Short Story: "The Debt"

This piece of short fiction has a darker tone to it. It involves a few characters and locations of Laketown and its environs. I hope you enjoy it.

You askin’ me if I seen this man out here? Yeah I seen him plenty. Momma seen him too. I can tell you a wee story about ‘im, if you got time. A family yarn, you might say.

What’s yer name. Bill Holly? Pleased to make your acquaintance. From yer what? Par’normal agency? Well I ain’t heard of no such thing. Mind you we don’t see many city folk out here, we keep to the old ways. My name is Jerome Smyth. Some people call me “Ironclaw”. Make yerself comfortable, pull up a stool by the stove there.

You come from Laketown today? Turned off route twelve at the old iron works Mr. Holly? Come through Pickett’s forest an’ over the hill? Yep. I was brought up here in Caldwell, still some ways out of City o’ Laketown. Used to be a lot of people livin’ out here when the iron works was still op’ ratin’, but that was years ago. They’re all gone now. Dug a lot of them a good home.

I see you raisin’ yer brow at my name. They don’t call me “Ironclaw” for nothin’! They seen what I can do, those what give me that name. They seen what I can do, an’ they respect me for what I can do with my hands.

I don’t give no respect to a man at the trigger end of a ten gauge, and don’t I expect it when I’m at that end neither. An’ I ain’t afeared of that. I ain’t scared of a pair of iron claws or a ten gauge. There’s many a time in my life I’ve been near beggin’ that someone pull the trigger on me. That never scared me ‘cause that’s something I could see. I could see the buckshot comin’ out of the barrel. I could see it shootin’ for my head. No sweat, Mr. Holly. It’s what you can’t see, that’s what you should be afeared of. It’s what don’t go away when the buckshot blows out other side of yer brains, that’s what I’m afeared of.

I reckon you know what I’m talkin’ about. You ain’t got no ten gauge, have you, Mr. Holly?

Nope, I di’n think so.

I got my name “Ironclaw” on account of this fierce pair of dukes. These have seen me good stead for my diggin’ work, an’ kept a plenty score of good fer nothin’s away from our home. We get a few customers from town. They come around and want to give some city person a good home in the ground, so I’m usually happy to oblige. Sometimes they come wavin’ their guns, but they don’t give me no fear. Them’s the type that don’t walk out of here. Them that do, they’re the one’s that gave me my name.

Daddy was a gravedigger too. Brought me up with a belt and a jack boot. He called it his own private graveyard. We was always off the beaten track, even back in those days. He worked hisself to the bone.

In his time, Daddy dug a lot of people around here a good home, an’ even some of yer Laketown folk. Some say even ol’ Tom Moth, who owned the mansion in Laketown, found his way out here. I don’t know about that one, though. I reckon he’s still livin’ somewhere in his ol’ mansion.

You askin’ me if I seen this man out here? Yep, I seen him. Skinny feller with an old foreign hat like Charlie Chaplin, an’ tappin’ his walking cane on the graves. He’s got a face you know but you can’t really see. He come around all times, day or night. He ain’t yer campfire spook, this ol’ devil.

Sometimes he come sweepin’ up through the headstones like a rush of wind swirlin’ the dead leaves, except the leaves are still, and you can’t see nobody. But yer heart is pumpin’, an’ the sweat’s drippin’ between yer toes, an’ you can feel that he’s right there, right under the sycamore tree. We all seen him, plenty times. The whole family. Hardly talked about him mind. But we all saw him.

Daddy made a deal with ‘im, when I was a young whipper. That’s why he never came back that day he set out to mend the bridge with Momma. I stayed back in the cottage. Daddy headed out with his ol’ leather tool belt, hammer and nails slappin’, Momma skippin’ along behind.

Momma said Daddy had a debt to square, said he had to pay the piper to save his family. I figured ol' Charlie must have been a music man too. Momma came back home that night with a bundle of clothes. She piled them into the wood stove, and stoked it up real good, and the flames were lickin’ the black stones like it was Christmas night, ‘cept it was a hot July an’ the skeeters were bitin’. We didn’t see ol’ Charlie for a long time after that. I missed my Daddy sore.

A few summers on, I was fishin’ fer browns near the bridge an’ I reeled in Daddy’s old hammer. When I showed it to Momma, she said nothin’. Just looked quiet and prayerful and looked up at the blue sky, an’ the sun shone off her face, like she was an’ angel. That same night I saw her give the hammer to Charlie, that ol’ devil.

You gotta go Mr. Holly? You don’t want a cup of rye? No? Alright then, you take care of yerself now. Once again, Jerome Smyth, pleased to make yer acquaintance.

Before you leave, let me say this. Things have been real peaceful around here lately. The winds have been low, the river ain’t been in flood for many a year, an’ business has been pretty good. An’ when the wind does blow up the leaves around the sycamore tree, I don’t see ol’ Charlie no more.

But Momma does. She’s been seein’ him a lot lately, an’ chattin’ about ‘im, an' makin' too much noise. Now she’s tellin’ me that ol’ Charlie wants to make a deal with me. I ask her - “aint’ Daddy already paid that debt”?

She puts her hands together like she’s prayin’, an’ goes all quiet an’ angel like. She looks up to heaven with her doe eyes an’ tells me – “Daddy’s still paying it, dear, even as we speak.”

That’s what I’m afeared of.

*

Episode 23: Take two Mr. Straker

Woodward and McMurdoch step into McArnie's Lakeside Tavern for a drink. The tavern is strangely empty this evening. Suddenly they hear the din of violence outside, and the roar of an approaching helicopter...

Several days pass with mundane regularity. There is little specialist paranormal investigation to do, and you spend much of your time doing laborious chores for the FBI, cross referencing criminal databases and running checks on crime reports for Narcotics, and contraband enquiries. Galloway has been grumbling about budget cuts over the last few weeks, and it appears that the PSIA may suffer the worst. There are rumours that perhaps it may even be disestablished.

Neither Woodward nor McMurdoch has heard from your infiltrated mob associates Julio Sonosa or Andreas Sanchez for many weeks.

Perhaps Sonosa has become wary of using your services after his last turbulent encounter with you.

Indeed, now that you have rescued Lucy Staines, the original objective of your infiltration, your “Cleaning Crew” operation has become largely redundant. Perhaps it will have further use in the future, or perhaps it is a double-edged sword, and will come back to hurt you.

Only time will tell.

Lucy Staines, the girl you rescued from the hideout beneath the city, has been returned to her home and is back living with her father, Joel Staines. You never did allay your suspicions about him, but it seems that your chance is gone on this score, at least for now.

It would also appear that the mysterious Sebastian Singer has vanished for too. In any case, if he were to make contact, it is likely that it would be his old friend Leo Rhodes that he would turn to again. But perhaps somewhere, some time, your paths will cross again. Life can throw some unexpected twists.

The cleaning crew episode comes back to haunt Mcmurdoch on a nightly basis as he grapples with blood spattered nightmares...

Some weeks ago a representative from the NSA met with Galloway and seemed to have explained away the bizarre incident on the fishing trawler to Galloway’s satisfaction at least.

You are in your 2nd storey Laketown PSIA office, another day of mundane FBI work, is drawing to a close, and darkness has fallen over Laketown. Over the road, you can see a few figures ambling across the footpath, underneath the buzzing sodium street lamp and towards the warm glow that is McArnie’s tavern. From your second storey window you can see the lights of a boat not far out upon the lake. All is calm and still.

Galloway steps out of his office, pulls his hat from the hatstand, says good evening, and heads out the door.

Bruce, your colleague whom you have not seen for a while, is sitting at his desk, tapping at his laptop. Bruce is a quiet man. He has a thin patch growing on his mop of dark hair, a five o’clock shadow like a thunder cloud under his chin, and is wearing his customary white shirt and black braces.

He turns to you over his shoulder. "Fancy a beer at McArnie's?"

Ethan mutters to himself as he makes motions with his hand, intently reading a book. "Put the scalpel here and cut the..." He looks up towards Bruce. "Oh, sure, why not?"

Mcmurdoch turns around puts his arm up behind his back and grins "twist my arm buddy..."

Bruce gets up and grabs his coat and hat, and opens the door.

"Can I bring my hot date?" Mcmurdoch caresses his shotgun, lovingly.

Bruce shakes his head, almost sadly. "Yeah man." You head out the door.

