets returning to work.

Sent from my iPhone

Adam

Go INTO the POST OFFICE.

Eric

I assume you are going EAST first?

Adam

Oh shit I thought I was there already.

Yes, EAST; LOOK.

Eric

You are in front of an old brick building, with a long wooden platform to the side. A concrete wall and some rubber bumpers mark the terminus to a railroad which winds its way to the NORTH. There is a tall signpost up front with four hanging signs. The first has a stylized engraving of the dock with the Lord's Cross jutting out of the water and the words LORD'S LANDING STATION wrapped around it. The second has TELEGRAPH STATION written on it. The third has POST OFFICE written on it. The fourth is very small and says PUBLIC RESTROOMS SPEAK TO MANAGER FOR KEY. On the platform is a door and a BOX OFFICE. There is an ancient man wearing a green visor in the BOX OFFICE.

The door is locked. The ancient man in the box office turns his head over to you with an audible cracking noise and intones with a wheeze "...can I help you?"

Adam

SAY, "Yes sir, I'm looking to use the Post Office."

Eric

The nameplate under the man reads HORACE TABERNACLE STATION MANAGER

The man looks confused for a second then hems and hums. He picks up a gigantic keyring and painstakingly counts through each one. After about an eternity he slips a WOODEN KEY under the slot. "Here's the key for the outhouse, enjoy your stay at Lord's Landing..."

You notice a dusty, unused EAR TRUMPET next to him

Adam

TAKE the KEY.

You bastard you worked him in.

POINT to the POST OFFICE then at the KEYS. SAY (close to him), "Mr.
Tabernacle, I need to get into the Post Office."

Eric

The man looks startled. He then screws in the ear trumpet while muttering "alright, hold your horses..."

He hops off his stool and you see that his hunched form probably doesn't break five feet. He hobbles at a glacial pace toward the door of the box office and disappears. 

You wait for the man to unlock the post office door. There are geological eras of the earth that must be faster.

 When you hear the door rattle you look up and see Mr. Tabernacle's withered face poke out, his green visor replaced with an oversized postman's cap. 

"Come on in..." he wheezes

Adam

Go into the POST OFFICE; LOOK; SAY, "Thank you, sir."

        

Eric

As you pass through the door you notice the OUTHOUSE, a small wooden shack with a crescent moon window. It is squatting on the other side of the platform and is almost entirely covered in ivy. It is almost invisible.

You walk inside the office. The place is dusty and worn. A large clock and some benches are placed near a timetable that indicates that no trains are coming, There are numbered PO boxes all along the walls, and you wonder if SIMON'S KEY had a number on it too. 

The old man shuffles over behind a desk with a nameplate that reads HORACE TABERNACLE, POSTMASTER. He flops down on the chair and falls asleep.

Adam

Hah. Good.

EXAMINE SIMON'S KEY.

Don't worry, I'll make Calvin go pee pee after this.

Eric

The number 280 is engraved on it.

You see PO box 280 out of the corner of your eye. A yellowing namecard reads ZIMMER FAMILY

Adam

Hmm. TAKE PO BOX 280. LEAVE the POST OFFICE. Go INTO the OUTHOUSE.

Adam

LOOK.

Eric

Haha sorry the PO box is a locked box in the wall. I assume you want to unlock it and open it?

Sent from my iPhone

Adam

Hah yes I do.

Eric

Inside the box is a think worn BINDER bursting full of disorganized notes. On the top of it is a WORN PHOTOGRAPH and a SHEET OF PAPER. Presumably the latter two fell out of the binder at some point

Sent from my iPhone

Adam

LOOK at the WORN PHOTOGRAPH

Eric

You've seen this photograph before. Actually, you're in it.

It is a worn photograph of the gang outside of a small pier in the swamp. The four of you were tire swinging into the river when Simon's dad showed up with a Kodak Brownie and insisted upon a picture. The four of you put on your outerclothes and held gaptoothed smiles as long as you could while the machine developed the exposure.

In the front proudly stands JAMES BLAIR. Confident and headstrong, he was a natural leader. In the picture he is wearing a striped shirt and shorts and is holding a baseball cap in his hands. His face is full of freckles. James could always stand up to bullies three times his size, something that you could never do despite your bulk.

Next to him grins SIMON ZIMMER. He is scrawny and wearing thick glasses and a bowtie, his oversized pants rolled up so not to get the cuffs wet. Simon was the best student and liked to keep fastidiously clean and tidy. He went on to a pretty impressive academic career, but his troubles and fears must have always been beneath the surface. You find yourself wishing that you could talk to him one more time, tell him to keep strong. But it wouldn't have worked. You think maybe only James could have kept him from killing himself.

