After The Great War, when families were united, the United States were happy, and lives were returning to normal, Baswood Falls began to feel further and further away from the rest of the country. Their troubles started when a handful of the town’s folk became terrified to sleep. They didn’t explain why, and would get defensive if somebody wanted to talk about it with them. Within a week, this defensiveness turned into anger which blossomed into violence. The climax cam when a call to the police was made. He arrived at the address of Nathaniel O’ Neil, who was found cutting of the arm of his now deceased neighbor, Jessica Istani. When the cop tried to talk to Nathaniel, he quickly shot himself in the head. A few days later the cop was found torn limb from limb, right in the center of town. The town needed help, and that’s when the investigators came to town. These outsiders, came here all for their own reasons, with their own goals to discover the true horrors of Baswood Falls Plot This game takes place in the roaring 20s, if a fictional New England town of Baswood Falls. There have been a series of violent acts and gruesome murders in the once peaceful town. Whatever your reasons are for coming to the town, the Investigators are just entering the town’s one inn, the Trembling Cup Lunchroom. They will learn more about the town and be given different clues as they discover the menacing truth behind the isolated town of Basswood Falls. Baswood Falls The town is two hours away from any other major town. It has mostly been a self-sufficient town many farms, they have their own sheriff – or did – and everybody knows everybody else, it’s a close knit community. To make matters worse, it was usually the sheriff who would head to that closest town and gather anything the community would need that it could not provide for themselves. Because of this, many of the houses and buildings are wooden structures built from local trees, which were cut in the down shut down saw mill. After the violence began to occur, the trust and love that neighbors had for each other began to shatter and people began pushing the blame to one or the next. Combat/Complete Tasks To keep this focused on the storytelling any action will be solved with simple rock paper scissors. If it is between players, I’ll ask them each to pm three options in rock paper scissors (In case there is a tie) and if it is to complete some sort of action against an AI or pick a lock, or the like then I will use a randomized generator on the internet. Rules 1. This is not a supernatural game, you are humans, with mundane lives, and mundane jobs. There is no magic or super natural races. 2. I hope I don’t have to say this to you fine ladies and gentleman, but no god modding, and do not control another players character unless given permission by that character. 3. Only one character per player please, some of the ideas I have in this game may lead to pming details that only your character knows, multiple characters will cause too many issues. 4. This is the 1920s, while I prefer no racist language, I understand sexism and racism were part of the times, and I expect that to be taken into consideration 5. As much as I hate stifling anything about making characters, for the atmosphere to work correctly none of you may live in Baswood Falls, you have to be outsiders 6. Your character must be approved by me before posting Name: Appearance: Occupation: Education: History: Family: Why you have come to Baswood Falls:
Jacob Rees didn’t want to be at home today, even though he had cleaned for hours, he couldn’t forget the spot where he woke up and found Officer Bennard’s hand on his porch. So today, he was at the inn cleaning the dust that had been sitting there for a week. It was a strange feeling avoiding his own home, but he had been thinking about it for a while. In fact, nobody else was going to be using these rooms, but he might as well sleeping here until he was able to forget his old friend’s hand. That hand. That hand was the first body part found from Officer Bennard, and when Jacob called the police clearly there was no answer. The town banded together quickly, cleaning the mess, trying to leave the crime scenes as alone as possible. They sent Harvey James to a nearby town to get the assistance they needed. He still hasn’t returned. Jacob was suddenly brought to the present as a cat jumped off the counter and ran out the door. The town he loved for his entire life was becoming a terrifying place, but he wasn’t going to give up on it yet. He was sure help would come soon.
A Bad Man One week ago “Fucking bitch!” Tom watched in silence as his client went on a tirade. “BITCH!” The angry man in question was Paul Warner. In light of the of the news of his wife’s affair the man’s face had turned redder then a tomato and Tom was damn sure that if he didn’t have more information to dispense that he’d of been on the receiving end of an attempted beating. "You sure about this?" Paul growled. Tom breathed out a sigh and took a sip of his coffee. "I'm positive, followed her for several days and even managed to get a look at her boyfriend." He snorted. "A negro." Tom had to fight to keep a smirk away form his lips, Paul looked like he'd been slapped. "A nigger!?" The man's fist came down hard on his desk. Tom stood slowly and straightened his suit jacket, he'd delivered what he'd been asked to collect and now seemed a better time then any to grab lunch with the he'd gotten. He pocketed his hands and bit his lower lip staring at the man explosive businessman before him. "I'll be off then pal." He yawned. "Here is the address I found em at, down in the ghettos." Tom turned to leave. "Well what am I supposed to do!?" Warner growled. "You can't just fucking leave me with this shit..." "Not my problem." Tom responded and continued on. "I'll double your pay!" This of course made the detective's brain signal his legs to remain firmly planted where they were and turned with a large grimace forming on his lips. "What's this here about more pay?" But Tom knew, he always knew. "I know about you." Paul replied. "That's why I hired you cause of the work did up in Ludlow and a lot of rumors float around about your involvement with certain backdoor operations." The man shoved his hands into his pocket. "Now I don't what's true and what's not but you got reputation is all I'm saying." Tom felt his nails dig into his pals and his brow furrowed