"O shit!" says Bruce. "I promised my wife I'd have dinner with her tonight. Gotta take a rain check." Bruce heads back down the quay away from McArnie's to the parking building.

Ethan: "I see. That's rather unfortunate, but I understand. See you around later, then."

Mcmurdoch starts to shuffle, dragging one foot behind the other, miming the action of dragging a ball and chain. Bruce winks at him as he leaves.

You enter via the side door door tonight because a large black truck is blocking the entrance to McArnie’s. The tavern is empty tonight. Rod McArnie is not behind the bar.

"Wonder what's in the truck..." Ethan says, peeking his head around as he goes past. "Huh, where is everybody?"

McArnie's is a pleasant quayside tavern with wooden tables and frost-patterned windows. The night is deep outside. On the other side of the quay is the wharf, the angled masts of the marina bathe in the dim glow of hunched street lamps, and specks of light glint through the darkness from the boat traffic further out on the lake.

Inside McArnie's, alcoves and snugs line the inner wall. A few small weather worn sailing boats are suspended from the ceiling. There are model ships on the ledge above the bar a clipper, schooners, an ironclad, and several old local sailing boats of local fame.

The bar is L shaped. Dining on the right, drinking, card tables ahead of you. A pool table, dartboards, toilets at the far wall ahead of you. The bar is empty.

"Wonder what's in the truck... how many times have words like that got us into a whole heap of trouble, partner?" Mcmurdoch grins.

"Oi! Is anyone here?!" Ethan yells out.

McMurdoch: "And the last time we walked into an empty bar... we almost got smoked by a couple of gangsters."

"Hang on, I'm coming!" Rod McArnie appears behind the bar. "What'll you have, fellas?"

Ethan sighs with relief. "Thought everyone'd been eaten by zombies or something."

"Dang... I thought you weren't gonna show." Mcmurdoch grins and hands him a fiver for the beer he just poured himself.

The phone rings. Brnggg brnggg.

What's with the truck?" Ethan inquires as he sits down at the bar.

Rod McArnie: "Just a second, I'll get that..." Rod disappears around the back.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of helicopter blades outside. The roar is getting louder.

Ethan: "I do not like the sound of that..."

Mcmurdoch turns back to Woodward and sucks back half of his beer. "That's a relief. You know, in the movies, the empty bar scene is usually a prelude to an attack or serious danger of some kind. Good thing we're not characters in some movie, eh."

The chopper volume is now intense. You can hear the sound of a loud hailer, and a spot light sweeping down on the street below.

Mcmurdoch chuckles to himself.

You hear a loud commotion outside, shouts, the sound of fighting.

"Quiet, you." Ethan says as he stands up and runs to the window to check out the helicopter.

Woodward sees outside on the street a group of black clad thugs, wearing balaclavas and wielding baseball bats, surround another man and are attacking him with baseball bats.

McMurdoch: "What's up?"

The man under attack is tall and wiry and appears to be taking a beating but is giving as good as he gets.

Ethan draws his revolver and runs to leave through the door.

The man punches and kicks with the skill of a martial artist, and knocks several of his attackers to the ground. He is wearing a white tee shirt, black jeans, and has a tattoo on his bicep.

Mcmurdoch draws his gun and starts to follow Woodward, suddenly regretting not bringing his "hot date".

"Everyone freeze! Put down your weapons!" Ethan exclaims as he runs over, crouching low and holding the gun in both hands towards the mob.

"Mac!" McMurdoch yells back over his shoulder. "There's trouble outside. Keep your head down."

The man in the tee shirt appears to be getting a hammering now. A big gob of blood bursts spectacularly on his face as one of the bats strikes his temple. Suddenly one of the black balaclava'd men charges Woodward with a baseball bat in the air.

Mcmurdoch stops behind some bins for protection and covers Woodward.

You hear a muffled cry from the loudhailer, just above the din of the chopper blades.

"hut.... hut....!!" cries the loudhailer from the helicopter.

McMurdoch: "Drop the weapon or I shoot!"

"God damn it! What is it now!?" says Straker, the man in the tee shirt who is under attack.

"hut.... hut....!! " cries the loudhailer from the helicopter.

An assailant drops the bat and pulls off his balaclava. "Don't shoot!"

Straker wipes red blood from his face and looks from the 'chopper to the gunmen. You can hear unintelligible screaming sounds coming from the loud hailer above.

"...for the love of god.... who let those idiots in....." cries the loudhailer

Straker: "Put the guns down!"

The helicopter rises and disappears behind the buildings.

Ethan: "%#^&!" He exclaims, turning his gaze towards the helicopter .

All the black clad men are removing their balaclavas now.

Straker: "No-body's going to hurt you! Just put the gun down!"

Baseball bats clatter to the pavement. Straker is making 'calming' motions with his hands.

Woodard relaxes, hand still on his gun as he lowers it to face the ground.


"Just what the hell is going on here?!" Ethan demands.

It sounds like the chopper has landed, somewhere on the docks area. All the men in black look towards the man in the white t shirt. Straker puts his hands behind his head as McMurdoch still has him at gunpoint.

"Shit!... There could be reinforcements in that chopper", Mcmurdoch mutters.

Straker: "Don't do anything rash now."

Ethan: "McMurdoch, lower your gun for now. Let's try to get some answers out of them before we go all out with the hostilities."

McMurdoch: Mcmurdoch lowers his gun, but keeps it in his hand.

Straker: "What are you? Police? We have a permit you know."

Ethan: "Now, someone, please tell me what's going on here. We're with the FBI."

Straker: "Studio is going to lynch you..." Straker lowers his hands.

McMurdoch notices he still has some beer left in his glass and chugs it back.

Ethan: "...Studio?"

A shaggy bearded man with a beer belly, and blue shirt hanging loosely over grey slacks appears from behind the black truck. His is approaching, and there is rage in his face. He is holding a loud hailer.

Straker: "Yeah, we have a permit to film tonight."

"$ @." Ethan says to himself.

The shaggy bearded man approaches Woodward and McMurdoch. "You cannot be serious! Goddammit, it took us all afternoon to set up that scene! FBI? Your boss is going to hear about this in the morning! You'll never work in Laketown again!"

Straker shouts in the direction of some people behind the bearded man - "Somebody get me a god-damned towel, get this ketchup of my face."

"You'll never work in the U.S again!" cries the film director.

"Sorry dude..." Mcmurdoch grins sheepishly. "But hey... you just got footage of some authentic police work there. How about running a reality TV show instead."

A spotty young man runs off to the truck.

"Sorry." Ethan deadpans. "Next time I see some guys beating a brother up, I'll be sure to just ignore it..."

Straker: "How much did that footage cost chief?"

The shaggy bearded man's fat hands are pumping wildly as he vents his spleen. "Thirty two hundred, uh, forty eight hundred, eighteen thousand, how the hell should I know damn it. Sorry, Al, sorry, but these guys have got me, you know."

This comment really tickles Mcmurdoch's fancy and he starts to laugh uproariously at his own joke. Mcmurdoch is laughing so hard that tears are running down his face.

Ethan: "Settle down, McMurdoch."

Straker is trying not to laugh, behind the director's back.

Ethan spins his revolver and shoves it back into his jacket somewhere with a sigh.

Mcmurdoch holsters his gun and picks up his glass. You should be careful about where you choose to shoot, buddy. That..." He points to McArnie's..." is a cop bar."

"First I've heard of any movie being filmed here. What the hell is up with that..." Ethan says to himself as he heads back towards the bar.

The beaded man is even more enraged with Mcmurdoch. He waggles a finger in his face. "Know this, I've have your ASS! I'll have your ASS!"

Straker cleans himself off .

"Yeah... I've heard about you movie types..." says McMurdoch.

Rod McArnie steps out of the bar. Sorry, fellas, I was about to explain. The main street was closed off. Looks like I forgot to lock the door."

Mcmurdoch is overcome once again by gales of uncontrollable laughter.

"Well, McMurdoch, it turns out you were wrong. We _were_ in a movie," Ethan says with a sigh.

Straker: "Wait, wait this is important..."

The director stomps off, after cursing McMurdoch again. "You've made an enemy!"

Straker: "Does that place," points at the bar, "Sell beer."

Rod McArnie: "Sure as hell!"

Straker: "I'm buying."

