Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

Recovered Journal from the legend known as “The Night Mother”. Undated, but assumed to be around late 1890’s.

Even back in Louisiana, I knew my way around trying to cure diseases with old remedies. I would pull from the trees, the waters, and the many traditions of my ancestors to help the sick that would come to my doorstep. But today, I received a knock from someone I wish I could rid off. 

It was Doctor John. He looked at me through that skull mask of his. Always hiding behind the facade of death, even though that position had been taken by the sculptor. 

I should have picked up my gun leaning against my shack and made sure his blood would splatter against the willow trees. But instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of newspaper with some sort of advertisement on it. Something about a circus.

“They are using false medicine again. This time out West. It seems that man is not learning from their mistakes.”

“Impossible. I thought the primals would be suppressing the effects of the corruption here in Louisiana.” 

The Bone Doctor sighed and removed his skull mask. The only other time that I saw him do this was when he started working out of New Orleans treating the beggars on the streets with his concoctions to gain trust. 

“If it wasn’t, I would have not come to you. We-I need you to travel with me to make sure that whatever these men are peddling is destroyed for good.”

I stood somewhat taken aback. The wind whispered to me to just shoot him, but his tired eyes painted the work of honesty. Even if his practices could not stop whatever was happening out West, this time something worse was brewing out where men wanted to dig up gold with their bare hands and drink oil to hydrate themselves from the devil’s sun. 

“How long is the trip going to take?” I asked.

“We’ll go by rail. Maybe a couple of days. The waters… don’t belong to us anymore. We would leave in the morning.”

After that, I nodded and let him inside as the storm clouds rolled in. He also mentioned hearing whispers of members of the shattered AHA looking into matters involving fires and a particular monster spitting them. I do not care what they find out there. They always have enough gunpowder and blood lust to make most of their problems go away.

May the winds of the bayou lead my hand to mend these new wounds.