Next to him is GINNY BLAIR, James' sister. She was an explosion of freckles and red hair. In first grade she was suspended for a week because she kicked her teacher. In this picture she was wearing overalls and plaid, an outfit she much preferred to a dress. When the other girls made fun of her she just started hanging out with the boys and became the fourth member of the group.
One time later that summer you asked her why she didn't wear a dress like the other girls. She hit you very hard, burst into tears and ran away. That night you threw pebbles at her window until she went downstairs. She was angry until she saw that you had picked wildflowers from the swamp for her.

"I'm sorry," you said, although at the time you weren't certain what you were sorry for.

She blushed and took the flowers. "Cal," she said pausing, "do you think I'm pretty?"

When you told her just how pretty you thought she was, she kissed you and ran inside. It's a memory you're actually quite fond of.

On the other side of James is a gigantic, dopey looking kid. He is barefoot, his face is smudged and he is wearing only overalls. "For Chrissake's kid", you think to yourself, "button up your clothes" One strap is unbuttoned and his chest is bare.

You hate staring at yourself from twenty years ago. You hate that idiot kid you once were. Your mom was the town midwife and kept you at home until you were well past prime schooling age. You were knowledgeable about all kinds of herbs and swamplore, but when you finally entered primary school you couldn't read and didn't own a pair of shoes. The other kids made fun of you and the teachers were quick to dismiss you as halfwit white trash. 

James taught you how to read. James and Simon that is, they gave you a crash course on everything and in a year you were a passable student on par with your peers. Your reputation as an ogre stuck with you and you always struggled with book learning, but staying in the same class as Simon and James was a constant motivator for studying. They were your best friends.

You only gained confidence in your intellect when you hit the streets of the city. You were naturally deductive and streetwise, and what's more people often underestimated you based on your size and laconicism. But now you're back.

Adam

Fuckin sweet. POCKET the PHOTO. LOOK at the BINDER

Sent from my iPod

Eric

The huge binder is a total mess. It is a hurricane of scrawled notes on carbon paper, lined paper, napkins, the backs of photos, typed documents, fractions of full reports, pages torn out of books. There doesn't appear to be any rhyme or reason to it. The documents are astonishing in their ecclecticness and diversity of topics. Some are pages from scientific journals about transdimensional harmonics, others are fragments of science fantasy about other dimensions. Torn fragments of Lord Dunsey's The Gods of Pegāna are placed next to excerpts from Einstein's theorums. Nearby are segments from Alistair Crowley's works and after that is a document in all capital letters with no punctuation or vowels (what professes to be transliterations from the original Hebrew bible). Simon's own musings on all these topics intermingle with professional sources. Along with these topics are information on dream and nightmare theory, snippets from gothic novels, theoretical transhuman biology, accounts of voodoo curses, occult phenomena, and at the very end a tasty gumbo recipe. 

HOW SIMON'S NOTES WORK

Simon's notes are a hot mess. Browsing through them without context will yield no information. But if you are looking for a specific topic or keyword you might come up with a hint or a clue.

Simply type CONSULT SIMON'S NOTES ABOUT [KEYWORD] and to see if you find anything interesting. For example typing: CONSULT SIMON'S NOTES ABOUT GUMBO will yield: "At the end of the binder is a tasty gumbo recipe. You should try it sometime!"

You still have not looked at the SHEET OF PAPER on the top of the binder

Adam

POCKET SIMON'S NOTES; LOOK AT SHEET OF PAPER.

Eric

"...I cannot fully comprehend the beings in my dreams. I have been attempting to compare them to monsters of mythology but even these monikers are wholly inaccurate. And yet name them I must for in naming something one can attempt to destroy it.

The LORD of the Wilderness cannot be compared to any monster save one: Typhon. This is not because of any physical attributes. The LORD surely has none, and there are times I think that the LORD is simply a voice that guides mortals to twisted ends. But Typhon is the Father of All Monsters. And the LORD has children. These children are HIS agents and have twisted powers that they work in HIS name. To be sure the LORD has mortal agents, but these people have no supernatural power and will be exposed once the LORD's reign has ended.

I have determined therefore that there are MONSTERS in Lord's Landing that must be slain. They are the LORD's anchors to this plane, and once they are dead HIS influence will end.

The MONSTERS are THREE: 

A GYLO
A MINOTAUR

AND A DRYAD

Kill them and the world will right itself"

Adam

Well how bout that.

TAKE all of SIMON'S NOTES.

LOOK at TABERNACLE, specifically that big ring of KEYS.

Eric

The old man is sound asleep. His KEYRING glints in the morning sun

Adam

FURTHER EXAMINE KEYRING.

Eric

There are hundreds of keys on the keyring, presumably they can open up the many post office boxes on the walls. 