Director: "I'm the biggest paid director in Hong Kong! You don't mess with my film, buddy!"

McArnie opens the door to the tavern. I could use the custom, " he chuckles.

Straker takes his jacket from a flunky and follows McArnie.

McMurdoch: "You wanna see some real good footage, buddy... send a camera crew to follow me and my partner around for a week. You'll get stuff you wouldn't believe."

The spotty young man returns with a white damp cloth and hands it to Straker.

("Well, ^#$&," Ethan curses towards McMurdoch half-heartedly. "We'd better watch out backs now. Crazy kung fu ninjas being sent after us will top the list of crap we have to deal with."

Straker: (Impersonating the Director) "I'm the biggest paid Director in Hong Kong! I'm God Almighty. I can't get a Permit to Film worth a damn."

"Well then Mac... how about a refill then." Mcmurdoch waggles his glass at McArnie.

Rod McArnie: "Sure." The usual, Tequila?"
McMurdoch: "I dunno, Mac... what do movie stars drink?"
Straker: "Corona, no Lime." (To McMurdoch) "Scully and Mulder are you?"

Ethan overhears. "More like Mulder and Moldy."

The spotty young man wipes the tomato sauce off Straker's face, daubing it gently.

McMurdoch: "Gimme one of those then."

Rod McArnie: "Coming right up."

Ethan: Sits down at the bar. "Gimme whatever."

Straker: (To flunky) "I can wipe my own face lad."

The youth slinks away.

McArnie begins pouring out the drinks.

Mcmurdoch turns to Straker. "Your boss comes across as a bit of an anal retentive power freak. Or is there a nice guy hidden deep inside?"

McArnie cracks open a bottle of Corona for Straker.

Straker: "My boss is commander in chief of the world, to himself."

McArnie pushes the bottle across the bar to Straker. It slides effortlessly.

Straker: "Oh yeah, He ate a nice guy last week."

McArnie pours out a Tequila for McMurdoch. Outside the film crew appear to be packing up for the evening.

McMurdoch: "Ha! So... what are you guys filming?"

Straker: "'Power Trip'. I'm a no-nonsense PI on the trail of drug money, while trying to save my failing mariage."
Straker: (Sarcastically) "Great, no?"

McArnie pulls a Lakeside Lager for Woodward, and hands it to him.

(326) McMurdoch: "OK? What kind of movie is it? Action, thriller, romantic comedy?
Straker: "The guys with bats not give you a clue?"

McMurdoch: "OK... a sports flick?"

McArnie starts cleaning glasses, and mumbles and tuts to himself.

Ethan sips at his drink. "I've been there before. Well, except for the marriage part. And, uh, being on the trail of the drug money."

Straker: "FBI?"

Straker: "Or PI?"

McMurdoch: "Yeah... we do that kind of stuff for real."

Straker: (Interested) "Is that a fact?"

McMurdoch: "Ah... you tell him Woodward."

Ethan: "I was a private investigator years ago. Didn't work out so well."

Straker: "The handle's Straker, by the way, Alistair."


Ethan: "When I joined the FBI, I stopped having to explain the strange bodies that showed up all over." He takes a gulp of his drink. "Heh."

McMurdoch: "Mcmurdoch, Kyle." Mcmurdoch proffers his hand.

Straker shakes his hand.

McMurdoch: "We investigate 'unconventional' cases."

Ethan: "Ah. Ethan, Ethan Woodard."

Straker: "Unconventional... I was right Mulder & the other one. Straker shakes Ethan's hand too.

Mcmurdoch pulls out a packet of cigarettes and offers one to Straker.

Straker: "Thanks."

Ethan: "Yeah... About all we haven't faced so far is the werewolves. Heheh."

McMurdoch puts one in his own mouth, and lights Straker's and then his own. Mcmurdoch in hales deeply, tilts his head back and blows a thin stream of smoke at the ceiling.

Straker: "'Course..."

McMurdoch: "Paranormal, extrasensory, ultra... all kinds of weird shit."

Ethan: "But I guess that big %^#*in' lizard kind of counts. So never mind."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're serious."

McArnie says to Straker,"These are good boys", pointing to McMurdoch and Woodward.

McMurdoch: "Yeah... dinosaurs too." Mcmurdoch chugs back his third Jose Quervo. "Whooooeee. Where's the lemon and salt. It never gets any easier. But you pay a price for anything good, eh?"

McArnie prepares a Tequila slammer for McMurdoch.

Straker: (Slyly) "I suppose... I suppose you know all about ghosts?"

Ethan snaps his fingers. "Those guys that had Staines! Rat men, of course!"

McMurdoch: "Ghosts? We had a ghost case, Woodward?"

Straker: "Rat men?"

McMurdoch: "Yeah... you're right."

"He he heee!" McArnie whistles to himself as he cleans the glasses.

"Sure, our first case together. Investigated the prison; It's shut down now because of us. Freakin' ghosts. Freakin' zombies..." Ethan shudders.

Straker: "How much have these guys already had?" Straker asks McArnie, nicely.

McArnie points to McMurdoch. "Three tequilas, one tequila slammer. Mr Ethan, one Lakeside Lager."

Mcmurdoch throws his head back and downs the slammer. His mouth twitching with violent spasms, like a pit bull terrier sucking on a lemon.

Ethan: "Don't be fooled into thinking any strange thoughts. He's like this even when he's sober."

McMurdoch: "Whooeee." Mcmurdoch slaps himself hard on the face. "Even the lemon and shalt don't make it much easier."

Straker: "Oh! That's a relief. What were they like, these Ghosts, Ethan?"

Ethan: "Well, there was just one, I think. Spirit of a prisoner long gone. He'd taken over the prison somehow; controlled the minds of the guards and the others in charge...I think he had a fondness for human flesh, as well."

Straker swigs thoughtfully.

Ethan: "Too bad about Rhodes. He wasn't with us for much longer after that." Ethan sighs.

Straker: "Rhodes?"

Mcmurdoch knocks back his fifth Tequila Slammer. "Whooooeeee. Signor Quervo is a mean mother f%$#er" His fist pumps up and down. "Hey Mac! You need to install a salt lick here!"

Ethan: "An old partner of ours, shall we say. An old guy, but he managed to keep McMurdoch under control, at least..."

McArnie grins, mutters, and continues cleaning the glasses.

Straker: "He, he died?"


Ethan: "Had quite a few bad run ins with the various critters we've encountered. After that boat incident... He got out of the hospital, but it's like he's lost his spirit, his edge..."

Straker: "Spirit... Yes, I know what you mean."

"To Rhodes! Agent extrodinaire." Mcmurdoch raises his glass and downs another slammer.

Straker drinks to Rhodes too.

Ethan: "Think he's just pushing papers around in the bureau's bureaucracy now." Ethan sighs.

The door opens and a man pops his head inside.

Ethan turns around to see the newcomer.

"You want a lift back, or are you OK here?" says the man to Straker. You hear the sound of a diesel truck engine starting.

Straker: "Go home, I'm sure I can find my way back."

"OK." The head disappears.

Straker: "My bike's on the wharf."

Mcmurdoch slides off his seat and staggers up to Straker. "Ghosts, my fren? Why you interested in ghosts? You need our services? Me an' my inestimablist colleague here?"

The beeping of a truck reversing outside, is followed by the sound of the motor fading.

McMurdoch: "inestimablism."

McMurdoch: "inest..."

Ethan: "Sorry about the movie. But like I said, I couldn't just let what was going on happen without doing anything. A flaw of mine that's gotten me into trouble a bit, perhaps..."

Straker: "Well, let's say I was. If you were the first thing that'd gone wrong on that shoot, you'd be the first of many."

Ethan chuckles a bit. After awhile, he asks. "About the ghost, then?"

McMurdoch: "Ghostbusters... tha's what we are. Who you gonna call?"

Straker: "Let's say..." Straker takes a moment to think about this. Let's say that I'd seen something, some one."

McMurdoch: "Youshe have an unwelcome paranormal visitation, we're the men to call."

Straker: "Let's say, and what would you say?"

Ethan: "I'd say, "I'm listening.""

Straker: "Last year, Okay."

Straker: "I saw someone, someone that I should not have seen."

Ethan: "Hm? Can I ask who?"

Straker: "I mean, last I saw her was a funeral."

