Written for the Live Service events during 2022 for Hunt: Showdown 1896, the Moon Event series tells the story of Kevin Linus as he fights against powers that would use the moon to spread their corruption. Each entry is separated by a "~" which marks the separation of each chapter in the battle pass.
The Moon, in all her glory, was not immune to the Sculptor. Every full moon her immortal light would fall on New Orleans and the crickets and fireflies would dance in the spotlight. But just as the Moon has dictated the turn of tides for millennia, the Sculptor began to dictate the Moon’s influence on Earth. The Moon’s light cast a spotlight onto people whose hearts were already starting to become twisted by the Sculptor. Mother caused harm to child, brother betrayed brother, and others let their minds wander into madness and desperation. Those who knew the power of both the Sculptor and the Moon began to plot and use the twisting of people’s hearts to their advantage. This is one such story about a man named Mr. Orwell Chary.
~
Mr. Orwell Chary had quickly made a name and a home for himself as the new Administrator of the Louisiana AHA. He had easily gained the trust of both Hunters and Finch alike and was often seen as a kind man willing to do anything to stop the scourge that had taken over New Orleans. So, when he asked Becher Hess for help in an experiment that would make more powerful weapons for Hunters to use, and maybe help smite the Sculptor himself, Hess was ready to jump at the chance for glory and the compensation Mr. Chary always gave.
Hess followed Mr. Chary deep into a patch of woods that opened into a small clearing. An abandoned home by a pond and a willow tree was the backdrop for the day’s work. It was an oddly calm place for what Mr. Chary was about to do.
~
Mr. Chary led Hess just behind the house to a large patch of dirt where the grass had long died from the Administrator’s work. Carefully, Mr. Chary took his cane and began to draw patterns in the dirt, symbols of an ancient dialect familiar only to him. When the symbols had made a circle, Mr. Chary whipped the dirt from his cane and nodded to Becher Hess.
“If you would kindly do the honors.” Mr. Chary beckoned Hess over.
With a nod, Hess pulled four strange candles from a bag the Administrator had asked him to carry. Dozens of small hands carved into the wax reached for the wick as if it would grant them salvation.
There would be no salvation here.
~
One by one Hess placed and lit the candles atop the symbols. Every time the light from the flame flickered, Hess had to do look again to make sure that the clawing and writhing of the hands was just a trick of the light.
“What’s next Chary?” The question from Becher stopped the Administrator in his tracks. Behind his crimson tea shades Mr. Chary’s eyes bored holes into Hess that sent a shiver down his spine.
“Mr. Chary. Sorry.” Hess meekly corrected. Mr. Chary put back on his gentle guarded smile.
“It happens, dear sir. I trust it won’t happen again.” Mr. Chary jovially begins. “The next part is simple. Hold this gun and sit in the center, then we have to wait for the Moon.”
~
Soon the clouds pulled back their curtain to present the Moon to Mr. Chary and Hess. The light somehow made the symbols start to glow a soft white and the candles’ flame turned a shade of purple that Becher couldn’t quite comprehend.
“No matter what,” Mr. Chary warned, “Do not let the gun go.”
“Why would I-“ And before Hess could finish, the weapon in the Hunter’s hands became white hot. Becher looked up at Mr. Chary, begging for permission to drop it, but the Administrator gave none. Hess began to groan and scream over the sound of searing flesh. But still, loyal to a fault, the Hunter held onto the gun and waited for Mr. Chary to give him permission to let go. Mr. Chary promised him good money. Mr. Chary promised him power that would grant glory in the Hunt. It was worth it. Was it worth it?
~
Kevin Linus watched from the window of his home by the pond and the willow tree. The screams had woken him up, as they did every full Moon, and sent him into a panic. The man with the cane and the red tea glasses had come with another person, had sat them down in the non-familiar dirt circle, and made them light the candles. Had them screaming in pain and waiting for permission to stop. It was in this moment that he wished that his mother and father were alive; surely, they would have shooed the man away and helped his
victims. But what could a boy of 14 do when he barely had enough strength to hunt squirrels to eat? The screaming turned to whimpers, and Kevin waited to see what would happen next.
The men were close enough to the window that when Becher Hess finally stood, Kevin could see that the Hunter’s hands were gone. Flesh had turned to liquid and was dripping off bone and tendon that were barely holding structure. Kevin couldn’t help the tears that fell from his eyes as the man painfully took the pistol in one boney hand and placed the barrel to his temple.
~
Kevin covered his ears as a shot rang out in the night. A glorious spray of blood erupted from Hess’ temple before he unceremoniously fell to the ground. Clicking his tongue and shaking his head, Mr. Chary moved the body around with his cane before bending down to grab the pistol. He held it up to the Moon to let its light highlight each part and Kevin saw that the air around it vibrated with heat. Despite that, Mr. Chary held the gun comfortably in his hand and observed it a while longer before slipping it into his coat pocket.
The Administrator once again took his cane and started writing symbols on the ground which Kevin craned his neck to try and see. The only thing he could really make out was a halo of strange scribbles that Mr. Chary wrote around Hess’ head. The man then tapped on the Hunter’s forehead three times and the man sunk into the earth, the ground like a snake savoring a meal. After about a minute, it was as if Becher Hess was never there.
~
For the rest of that night and the night after, young Kevin watched as Mr. Orwell Chary brought Hunter after Hunter to his home. The Administrator would draw the symbols, the Hunter would sit with the weapon, and they would all burn for Mr. Chary’s sake. Three other Hunters shared the same fate as Hess, taking the gun to their temple or mouth and shooting themselves. All of them sank. From that first night only one person, as far as Kevin could tell, was successful during the Administrator’s ritual.