turning his disgruntled face into a down right scowl. "I'd rather not start up any kinda beef with the fellas who live down there already got it bad enough." "I'm not asking you to commit any sort of crime." Paul gave a wolfish grin through his anger. "I am simply asking you remind my beloved wife why she shouldn't be fucking a anyone but me let alone some jungle bunny." Tom's first clenched tighter and a nasty groan escaped his moutH; he should crush this bastard's throat, make him eat his own shit or better yet just toss his rich ass out the window.....but the idea of more money coming his way fizzled out his rising temper. "Fine." He agreed with a heavy voice. "I ain't one to be stupid enough to turn down money like you can offer, but I'm going to need it to be tripled if you're looking to teach both of them a lesson." He took a swig of his coffee again. "So what will be, just one of em or both?" --- “You've got an edge to you son, a temper like that could get you into trouble when you're older." Tom hated waiting. Words of the past always had a way of sneaking up on him when he was on the hunt. The investigator sat patiently behind the wheel of his Ford or well not his…..he’d borrowed the car from a friend and the outfit? Well lets just say that the klan is a lot more willing to let you borrow a robe and a hood when you're putting the hurt on someone of color and a race traitor as they put it. Didn't make much a different Tom. There was work to be done. The house Paul's wife and her boy toy were stationed was a small little shack of a building, cheap eroding brick and some windows were even smashed out, had the man seen some kinda action before? Eh, oh well. The door wooden door looked flimsy enough to get in quickly and do what needed to be done. Tom took a sip of his flask and let himself sink into his seat; he pulled the white hood that had terrorized so many over his head and slowly his car door. The time was 12:00 midnight sharp and he quickly moved through the darkness of the night like a ghost. He hadn't brought a gun. But a nice baseball bat always came in handy just as good for thug work. Tom was in front of the door in a matter of seconds after leaving his car and with a swift hard movement he slammed his foot hard into entrance; it buckled slightly and before it could settle at all Tom kicked again this time giving it a solid dent. He licked his lips, the sounds of panicked voices were clear on the other side. The last kicked finally snapped the door open and without a word of warning Tom raised his baseball bat at the first figure he saw in the darkness of the tiny room. It was the boyfriend of Mrs. Warner. Poor man's eyes were wide terror but they didn't last long as the bat smashed into the side of his head and sent him crumpling to the ground. "So ya the boy who thinks he can take our women?" Tom huffed bringing the bat down again this time on the man's arm, it made a nice popping sound. "Thought a negro like you could get away with that." "Please....st....o...." The boyfriend stammered and his begs of mercy were only met with the a boot to the skull. He stepped over his victim and moved further into the house letting his bloodstained bat drag across the floor. He finally found the next person of interest; Paul’s wife. She was dressed something sexy, trim nightgown and all. Well at least he hadn’t been wrong about any funny business going on. --- The rest of that night had gone smoothly and Paul had paid quite handsomely enough to pay off any late rent he had. The witnesses had thankfully chalked up the attack to the Ku Klux Klan which of course was what Tom had been hoping for. He'd burnt the white robes that he'd used, didn't bother returning them. All in all the wife had suffered two broken legs and a chunk of her hair had been forcibly removed, Mister boyfriend got a new face and a crippled arm. Sometimes it paid to be a bad man. --- Baswood Falls Now This town was filthy. Tom had arrived in Baswood Falls last night and had taken residence in the local Inn which was about as relaxing as anybody could expect, Tom had come to this town to solve a cse or well that was his excuse for now. Thankfully everyone seemed mighty to distracted with some a body that apparently turned up a couple days back before he'd gotten there. He scratched his moustache as he looked around the room he was renting. "At least I didn't make the corpse." He smirked. "Proud of me dad?" Tom crouched under his bed and quickly pocketed his six shooter but left the sawed off coach rifle he'd brought with him. The investigator was dressed in a light brown waistcoat, his gun holster secured around him and beat up matching brown cap. "Time to round up some grub." He said while exiting the room and making his way down the halls.
I rode into the quiet little town on my plain black motorcycle. It was a gift for my sixteenth birthday, my parents wanted to get me a car, but I insisted on this. I was careful, plus, this allowed more maneuverability on the road, in the event that a culprit decided to try and run off in their car... I stopped out in front of the inn and pulled off my helmet and walked to the back of the motorcycle, where I had hitched my suitcase onto it... one of the few disadvantages to a motorcycle, no real space to store your things. Oh well, I packed light anyway. I opened up the suitcase, pulled out my fedora, placed it on my head, and placed the helmet inside. I picked up the case and then walked inside the inn, it was a small town with probably very few visitors... hopefully it would be cheap, I was hoping that they'd have something like this here, it's pretty out of the way, I thought that they might not even bother with such amenities. I looked at the man dusting the place. Likely, he was the innkeeper. A small inn like this wouldn't be able to afford many workers, and he appeared to be the only man around. "Excuse me, I need a room for an indefinite amount of time." I walked up to the man. "You are the proprietor of this establishment, correct?" Hopefully, this man would also know something about the murders here and where I could get started... I would like to take a look at the scene of the crime, the bodies, and talk to any of the deceased's neighbors, relatives, and friends...the former I'd probably do tonight if possible, the latter I could save for tomorrow when everyone would be up and about, and not be ready to turn in for the night.