Ethan: Ethan nods.

McMurdoch: "Mos' people we meet are people we shouln't have seen!"

Ethan: "Let him talk, McMurdoch."

Straker: "This is insane."

McArnie chuckles at McMurdoch as he prepares another tequila.

Straker looks over his shoulder. The tavern is still empty. It seems that everyone else got the message about the street closure.

Straker: "What do you do about a ghost?"

McMurdoch: "An' I can see two of you, Mac. Now thas' jus' not right!"

Ethan: "It might be insane sounding. But let's hear it anyway. No one hear will think it strange, at least."

Straker: "Alright, a friend of mine, Zhang, Alice Zhang. She fell, it was a stunt, it went wrong, it happens. She died. I saw her again. Explain that one."
Straker: "'cos I can't."

Ethan nods. "Well, the generally accepted theory behind ghosts is that the... electric-magnetic field, or the spirit, or the soul, or their consciousness or whatever... Remains behind because of extreme emotions or feelings before their time of death..."

Straker: "But you said 'A taste for human flesh'."

McMurdoch: "Dr Karvorkian! Ha ha ha." Mcmurdoch starts to giggle.

Ethan: "The shock of betrayal. The resentment against a hated foe. The need to protect. The strong feeling of leaving something unaccomplished...It can be anything, really."

Straker: "But, they tend to stay in one place, right?"

Straker: "I mean, you hear about ghosts haunting one place?"

McMurdoch: "Whooo you gonna call... Ghost busters!" McMurdoch slips off his stool and breaks into a hyperactive funky chicken dance, flapping his elbows, wiggling his hips and moving his head back and forward, his oversized adam's apple sliding up and down in time to the music, with all the grace and style of a natural born nerd.

Straker: "Your partner is a class act..."

"I think you've had enough now, mister McMurdoch," says McArnie.

Mcmurdoch slides his gangly six foot four frame back onto the barstool. "Another round with Signor Quervo, Mac. It's been one helluva week!"

Ethan: "Not always. Usually their feelings are tied into a particular place, where they want something to happen - or wish that something hadn't. In Lenny Hobb's case - he's the one we investigated - I believe he had a strong resentment for the public correctional system, and wanted to get his revenge by controlling the fate or those who had controlled his..."

"No can do, friend. You're already having too good a night."

Straker looks over his shoulder again.

Straker: "I should have let it drop."

Ethan: "But that doesn't necessarily mean that's always what happens. I don't claim to be an expert in knowledge of things beyond the grave, having never been dead before. Not at least as far as I know."

McMurdoch: "How abound a round for my fren's, then?"

Straker: "You don't know how to, how to fix, fix whatever it is?"

Straker: "Fix whatever keeps ghosts here?"

Rod McArnie: "Sure why not," he says to McMurdoch.

Ethan: "The first step would be to contact a reputable medium, and try to understand the situation behind the ghost's haunting..."

While MacArnie has his back turned, preparing the drinks, Mcmurdoch surreptitiously slips a hipflask from his pocket and has a sly swig.

Straker: "Listen, my friend. Is this one of those things where, in an hours time, you drop the ruse and think it's dead funny because you've fooled me?"

Straker: "Because that won't be fun for you. I'm serrious."

Ethan: "I wouldn't joke about something like this." .

Straker: "Will you help me?"

"Depends..." McMurdoch enters a rare moment of lucidity.

McMurdoch: "So is this an official job, Agency job, or a private job? You know what I mean..." McMurdoch rubs his fingers together. "... deniros. We got expenses, man."

Ethan: "My situation is my own, and I don't care to explain, but believe me. I take situations regarding faith, the spiritual, and the grave very seriously..."

McMurdoch: "I take situationsss reagarding my own grave very seriously!"

Straker: "Honestly. It's probably a bit outside your area

Straker: (Dismissively) "By which I mean that all this happend on the other side of the world."

Ethan: Well we're using it for right now

Straker: "But I've another question."

Ethan: "Go ahead."

Straker: "Can I follow you getns for a while? Wait, hear me out."

Straker: "After this mess they call a film I'm doing something a bit horror, a bit paranormal. If I tag along with you I can call it research."

Straker: "I'm sure there's a way to bill the studio for it."

McMurdoch: "How about a bit comedy... a bit slapstick. Like The 'X Files'... Crossed with 'Dumb and Dumber'. Mcmurdoch elbows Woodward and winks.

Ethan coughs. "Well, I'm not sure if the agency would be too happy with us for dragging a civillian around with us..."

McMurdoch: "Yeah... skills."

Ethan: "But at least you seem like more intelligent company than what I usually get."

McMurdoch: "What skills you got, buddy. We ain't no babysitters..."

Straker: "The Agency didn't even know there was filming here today - what are the chances they'd spot me?"

Straker: "I'll be good."

McMurdoch: "You need to be alert, ready for anything..."

Straker: "Like a coiled spring."

Suddenly Mcmurdoch spins arouns on his barstool, pulls a tiny derringer pistol from his pocket, and points it at Straker's head, the end of the barrel a few inches from his face, flush between his eyes. "SAY HELLOOO TO MY LEETLE FRIEND!!!"

Ethan draws his own revolver and points it towards McMurdoch. "J***s C***st!"
McMurdoch furrows his brows, snarls and pulls the trigger. A small flame ignites at the end of the gun barrel.

It is a novelty cigarette lighter. McMurdoch convulses with gales of laughter and falls of his barstool, hitting the floor with a thump.

Ethan curses and puts the gun back into his jacket.

Straker: "Funny guy."

Mcmurdoch stays on the floor, unable to get up.

Straker: "But can you do the 'Beam me up?'"

Ethan: "Beam me up...?

McArnie, looks down at McMurdoch and looks skyward, and shrugs.

Mcmurdoch yells from the floor "Hey mac, how about a drink for a dying man?"

Straker takes out his zippo, opens it and puts his thumb on the wheel - squeezing suddely, the lighter flyes up, igniting, and Straker catches it as it falls again.

Ethan: "Forget I said anything. You're just as crazy as McMurdoch is..."

Straker: "Burn't fingers when I was sixteen..."

Rod McArnie: "Last orders, fellas"

Ethan: "That's all for me. I've got to stay alert, keep my senses ready. Never know when you might get mugged or have someone come in for a facelift." He seems to think it over and then chuckles lamely.

Nothing for me," says Straker to McArnie, pocketing the zippo. "Last thing I need to do is wrap my bike around a tree."

Ethan: "Well, if you really want to see our work, we could always use some help. I'll talk to Galloway in the morning if you really want to..."

Straker: "Yeah - I think it would be a big help."

McArnie starts turning the seats upside down and putting them on the tables.

Ethan: "Well, we'll see what we can do. For now, give me your number so I can contact you."

Straker gives Ethan his numbers.

Rod McArnie switches off the primary lights, and the tavern is left half lit.

Mcmurdoch lies underneath the bar, snoring as loudly as a walrus choking on an oversized fish. The flicker of the sodium street lamp bathes your faces with an eerie glint.

Straker: "Do you need a hand with the Merry Musketeer?"

Ethan: "All right, think it's about time to head out, then. McMurdoch, going to sleep here for tonight?"

Mcmurdoch's reply is oanother gutteral baritone snore. McArnie picks up McMurdoch and drags him to the doors. He pushes his head through the double doors and lays him up against the wall.

Woodard snorts. "Well, whatever. No one's going to be dumb enough to mug him right across from the headquarters of an FBI branch, but..."

Ethan: "Ah, thanks a lot." He says to McArnie.

You head off into the night, and go your separate ways. You hear the faint pop pop of gunfire somewhere out there in the city. The moon is three quarter, and broods coldly over Cash Tower.

END OF SCENE

About this blog

This is a web log dedicated to an online, real-time, chat based role playing game campaign, played with the D20 Modern rules set. Three players take the role of fictional characters and together with the game master, they narrate a constantly unfolding story using the online chat game interface OpenRPG. The story is set in a fictional city in a fictional world, very similar to the modern world, but in some ways very different.

We are currently working nicely with three players, but there is room for one more. If you are interested, please click the link below to open my profile and find my email address in the Contact section.