Mary Ochenkov was an experienced Hunter who had gone into the bayou countless times for the sake of her sick husband’s medicine. Mr. Chary had promised her that if this ritual was a success, he could not only provide her with money, but also the contact of a doctor well-versed in the effects of Scarlet Fever in adults. It may have been the drive to save her husband that made the flames envelop her body, and it may have been that drive that left her without a single burn on her skin.
~
The next night Kevin watched from his window as Mr. Chary waited in that dirt circle. The Administrator had already let another body sink into the ground, but instead of going to fetch another Hunter he waited. Soon enough, Mary Ochenkov came back with a bag in hand and tears streaming down her vacant eyes.
“Welcome back Mrs. Ochenkov, did you bring the thing you cherish most?” Mr. Chary asked in his usual pleasant tone. A sob and a nod were Mary’s only response.
“Then if you would.” Mr. Chary gestured to the center of the circle and Mary plodded into the dirt. She knelt and Kevin craned his neck to see what would come from the soaking cloth bag.
Mary’s hands were gentle and deft as she scooped up a heart and held it towards Mr. Chary. Wails of anguish rang deep in Kevin’s ears as he wretched at the sight. Even though he had now seen several men and women end their lives in that dirt circle, Mary was like a banshee and her pain hit Kevin in waves and made him sick.
Mr. Chary’s long-nailed fingers took the heart and observed it in the Moonlight, smiling.
“How Ironic,” he said in gentle glee.
~
It seemed like the Ochenkovs were the lucky charm Mr. Chary needed for his experiments that night. Two other Hunters after Mary got out of the fire unburned and in a catatonic state, they marched off into the night to bring back “the thing they cherish most.” Mr. Chary shivered in joy at the possibilities they’d return with.
Mr. Chary carefully rolled the heart in his gloved palm as he moved to the center of the circle. With his cane, he drew a smaller circle with phases of the Moon and unceremoniously threw the heart into the middle. Just like all the Hunters before it, the heart sank into the ground. Unlike the Hunters before it, the circle reacted, and something returned. The flames of the candles grew high and the glowing symbols on the ground were disrupted by something sprouting from the earth.
First came the spheres, a twist of branches and roots from box elders and red chokeberry trees. They glowed a soft smokey light that somehow caused a panic in Kevin as he watched from the window of his home. Then came the skulls all sharing the same body and shrouded in cloth. The bones rattled as they settled into place by the Administrator for only a few moments, then glided off leaving a skinny path in its wake. The spheres soon followed, tumbling off in every direction. Only one small sphere remained that Mr. Chary picked up to observe. That smokey glow curled into the man as if to caress him, to invite him to become something more, but what could something so weak offer him? He crushed the sphere in hand and the twigs turned to nothing. Mr. Chary perked up at the faint scream that pricked his ears as that soft light was snuffed out. He could swear he just heard Hess. No matter, it was a fine night’s work and time for Mr. Chary to retire and write down his observations. He had another long night ahead of him tomorrow and tasks that absolutely had to be done.
Tomorrow, he would talk to the boy.
~
Knock, knock, knock.
Kevin woke with a start at the gentle taps at his door. After what he witnessed last night- the heart, the burnings, the spheres, and skulls the boy had taken one of his mother’s quilts and curled into the corner to sleep. He hoped that when he woke up it would have been a terrible nightmare. He had gone to sleep every night after his parents died hoping that same thing. But his parents were still dead, and when Kevin Linus blearily went to open the door it was none other than Mr. Chary.
“Well good day young man, would either of your parents be home?” Mr. Chary greeted the boy with his usual gentle smile. It sent shivers down Kevin’s spine.
“No, and we don’t want to buy anything. Have a good day.” Kevin tried to quickly dismiss the man and close the door, but the end of Mr. Chary’s cane blocked him from shutting it completely.
“By the state of your home,” Mr. Chary began as he looked behind the boy, “I would guess that your parents have been gone a long time and won’t be coming back. No wonder you get to stay up all night.” Kevin’s eyes grew wide at the revelation that the man knew he was watching him all along.
“Since you’re so curious, would you like to help me tonight? I’m sure you’ll get a better look up close and I can make it worth your time.” Mr. Chary pulled a small pouch out of his coat and handed it to the boy. Kevin cautiously took it and looked inside to see a small bundle of bills. The boy wasn’t going to stand there and count it, but surely there was enough for him to stop surviving off small game for at least half a year.
“Will what I have to do hurt me?” Kevin asked.
A smile creeped onto the Administrator’s face.
~
That night Mr. Chary taught Kevin the basics of the ritual. He gave Kevin his cane and showed him how to etch the symbols into the dirt and light the candles with their many hands. The Administrator told Kevin why they were here: In order to eradicate the corruption that has wrapped its fingers around New Orleans, alternative methods to science needed to be explored. Mr. Chary explained that all his volunteers came to him looking to help end the terror. They were all heroes willing to sacrifice anything to save the people still left in the area.
“But some of them die, and some of them are hurt…” Kevin said. The hurt ones, like Mary, were who Kevin worried for. The two successful Hunters from the night before came back with body parts surely from people they cared for. Both Hunters were shocked to see the boy standing next to Mr. Chary and avoided Kevin’s eyes in shame. He had to hide wiping away tears several times as they went back home with a weapon that cost them everything.
Mr. Chary tossed the parts, a woman’s head and a pair of hands, into the center of the circle before beckoning Kevin over to draw the phases of the Moon.
“They all knew what they were signing up for, more or less.” Mr. Chary replied as the head and hands sank into the dirt. Kevin didn’t have time to walk away from the center of the circle as the Moon appeared from the cloud cover and the candles’ light became pillars of fire.