One of the keys is a little larger and has a tag sticking out of it that reads UTILITY CLOSET

Adam

LIFT and POCKET the KEYRING real quiet like.

Eric

The keyring jangles a little bit and Mr. Tabernacle snorts.

"Guldurn Chinese..." he murmurs without opening his eyes.

You wait for the snoring to continue before you pocket the keyring.

Adam

EXIT POST OFFICE; USE OUTHOUSE KEY WITH OUTHOUSE; GO INTO OUTHOUSE; LOOK

Eric

As you walk toward the Outhouse you can't help but marvel at how well hidden it is behind the ivy. If you hadn't just happened to see it as you walked in the station you wouldn't have even known it was here. 

You unlock the door (The lock is very simple, barely a wooden slat) and start to pull on it. It is stuck with misuse and takes some effort to open. Inside is a very simple wooden room with a bench and a hole in it. It is very dusty and doesn't smell particularly bad. You realize it must have been a long time since anyone actually used it.

The door gradually swings shut and you look outside the moon shaped window. Huh, there's actually a pretty good view of the platform from here.

Adam

SIT; CONSULT SIMON'S NOTES ABOUT GYLO

Adam

Also LOCK DOOR from INSIDE.

Eric

You lock the door and sit on the can. What a nice private place to poop this is!

Several pages in the notes are clipped together and marked with a tag that says "THE GYLO"

But most of these pages have been torn right down the middle! Others are so badly blotted or scribbled on that they are totally illegible. Obviously Simon assembled these toward the end of his life, after his sanity left. The only thing you can salvage from the jumble is a torn title page from a book:  Arkhetypon, Gertrude Belhaven

On it Simon has scribbled:

SHE'S WATCHING ME

Adam

CONSULT SIMON'S NOTES about GERTRUDE BELHAVEN

Eric

A note in Simon's Handwriting reads: 

"I remember having to read her stuff in school. We all thought she was way too dense and wordy. Arkhetypon is supposed to be the definitive source on Greek Mythology, but boy is it thick. I remember having to tutor Cal on all these old kings and demigods and he'd just scratch his head. James came up with the capital idea of illustrating these stories. They're actually quite exciting if presented right."

Attached are three pictures you've seen before. James was a pretty good artist. In blue colored pencil is a woman with a book and an owl under the name ATHENA. ARTEMIS is in green colored pencil, she's wearing green and has a bow. In pink is APHRODITE, she's wearing a really sexy dress. Ginny gave James a hard time on that one.

Adam

Hmm. Interesting. CONSULT SIMON'S NOTES ABOUT MINOTAUR.

Eric

Belhaven, Arkhetypon pg 157

"...Half bull and half human, the minotaur was both the son and the punishment of Minos and Pasiphaë. For their arrogance, Posiedon had forced a bull onto Pasiphaë and this creature was the offspring. When Minos beheld the newborn monster he attempted to smother it, but was stayed by a warning from Poseidon. The prosperity of Crete would be henceforth linked to the health of the creature, so that if Minos wished to continue his rule he would have to live with his shameful stepson.

Minos tried hiding the beast in a cage, but it's inhuman strength soon became too great for any bars. So he had the inventor Dedalus construct a labyrinth so complex that no one, least of all the brutish Minotaur, could puzzle the escape from. There the Minotaur was imprisoned, kept fed by youths from Athens whose fear and heat the Minotaur could track..."

Adam

TELL ME SOMETHING I DON'T KNOW; CONSULT SIMON'S NOTES about DRYAD.

Eric

This next page fragment has a PHOTOGRAPH clipped to it

Belhaven, Arkhetypon pg 43

"...Dryads and nymphs were nature spirits personifying flowers and trees. Depicted as beautiful women, their lives were bound up with that of their tree..."

"...There is a stark contrast between the feminine genii of emotions and the feminine genii of nature. The ecstasy-fueled Maenads, the furies Harpies, even the dolorous Gyloi [footnote #2] are all depicted as savage, violent and hideous. The dryads and nymphs are on the other hand gentle and beautiful. Why feminine emotions should be vilified is an opinion best left to the reader, but that idealistic nature should be exalted is unsurprising. One can just picture the ancient shepherds in the fields as they come across the shapely curves and leafy hair of a laurel tree and longingly picture it coming to life as Daphne..."

"2. For the only source on the GYLO, see HARPY on pg 115"

Adam

CONSULT SIMON'S NOTES about HARPY

Eric

You just find one of James' pictures. There is a bird woman with glasses and a tartan skirt. She has a ruler in one claw and "Pay Attention" is coming from a word bubble from her mouth.

The words on the bottom read "Thanks to Miss Finch for playing the Harpy in tonight's performance."

You kids had fun. 