Just a bit of well planified fun. There are good and bad things about sitting in a chair in front of a desk half of a day. The good one is that you’re barely spending any energy at all as well as if using a good chair you’ll be easily relaxed. The bad thing is that is boring and usually related to work, so you always have to do something. Thought Christopher in his chair while feigning to listen to his patient, an mid age boring man with chronic depression that had visited him for the 7th or 8th time, he didn’t recalled the exact number. “So, did you tried to commit suicide again Mr. Wright?” Asked Christopher while focusing his glance on the man’s eyes, this time for real. He regretted asking this, after that the man came with a long ranting about how his son never appreciated him, a story that Christopher had heard already many times. This time the man tried to drown himself on a river, which added already four attempts at suicide. As the interview ended, Christopher prescribed the usual drugs to him, however, before leaving he asked the man to bring his son to the next interview. But that wouldn’t be interesting now, wouldn’t it be? Thought Christopher to himself. A few days later the man would be found dead after his fifth attempt of suicide. An investigation was conducted as usual but it was made clear it was a suicide and in real that was the cause of death. Christopher read the new with barely a hint of interest yet deep inside he smiled, that was just a first step after all. A chronic depression wasn’t something so severe he considered, sure the person may have a shitty live but even the same person wouldn’t give a damn about it at the end. And most of the times the suicide attempts failed, besides, with the proper medication, the person could live a perfect normal life. With the proper medication… that was the line that Christopher cut. Certainly the first two months he gave him the proper medication, but as the man evolved in such an uninteresting way, the doctor decide to try a different move. The next months he would be giving no more than tasteless pills without function to the man, something a person from the country fields wouldn’t realize. As expected there were no improvement and the man grew each time worse, eventually performing his suicide without fail, something that was expected as well. But if something as common as a man committing suicide due to a depression were to be enough to calm Christopher’s urge then he wouldn’t had even moved a finger and would had just waited until the proper person appeared. No, his urge was deeper, he wasn’t interested in the man’s suicide at all. Yet that was just a necessary step. Unknown to the mid aged man, a 22 years old young adult was also one of his clients, the man’s son to be precise. He suffered of a certain personality behavior, and what the man mistook as a lack of appreciation or love from his son was in real just a quirk of his behavior, in fact, the man loved his father and that was already exposed in previous interviews, of course, Christopher made sure neither the sone were to find his father was also a patient of him, the fact that both lived separatedly and had barely any contact eased this task. The son, let’s call him simply the man as his father, was a very complex person. He had a bit of a schizoid like behavior, different from a proper schizophrenia but with similar traits, mixed with other several disorders. As thus, instead of being a non-caring person, he was just a non-caring person in appearance. One of the many things he claimed was that he always wanted to find the courage to fix the things with his father, and despite trying it before, his personality always stopped him. As expected, his father’s death was devastating for him and just like him and probably due to his behavior… “I…I feel soo ashamed of myself. I didn’t even showed up in the funeral. I’m sure that my family hate me now. I’m done, I’ve honestly considered to kill myself” said with a plain glance and a monotonous tone. Christopher’s face grimaced, just slightly but visible enough. “Had you ever considered that if you were to kill yourself nothing would change? In fact it would be boring.” Said. The man confused cocked his head, but Christopher quickly said “Sorry, I guess it was a bad way to express it. Which I mean is that all those who love you would be pretty sad if another person kills himself. I’m not a psychologist but if I were you, I would just let your emotions flow, to be yourself. Don’t restrain yourself, feel free to express your mind. Go see your family and fix things with them, I’m sure that their support will be of great help to you” Stated. Of course it didn’t immediately happened, but with each season, the doctor cultivated this idea on the young man’s mind. That was of course part of the play too, within the man’s several disorders there was a small hint of antisocially and Christopher wanted that to be exploited. For weeks, the man grew more anxious and even angrier sometimes until his mind decided on to play Christopher’s game. A couple of months after the father’s suicide. The newspaper read “Massive Incident in Glomstock, A man kills his whole family and relatives and then commits suicide”. Christopher read the news and this time he smiled on his face. Yeah, this was what I was expecting, the man needed a trigger and I gave it to him and now out of madness he had committed a horrible crime. The only shame is that he had to took his life, I was willing to see him one more time before he were to be either sentenced or forever jailed. Thought comfortably lying in that chair he criticized before. ------------------------------------- The present day. The man reached Basswood Falls carrying only a small suitcase with his belongings. He had to find a good inn for the day and the next days a place to properly stay on his own. A small week of vacations isn’t bad either Thought while walking, regardless, his intention was to stay in the town. Some weeks ago it would be found that the drugs he prescribed to the man weren’t real, apparently one of the family members was paranoid enough to have it analyzed, because the tests are usually very slow, it took months before the results were to be revealed and that was around a couple of weeks after the mass incident. Because the family was now death there was no one to accuse him, yet the only existence of that proof was enough of a burden, at the end he decided that it was best to just leave Glomstock and find a new place to do his business. A change of air he called it, and after checking many options he considered a small town would be the best, it would also help him relax a little.
The evening sun was a red skull. Atticus looked up from his leather armchair and out through the window, staring at the devilish light and watching it flicker behind haunting leafless oak trees. The twisted branches shifted in the wind, manipulating angry light like a puppet master and in that moment Atticus was sure he saw movement through the trees. He stared hard through the dirty pane. There were only shadows. Yet no reassurances could shake his sense of dread. "You're getting jumpy." He muttered to himself. Atticus faded back into the inn, where the evening was slow. He sat slightly slumped in his seat curled up in a black trench coat and almost passing as a throw strewn across the leather, while his hat hid his face from guests at the inn and though he deemed it rude to wear inside, its use was entirely necessary. With a quick flicker of eyes to the inn reception, the door and then the dwindling fireplace, he readjusted himself in his seat and touched his legs together, feeling the suitcase still firmly between them. Still unconvinced, he slowly slid his hand down and grabbed the handle of the suitcase, which of course was still there. Good, he thought to himself. He brought his hand back a little too fast and grimaced in pain. Atticus quickly shifted his gaze back to the innkeeper dusting ornaments, hoping that he hadn't noticed. His name was Jacob and he stood there in a weathered three piece suit, plugging away with a cloth at a large oaken grandfather clock in the