~
Mr. Chary backed away and watched with fascination as Kevin was enclosed into a tower of fire. Countless glowing spheres and skulls on stick bodies rose from the earth and quickly scampered off into the distance. The fire licked at Kevin’s skin and then embraced him. Someone was holding him, protecting him from the bad outside that circle. The boy leaned into it, relishing its somehow gentle warmth, and finding solace in it. He knew it wasn’t his mother or father, but he could pretend it could be just for a moment.
From outside the inferno Mr. Chary heard the wailing of many: of Hess, of Ochenkov, and all the others who had sunk, but on the inside Kevin heard whispers and the truth.
When Kevin understood, the fire and all its warmth died down and the boy appeared before Mr. Chary completely unscathed. The Administrator was as perplexed as he was excited at the turn of events.
“Kevin my boy! Tell me, what-“ Without so much as a grunt of pain Mr. Chary fell to the ground and cradled his knee. He’d just been shot.
~
“You’re hurting her. Your experiments are doing nothing but hurting the Moon.” Kevin said looking down at the man. In the fire’s whispers he learned about Mr. Chary and what he was. He learned about why he had come every night to the dirt circle behind Kevin’s house.
“You’re not trying to help anyone but yourself!” Kevin pointed the gun he had been given by the Moon at Mr. Chary’s head. The Administrator slowly got up and composed himself. He slowly knelt down and pulled the bullet from his knee before putting it into his coat pocket.
“Now now Kevin, even if that were true what can a boy like you do?” Mr. Chary laughed, but it was all a facade. The wound in his knee was healing slower than usual and something told him even the remedies Hunters used wouldn’t help him fix this.
“I’ll shoot you right here and now so that no one can ever get hurt by you again.” Kevin said before firing once more. Mr. Chary casually stepped to the side of the bullet and smiled at the boy. He didn’t see a reality where he could convince Kevin to join his side and he would not die at the hands of a mere child. Besides, a new anomaly had now shown itself to the Administrator.
“It seems this experiment is over. But we will meet again, and hopefully you’re more willing to cooperate Kevin.” Mr. Chary smiled his gentle smile at the boy and began to walk away. The boy shot at the Administrator three more times, but he simply glided left and right to avoid the shots. Before he knew it, Kevin was alone with a gun in his hand and a mission on his mind.
Kevin didn’t like men like Mr. Chary, the kind that took advantage of people. The kind that took advantage of his parents’ kindness and drove them to their death. He’d go all over Louisiana if he had to, if it meant he could stop Mr. Chary from taking advantage of anyone ever again.
~
Kevin stared at his home by the willow tree one last time. He thought of all the memories of growing up there. Of his parents watching him run around the house when he was smaller, of climbing the trees in the forest nearby, of the comfort a winter night by the hearth brought. He would see the home again, at least he hoped he would, but there were things that needed to be done.
When he was in that pillar of flames, he heard the Moon begging to him. She was already doing all she could to stop the strange influence that was already bound to the earth. But that man, or whatever he was, played with her current weakness and was making things worse. He needed to be stopped, and the only way the Moon knew how was to turn Mr. Chary’s ritual against him somehow. In a way it was providence that Kevin no longer had parents; he no longer had something he cherished most, which meant he could cherish the Moon.
With the Moon dipping below the horizon, Kevin turned away from everything he knew and walked off in the same direction Mr. Chary escaped to. The Moon had her champion, and he was off to slay the demon.
The Moon, in all her glory, was dying. Even those who knew nothing of the corruption could sense her decline. She had taken on a sickly glow that cast a light of dread and misfortune on New Orleans. The ignorant and the innocent could do nothing but look up at the source of that disquieting light with reverence and growing trepidation. Those untouched by The Moon’s first assault were beginning to turn. Panic began to spread, and alongside it came despair, exposing more hearts to the devastation of her pallid effervescence. Oh, Night’s Eye, Mother of Twilight and Tide! Could your steady pulse fall still? Could your light be dimmed, and put out?
Those who knew of the corruption were recruited to end the tragedy. Hunters from all walks of life and faith gathered behind Mr. Chary, hoping that in helping him solve his problems, they might also solve their own. But hope is a slippery thing, easily corrupted.
~
Kevin Linus watched from the window of his home by the pond and the willow. Outside, Mr. Chary waited beside the circle he had drawn in the dirt on so many Moonlit nights before. He would not have to wait long. We are all slaves to habit, and desire, in the end.
The sound of her footsteps proceeded her grim silhouette, and Mary Ochenkov walked straight into the circle without hesitation or greeting. The dirty, dripping bag in her hands began to burn first. Her clothes quickly followed, and as the screams began again, Kevin wept. He would scream with her, would share her pain and stop the terrible cycle. But though he tried, no sound escaped his mouth.
As the flames grew, twisting their way around Mary’s neck, she suddenly snapped her head toward Kevin, a knowing, accusatory expression on her face. While Mr. Chary looked on in sadistic glee, Mary crossed the ritual markings, sparks erupting where they broke, and ran toward the house. When she reached the door, she screamed and tore at the panels until her nails broke and bled.
"WHY DIDN’T YOU HELP ME!?” she wailed.
And then he woke up.
~
All the encounters had been the same. The chase. The trails of blood. The confrontation and the defeat. As cyclical and constant as The Moon.
The only thing that had changed were the snakes.
Kevin Linus had been pursuing Mr. Orwell Chary for weeks across southern Louisiana. From New Orleans to Baton Rouge and back, the boy had followed the AHA Administrator’s trail, his focus interrupted only by the Hunter-assassins Mr. Chary hired to stop him. But The Moon had been gracious in her blessing, and Kevin had gained an otherworldly intuition for gunplay and combat. All went back to Mr. Chary unable to Hunt.
He finally cornered Mr. Chary in Ascension Parish.
"My my, how you’ve grown!” Mr. Chary said as he spread his arms in mock welcome. His three Hunter companions kept their guns warily trained on the boy.