The PHOTOGRAPH sticks out ominously from the NOTES

Adam

LOOK at PHOTOGRAPH

Eric

You nearly drop it in fear. It is a picture of the WASTING TREE.

One side of the old church in the swamp is in ruins thanks to the Wasting Tree. It was a locally famous landmark of the swamp, although difficult to get to. Pitch black, leafless, bulbous and with sharp thorns crusted with dried sap, the Wasting Tree was an ossified, and rotting tree of unknown species. It stretched out tall and ominous out of the swamp, entangling its thorny trunk into the side of the building, its arms encircled through shattered windows, its roots dislodging rubble and cobblestones. Near the top of the tree was a gaping hole that resembled a screaming mouth, in fact the whole tree looked like a vengeful spirit bursting from the swamp, tearing down the church. For a while, if you knew the secret route through the swamp, kids would dare eachother to trespass on this doubtlessly haunted place. 

Simon (it must have been a long time ago!) had written on the back of the photograph:

"Dear Miss Finch,

On our last paper I had written about the dryads and you had docked me points for saying that they could be scary. I think that I should get those points back. Maybe they can't be scary in Greece where there are laurels and flowers and such but Gertrude Belhaven clearly says here that people based their myths on the appearance of local vegetation. If the ancients saw the scary plants here in Lord's Landing the nymphs and dryads wouldn't be so nice! I've written this on the back of a picture my dad took of the Wasting Tree near the old church. I don't see how our legends of evil spirits locked in these trees are very different then the legends of the dryads, except that they are scarier. I believe that I got the general idea right and furthermore I should get credit for imagining it here in the swamp.

Sincerely,

Simon"

Under it is written in Miss Finch's terse handwriting "See me after class"

There is no Wasting Tree anymore. Not after that terrible day so many years ago. Not after you set it on fire. 

Would you like to REMEMBER?

Adam

Oh shit yes I would. REMEMBER the FIRE.

Eric

It was the night of mists, when the swamps swallowed up the roads and the town went mad.

It was the night they killed your mother. 

You could tell that something strange was happening even months before. The tensions in town were rising with the unnatural heat. There were always conflicts in Lord's Landing: rich and poor; black and white; outsider and local; but these long held and petty resentments were blossoming into full fledged fights. Old Reverend Thistle had died, and his replacement Cleer had emerged from seemingly nowhere, passionate and energetic at first. But soon he began making dark insinuations and loaded accusations against vulnerable members of the community. It wasn't long before acts of disrespect or even cruelty were excused with language taken right out of Cleer's sermons. By the end Cleer was screaming invective and bile as stridently as he had today.

A circus caravan had come to town during this time. The town shambled to the dock as the performers set up on the pavilion. The ringleader was a swarthy man with a turban and a curly mustache. His announced that name was MUSTAFA ZOTT and that he was of gypsy blood (Simon later insisted that this probably wasn't true. "His name was Arabic, it just sounds eastern!" James countered "it's probably not his real name."). The Great Zott promised that he would tell fortunes after the show was over, and although the children were enraptured, the adult eyed them warily.

A woman brought out a fat pig. She had a harness with a pair of fake wings made of peacock feathers that could fold in, she strapped this onto the pig. Two burly men rolled a cannon onto the stage and the Great Zott announced that they could only fail to impress the crowd "...WHEN PIGS FLY!" They shoved the squealing pig into the cannon and you can remember feeling a surge of panic over the fate of the poor critter. But when they shot the cannon the pig launched out along with thousands of bubbles and streamers that no one seemed to have loaded the cannon with in the first place, spiraling upward and then floating gently down on a parachute built into the harness. The children burst into applause. To this day you don't know how they managed that one.

The adults only muttered and grumbled however. There was tension and anxiety in most of their eyes, and everyone was dead to the spectacle. If the performers didn't notice this at first they soon came to after a couple of their acts won only lackluster applause from the grownups. A beautiful dancer in a provocative leopard-print leotard began dancing when two clowns accidentally set her on fire. She continued to dance even after her whole body was consumed in flames while in the background the clowns struggled with comically oversized buckets of water. When they finally extinguished her she emerged from the steam dry, unharmed, and wearing an immaculate and sumptuous opera gown. The children seated up front oohed and ahhed but again only murmuring from the adults.

The circus finally closed early after the adults started booing a pair of hermaphrodites wearing half suits and half dresses dancing with themselves. Now it was the children who grumbled. James, Simon and yourself were teenagers and trapped between the two crowds, but James marched forward insisting on getting his fortune told. As the circus started packing up James demanded a session with the Great Zott.

"I'm very sorry about the grownups," James said, "They're normally much better behaved then this." Zott laughed at this and took the three of you into his cabin. He sat you all down on cushions, lit some incense and drew the curtains. He sat cross legged.