foyer. Atticus had decided that the innkeeper was a bit of an oddball, for a number of reasons. Firstly he seemed to quietly stress about every detail and had even muttered to himself with remorse when Atticus' reservation had not been booked in his diary. It wasn't like the place was heavily overbooked, and yet he apologised profusely and had even given him a discount. Atticus did have a sly laugh about it all later; it was definitely not his place to tell Jacob that he'd actually never booked. The other strange detail, well the most noticeable one out of a plethora of others, was his smile. Jacob had given Atticus a multitude of smiles whilst being here, as any good host would, but there was something about them that seemed a little off, as if they were somewhat forced. To Atticus it felt like the man was hiding something, getting customers in and then pulling the wool over their eyes. The notion didn't sit well with him and for that reason he was slightly suspicious of the inn and of Jacob. However current circumstances made him too desperate not to stay. Apart from the smile - and the fact that his clothes didn't fit him properly - Jacob was the usual lonely innkeeper you would expect to find in any sleepy midwest town. He had a disheveled look about him, like someone that worked twenty three hours of the day and drank coffee for the remaining. His rough stubble rounded his face out a little, but not enough to lose that thin gauntness that sucked his nose and chin in to a sharp point. It turned him into a hawk. Ironically it was at this moment that Jacob stopped dusting and met his gaze, and Atticus subtly averted his eyes while closing them to make the innkeeper aware he didn't want to be disturbed. The innkeeper simply went back to the grandfather clock, just before another guest motioned towards him. Tired and in pain, Atticus retreated further into his leather armchair and dreamily drank in the surrounding space. The inn itself was very Victorian gothic. Everything was made with deep dark oak, from the reception desk to the building supports and everything else between, and on this fading evening the whole place had transformed into an ebony cavern, filled with the slightest taint of blood thanks to the glare from the sunset. There were a number of statuettes dotted about the foyer, some of them expertly crafted and all of them hauntingly beautiful in the fading light. One in particular held his stare, doing its best to make sure Atticus wouldn't be sleeping tonight. It resembled a long pale face, made out of some sort of white stone, with a somber mouth and two blank eyes that followed wherever you went. There was no nose on it and because of the angle it had been put on the wall it looked down on him, the sunset catching its skin and turning it red faced and menacing. God, what I would give to be back in Minneapolis he thought glumly. The idea made Atticus shudder under his trench coat and he retreated even further into his armchair, all in the wretched knowledge that he could never go back.
With shoes pinching and rubbing viciously against her heel and toes, Iris tried to walk in her usual dainty and elegant sashay but found as she came to the edge of town just lifting one foot in front of the other in a mindless plod was about all she could manage. She looked angrily at the beautiful shoes that betrayed her and paused a moment against a bench to catch her breath and swap her heavy carpet bag to her other hand. When Iris looked up she saw the eerily quiet empty street sparsely flanked with old fashioned wooden houses. In the grey dusk light it reminded her of a silent movie. She continued to walk, or plod, with the large bag awkwardly thumping her calf. After a circuit of the small town she stopped and huffed. Finally, she saw what looked like an inn and trundled onwards, muttering and cursing under her breath. As she reached the door she stopped to compose herself. Her forehead felt clammy from dragging herself and her bag in her coat but she’d be damned if she took it off. She patted her skin with the back of her hand and checked her hair was still in place as she fixed on her armoured, if slightly strained, smile and pushed against the sturdy door. She paused by some old looking mismatched chairs clustered in a corner, and with an uncharacteristic grunt she couldn’t hold back, dropped her bag with a thud. To her dismay, there was already a man at the front desk asking for the proprieter and the thought of hovering politely and quietly with demonic shoes eating away at her feet turned her stomach. The chair looked musty and slightly dented from too many oddly shaped people sitting in it, but she couldn’t resist any longer and flopped into it with a loud sigh.
Atticus howled in agony as Iris collapsed on top of him, landing right on his thigh. So much was the pain that he bolted forward and pushed her onto the floor, staying bent double as he held his leg just above the knee. Still crippled over, Atticus let out a breathy yelp and stared daggers at the crumpled woman now residing on the rug. In such a fluster he couldn't quite compose his thoughts quick enough and rashly shouted, "Y-You sat on me!?" He could scarcely believe it. Scrunching his face up in pain and feeling the tears in his eyes, he slammed his hand onto the armchair with an audible leather thwack and glared at Iris with a deranged look. "What the hell is wrong with you!?" Iris let out a loud cry as her backside connected with the hard floor. She looked up with wide eyes at the harsh faced man now glaring at her. He'd somehow molded his frame to the chair in the dimly lit corner. Even as she sprawled at his feet she still couldn't quite make out where his trench coat ended and the chair began. Her mouth moved a couple of times like a goldfish gasping for air as she tried to fathom what to do, what to say, and how to get around the horror at been ejected like a common strumpet, a fat one at that. She glanced briefly towards the front desk to see how much attention she had attracted, but decided she should brush it off as quickly as possible. She drew her legs under her body and stood as gracefully as she could shaking out her skirt and smoothing down the patchy fur of her coat. “I'm so terribly sorry,” Iris said, injecting a hint of Southern drawl into her accent and fixing a smile back on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes. “I really must start wearing my glasses.” Atticus took a long breath and puffed out his chest, gripping the arms of the chair dizzily. The leg throbbed but the shock had worn off. "It's fine." He replied flippantly. Some part of him felt that she had sat on him on purpose, the excuse of not wearing glasses hopelessly lax. It only added to his irritation, yet he stayed his anger and quickly nodded his eyes to meet her own. "You're not hurt, are you?" He said with some impatience. "No, not at all," Iris lied smoothly, narrowing her eyes at the wave of throbs pulsing around her lower spine. She'd have a bruise to add to blisters and wounded pride. She regarded the man a moment with his entire body tangled in annoyance. He was clearly gritting his teeth so she pushed her smile wider. "I really am very sorry. If you'll excuse me, I should probably get myself a room and get out of your way." Iris spun with as much dignity as she could muster and took a step towards the desk. As she did, she heard a distinct crack and felt her weight tip awkwardly. She balled her fists at her side and tried to still the rage that was now bubbling in her gut. "These stupid good for nothing..." she hissed and finally kicked the shoes off. It felt instantly better. After her meeting with the sour man's lap and then the floor, it really didn't seem to matter. She looked at the man who looked a little bewildered. "Make that glasses and practical shoes," Iris said flatly, the accent dropping already, and she grabbed her bag and plodded off to the desk. Were it not for the pain writhing in his leg, he would have taken more pleasure in Iris' misfortune. At the very least, he let out the smallest of smiles in her direction as she stormed away. It served her right, somehow.