"Haven’t you done enough?” Kevin replied, pointing his pistol at Mr. Chary’s head. But all the man did was smile.
"Young man, you’re in my way.” At that Mr. Chary snapped his fingers, and a shot rang out into the night. Kevin looked down to see a red blossom blooming from a hole in his stomach. He looked up, and a second shot rang out.
~
Kevin fell to his knees as he clutched his bloody stomach with a keening wail.
"What a wonderful sound,” Mr. Chary said. “Truly fitting that it's the last thing anyone will hear from you.” Mr. Chary walked over to the boy and kicked him onto his back. Tears welled in Kevin’s eyes as he groaned and convulsed. But when he moved his hands to expose the bullet wound, he found it had transformed from bloody blossom to writhing vista of protrusions and pulsing sores.
And then a snake slithered from his bloody sleeve.
The snake was small, milky eyed and covered in the blood and viscera of Kevin's flesh. Kevin ripped at the shirt, widening the tear to reveal a coiled brood of small snakes nested in the wound, as if just hatched, scaly maggots uncoiling themself from his flesh.
~
For two agonizing hours Mr. Orwell Chary kneeled over the boy’s body, tearing and slicing at Kevin’s flesh as he moaned in tired agony.
"What’s happening?” Kevin asked. The question was met with silence, and another incision. From the fresh, gaping wound, Mr. Chary plucked the body of a snake.
Again and again Mr. Chary pulled a snake from the wound; again and again the animals sunk their venomous fangs into his hands. It was just what Mr. Chary needed, and with each overwhelming, nauseating rush, he thrust his hands deeper into the wound, probing for more.
The largest snake came from the final incision, a bloody, jagged line from hip to heart. Mr. Chary’s assistants struggled to force it into a bag, and as it writhed, too powerful even for three hulking men, it clamped its jaws around the ankle of the tallest Hunter. It provided him no rush, rather leaving its victim paralyzed and helpless, silent witness to Mr. Chary’s administrations. Was this really what they were fighting for? To allow this man to torture an innocent boy?
" Thank you, Kevin,” Mr. Chary whispered. “You’ve earned my mercy.” The Administrator drew close, holding his gun to the boy’s temple. He caressed the trigger, savoring the moment. Kevin looked to The Moon, and back to Mr. Chary. With his last strength, he twisted his body and sunk his teeth into the man’s wrist.
~
Deep in Kingsnake Mine, Isaac Powell, known to most only as the Night Seer, watched Ira Ozols weaving. Strips of dried flesh dipped in rosemary oil, willow splints, and straw combined to form the shape of a large, basket-like structure. Oil dripped from its plats, and footsteps echoed from the direction of the nearest mineshaft.
The flickering lamp was disturbed by a faint breeze, and the shadows danced as Mr. Chary entered the dark cavern. He regarded Ira’s work and nodded. He then turned to acknowledge the imposing, hooded Hunter who sat in the corner, gently stroking the head of the enormous snake coiled around their neck.
“Isaac, you didn’t tell me you had already met!” Mr. Chary regarded the figure in the corner with respect. A rare occurrence.
”He keeps to himself,” came the gruff reply.
The figure rose and turned towards the Night Seer, menacing.
”Isaac, I believe they would rather not be addressed as he,” returned the Administrator. “The Viper is a valued guest. Show some respect.”
At this, the Viper stepped into the swaying light of the lamp. They were dressed simply, practically, feet bare and undisturbed by the rocky floor. The large snake coiled around their neck lifted its head, appraising the two men. The Night Seer cautiously nodded.
”My apologies,” Isaac said. “We’ haven’t had the opportunity to exchange many pleasantries. I was surprised to find the Sinners were already involved.”
“I’ve been looking for someone fit to the task for a long time. The Sinners sent the Viper, and...” Mr. Chary looked to the Viper to provide the name of the snake.
“Delara,” came the Viper’s response, their voice the rough whisper of a person who does not often speak. At the final syllable, the snake adjusted itself around the Viper’s throat.
Mr. Chary nodded, then spoke again. “It’s time for The Night of the Hunter and the Sinners to bury their quarrels. We need to work together. Much as that pains us both.”
“You think Finch would like hearing you say that?” Powell scoffed.
"Isaac, you know I believe in your vision, but I must maintain my position with Finch until the time is right.” Something dangerous glinted in Mr. Chary’s eyes as he spoke. Isaac grunted. “But politics aside, this is why we’re here” Mr. Chary raised his arm, and a snake silently slithered from his sleeve. “There's a new breed. Already adults after only a few days, exquisite venom, and so...hungry.”
Mr. Chary paused before looking between Isaac and Viper.
“Simply insatiable.” It was unclear if he was referring to the snake or himself. He smiled.
~
Ira Ozols’ mother had taught her to weave baskets, and she still found comfort in the repetition of the work, now seeking distraction from thoughts about what she was about to be asked to do.
The Night Seer had trusted her with the task, much to the chagrin of Nadia, his most loyal acolyte. As the others argued and planned, Ira wondered about the relationship between Mr. Chary and the Night Seer. Who was exploiting who? But she didn’t really care. It was the Night Seer’s vision that interested her. Until she found herself left alone with Mr. Chary.
He spoke: “Ira! It’s so nice to see you again. And with Mr. Powell no less.” Mr. Chary’s whisper set the Night Follower’s skin on edge. She suppressed a shiver.
“Where Isaac goes, I follow,” Ira responded firmly. The Administrator smiled.
“I see he trusts you,” said Mr. Chary, “intimately.” He paused at that.
“We have a common goal.” Almost finished with the structure, she began to check for unintentional gaps.
“And what goal is that?” The Administrator asked.
”You said you believed his vision. I heard you. I wouldn’t think you needed to ask.”