"I know Lord's Landing." He started, "My parents moved here from Europe and we lived in a house here. I now own it, it's right there on the dock. I grew up here like you. I don't need to tell you that there is great joy and beauty here in the swamp. But there is also something darker. There is something buried here, imprisoned and furious. I left the last time things seemed to boil over and I now I wander the Chesapeake and its many rivers on my showboat here, entertaining coastal towns. I've returned occasionally but I've never seen it as bad as this. You boys have a choice, run like I did or stay and fight. If you choose the latter I think I can help."

He spoke as a child of Lord's Landing and you all trusted him. Only Simon, always rational, seemed skeptical. But Zott seemed to read his mood,

"If you doubt that the supernatural flows here in Lord's Landing you only need to take a look into my crystal." He unveiled a crystal ball which seemed to shimmer with its own light. "This is only inert glass most of the time. But since I have come to this area, saturated as it is with omen and portent, it has lit up and shown me things."

You gazed into the crystal ball and saw a distorted image of you and Ginny kissing in her backyard. You flushed and turned to your compatriots but whatever it was that they saw in the glass you never knew, except that it seemed dearly important to them. 

"Something in the swamp is stoking the passions and emotions of Lord's Landing. Something is spreading an evil miasma that amplifies the hatreds and prejudices of those who inhale it. I don't know what it is, my orb only shows a great twisted blackness deep in the swamp."

"This is all I can help you with. My troupe is leaving tonight."

Eric

I'm at work so I can't type any more right now. There's a part 2

Adam

100% invested

Eric

For the next month it was as though you were just having another adventure. None of you knew how dangerous things would become. You were fools.
You had split up: Simon hit the library, James looked at the old town records, you had wandered the old swamp ostensibly to gather herbs for Mother but also to determine what could be the source of the evil. Ginny had a way with people so she kept the surly grownups off your tails.
In the swamp you noticed places where the air became hotter and thicker, birds stopped calling and insects stopped chirping and even the drone of the frogs were silenced. In these crannies, hollows and glens the vegetation seemed to have died, flowers were twisted and blackened and rotten fish floated bellies up, though there were no flies. You were unable to venture any further into the swamp in these areas, though whether it was because of the unbearable humidity or the total dread you felt, to this day you aren't sure.
You pointed out these silent places on a large map Simon had found and the conclusion was obvious, even to to a galoot like yourself. All the places you found formed the perimeter of a circle, and in some places which were further inside this circle the evil influence was more pronounced. It's epicenter must be it source. Then James spoke up:
"The Wasting Tree."
You all looked up at him
"Everyone's been talking about it. All the kids who have access to a boat have gone up to see it. A huge haunted dead tree that sprung from almost nowhere and crushed a church? It's right here in the epicenter." He pointed. "I don't know what this thing is, but it's where the Lord of the Frogs lives. It has to be."

You had all been using the name "Lord of the Frogs" to describe the nameless evil you opposed. You took it from the tale of the town's founding. You remember what Simon said about it: "Here's the legend: Cecil Clementine is a Catholic priest. He travels south with his converted Indian guide Wicomac but are warned that an evil spirit called The Lord of the Frogs lives in the swamp. He banished the spirit and founded Lord's Landing. But it is said that the Lord of the Frogs placed a curse on Lord's Landing. I don't know about any curse, I mean the old town used to be further in the swamp where the ruins and the old church is so that might have something to do with it. Lord's Landing has migrated south over the centuries because of flooding and erosion. Maybe some might call that the LORD trying to reclaim what was once his, I guess, but this is really a hazard of any waterfront town. Frankly the only thing keeping the ground we're standing on right now from flooding and erosion are the levees and the dock supports..."

James had to step in to keep Simon from one of his tangents. "So is the Lord of the Frogs back? Is he the one pumping evil into the air?" The image of the town's collective hatred as a heavy gas was too effective to ignore, and you all spoke of stopping it the way adults spoke of stopping a gas leak.

"No, you don't understand!" Simon said. "The whole story is probably apocryphal. It's probably just a colorful metaphor for English Catholics converting the area. Driving out an evil spirit? That's just a fancy way of saying they banished all the old gods of the swamp. Wicomac and Cecil Clementine probably weren't even actual people, just amalgamations of Catholic settlers and converted tribesmen. It's just a fairy tale!"