Tom blinked several times at the ridiculous scene that played out between a man dressed in a trench coat and a broad that as far as he could tell, had a few screws loose or was lacking a sense of direction. He watched in silence in the corner of the room, watching her go to the desk. His eyes shifted back to trench-coat, the man was around the same age give or take a few years and by the looks that Tom could tell better shape to. The investigator felt his muscles tense and slowly moved his hand ever so closer to his holster. Tom let out a heavy breath, slowly backing away from trenchy and any nasty hazardous toys he might be carrying under that coat. Paranoid? Yes but one could never be to alert after pissing off the wrong folk. Once at a comfortable distance a rush of what felt like the human equivalent of an earthquake rippled through his gut, he made a pained groan. "Shit."He muttered. Tom made for the same direction Iris had. "Hey sir!" He called out to innkeeper as he shoved pass Iris. "Where does a guy get something to eat in this place?" Tom lifted his hand to the desk and rung the call bell twice. "Can I get some service here?"
Jacob was shocked, first he had a guest which was shocking enough as is. Secondly, he had two more guests – that was just mind blowing, and finally now they were sitting at each other. He didn’t even know where to begin. It was the second bell tone that brought him back to his reality. “My apologies, sir, uh , Mr. Church. It is just about seven in the evening, all the local restaurants are closed. I might be able to rustle you something up if you give me just a moment.” Jacob was a little overwhelmed. He turned his attention to the two new people who entered his inn and nodded to them. “I do have some rooms available, I’m not used to many guests, but I’ll do my best to accommodate you both.” He looked back at the clock, it was going to be a late night for him, at least he could no longer drown in his thoughts. Pulling up his Ledger he took the names of his two newest guests and exchanged them keys. He could not remember the last time he had used more than the first room key.
I pocketed the key and looked at the man. "Thank you. When you are less busy, may we talk in private? I have a few questions regarding some incidents that have happened in this town recently." I crossed my arms. I had noticed that the man that had rung the bell, asking about food, had reached for something when he had seen the man that had been sat on by the exhausted woman, a firearm, perhaps. I had never seen the man before in my life... a jumpy sort... I couldn't resist messing with him. "Also, you may wish to contact the authorities, this man is a wanted mass murderer that has killed and eviscerated 5 women, as far as we know, and had removed organs from the bodies." I pointed at the man. "You escaped from me in London, but I won't allow you to escape here, Jack the Ripper!" I wanted to burst out laughing at the ludicrous suggestion that the infamous mass murderer from over thirty years ago was here now in a small inn in America. After all, I wasn't even born yet, and the man was likely only a child when the Jack the Ripper case was going on, he looked like he was nearing his forties, I was hoping for a good reaction from the people in this room.
“My apologies, sir, uh , Mr. Church. It is just about seven in the evening, all the local restaurants are closed. I might be able to rustle you something up if you give me just a moment.” "Yeah, yeah." He sighed. "Just make it quick, I haven't had a bite since I got to this place." He rested his arms on the desk. "Also, you may wish to contact the authorities, this man is a wanted mass murderer that has killed and eviscerated 5 women, as far as we know, and had removed organs from the bodies." I pointed at the man. "You escaped from me in London, but I won't allow you to escape here, Jack the Ripper!" Tom shifted his weight to the side and turned his head to the person that had thrown the comment; much to his surprise it was a kid....another coat to? Maybe he should buy one to fit in with the rest of the fellas staying here. Much like he'd done with Atticus he gave Joe the once over his eyebrows raising at his impressive height. "Heh." He turned his head away. One couldn't argue with truth. A killer was a killer, he squeezed his left hand into a fist his knuckles popping. "Jack The Ripper huh? This ain't England I think the better comparison would be HH Holmes, least he did his dirty deeds up in Chicago."
I looked at the man and gave him a wide grin. "Darn, I was hoping you'd be jumpier, at least it would have been more interesting, I was hoping for a man shaped hole in the door." I chuckled and put my hands in my pocket. "Well, this man isn't a coward, just cautious. These men, could they know each other...? Maybe, or perhaps this man is trouble and thinks that because of his trouble making someone wants him dead, the latter would make more sense, a known associate that wants him dead would not dirty their own hands, if they were in the area and someone could attest to his existence on the day of the crime, then that would immediately put suspicion onto that person, furthermore, this is a small town, unless you're part of the town's community, you'll be remembered quite easily. Either the man is very much stupid, he doesn't know his intended target personally, or there is no connection and the other man is jumpy because, he does something that is illegal, may be something to look into during my stay here, preventing a murder, or stopping a criminal, both would be pleasant outcomes." I turned to the innkeeper, waving dismissively. "Do please ignore that outburst, just having a little bit of fun at his expense, I guess reading people isn't my specialty." I chuckled and rubbed the back of my head. "Anyway, I would like to ask a few questions when you have some time, I do hope that this isn't too much trouble."