Isaac Powell had told all of his acolytes what he’d seen. But Ira felt that something was missing. That he had kept something from them too terrible – or too important – to share freely.
Mr. Chary kneeled beside the altar and spoke. “I see he didn’t trust you enough to tell you either. Well. What if I told you I knew how to find out.”
He stood and offered her a hand. “Come with me. Perhaps I can show you.”
With just a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand.
~
"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid! Do not be discouraged! For the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.” Mary Burgess spoke the words into the stock of her Vetterli before looking to her partner. Circe Elias looked back at her and murmured a quick “amen” before moving forward into the night. Circe wasn’t exactly religious, but with the mission ahead of them any help – divine or otherwise – would be welcome. The Moon was full and bright, and they moved slowly and surely.
Mr. Chary had introduced the two women after they had accepted his contract. Mary was easy to convince: The Bayou was full of sin, and Mr. Chary was a servant of the Lord. If there was someone after the Administrator’s life, then she would ask God for forgiveness and do what had to be done.
Circe was more difficult to convince. She was single-minded in her pursuit of the creature that had murdered her sister and stolen her skin, and as the last heiress of the Elias fortune, she didn’t care about gold or glory. Mr. Chary used an old trinket, a locket with a portrait of Circe’s family, to earn a favor from the Witch Hunter.
As Circe and Mary threaded their way through the Bayou, they ignored the familiar moans and shrieks of the Grunts and Hives that stumbled through the night, and the rustle of the Armoreds papery casing. But what caught their attention was a soft whimpering, human and suffering, from within a half-collapsed shack, camouflaged by rotting clumps of netting and earth.
Circe nodded at Mary, and they readied their weapons. This was the place, and their quarry clearly injured. They’d be done in time to take morning communion.
~
Two snakes had remained at Kevin’s side, both comfort and shackle. He would never forget how it felt as Mr. Chary’s long nails clawed into his flesh, as the scaly, writhing bodies were pulled from his wounds, and the delirium of the venom they left behind in their panicked bites. Now the snakes both protected him – keeping the monsters of the Bayou away – and guarded him – a prisoner in the shack where Mr. Chary had left him. It was only when The Moon was full once again that he found the strength to rise.
He staggered to the door, but when he pushed it, rather than swinging open, it creaked, and fell off the hinges. The sound as it hit the warped boards of the porch took the two women lurking outside by surprise.
Mary and Circe looked at the boy now silhouetted by the rotten frame, his face ruddy with tears, and countless scars blemishing neck, face, and arms. Two snakes hissed at his ankles. Wearily, the boy raised his pistol, the moonlight glinting off the clinking chain of bullet chambers.
Circe looked at Mary. "This him? He’s barely grown.” She thought of her sister.
But Mary’s answer was certain. "Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.” She began to raise her Karabiner when Kevin spoke.
"Mr. Chary sent you, didn’t he?” Kevin slowly lowered his weapon. He hoped they would let him explain.
Mary narrowed her eyes, but before she could respond, a strange silhouette filled the broken frame behind Kevin: A hooded figure, with a large snake coiled around their neck.
"Enough.” The voice that spoke was hoarse and raw.
~
The Viper slowly brought their arm up to Delara’s fanged mouth. The snake flicked her tongue once, twice, and then gently sunk her teeth into the Viper’s wrist. The Viper’s body quaked as Delara’s venom flowed through their veins and into their heart.
The Viper and Delara belonged to each other, and there would be hell to pay if one of them did not survive this fight. With Delara’s venom coursing through the Viper’s veins, the two were preternatural fighters. But the hallowed gifts of The Moon kept Kevin agile and deadly, and every shot rang true.
Meanwhile, snakes of all sizes were rapidly converging outside of the shack, surrounding Mary Burgess and Circe Elias where they now stood back-to-back. Inside, bullets ricocheted and splintered the walls as Kevin and the Viper fought. Kevin had grown weary of violence and death.
Yet violence and death had not grown weary of him. Delara approached from the right, jaw unlocked and fangs dripping, and the Viper from the left. Kevin fired at the Viper, but Delara, lunging to protect her ward, intercepted, and Kevin’s bullet met flesh.
A broken airy scream rang out from the shack.
~
The Viper sat catatonic on the floor where they had collapsed in worry and grief, cradling Delara in their arms. Circe had applied a healing salve, and Mary had bandaged the wound and staunched the bleeding. But the damage had been done. As Delara sought comfort around the Viper’s neck, it was Mary and Circe who set out to follow Kevin’s trail.
As they left, another visitor arrived: One of The Moon’s larger snakes, mottled brown, and the only survivor of the slaughter. The Viper remained still as it approached, tongue tasting the air, slithering from right to left. When it reached striking distance, it paused, its tongue tasted the air once more. Then it struck.
But the Viper was quicker, pushing one thumb down the snake’s throat and gripping the head. The snake struggled to bite, its fangs dripping venom, but the Viper’s grip was too strong. They Viper had been taught to respect predators – and that every predator has a weakness. This abomination was no different.
"Delara, let us feast.” The Viper moved quickly, taking The Moon’s snake between their teeth and tearing, giving the smaller pieces to Delara.
Then, with the now slack jaw of dead snake, the assassin dug the fangs, still covered in venom, into their own neck.
The effect was immediate. The Viper heard conversations and screams as if of a crowd, reeling at the injection of raw experiential information. They heard Mr. Chary convincing Kevin to join him in the circle. They heard the screams of those burned alive in Chary’s dirt circle. They heard Kevin crying and waking up from nightmares, and the screams of Mary Ochenkov.
They felt Kevin’s pain.
It lasted only a few seconds, though it felt like hours to the Viper, and when it ended, the Viper finally understood. Kevin was not the enemy, and Mr. Chary had to be stopped.