But even as he said this Simon paled a little. Everyone, even Simon knew what was wrong with what he just said. It wasn't just a fairy tale. The day of this conversation was the hottest on record. All the adults were angry and sullen, and very few of them had gotten up for work. School wasn't even in session that day, the children had just left their houses to play with barely a grunt from their parents. When the adults did leave it was at night, where they grouped up to start fights or vandalize the Crow's nest. Something was gripping the minds of the grownups and it was something that would soon explode. Simon begged and pleaded with his parents to see reason, but they were far too influenced by the strange lethargy to even leave their darkened rooms. Ginny and James' father, the police deputy, had all the vigor and stamina of his children, but he was knocked unconscious during one of the many nightly bar-fights. No one had offered to drive him to the hospital several miles north, the other police barely seemed to register what was going on. Your Mother was aware: she always had a strange and magic quality to her and besides, nothing could surprise her. But she had a gimp leg and was the target of much of the vandalism not directed at blacks. No one would believe anything she said, and she couldn't physically oppose anyone. All she could do to help was nurse Deputy Blair back to health with her herbs. 

And the dreams. All of you were having the most horrible dreams, winged creatures plucking out your eyes and tongues, running from a bellowing monster in a shadowed cave, sinking slowly into the swamp while a gigantic scarecrow stared horribly at you... all these while a terrible VOICE insisted you give up your mission, promising pain and death to you and your family.

James spoke, "I don't know what the Wasting Tree is. I don't know if it is the LORD's home or if a piece of the LORD was left behind like a seed, I just don't know. But it's what's causing this, I can feel it. And it's going to die. We're going to find a boat, some gasoline and some matches. Then we're going into the swamp and we're lighting that fucker on fire."
None of you heard James curse before. You all laughed a little, not just because of the cursing but because for the first time in a while you all felt hope. James just had that effect on people.

Eric

Sit tight there's more coming!

Adam

SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Eric

How stupid you all were. You thought it was just another game, another one of your adventures. With James' charisma and confidence it was hard not to be.

The first deaths were bar fights and street brawls, things that could be explained as an unfortunate accident. But then lynchings started, transients, drunks, prostitutes, unattached foreigners with money to steal. Crows who left the nest.   

The worst day of your life came after the north road flooded and the heavy fogs came in. The day started with a foul stench in the air as fish floated belly up in the swamp. The normally freshwater was totally stagnant and gave off a powerful odor. It creeped into town, the northern half of Lord's Landing was soon ankle deep in the unnatural bile. An emergency meeting was called at town hall to discuss rationing food and water, but even the coolest heads were addled with exhaustion. It seemed no one had slept well the previous night, as everyone was plagued with the same terrible dreams. The crowd was already unruly at the beginning but gradually grew more ruckus as people hurled personal insults and wild conspiracy theories. A fistfight had broken out by the time you heard a loud stomping at the front. As the crowd quieted you remember a moment of relief, believing that at last, after so many hours of nonsensical bickering, after so many weeks of tension and violence, a responsible adult would now finally step up. Then you heard Reverend Cleer's voice. 

"It is not misfortune that visits us today. It is not a curse or a hardship. The waters and the fog, foul though they are, are a blessing." His voice was quiet and even, he might as well had been talking to someone sitting right next to him instead of an entire auditorium. Yet everyone could hear every word.

"We here in Lord's Landing are now gifted with two of the most fortunate virtues, the two most American virtues."  (Was that last phrase said in a mocking tone? You couldn't tell.) "Opportunity and Providence! Providence that we are now an island unto our own, unimpeded by the influence of foreigners and degenerates. Opportunity that we can now build the Shining City on the Hill and demonstrate to the LORD how virtuous man can be! We can cut off the cancerous elements of our town and show heaven and earth what a righteous people look like!"

"We must start by ridding our once happy community of the parasites. The foreigners and Jews of the merchant's houses, the subhumans of the Crow's Nest. Empty their houses, seize their possessions and drown them in the swamp."

He said this in a calm and straightforward tone, as though he had been dictating a shopping list.

The reaction was instant as the town roared in either approval or disgust. Horrifyingly most seemed to agree that people must die, but disagreed about  just who.
Men threw punches. You heard screaming.

You left the hall as fast as you could, and noticed that James and Ginny down the street, wide eyed and pale. Both of you caught your breath as Simon ran huffing from the building to join you. "Now." James said, and you knew exactly what he meant. "It must be now or there won't be a Lord's Landing left."

Eric

Your boat had a lantern and matches, long rope, and as much of the gasoline cans that you had saved up over the last month as you could carry. Simon brought his notes, the map and compass. "We didn't get those gas masks that we ordered, we just aren't prepared!" Simon said, but you all knew you didn't need them. The unnatural fog was foul smelling and stung the eyes, but you all had determined through trial and error that it was not poisonous.

James had told Ginny to run home and help your mother tend to their father Officer Blair. She had protested with tears in her eyes, but when she saw how serious he was she relented. She hugged him and held him tight for a long time and did the same with Simon. When she approached you she looked at you for a long time and then kissed you very hard on the mouth. She then ran down that street. James didn't know that earlier that summer you had promised to marry her. Likely James couldn't care at that moment. That was only a few months ago but it seemed like years, or maybe an entirely different planet. It was back when everyone was still alive and healthy, before the grownups went insane, before nature itself had turned on Lord's Landing. It was question for a world that made sense.
It was the last time you ever saw her.