Jacob nodded to the man of very much wanted to ask him questions. “Let me cook first, you can wait over there, “ He pointed to s small room off to the side, which an entire wall was a large window. Before an answer was even given, Jacob was in the back cooking. It took maybe ten minutes and he brought out a plate with two stuffed cabbages on it, and set it on the only table in the lobby. As Jacob sat down the interrogation began. I waited in the room in silence, my luggage sitting next to me, I had already pulled out a small pen and a small black leather notebook. "Sir, I'm a private detective, I recently heard of the murders that have occurred within this town. Due to the strange nature of these murders, I've decided to come to this town and investigate, I hope you don't mind answering a few questions. First question, where did the murders take place?" “Uh, one was at their home, the other… well the body parts were found in a few places.” Jacob was a little uncomfortable I quickly jotted down that information, I'd have to get someone to elaborate later, I wasn't quite informed of what had occurred. "When did the murders take place?" “The first one was about two weeks ago, and the latest one was six days ago.” Jacob nodded, verifying the information with himself. "Hm... there's enough time for the killer or killers to have hid the evidence and silence witnesses through the threat of violence." I jotted down the relative dates of death, I'd have to get exact dates and times, but this would at least help in trying to catch people up in lies. "Where did the deceased live?" “312 Parkway, and 380 Oaken Drive” "I'll have to figure out where those addresses are, shouldn't be too hard to access and look around, hopefully no one trampled on whatever evidence was at the scene." I jotted down the addresses. "Who were the deceased?" “Jessica Istani and Nathaniel O'Neil were the first, then Officer Bennard." I quickly jotted down the names. “Did you know the deceased personally?” “Yeah, it’s a very small town, everybody knows everybody.” Jacob stated as if it were obvious. "A bit of an evasive answer, he doesn't want to say in what capacity they know each other. Just because people know each other in a small town, doesn't mean that they're close or that they're friendly." I didn't jot anything down, not yet anyway. “Were they acting strangely before they were murdered?” “Not really.” I didn't jot anything down, he may not be close to the victims, so any unnatural behavior they exhibited may have gone right over his head. “Did they meet anyone new?” “Not that I know of.” Again, nothing to jot down, if they indeed met someone new that they wanted to keep secret, no one would know unless they slipped up, and it obviously wouldn't be anyone that came to this town, or else their appearance would be noticed immediately, a small town with very little visitors, newcomers would be known of soon enough, and he may not be that deeply invested in their lives. “Were they into something dangerous?” “I really don’t know.” Jacob frowned, as if he weren’t frowing enough as is. I wished this man had something a bit more important to say... oh well, if I don't ask these questions, I may miss something. “Did you speak to them the days they were murdered?” “I woke up with a limb up my front porch.” Jacob seems to be getting a little annoyed at this point. “If you are interested in what happened, why don’t you read the report?” A limb on his front porch? "He's been targeted, or it's a warning 'Keep your mouth shut, or you end up like them'." I quickly jotted down that little detail. But he did avoid the question... he didn't say anything about the day of the other murder, he may have spoken to one of the deceased that day. "Ah, but these police reports can be incomplete, sometimes not talking to the right person, not asking the right questions, not focusing on the correct details." “I understand.” Jacob shifted a bit, “But you could at least look at it before you ask me all these questions, since I’m sure it can answer most of what you asked me.” I shifted a little uncomfortably. I'd have to tell the truth. "Well, I have not been hired on, not that it will stop me in any capacity. I do as a I please, after all. But this would also mean that I would not be able to access their files, or the evidence they have collected, not through legal channels, and of course, it is a last resort if I cannot gleam the truth through different means." "I'm sorry, if you are not even hired on with the case yet, I think I'm done." Jacob stands up to leave the conversation, and return to the rest of his customers. I watched Jacob as he began to get up, I gave him a solemn look, I couldn't let him leave just yet...! I'd have to use guilt to keep him here... "...Sir, I've worked with the police for years, they'll proclaim that they have the answer when they have the bare amount of evidence to convict someone. But what they really have is the easy answer, and the arrogance to claim that it is the one and only truth. I may not be hired on to this case, just yet, or ever, or a... quote, unquote 'professional', but, it won't stop me from investigating. Even if they refuse, I'll investigate the truth behind this case, and I will not stop until each and every last question behind a case is answered. One answered question can completely turn a case on its head. The police, they care only about results. I care about the truth, I'm The Detective, after all, the truth is my only reason for existence. Please, just a few more questions, if not to amuse the notions some young private detective with the arrogance to claim that he can solve this case single-handedly, then for the sake of those who have died, for those that will die, so then their deaths will not get an 'easy truth' and innocent men and women won't be blamed for their deaths." Jacob shook his head. "We have no cops right now to have the easy answer." He said simply. "Here, I'll answer a few more, but I have guests to attend to." I let out an inward sigh of relief. I could continue... hopefully these next few questions will get me somewhere. "Where are the bodies now?" "I assume buried. I didn't follow what they did after they found the bodies. It was a closed casket, for obvious reasons." Jacob had gone to all three funerals, not such a happy time for the town. So, they might not have performed an autopsy before putting them to rest. Great, important evidence just put away into the ground. "Were you there the time of the murders?" "No, told you, I woke up with a surprise, and the other one I didn't know she was dead for another day." Now he talks about the other murder... But, if he's telling the truth, then why would he be targeted? He's either lying, or for one reason or another, the killer saw him as a threat. "Have you noticed anything strange going on in town?" Jacob looks around. "That's enough questioning." He leaves the room without another chance to be talked to. "Jackpot." I muttered as soon as he was out of the room. I quickly jotted down that the innkeeper needed further investigation. He was hiding something. Something indeed was going on in town, something that he himself has witnessed. He may have kept a diary, or something of the like of what he saw. It appears that I'll need to snoop through his things when he is busy. I set the notebook back into my bag and walked out of the room and into my own assigned room.