The Viper rose to their feet and gently wrapped Delara around their neck once more. From a pouch at their side, they pulled a face shield made of wicker and placed it on their face. They would face many more snakes before they removed it.
~
The vile fumes of the black dye filled Ira Ozols’ nose, and she fought the feeling of panic rising in her chest as she tightened the blindfold around her eyes. She did not know how Chary had learned of the ritual, but immediately, she could feel it had worked. As she wandered through the cool dark of her mind’s eye, the visions began to come in bright intense flashes. She stepped tentatively into the tub of black liquid, aware of the dye staining her legs and pooling in the surrounding mud. Pulling a razor from her pocket, began to shred her robes, and looked into the light.
The truth of the Night Seer’s vision was monstrous, and he had kept it from them all, pretending to a purpose to which he had no allegiance. Everything they’d done would bring pain and horror to those they loved, and she would say and do things she already regret. Ira cut at her right sleeve, it fell into the dye.
The Night Seer following her own tracks.
The razor cutting through her left sleeve.
Mr. Chary telling Isaac of her betrayal.
The razor meeting with soft flesh.
Isaac raising his gun to her head.
Blood pooling in the gash and dripping into the inky black water.
She wretched again and wept.
~
Kevin didn’t make it far from the shack. Instead, he curled himself into a patch of brush and rocked, the screams of the Viper over Delara becoming one with the screams of Mary Ochenkov as she burned. He wished The Moon would comfort him again, but she too was sick, and tormented. He had failed.
So he rocked. And rocked and rocked.
It didn’t take Mary and Circe long to find him. He was tired, so tired, so he sat very still, and waited. Next: voices. The Viper, now masked, hadcaught up to the hunting party as well. He had failed, and now he had been found. He did not make a sound as the women pulled him from the bushes.
"Why is it,” The Viper’s rough whisper began, muted slightly by the wicker mask. “That that man wants you dead?”
"Because I want to stop him. If I don’t stop him, people will keep dying and The Moon will fall.”
"How many have you killed?” The Viper asked.
"None! I made sure none of them died!” Kevin was vehement. “The only blood on my hands will be his.”
The Viper looked to Mary and Circe, nodding at the expression they found there. They lowered their weapons.
Mary was the first to speak. "Child I cannot, in good faith strike you down knowing what I know now.” The Viper had told them of her vision, and it matched what she had heard from the Hunters Kevin had bested.
"The bastard was probably lying to me too. Let’s go see what he has to say for himself.” Circe offered her hand to Kevin, and when he cautiously took it, hoisted him to his feet.
The Viper picked up Delara and placed her once more around their neck. They nodded.
"To the mine.”
~
The group of four cautiously entered Kingsnake Mine to the sound of gunfire echoing from its depths. Mr. Chary had told only a handful of Hunters about his sanctum. They paused, listening, but as they did, the gunfire stopped.
"Enter now and witness the end of the Night Seer or go your own way.” The voice echoing out from the mine belonged to none other than Ira Ozols. The four looked at each other, then headed deeper into the mine.
At a junction, in the flickering light of the oil lamps, they found Ira Ozols and the Night Seer poised in a stand off with weapons drawn. They were both ragged from fighting, and bullet cases littered the floor.
"And what’s all this about?” Circe asked.
"His vision is nothing but a means to send us all to hell. I will not let him corrupt another soul for his gain,” Ira said. “And I,” here she took a deep breath, clearly winded from the fight, “am going to stop him.”
"I will cut out this false seer’s tongue and we can continue our work,” the Night Seer hissed in reply, eyes still fixed on Ira. “And I see you’ve brought the boy.”
"The boy isn't our enemy,” Circe said, walking confidently towards the Night Seer. “We’ve been lied to.”
Kevin felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It was the Viper. He took a step forward.
"Listen, ok? Mr. Chary. We need to stop him.” Kevin's voice grew more confident as he spoke.
"Stop me from doing what exactly?” Everyone turned as the sound of Chary’s voice. But he was not in the room – a trick of the mine’s acoustics, he must be deeper down. Kevin began to panic as visceral memories ripped through him at the sound. But he was not so shaken to forget the gun at his hip, and now he raised it, ready to face Chary once and for all.
It was time to end this.
~
There was someone – something – else in the mine. Deep. Trapped. Keening with grief and rage.
Never mind that Ira could not focus on the figures of Kevin or Chary in her visions now – both were blurry, hazy, blocked. Never mind that Isaac Powell had his gun trained on her and that four more arrivals had just complicated their standoff. That she could handle. But whatever was at the bottom of that mine? She wasn’t sure any of them were prepared to handle that.
The others continued their arguments, unaware, Chary buying time with meaningless words and empty smiles. Kevin stammering on about The Moon. And that damn nun, always quoting the Bible. Mr. Chary was addressing them all. “And what can this child give you that I cannot?”
"Your honey words will no longer tempt God’s children!” Mary went to stand by Kevin’s side. The boy was trembling, but he steeled himself for the fight. Circe and the Viper joined Mary beside Kevin, forming a line against Mr. Chary.
"But the devil gives excellent rewards,” Chary retorted. He looked at the four Hunters before him and the two seers behind them. They were all talented Hunters and if they managed to work together, Mr. Orwell Chary would lose his life. But if had just one Hunter on his side, and a little time, he might make it out alive.
"Mister, please. Whatever you’re doing, whatever you have done, it can end here and now.” Kevin trembled as he confronted the Administrator once more.
"You’re right my dearest Kevin, it can, and it will. You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know. Farewell.” And at that, he snapped his fingers again. From behind the four Hunters Isaac Powell moved his sight from Ira to Kevin, and fired. And Kevin fell.
In that moment, it felt as if time had stopped. The Hunters froze in disbelief as Kevin’s body crumpled to the ground. They did not try to stop Chary and Powell as they ran towards the surface-ward passage. The Viper fell to their knees and cradled Kevin in their arms. It was the dynamite, lit by Chary as he ran, that brought them all to their senses.