About Me

We play every second Sunday, 21:00 to 23:30 GMT+12. Here are equivalent times for typical time zones:

Sunday, 21:00 GMT+12 = Sunday 09:00 GMT
Sunday, 21:00 GMT+12 = Sunday 19:00 Australian EST
Sunday, 21:00 GMT+12 = Sunday 03:00 United States EST

The story up till now.

Leo Rhodes, Ethan Woodward, and Kyle McMurdoch arrived for work one rainy autumn morning as new recruits for the Laketown Paranormal Scientific Investigation Agency. Rhodes, a gruff, white haired, former FBI agent, had been shunted into the Paranormal field against his will. Ethan Woodward, a skinny, shady looking man, was an ex- private investigator with a checkered past. Kyle McMurdoch's background was unclear, but was puportedly an expert in ancient languages and had previously conducted some esoteric archaeological research. The department was unable to substantiate these claims at the time of his employment, but they were desperate for staff, so they hired him anyway.

For their first assignment they were sent by their boss, Stan Galloway, to Edgeways prison to assist FBI special agent Frank Dinostino. Shortly after their arrival they found Dinostino's dead body. Warned by the ramblings of an old black prisoner, McMurdoch attempted to find the prison records about an past inmate, Lenny Hobbs. McMurdoch was confronted by the prison guards, who, possessed of some unknown power, attacked with inhuman ferocity. The heroes were overcome and were marched by the guards to the prison governors office. The governer was clearly out of his mind and railed about Lenny Hobbs, and how his evil spirit had possesed the prisoners and guards. The heroes were placed in the hole, a pitch dark cell in the basement.

Will, an old black prisoner, told them about a tunnel that had been scooped out by other prisoners over the preceding decades. They managed to escape through this, but having only a spoon to scoop out the remaining tunnel. The heroes escaped the prison by shooting several of the possessed guards and crashing out the gate in their car.

Their next assignment was to investigate a sighting of mystery vessel made by some residents of Roan Island, a small island with a lighthouse in the lake. After interviewing the lighthousekeeper, some hippies, and a friendly fisheries research officer, they decided to camp out for the night and see if they could catch sight of the mystery vessel. Their stakeout was unsuccessful and they returned to HQ the next morning empty handed.

They next visited Bill Holly. He asked them to investigate the disppearance of Lucy Staines, who was kidnapped while he was walking her home from the Nightshade club. They first interviewed her father, who seemed a troubled man. Woodward remembered having performed a backstreet plastic surgery job on him to disguise his features, some years back. Leo Rhodes threatened him, but he still seemed to be withholding information.

In McArnie's Lakeside Tavern that night, Leo Rhodes bumped into received a handwritten note addressed to himself and "Doug" from Sebastian Singer, and old school chum, who was now a geologist. The mysterious handwritten note described a strange incident in the desert involving a meteorite. Singer claimed that his life was in danger, and proposed to meet Rhodes at Laketown Central Station the next night.

The heroes arrived on the platform at the arranged time, and when the crowd emerged from the train, Singer appeared. At that point, another man stepped forward and claiming he was an National Security Agent, drew a handgun and attempted to arrest Singer for terrorist activity. Singer bolted for a departing train, and in the heat of the moment, Leo Rhodes shot the agent dead. Woodward managed to jump on the back of the departing train, but could not find Singer on it, and lost him when Singer jumped off when the train slowed and ran off into the dark countryside. McMurdoch's attempt to catch up with the train in his beat up jalopy failed.

Leo Rhodes was grilled by the local police department and several NSA agents. 2nd degree murder charges were dropped.

Further investigation from University sources, the heroes managed to find the dig site that Singer was last posted. They found evidence of vehicles, and a large burnt crater. McMurdoch took a rock sample and is still awaiting analysis results.

The light house keeped Carl Wasser had the next evening seen again the mysterious, unlit boat out on the water beyond Roan island, perhaps in the sweep of his the lighthouse beam, and he called Rhodes on his mobile. He called the boys and got hold of McMurdoch, but was unable to contact Woodward.

Rhodes and McMurdoch met at the marina opposite McArnie's took and the FBI launch Inspiratia out to the western headland of the island where Wasser thought he had seen the vessel. Rhodes and McMurdoch guided the vessel bravely into the unknown at full speed, and,making no precautions for the fact that what they were looking for was unlit, they slammed into an unseen object. Steel screamed and crunched, and the heroes were knocked to their feet. Their FBI launch, the Inspiratia, began to take on water.

They heard voices from the other vessel. Water was shin deep when Rhodes decided that the cause was lost, and he inflated the life raft and abandoned ship.

At this point the launch was listing dangerously, but McMurdoch scrambled to retrieve some scuba gear, grappling hooks, and a harpoon gun. The launch capsized, and McMurdoch collected his haul and escaped going under by a deft leap from the swinging deck into the life raft.

The heroes heard the men from the mystery vessel calling to them in the darkness. McMurdoch announced that they were federal agents. The men fire with a rifle and harpoon gun.

Rhodes, cool headed, dived out of the life raft and into the water, avoiding the light and into the black lake water. McMurdoch took a hit from the rifle. McMurdoch skewered one of their assailants with a harpoon gun.

The enemy vessel swung around and piloted a course to run down the small life raft. As it approached, the other man aimed the rifle and wounded McMurdoch in the arm. McMurdoch leaped just in the nick of time and the life raft was crushed under the bow of the 40-foot steel-hulled vessel.

Rhodes was already swimming for shore, safely concealed in the darkness of the lake. McMurdoch ducked underneath the water to avoid the sweeping flashlight beams. Finally they both made it to shore.

Pondering their predicament, they decided to hike up to the top of the bluff to the lighthouse keeper's cottage and ask for assistance. Carl Wasser greeted them with concern, tended to their wounds, and helped them avoid suffering hypothermia. The night was deep outside, and the winter air cold, but Wasser started a fire, brewed some tea, and offered to help them apprehend the men on the vessel, who had shot McMurdoch and were clearly were up to no good. Wasser shared a pipe of tobacco with McMurdoch, grabbed his shotgun, and headed down to the jetty.

He lead the men down the tricky cliffside path in the dark. Rhodes and McMurdoch accompanied Wasser to his runabout. Wasser guided the craft cautiously into the lake, across the water, searching for the mystery vessel with his flashlight. His keen and cautious eyes spotted it some way off. He cut the engine, lowered the lights, and paddled the rest of the way. As the heroes approached, it became clear that the vessel was unmanned.

There were some cables visible that were attached to a winch system that disappeared under the water. Rhodes leaped on board and grabbed the ignition keys. Then, suspicious that the missing sailors were scuba diving somewhere in the depths beneath the vessel, Rhodes kept guard on the deck.

Sure enough, within minutes, a frogman clambered up the side of the boat. Without ceremony, in true Rhodes style, he shot the man square in the chest. The frogman fell back into the water, and thrashed for a short time. There was a green button on the winch system, and McMurdoch, his finger itching, was unable to resist the temptation and pressed it.

The winch engine started and the cables began to wind through their pulleys, and judging by the tautness of the cables, lifting something from the depths of the lake. Wasser paddled out and retrieved the frogman's corpse from the water and dragged it on to the runabout.

Suddenly out of the darkness a flashlight beam swept over the craft several times. It settled on Rhodes, and then went out. A second later, a harpoon slammed into Rhodes, not piercing him but catching him on the side, and knocking him to the floor. He lay on the deck, wounded severely, bleeding heavily, and unconscious.
Finally, the cables wound up to completion, revealed their cargo, and the winch motor stopped. In the dim light hung a strange, spherical object, about two metres in diameter, covered in mud and waterweed and cascades of hissing water, rocking gently from the winch cables. Meanwhile, the other diver was still out there...

A few minutes later a chopper arrived and hovered over the boat. Black kevlar helmeted men abseiled down. The was a standoff, with McMurdoch and the unconscious Rhodes taking cover in the pilot's cabin. The the men attached ropes to the sphere, and returned to the chopper, and the chopper carried the sphere away into the distance. The heroes returned to shore, confused and wounded.

Bill Holly was convinced that there was gang involvement in the kidnapping of Lucy Staines, and he suggested that the heroes do some undercover work to find out more. The heroes met with Holly's snitch, Donny Ramone. Ramone reluctantly said that he could arrange an introduction with Andreas Sanchez, one of Elden Garcia's underlings, but they needed a convincing cover. The heroes devised the "Cleaning Crew" cover story. Ramone arranged the meeting.