Some commotion towards the small dining room had left Atticus slightly intrigued. He'd been wanting to keep a low profile here but call it bartender's curiosity, Atticus had to eavesdrop on the dinner conversation. Something inside told him there was a story, one that his patrons back at The Breeze would appreciate... The thought of the bar made him slump heavy in his chair. Oh, you fool. All he wanted to do was curl up in his black trench coat and be swallowed away by the fabric, disappear away into its cotton abyss. Split second decisions had been made all the way up to this point and every single one of them he regretted. Atticus so desperately wanted to blame his brother for this and it would be so easy to, the heavy gambling bastard that Alex was, but Alex hadn't forced him to make the choices he had made. Alex hadn't made the deal with the devil, only him. So many thoughts filled his mind. Atticus switched between father, mother, brother and the bar before finally landing on Samantha and seeing her tearing glossy face, pale and soft to the touch, he reached out with a trembling hand and a tortured stare. Her face floated in front of him like a flawless China doll, speckled with ceramic tears. He clamped his eyes shut and jumped to his feet to jolt him away from the memories. Too quickly and he winced in pain, stumbling on his weakened leg and catching himself on the dark mahogany coffee table. Luckily no one had seen. The foyer was dark now and the contrast of the dining room through the archway held all the attention. Atticus could only just see around the corner but you could tell the room was small, the voices echoing around inside, the chandelier brightly silhouetting Jacob and another man. Their voices peaked and troughed with varying amounts of angered tones coming from the innkeeper. Though the promise of good food and a story had been alluring, those pained thoughts had left Atticus empty and with no idea of how to fill the void he made for the stairs. The voices became clearer as Atticus moved up the bannister. He leaned over for a moment to listen, watching the two men's shoes under the table, one pair stamping authoritively while the other would twitch and squirm. “I woke up with a limb up my front porch.” Jacob said pensively. “If you are interested in what happened, why don’t you read the report?” Now that did seem interesting, Atticus would be first to admit. Poor bastard was probably more shaken than a dried leaf on the wind. He crossed his arms on the bannister and leaned over a little more, resting his head in his arms and watching the men from the neck down eating their food. "Ah, but these police reports can be incomplete, sometimes not talking to the right person, not asking the right questions, not focusing on the correct details." It went quiet for a while, the noise had simmered to a melancholy chat and Atticus turned himself up the stairs once more. But the chairs scuffled and screeched on the floorboards and the young man shouted through the room, "...Sir, I've worked with the police for years, they'll proclaim that they have the answer when they have the bare amount of evidence to convict someone. But what they really have is the easy answer, and the arrogance to claim that it is the one and only truth. I may not be hired on to this case, just yet, or ever, or a... quote, unquote 'professional', but, it won't stop me from investigating. Even if they refuse, I'll investigate the truth behind this case, and I will not stop until each and every last question behind a case is answered." Mid step Atticus froze. He could no longer see the dining room table, he was almost up two flights of steps and around the corner away from it, but he could feel the heat of the young man through the walls. He could feel the duty instilled in him and the zeal for justice. The man could only see what was truly right and never what was in between, and that frightened Atticus. Slowly he took each step, one by one, almost afraid to put the foot down in fear of the creaky stairs betraying him. Yet, he made it unscathed to the top landing and quietly skittered away into his room, jamming the bolts in place - but not before stealing one last look over the banisters and down at the bottom of the stairs.
Rosey fingered dawn rose through the sky. The strange group of visitors awoke without alarms, the town seemed normal to them. The inn owner pleasant and did his best to take care of his guests. The beds were nice, though clearly rarely used. It was a normal small town, and it almost seemed like those bodies that were found, were indeed just flukes in a happy little town with small town problems. Of course that was before any of the guests came down stairs. The headless body of Jacob would be a surprise, so would the streamers of his intestines, and the confetti made from his digits and toes. The party that the owner of the inn made for his guests was one that none would ever be able to forget.
Harold was the first one up at the inn. He quickly went for his cigarette, taking a whiff, before making his way out of bed. He spent those minutes that every man has to himself getting ready like he always did. Put on the suit, the hat. Bring the notebook and camera. He was relaxed. There was no need to rush when you had nothing to fear. However, this town's case was very strange. Unusual. It gave a sense of foreboding that couldn't be waved away as simple superstition. Something was very wrong here, and he had no idea what it was. He looked at the drawer that held his gun. He laid his hands on the handle, sighing, then pulled it open. It was better to be safe than sorry. He had seen too many strange things to not have a gun at his disposal. He practiced his draw 2 or 3 times before laying his hand on the door, leaning against it. It was going to be another day. He told himself that he would find something that would propel the case forward and push him closer to the truth. Maybe Jacob would be able to tell him something. He slowly opened the door, then closed it behind him, locking it securely behind him. He had arrived here yesterday night. While he had been here, things had always been decent, but strange. The people were polite, but clearly suspicious. The houses, bushes, and trees all had laid their attention straight on him. It was a mounting pressure that lay on his shoulders every day. He was a foreigner. He wasn't supposed to be here. Jacob was the only one he'd talked to, and even then it had been nothing but small talk as he'd asked if they had a room. He recalled that the man had been surprised that there had been another guest. The grocery store owner paid exclusive attention to Harold as he'd paid for a dreary, old box of cigarettes the other day, as if he expected the man to try something. He hadn't slept that first night. He had familiarized himself with the town's layout first. He hadn't talked to anyone that night. The people had put him off, despite putting on normal appearances. Something was there... There was a reason for those murders. He slowly walked down the hallway, eyeing each successive door. He knew there were two other guests here. But which doors were they in? He made it a mental exercise, and decided to try and figure it out before it was revealed to him. The challenge was to only look at the handles of the door. He got a small boost of adrenaline, and almost chuckled, realizing he was almost like a kid. What better enthusiasm to have than that of a kid's? It reminded him of his first appearance in court. It reminded him of that thrill he got when speaking to the jury. He had put a criminal behind bars that day. He was determined to bring the truth behind this town out from behind the bars. He was going to set this one free. Each door had an iron handle, rusted over the years. There was a sheen of dust on most of the doors that came off with a simple wipe of his thumb. Now, there should be a difference in the amount of dust on each door handle that had been previously opened. He went to every door, then smiled in satisfaction. He knew what doors they were behind. He took a peak at his watch. It was only 4:00 in the morning. Harold shook his head, sighing at himself. He needed to make it a habit to get more sleep regularly. He walked down the hallway, leaving the doors behind, walking slowly down the stairs, watching for any signs of movement, then saw red. There was lots of it. Everywhere. At a chair sat a body, facing him. A headless one. Harold slowly walked toward, somewhat afraid the body would move. Then he looked around. Strings of intestines lay around the room carelessly. Bits of bloody chunks lay all around the body as if a bomb had exploded in the man, but it hadn't. The body lay there, still as a rock. Harold stepped back. It was a nightmare. This was... incomprehensible. Indescribable. Harold took a few steps back, grabbing at the pocket holding his camera. He would document this. He snapped a few pictures, then grabbed a chair. It occurred to him that he could run back to his room. He could deny being the first one here. He could deny having seen this. He shook his head; no, he would not be a coward here. Not this time! He slowly wiped off a chair with a towel laying nearby, sitting opposite the headless body. He grabbed his notebook, then described the scene as best as he could. He looked at the body, at the place where he remembered the man had sat the day before. Here had been a man. Someone had taken life from him. He would wait until the others woke up to do anything. He took out a second cigarette and smoked it.