An explosion, a rumble, and a collapse: they were trapped in Kingsnake Mine.
~
The lamps hanging from the walls stopped shaking as the dust and rock settled around the five Hunters left in the mine. Circe walked over to assess the damage to the entrance. They could dig themselves out with the tools left by the miners, but it would take hours. She looked back to the Viper and the boy.
The Viper gently cradled Kevin as he bled out on the floor. Enemy or uneasy ally; no one deserved this.
And then Kevin blinked.
"Where am I this time?” The boy looked around and came face to face with Delara and the Viper, both shocked to see Kevin alive.
"A Lazarus among us,” Mary whispered as she and Circe ran over to join them.
"How is this possible?” Circe asked as she kneeled down to Kevin. She raised his head to observe his now-mending wounds. Bone and flesh popping in like a mushroom in bloom.
"The Moon! I can't rest until she’s better.” Kevin closed his eyes, curling into the arms of the Viper as he healed. “A Linus isn’t supposed to break promises.” Delara curled her tail around the boy’s arm in silent reassurance.
The three Hunters exchanged a determined glance. They had seen how cruel Mr. Chary could be. "We will help you end this.” The Viper spoke, but all nodded in agreement.
On the other side of the mine, Ira gasped. The thing in Kingsnake’s depths was coming into focus.
"We’ll have to fight soon. Get the boy to safety,” Ira said as she reloaded her gun.
"What- “ Circe was interrupted by a piercing wail. Kevin, still healing, thrashed, trying to crawl away from the sound. He’d heard that scream of anguish countless times in his nightmares.
"What is it?” The Viper pretended to be calm but the rasp in their whisper gave away their worry.
"She’s here.” He couldn’t say more.
Something was coming to greet them from the depths of the mine.
Note: Pieces also written by Umut Uyurkulark, James Rawlings and Nicolette Kyle Stewart are included in this event. I am sharing the story in it's totality.
Clipping from the New Orleans True Crescent
Authors: Unknown
Newsprint, 4x3 in.
LUNAR FEVER TAKES OVER NEW ORLEANS- The talk of the town has been the moon this week as fans of Simon Moore flock to the stands for their copy of the Lunae Diaboli periodical. Readers young and old have been enraptured by the tall tales of the young champion Kevin as he fights the dastardly Chary and the horrors he’s brought to our very own New Orleans, that changed the bayou forever.
The True Crescent had the opportunity to talk with Mr. Moore about what’s next in the thrilling serial, and while he can’t tell us much, he promised us that there will be a terrible plan to stop Chary once and for all. We’re burning with excitement!
~
Letter written by Kevin Linus
Damaged but intact with envelope, no return or recipient address, 8 x 11 in.
Mama? Papa? I don’t know if you’re reading over my shoulder while you’re watching over me, but I’m scared. Everything hurts, but I have too many people to protect now. I can’t stop.
It’s not all bad. I’ve met so many interesting folks, they fight for me. They fight with me. And they try their best to convince others to fight at my side too. But it’s getting harder, I think every person we get to help us only means that he’s gotten two more. And more blood keeps spilling, and more bodies keep piling and I can’t help but know it’s my fault. I wish I could give up. I wish that I could let the others take care of the rest, but I can’t. When I even think about stopping feels like something is crawling in my head, it whispers, only stops when I keep moving forward.
It’ll end soon. All of this. We figured it out, figured out how to kill him. I think. I’m not sure. But once it’s done maybe I can rest, and I can go back home. Maybe I can bring my new friends with me too, would be nice to sit by the pond and listen to all their stories. But right now, I should focus on this fight, so I can have a chance of taking them there.
So mama? Papa? Please keep watching over me a little while longer.
~
Wax Recording Transcript
Some parts unintelligible due to molding.
I do not know…if I’ll be able to replicate the experiment. The pieces will stay the same, but the amounts are all a bit hazy. But this is it, this is everything I’ve been working towards. So many sacrificed, so many fighting all for this moment. The sculptor will be nothing to fear… Louisiana will be remembered for ending these incursions once and for all. And I…
[Pause]
If I were to give rough estimates, two parts Hive womb. Around 1000 mL of venom. The essence extracted from several bounties of Mr. Orsica are a must… From there I suppose you mix in enough [Unintelligible] the inoculation takes care of the rest. How fascinating.
Her vocal cords still need some healing and I fear the [Unintelligible].
What a pretty thing she was, such a shame. But at least now she’ll have brawn enough to make up for the loss of beauty.
[Rattling and muffled screams]
Ah, ah, ah my dear. Relax…and recuperate. When you’re ready, you and I will have much work to do. So, save your energy.
[Laughing and muffled screams]
Now Ms. Ochenkov, listen very carefully. A young man will-
[Transmission cuts off here]
~
Clipping from the Louisiana Lady’s Periodical, 1903
Author: Unknown
Newsprint 4x8 in.
CAUTIONARY TALES FOR THE CHILD FOLK: BEWARE OCHENKOV’S WIDOW
We at the Louisiana Lady know how hard it can be to get a little rascal to stay in their bed at night or stop them from wandering too far. Give them something that will make them take pause the next time they want to stray with a tall tale sure to give them gooseflesh. This month we give you a story sure keep your kids close to home with OCHENKOV’S WIDOW:
Deep in the night, have you heard the wailing? The sobs and oddly pitched screams that hurts your ears and sets them ringing? Then you’ve just heard the fearsome widow for yourself! Some say that if you catch her gaze, you’ll start weeping enough to fill an empty sea. Others say she’s stronger than ten men and could rip twenty men in half with her bare hands. The latter must be true, considering her self-same responsibility for becoming a widow.