The heroes met with Andreas Sanchez, and the fiery hothead, Julio Sonosa in the Nightshade club, deep in the heart of the Withers. Sonosa was enraged by McMurdoch's insolent arrogance, but Woodward managed to save the day with a slick, cold performance as a body disposal expert. They made a deal, Sanchez took them on, and they played some cards in the back room with some other gangsters.

Their first job was to accompany Boots Malone to a site where a body cleanup was required. The heroes pulled up in their cleanup van packed with bleach and mops to a large house on the outskirts of town. Entering the dimly lit house, they were almost shot by a dying gangster. They found other bodies in the house, carried out the cleanup operation with aplomb, and Woodward effectively dealt with a dangerously persistant enemy phone caller.

It was around this time that the heroes, during another job with Boots Malone, discovered the young girl, Lucy Staines, in an underground complex. Using a combination of daring and guile, they rescued the girl from the complex. Boots Malone, tried to stop them, after a searing car chase, and a shoot out, Malone took a fatal bullet from Woodward.

Some time went by before McMurdoch picked up a voice message from a nervous sounding Donny Ramone who wanted to meet with them at Snigglers bar. The heroes showed up at the bar at noon, and strode in the front door. Ramone was not there, and the place was deserted. Just as they began to suspect a trap, Julio Sonosa stepped out from behind a door, flanked by henchmen wielding machine pistols. A furious Sonosa accused the heroes of the murder of Boots Malone. McMurdoch displayed his usual reckless bravado, and swaggered up to Sonosa, asking for a light. Sonosa, wound up to breaking point, repeatedly bitch slapped the Beedie out of McMurdoch's mouth, McMurdoch picking it up off the floor each time. Woodward threats fell on deaf ears when he alluded to the affair that Sonosa was having with Sanchez's wife, gained via FBI wire taps. Finally, McMurdoch, by some miracle of persuasion, managed to convince Sonosa that it was a member of the mutant rat community that had carried out the assasination. However, it seems that Sonosa has taken Woodward's accusation to heart, and has him as a marked man. The heroes strode out of Sniggler's, and headed to McArnie's Lakeside Tavern for a much needed ale.

Introductory Short Story

(continued...)

Bill had experienced these sorts of feelings before, and he could usually tell what they meant, or what was triggering them, more or less. He could get an association with something at the very least, some hint of a memory or a correlation of ideas. He was born with this talent, and ten years in the Paranormal Scientific Investigation Agency (PSIA) in Laketown had made him even more aware, hyper conscious, some might say. He had highly trained and developed all of his five senses, and had discovered more he hadn’t realised he possessed. But for all his talents, he couldn’t tell much about this feeling. Just that it was a bad one.

Last night was one hell of a bender, thought Bill, lifting his buried face from the pillow. No two ways about it. He yawned and exhaled near toxic fumes. Heavy drinking was not something he indulged in regularly, just the odd session with the boys down at the ‘McArnie’s’. He winced in regret as he realised he had missed an entire day at work. He should be able to pass off one missed day without too much trouble. He felt a twinge if guilt. Hell, he was supposed to meet those new recruits today! He’d have to keep this one under his hat.

His boss, Stan Galloway, let agents organise their own time, but God help you if you got caught sleeping off a night on the booze. He wondered how Bruce and Jerry had gotten home.

Still, he thought, even government agents deserved to enjoy themselves once in a while. The agency’s preferred haunt was “McArnie’s”, a small, old-fashioned pub near the pier, with timber floors and weather worn sailboats hanging in the rafters. “The Tattler’s Rest” was the favourite place for the local police, and many from the Laketown FBI field office. The PSIA enjoyed it too occasionally. Bill had run into a few buddies from the FBI at McArnie’s and they had kicked on to the nearby jazz club, “Blue Lotus” and carried on there until eight the next morning.

He squeezed his throbbing temples and got dressed. Seven p.m. or not, there was nothing to do now but start the day, he thought. He had been planning to head down to the ‘Night Shade’ and question a witness who had reported an unusual event. Now would be a good time. He slipped a clip into his Berretta, stowed it in his holster beneath his suit jacket, and stepped out the front door of his apartment.

The incident had been reported by one of the staff at the ‘Night Shade’ a notorious nightclub, a drinking and gambling den frequented by the typical low-lifes, anarchists, and the various criminal elements that inhabited the Withers, a district of Laketown. A man had disappeared. One moment there, the next, gone, according to the witness. This had happened several nights in a row, apparently. The girl who reported it was either deeply disturbed, or something very strange was happening in the Withers.

Bill drove for an hour, from the residential South Western quarter of Laketown, across the central business district, with its fashionable high rise apartments and haughty corporate skyscrapers, through the subway that delved under the rail yards, and into the Withers, a rough, tenderloin district east of the city centre. The Withers was not a safe place for anyone, street punk, cop, federal agent, armed or otherwise. Cops always entered this place in large teams, always heavily armed, often in armoured vehicles. Just as well I’m not a cop, thought Bill. All manner of illegal activities went on here. The cops cast a blind eye on much of it, especially the more lucrative criminal enterprises. They mostly left the Withers to its own devices.

Tonight there were a lot of people out on the street. Chain and baseball bat wielding punks had gathered in a large crowd at the end of the street. They were overturning a car, bashing in its windows, and making a lot of noise. Bill made a U-turn and took another route. He wondered if he should bother calling the police. He made the call anyway. As he expected, the operator said they were unable to deal with this any time soon, they were fielding a large number of officers to quell several other riots, rat attacks on the docks, and scores of other violent incidents all over the city. She told him to keep off the streets, and keep well away from the lake. He laughed wryly, wished the operator a good evening and hung up.

The ‘Night Shade’ was on the outskirts of the Withers. Bill parked his Dodge Neon outside the club, feeling no better despite popping of a couple of non-prescription pills.

Big Tony was on the door tonight, and was dealing with an emaciated young customer who was apparently making some sort of complaint. Bill had met Big Tony once before, and knew he was a bouncer not to be out muscled. Big Tony held him at arm’s length while the customer swore and tried to claw his eyes out. The bouncer pushed the youth across the pavement and he collapsed into the gutter.

Bill stepped out of his Dodge Neon and on to the pavement, black and slick with recent rainfall. His breath ghosted upwards in the chill. He walked over to the youth and helped him get up on his feet.

“Get your **** hands of me, pig.” The youth pushed him away and shuffled down the street cursing.

“Stand up straight and walk like a man.” Bill yelled hoarsely after him. “And show some respect!”

The youth and made an obscene gesture before he disappeared around the corner.

Bill turned his attention back to Big Tony. “How about dealing with your customers a bit more, how shall I say, tactfully?”

“You a cop?” Big Tony asked him. “I seen you before.”

“No, I’m not a cop. I’m a government agent, and I’m here to ask one of your staff a few questions.” Bill flashed his badge punctiliously.

Big Tony folded his arms. “We don’t like questions, an’ we don’t like no pigs, so go some place else.”

Bill sighed. “For the last time, I’m not a cop. Okay, we can do this the hard way if you like, but I’m coming in one way or another.” Bill scratched his chin and shrugged. “You’ve got something to hide, eh? You got something to hide? I’m not a cop, but I can get a warrant, I can get a warrant quick as you can, er,” Bill clicked his fingers, “and have this place crawling with cops and federal agents, or you can let me in instead. What do you say?”

It was a weak bluff and poorly delivered. Bill’s head haze had highjacked his ability to think straight. Even if they weren’t dealing with riots, robberies and mutant rat attacks, the police and FBI wouldn’t be interested in a few drug dealers, the likes of which would hang out in the Night Shade. That’s assuming they weren’t on the payroll in the first place. Nor would they have the slightest interest in a ‘disappearing man’. All but the PSIA would think it just the hallucination of some drugged up loser from the slums. Perhaps they were right, thought Bill. Nevertheless, a denizen of the Withers had seen fit to contact the authorities about the disappearance of one of their own. That in itself was remarkable.

However, Big Tony wasn’t the brightest bouncer in the Withers. He considered Bill’s threat for a moment in stony-faced silence. Perhaps something really big was going down inside that night. Perhaps the bouncer mistook the hangover hell in Bill’s eyes for a dam about to burst its fury. Whatever it was, Big Tony opened the door, and Bill walked inside.