Iris pulled her coat on and smoothed down the patchy fur beneath her fingers. It was still early, and despite having a relatively peaceful night she had no intention of staying longer than she needed to. The plan was to find the inn keeper and get a bus or train time table. She hoisted up her bag and locked the door behind her. She made her way down the stairs, trying not to clump too loudly in a pair of boots. They were simple black leather with no embellishments or heel, but they were well worn and comfortable. The carpet bag thumped between her leg and the bannister as she turned the corner of the landing and froze. At first, she couldn't even tell what the mess at the bottom of the stairs was or what the pool of slick red, congealing liquid that it swam in was. At some point, she let go of her bag and grabbed hold of the banister, curling herself as small as possible against it. The bag tumbled loudly down the stairs landing with a soft thud in the middle of the blood and guts. She looked around, eyes bulging from her eyes, taking in the confetti of guts and things that had once belonged to something that had been human. She went to speak, attempted to scream, but only a soft gargle left her throat. Finally, her eyes landed on a man sat across from the remains. "I want you to put aside your questions about the circumstances first. Tell me what your name is and why you're here." Iris blinked, feeling hot nausea rising and sinking in her stomach. "M..my name?" she croaked. She blinked again. Her eye-liner and mascara suddenly felt cloying against her skin as heat rose to her cheeks. "I'm Ir..." she stopped. "Mad..." she shook her head. Oh God, what's my name? She felt a haze of jigsaw pieces floating disjointed in her mind. "Iris. My name is Iris." "Good. When did you get here, Iris? Iris, why are you here? What do you know about Jacob?" Iris frowned deeply, trying to keep her eyes focused on the man and not on the headless body at the base of the stairs. Her throat was seizing up, she could feel stomach begin to lurch and was grateful she hadn't had any breakfast. She gripped the bannister and tried to pull herself up. "Jacob?" she stammered. Was that the innkeepers name? Was that who the body belonged to? She couldn't bear to look again. "I'm just...staying over. I needed to change buses but got here late last night. He...Jacob..." she tried to speak clearly but every word stuck and stuttered against her dry lips. Her hand went to her chest, feeling her heart hammering beneath her fur coat. "He was going to tell me where the nearest bus stop was. That's all. That's all...oh God..." "Okay, calm down. Calm. Calm." The man spoke in a now hushed voice. "You've told me the truth, and that's all that matters." He stopped for a second. "Do you have a piece of paper and pen? I want you to write a letter to one of your friends. I want you to tell them what has happened. All of it." Iris nodded weakly. There had been some note paper and a pencil in the drawer of the dresser in her room along with a nearly new Bible. She tried to think of someone to write to but she didn't keep many connections. She sometimes wrote to her sister, but she had no idea if the letters got through and she never received or expected a reply but her thoughts began to merge and race again, making her head spin. She looked longingly for a moment at her bag sitting like an island in the pool of blood and decided to abandon it for now. "Alright," she said in a low quiver, and made her way shakily back up the stairs.
Harold waited there for a couple of minutes, looking straight at the body in front of him. This wasn't his first rodeo, but it was still jarring. He knew there were other people in the rooms, but they obviously were sleeping in. It was 8 o'clock, and they were still not awake. He didn't expect Iris for a while. He reached for his smokes, and scraped around the inside of the box, finding only ashes. He crunched his teeth together in frustration. He did not want to go to the store to buy smokes: not here, at least. He got out of his chair, sighing. He needed to stretch; his back would not appreciate him if he would have stayed there. This man needed justice. The man or woman who did this would be sent to prison for life. Harold just needed to grasp him by his collar. Search around in the darkness until he found something, and then grasp it with a firm hand, while keeping his other hand searching. Harold grasped his hands firmly on the arms of his chair, then lifted himself off of the seat. Taking a second to look again at the body, Harold turned around, and stepped on the first step of the staircase. He walked up the stairs, then made his way along the hallway until he reached his room, then he silently opened it, closing it behind him. He took several sheets of paper, grabbed his pen, and started writing. After a few minutes, he was done. He laid the sheets of paper in front of each of the other doors, then took one down the stairs, and laid it on the empty chair. He then left the place, to go speak to the townspeople. "Hello stranger, I am a detective, and I was the first to wake up today. Downstairs, in the lobby room, is one of the most disgusting, depraved scenes I have witnessed. The man named Jacob, the host of the hotel, and the clerk who invited you all in last night, has been brutally murdered. If you have any knowledge about what happened last night, if you heard a sound, scream, loud noises, or if you saw anything or anyone, please contact me. My room is 20-A. Carefully question the other men and women here if you can. Any accounts of all the people that were in this hotel last night would be appreciated. You are all suspects. Thank you."