You piled on board the boat and grimly set off.
James held the rudder, Simon checked the map and compass, you navigated. You knew the swamp the best out of all of them. But it was as though the swamp were a different place, groves emerged from the mist twisted and insane. Simon remarked that the compass kept pointing slightly to the left or the right of north, and that it changed every time he looked at it. James said that moving the rudder was like pulling it through molasses. The journey took much longer then you anticipated. The fog got thicker and more horrid smelling, and as it got darker you needed to turn on the lantern. You all let out a shout of horror.
The fog was churning and writhing, forming were undoubtedly hideous moaning faces, twisting and contorting bodies, screaming mouths that emerged from the dark and swallowed your ship, laughing or taunting figures that whispered almost audibly.

There was a moment where you were all were petrified with terror, but then you heard James scream as loud as he could. The faces in the mist looked startled at that. You turned to James and there was a look of hard determination in his eyes and both you and Simon shut your eyes and let out loud ululations as well. You did this the rest of the journey until the fog parted. There, wreathed by the fire of the setting sun was the contorted form of the Wasting Tree.

Eric

Eric

An evil wind blew from the swamp. There was a strange rumbling somewhere. You docked your boat at the stone ledge that emerged from the swamp and entered the ruins to see the base of the tree. 

The church was half ruined. The main hall was still intact and was a cool and dark place, lit up by the stained glass. You had been here many times, even before the Wasting Tree had mysteriously spawned out of nowhere. What was once the belltower was now almost only a freestanding spiral staircase next to rubble. It offered a rickety and dangerous view of the Wasting Tree which was utterly entwined with the rubble of the Dormitory building like some kind of giant parasite. 

You recall this time that you could barely hear James give instructions to you and Simon over the angry squall that had whipped up almost out of nowhere. You doused the horrible black roots in gasoline, as had Simon in as many low branches and along the base. James climbed the rickety staircase and dumped as much of the stuff over the side onto the tree as possible. When you ran out you all stood back.

There was a loud rumble. James at the top of the stair took out a match. The tree itself seemed to groan in protest. The frogs groaned in anger and in agony. You felt the fleck of the very first signs of precipitation. If it rained you would fail, you all knew it. James stepped forward. The stone stair lurched. James slipped and fell.

You heard him screaming. He had fallen onto a horrible blade of a black thorny branch. It had impaled him entirely. This wasn't supposed to have happened. This was James, James for Chrissakes. He was supposed to be invulnerable. You had darted forward and Simon shouted that they would get help and tear him down. But then you heard him gurgle what sounded like "No." And horrifyingly you and Simon knew exactly what that meant.

It was about to rain, and if the tree got wet before you could set it alight then this was all for nothing. James took a stern look at both of you, and with the last ounce of his strength lit the match in his hand. 

There was an explosion of light and noise. You and Simon were knocked off your feet. You had heard explosions before but you could swear that you could hear a million voices screaming in this one. You were on your back with ringing in your ears when you felt drops on your face. You opened your eyes. It was raining but you had succeeded anyway. There was no saving the Wasting Tree now. It was totally engulfed in flames. As it burnt it detached itself from the church like some kind of suckering octopus and crashed into the swamp. It sunk to the depths and it took James with it. 

It should have been you. For fuck's sake it should have been you. James had everything going for him, he had the mind and passion and heart. You're sure he could have changed the world. He was the greatest friend you'd ever had. You all were only sixteen years old, but he was still the greatest man you'd ever met, you ever would meet even up to this day. Who the fuck were you to still be alive? Some trash from the swamp James took pity on one day. You would have happily given yourself to the flames to spare your friend. 

The rain had totally cleared the mist. You and Simon went back to the boat, heading back into town to see if there were any grownups left alive and sane to bring help.

Eric

The first thing you saw, to your horror, was a long line of lynched corpses hanging from rooftops. It was a full on rainstorm by the time you got back, but you noticed groaning and murmuring bodies in the gutters of the streets, lying in piles on the road. These people were alive: the remains of what appeared to be a rampaging riot that had lost it's fervor all at once. Everyone was passed out and groaning as though they had bad hangovers.

You took a look at the victims. They had signs around their necks demarcating their crimes. Whore read quite a few of them on naked young women. Nigger read a few others on obvious targets. Christkiller read one. You recall seeing the body of what was once an elderly Chinese merchant, a man who you knew to be a Buddhist because Simon had asked him once.Mohammad, his sign read.
Simon ran to a street corner and threw up while you gazed at this macabre display. The next body made you stop and stare for a very long time. You couldn't quite process what you were seeing. When Simon recovered he turned to see what you were looking at and he gasped. "Oh no..." he sobbed, "oh god no, no no no"

Your mother's face was unusually serene for a hanging victim. The sign around her neck read: Witch.