There was a long bar, a lounge area with brown leather couches at the far wall, a few pool tables, and a large carpeted area to the right with gambling tables and one armed bandits. There was a small crowd; a few drably attired men hunched over the blackjack tables, some pool players with cigarettes drooping from their mouths, a few rough looking groups sitting at tables.

The bar staff did not look particularly busy. Most likely the drug of choice in here was not alcohol anyway. A young man with spiked hair and sunken eyes was flicking a full bottle of vodka behind his back and catching it again in front of him.

Bill walked over to the bar and caught the barman’s attention. “Does a Lucy Staines work here?”

The young man caught the bottle. His eyes moved suspiciously within their dark sockets. “Who wants to know?”

“She reported an incident a few nights ago. I’m investigating it.”

The man put down the bottle, turned around, and turned the music down, and shouted through a door into a back room, “Hey, Bruno, Joey, we got a pig at the bar.”

People turned and looked. A tall, muscular man and a shorter, fat man with a quizzical sneer on his face pushed through the swing door. The smaller man spoke in a high, nasal voice.

“What the **** do you want now? Didn’t I make myself clear to your boss? You’re not supposed to come around here. You’ve got better things to do with your time.”

Bill spread his hands. “Relax, I’m not a cop. I’m with an agency that investigates paranormal phenomena. One of your employees, Lucy Staines, called me.”

The man swore softly. “Little b**tch. Staines! Get your ass over here now.”

A petite young girl, about eighteen, maybe early twenties, came up a stairway with a crate of bottles in her arms.

“You go with your cop an’ don’t come back. Get the hell out. Both of you.” The short man pointed a fat finger at the door.

“I’ve got what I came for,” said Bill. “Let’s go, Lucy. Sorry your boss is such an a**hole.”

The tall, muscular man stepped towards him, arm outstretched and an expletive erupting from his mouth. Bill blinked, and glared into the man’s fierce set eyes, and suddenly those eyes dulled, the arm dropped loosely by his side, and the curse faltered. The tall man stopped, his lips hung open, and he looked around, mouth agape, confused.

The young girl grabbed her coat and went for the door without argument. Bill followed.

Outside the cold air hit them. The girl slipped on her coat.

“Sorry, I think I lost you your job,” said Bill.

The girl stared at the ground. “You don’t argue with those guys.”

“Move along,” said Big Tony. Bill put his arm on the girl’s shoulder and led her down the street.

“So you’re a cop?” she asked him.

Bill ran his hand through his hair in frustration and breathed out slowly. “Nope. I’m a government agent. PSIA. I spoke with you briefly on the phone. Lucy, I want to know more about what you reported. What happened and what you saw.”

“Well, like I said to on the phone, I was walking home from the club, and this really weird thing happened.”

“What weird thing?”

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

“I’ve heard lots of crazy stuff, and a lot of it turned out to be true. Tell me what you saw.”

“Okay. There was this guy, standing there, and he disappeared.”

“Who? How do you mean disappeared?”

“He just disappeared. This guy”

“Who was the guy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Were you walking with him?”

“No, he was just standing there, on the footpath.”

“A stranger?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you get my number, by the way?”

“I saw your card in a phone booth. It caught my eye.”

Bill laughed. “Finally someone actually picked one of those up. So can you take me to the spot where he disappeared?”

“Well, it happened a couple of places on my way home. Two nights in a row.”

“Okay, well we’ll just follow your normal route.”

The two strode down the street in silence. As they walked, Bill felt a presence next to him, and he knew immediately that the girl was supersentient, psionic, like him. He hadn’t found another psionic for quite some time.

“How do you usually get home?” he asked.

“Walk.”

“You’re kidding me. A young girl like you shouldn’t walk alone.”

“Got a better idea? I’ve stayed alive this long. I grew up not far from here. I know the streets. I can look after myself.”

“I thought you might have a Dad or a boyfriend,” suggested Bill.

“Dad got me this.” The girl pulled out a silver Derringer from her white handbag. “I’ve used it.”

“I won’t asked if it’s licensed,” remarked Bill. “Don’t get overconfident, Lucy. The situation is getting more dangerous by the month. The mutated rats have moved into Laketown recently, and their population is exploding. Did you know that? Have you seen one?” ” He looked at her and she shook her head.

“Well, you’re lucky. Might be the last thing you see. Rat humanoids, big fellers, some of them nearly as big as me, many of them toting automatic weapons and gunning people down. Sometimes for food, sometimes to steal, sometimes just for sport. They’re cunning bastards. But there’s no humanity, no semblance of anything that makes them worthy of possessing intelligence.”

The girl shuddered and looked over her shoulder. “Have you seen any around?”

“Yeah. I’ve taken a few out too. Part of my job. They must be destroyed for the good of the world. I take no pleasure in slaughter, but it’s got to be done. Actually there’s a government operation to clean them out. ‘Operation Spring Cleaning’, they’re calling it. Damned messy business. We’ll be cleaning up carcasses like a biblical plague before long. You can thank their creator, Dr. Methven Malur. Nobel prize winning bloody franken-scientist. Damn the lot of them.”

“What did he do?”

“He brought them to life, in his lab, that’s what he did. With the backing of the government.” Bill shook his head. “Another government that ‘went wrong’. You know, now it’s basically us or them, the human race, or the rats. It’s as simple as that. What’s worse, they’ve brought a plague strain with them, which attacks them, and which is threatening to cross the species gap to humans. Half of them have been driven mad by it. They’ve found the Withers much to their liking, unsurprisingly. They’re probably having a party in the old catacombs right now.”

“What happened to Malur what’s his name, the scientist?”

“Well, he’s not around to tidy up his mess, that much we know. He’s gone underground long since. Too many people want to kill him. There are a lot of rats holding smoking guns and a lot of people with dead relatives. The FBI is looking for him. The government want him to help combat the rats. Some think he used himself as a guinea pig for some of his experiments and went mad.”

“You’ve just got to look out for yourself,” said Lucy in resignation. She retrieved the handgun from her purse again and checked the cylinders were loaded.

Bill looked at her diminutive weapon, and at the pale, delicate arms of the young girl. He thought of the rats, and how little she knew about the dangers of the world. The rat problem was big, but there were rumours of even greater threats. Bill had recently been helping an FBI counter-espionage teamwork against a very secret organisation, so clandestine, its very existence was still only speculative. There was the Shining Hill incident last summer - still unsolved. The space debris of unknown origin that had crashed to earth in the Bahar Desert three years ago was sitting in a government laboratory as yet unidentified. There had been the recent stirrings in the Laketown cemetery, and then there was the Subway Horror…

“You need something with a little more stopping power against those beasts.” Bill pulled out his Berretta from under his jacket and squinted down the barrel. “If they come in numbers, that’s about as much use as a hole punch.”

They crossed a deserted street. Above the brick chimneystacks, in the far distance, Bill could see the flashing taillights of a helicopter landing on top of Cash Tower. They heard the crackle of gunfire from afar, screaming car tyres, and the deep boom of an explosion, in the direction of the Laketown docks.

As they reached the other side of the street, Bill noticed a man, across the street to his left. He was leaning up against a lamppost, an umbrella in his hand. The man seemed to be watching them. He had an oddly featureless face, vague in the dim lamplight. Slowly, Bill became aware of that feeling again, the feeling he woke up with - the bad one. He quickened pace and glanced back at the man.

Bill tapped Lucy on the shoulder and nodded towards the man across the street. “Was that him?”

She turned to look. The lamppost stood alone. The man and his umbrella were no longer there.

“I don’t see anyone,” said the girl.

Bill stopped and looked at the lamppost. “Well, neither do I, now. But a second ago… What did he look like?”

“Um, well he didn’t look like anything, really.”

“What was her wearing, then?”

“Um, he was wearing a jacket, and a hat…when I saw him,” said Lucy.

“Like a bowler hat?”

“What’s that?”

“Okay, was he holding an umbrella? Wearing a long dark grey overcoat?” asked Bill.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“I just saw him.”

“And you saw him disappear?” asked the girl.

In reply Bill pulled his Berretta from under his jacket and cocked the hammer.

The pair paced cautiously in step down the street, past three storey tenement buildings, an automotive garage, a brewery that leaked a pleasant yeasty aroma into the night air, then a junk metal yard, casting a wary eye about them. A cat slithered under a rotting board fence and looked curiously back at them, then squealed and darted, as it seemed to notice something else in the deeper darkness of the yard.

Bill stopped and peered into the scrap yard. The girl kept on walking.

“Duck!” he roared. He dived and bundled the girl to the ground.

He squeezed the trigger from his prone position and pumped two tactical rounds towards the spot. He heard a high pitched squeak, sensed a movement behind him, then darkness descended over him like a black cowl.

*
Bill awoke to fluorescent lights, nausea and pain. This awakening was worse than his last one by far. Stan Galloway, the new boss of the Laketown PSIA stood over him.

“What the hell happened, Holly?”

Bill opened his mouth to speak, but only a croak came out. “Staines, uh, Lucy. Lucy Staines. Where’s the girl? Is she OK?”

“Who?” barked Galloway. “What on earth are you talking about? There was no girl. You were damned lucky. An armoured police van stopped and pulled you out of the Withers. One of your ‘old mates’ recognised you.”

Galloway shook his head. “The sh*t has really hit the fan in there. Rat attacks are spiralling. What the hell were you doing alone? You damned well know agents must travel in groups of two to four in there.”

“Uh, damn. Boss, something’s really bad has happened. She’s been taken. She’s a… yeah. ” Bill’s voice trailed off.

Galloway lowered his voice. “I know you’ve taken a hammering out there Holly, but try and pull yourself together, I need to get someone else on to take over your case load.”

Here I am half dying in a hospital bed, thought Bill, and he just wants to pump me for information.

Galloway was a no-nonsense, bread and butter ex-policeman, who had recently taken command of PSIA. Bill resented the fact that Galloway had caved in to police and FBI pressure and focussed resources in areas so that PSIA was fast becoming just another arm of the police force. His bottom line was cleaning criminals and rats off the streets. Fair enough, thought Bill, but I’m not a cop.

He tried remember more. “Uh…”

Galloway pulled out his palm pilot and fiddled with it as he talked. “Okay Bill, you need to rest. You took a blow to the head, and you’ve got cracked skull and some bruising. Some street punk must have jumped you from behind. The doctors say you’ll be fine, but might be in here for a few weeks. Rest up, and get back out there. We need to step up this war on the rats. We haven’t got time for your spooks in the subway and bright lights in the hills, you got it? Operation Spring Cleaning is the number one priority for all government agents now. Understand?”

Bill made a lazy salute that bordered on insolent. “Aye, aye, boss.”
“Oh, and some new recruits, will be coming in later. You were supposed to meet them yesterday. They’ll have to pick up your current assignments.”

Bill’s hand flopped back to the hospital bed. Good luck to them, he thought. I hope they know how to dodge bullets, because they’re going to be flying like the winds from hell.

To be continued by the new recruits… (YOU!)

Locations

The City of Laketown

Laketown is a grim port city, where slum dwellers scrape out an uneasy existence alongside a wealthy corporate elite. It is a place where evil gangsters and vicious hoodlums fight for supremacy, and the shadows always threaten to hide what you fear the most - the unknown.

The Withers

The Withers is the tenderloin district of Laketown. It is a dangerous, violent place, full of low-lifes, anarchists, and the various criminal elements. The Withers is not a safe place for anyone, street punk, cop, federal agent, armed or otherwise. Cops always entered this place in large teams, always heavily armed, often in armoured vehicles.

Paranormal Scientific Investigation Agency (PSIA) Office

The PSIA office is small, one of only several in the country, and placed here because of the sheer volume of unexplained incident reports on the desks of local law enforcement. There are half a dozen or so open plan desks, and a couple of agents wearing white business shirts and loosened ties, bleary eyed and slouched over their coffees, poking at their computer keyboards.

The Venetian blinds in the windows of the main office are open and Stan Galloway, the boss, is pacing the room and talking on the phone. Newspaper clippings are tacked a notice board. A map of Laketown is punctured with red and green pins, a crowded patch of red around the docks area. There are a number of photos. Some are well known crime bosses, including the taut face of Elden Garcia, a rising personality in the Laketown criminal scene, pictured with an associate sitting inside a restaurant. There are other less determinate photographs – a shot from the back of a boat looking into the sun, a strange wisp of light in the shadow of distant hills, and what appears to be a deranged lunatic leaping from a window cleaning elevator high above the city.

FBI Field Office and Police HQ

The FBI and Police of Laketown have a good working relationship. Much of their work involves dealing with organised crime, and out-of-control genetic mishaps that have escaped from government laboratories.


McArnie's Lakeside Tavern and Popular Hotels

The Paranormal Scientific Investigation Agency’s preferred haunt is "McArnie’s. McArnie's is a pleasant quayside tavern with wooden tables and frost-patterned windows.

On a typical evening, looking out from McArnie's across the quay, you can see the angled masts of the marina bathe in the dim glow of hunched street lamps, and specks of light glint through the darkness from the boat traffic further out on the lake. Inside McArnie's, alcoves and snugs line the inner wall. A few small weather worn sailing boats are suspended from the ceiling. There are model ships on the ledge above the bar a clipper, schooners, an ironclad, and several old sailing boats of local fame.

The Tattler’s Rest" is the favourite place for the local police, and many from the Laketown FBI field office.

The Docks

The docks are a place of darkness and deceit, where contraband enters the city, and rats scurry along warehouse rafters armed with machine pistols.

The Lake

Lake Minosi is a large lake, hundreds of miles across. There have been sightings of sunken vessels, sailing in the twilight mists, and unusual activities undertaken by the National Security Agency on these waters



The Bahar Desert

Some miles west of Laketown lies this desert, where fossils and exceptional historical geological activity has been discovered.

Non Player Character Profiles

Stan Galloway

Stan Galloway is the director of the Paranormal Scientific Investigation Agency. He is an ex- policeman and a recent appointee.

Rod McArnie

Rod McArnie is the proprietor of McArnie's Lakeside Tavern. A grey bearded, affable man, he can often be seen behind the bar cleaning glasses and tutting to himself.

Elden Garcia

A taut faced man with small worried eyes, Elden Garcia is rarely seen in public. He has built a broad network and is the reputed chief of organised crime in Laketown.

Andreas Sanchez

A well built man, he sports a long purple scar that cuts into his scalp and hinders hair growth. He typically wears a black leather jacket over a black pullover, and has a jutting chin with a dark five o' clock shadow. Andreas Sanchez is a leading figure in Elden Garcia's crime syndicate.

Julio Sonosa

A shortish, lean man with an intense stare and a black trench coat, Julio Sonosa has a reputation for brutality and is known to 'make things happen' for Andreas Sanchez.


Inspector Gerald Findlay
Inspector Findlay is a senior figure in the Laketown Police department and has encountered the heroes on a number of occasions, most notably in the aftermath of the Edgeway prison incident.

Sebastian Singer

This man is somewhat of a mystery. The National Security Agency are hunting him for apparent crimes against the state. However, through his friend Leo Rhodes, he has contacted the Paranormal Scientific Agency with the claim that he is innocent.

Player Character Profiles

Ethan Woodward

This scruffy man can often be seen in an ill-fitted suit, standing with his hands buried in his coat pockets. Thin of build, and slightly unhealty looking, Woodward has joined the Paranormal Scientific agency after working unsuccessfully as a private detective for several years. He has met with hard times more than once, and appears to have associated with more than his fair share of the undesirable characters of Laketown.

Kyle McMurdoch

A tall, gangly half shaven young man, stands in the agency field office, sips coffee and sucks on a cigarette, burning down to his fingers. An academic expert on ancient cultures and languages, McMurdoch has several large gaps in his career resume which he has been unable to satisfactorily explain. He has proven to be an unpredictable agent.

Alistair Straker

Alistair is a hair over six feet tall and of fairly wiry build. He has a long face with shoulder length golden brown hair held back with an elastic band. He typically wears boots, black jeans and a white tee-shirt with a black leather biker's jacket on his shoulders.

He is an adept martial artist and has found work in the Hong Kong film industry, and various martial arts action films. Alistair is hardly famous in mainstream terms, but amongst aficionados of Hong Kong cinema his distinctive Fanziquan (Tumbling Fist) style is well recognized. He has shot his latest film in Laketown and has been invited to accompany the agents on their investigations for future film making purposes.