Simon was openly weeping as he helped you cut her down. You were stony silent. Simon followed you as you carried your mother westward, back to the shack on the edge of town where you and she lived. There was an old statue of St Mary that your mother had taken from the ruins and placed in her herb garden. Mother wasn't religious but she seemed to like having a protecting goddess over her plants. It was always overgrown with beautiful roses and you loved staring at it as she told you old folktales. In the rain, in silence, you carried her over to that herb garden where you and the weeping Simon dug right under the statue and laid your mother to rest. You don't know how much time had passed. You recall doing this as though it were all a dream.

When the work was done Simon took a look at you and started to shake violently, heaving brief spasms of air in between sobs. You held him tight for a very long time until he stopped shaking. He looked at you. "Calvin... we need to... your mom they just... how can we..."

You interrupted him. "You should go find your parents. I'm sure they weren't in the mob, but you need to see if they're hurt."

Simon replied "Cal I can't just leave you!" Although ten years later he would do just that.

"It's ok. I need to be alone right now." You said.

Simon left back into town. The rain was lightening up and the first light of dawn was appearing on the horizon. Your mother had always said that you were a stern child who never cried. When you were born she thought you were dead because not a sound could be heard from you. But you were perfectly healthy, just a serene, totally quiet child. Growing up you got into scrapes but never cried.

You cried now. You cried harder then you thought possible. You cried to make up for all the years you didn't cry. You cried and you cried for what must have been hours, or days, or years or decades you didn't know. All you know is that you cried as you never had before in the filthy cold morning and fell sobbing into a dreamless sleep.

Eric

When you awoke it was streaming daylight. You wandered in a daze into town. People were churning around, clearing rubble and working silently. The corpses had been cut down and people responded to your questions with noncommittal grunts.

A church bell started ringing, and with fury you ran over to the church. But the elderly reverend inside wasn't Cleer, but someone you didn't recognize. There were people in blankets and soup lines in the back. There were sobbing and weeping people in the audience. The kindly unknown reverend spoke:

"We come together on this most tragic day to help eachother rebuild our town. A devastating fire and the breaking of the leevies has killed almost a quarter of the town. When I heard the news I came with the authorities from Fort Republic as fast as we could. Now band together to rebuild what we lost. Search parties are actively scanning the river to find the missing and the deceased. Soup and comfort can be found in back." 

You saw an alive and well Officer Blair at the front, and you race towards him. "Officer!" You blurt. You have so many questions but all that could come out of your mouth was "...James..." 

He looked at you in surprise. "Calvin, you're alive!" He clasped both his hands on your shoulders and looked at you with eyes barley containing tears. "I know. We found my son floating in the river with the other victims. I need to keep calm for the community and organize the help efforts, but we can mourn later. Together. With Ginny."

You can only stammer. "My... my mother"

"My god Calvin, she too? M'boy come here." You didn't know what was more surreal, that stern officer Blair, Ginny's and James' father was now hugging you tightly or that noone seemed to remember that the town had been on a murderous rampage.

You pull away sharply "This wasn't just a fire, the town! They killed them! I saw their bodies..."

Officer Blair looked concerned. "Of course, you are totally shocked. I'll get an officer to see you get some food and comfort."

Did no one remember? Did no one remember the last couple of months? Did no one remember Cleer, that bastard, who started a riot that had killed your mother? It was as though everyone were doped up for weeks and weeks and were now crashing from their high. Fuck, you didn't remember most of this when you were in the city, it's only now coming back to you right now.

You ran from the church. You ran far away. You left that fucking town and you never looked back. Fuck them. You started a new life, became a whole new person, a better, smarter person. You thought you'd never have to hear the name Lord's Landing again. Not until you got that letter from Simon.

Adam

SHHHIIIIIIIII dude that was great. Whew. Well then.

TIME; PUT AWAY NOTES; LOOK around the OUTHOUSE.

Eric

Eh, lets say its 9:00.

It's just an ordinary outhouse, although one with a great view of the train platform. You remember that it was overgrown with ivy from years of disuse.

Eric

There's a lot of graffiti in here too. You're eye rests on "AJ+GG" in a heart, for some reason

Adam

Well shiiiit. EXIT OUTHOUSE.

Adam

CALVIN SNAPS back into reality. The stench of the OUTHOUSE overcame him for a while, but he's back to his senses. CALVIN REMEMBERS a nice MAP of the town, specifically where the LIBRARY is.