All the newspapers in New Orleans were full of news of Mary when her husband was found massacred, his chest raggedly open, and his heart stolen. By the time the body was discovered, Mary Ochenkov had long since disappeared, but months later something unfathomable transpired. Close to Mary’s home, there were several accounts of people hearing cries in the night. None dared find the source of the cries; none but one, who had an unfortunate close encounter and who said:
When you get close to Mary her neck creaks like metal, and she lets out a wail that could make a strongman pass out. And then she comes at you with knife in hand.
After that, there were many more encounters with the Widow, but few lived to tell the tale. But those few all have one thing to say. Don’t go wandering around at night, and don’t go talking to any stranger.
Cause Ochenkov’s Widow might catch you and bring your heart to the brazier!
~
Letter to Kevin Linus
Author: Handwriting matches that of Circe Elias
Handwritten on a scrap of paper
Severe fire damage; reconstructed by archivist
Kevin,
The roots of evil deepen, and after what I learned from Doctor John, I fear we might need to prepare ourselves for the least expected if we are to survive. Resort to means long denied. We have yet to understand the nature of this monster – that man – for the evil in him exceeds everything I know. There is still hope. Doctor John was hesitant to tell me until he consulted the bones – and even then I doubt he was certain.
Though Chary claims his intentions are good, his actions prove otherwise. His total self-absorption and ambitions cloud his own mind, yet make him a strong-willed adversary. But even the toughest rock can be broken, and the mortal shell his soul resides in is not resistant to everything. All living things, natural or not, need something to function. For us – or rather for our primal bodies – blood is the essence of life and death, depending on the treatment. To manipulate one’s soul, we first need to crack open the shell and reach the essence.
For this, we need treated oleander leaves burned in high quantity at the devil’s hour – a poisonous inferno, “a hellfire” as Doctor John called it. If we burn enough herbs, the fumes can weaken him from within, though this alone can’t be enough to kill him. But at the very least, the smell of oleander will tell those who’ve taken his infernal pact that we will be triumphant, and they are not the only ones who can ravage with fire.
But this is where it becomes unspeakable: the treatment of oleander requires its leaves to be boiled in the blood of the pure and just, as evil can only be defeated by righteousness.
Doctor John is reluctant to let me leave, but Cora promised to carry this letter to you.
Until then, be careful.
C
~
Wax Recording Transcript Titled “Timothy Stone”
Some parts are unintelligible due to molding.
New captives arrived today, and Chary brought them again to the dirt circle where it all began. A brutal thing, the process. Long stakes driven into the eyes to keep them in place while Chary calmly covers their body in a clay he prepared. I don't understand how they live so long through it. Then it solidifies, creates a protective layer on the body while the souls “ripen”, as Chary says. It takes a few days, but once the soul is ready, the back of the clay structure slits open, like a mouth, a black crevasse, an abyss. But there’s never a trace of a body in it. And the sound those things make [Pause], it keeps me awake in the nights… gives me unspeakable nightmares.
Chary says he needs those things to reach souls. I don’t know what he means, and I’m afraid to ask again. I dared ask once, and he smirked when I did. Then his face quickly changed when I asked if the boy’s company or other Hunters could also reave the souls. He looked me in the eye for a few seconds, before saying he had a plan. The next day, he gathered his lot and asked them to help those poor souls, explained that it would leave a mark somewhere on their body. If they managed get to one of his collection points with those marks, they would gain his favor and unimaginable rewards. [Chuckles] That man is a true master of manipulation.
[Sighs] Unsurprisingly, Hunters once again gave into their greed, and now I have four hundred thirty-seven new names on my ledger. Business is booming. After all, they have no use of the name they had been called before.
[Unintelligible]
So, I was right. I saw one of the boy’s followers [Unintelligible] he was speaking to that... thing. A Soul Trap. After a few seconds, I could see the mark form on the back of his neck. How do they know about these structures? I don’t know what Chary plans to do, and I don’t care as long as I have more names and a hefty price for each, but I need to stay vigilant.
[Transmission cuts off here]
~
Clippings from the New Orleans True Crescent
Authors: Unknown
Newsprint, 4x5 in.
THE CITIZENS OF NEW ORLEANS WORRY AS STRANGE FIRES IGNITE THE BAYOU - Around 5 o’clock p.m. yesterday, supper was interrupted as smoke began to billow in from all directions towards the city. Large wildfires have engulfed parts of the bayou. Local firefighters are unconcerned, as affected areas are of low importance. The True Crescent does not yet know the causes of these fires, but it is unlikely they are natural.
POULTRYMAN COMMENTS ON FIRES - Many are concerned for their land and businesses near wildfire outbreaks. But not poultryman William Moses, whose land is directly affected by the wildfires, who was seen leaving town heavily armed. The True Crescent approached him for comment. “I don’t plan on leaving my home, even when I’m dead and gone. Y’all cowards can stay home, not wanted no way and no how.” Moses refused to speak further on the matter.
~
Manuscript, "Lunae Diaboli"
Author: Simon Moore
Undated
Bleached paper, typewritten, 8.5x11 in
Chapter 40
The chaos surrounding the boy and the man stopped in an instant. Guns were lowered and all stood in awe as they listened to Chary’s wretched screams, for Kevin’s fingers were sinking into the administrator’s skull. The smell of the burning oleander hung heavy in the air. There was no blood, only licks of flame, as Chary’s skin and bones parted like paper to make way for Kevin’s fingers. It had worked, Chary’s invulnerability was broken. The violation was absolutely maddening.
“Let it end.” Kevin said with an eerie calm, “Let it end for both of us.”
Kevin’s request was then answered. He coughed up blood as Mary Ochenkov’s hand plunged into his back, her fingers finding purchase on his heart. Snakes creeped around her hands and twined themselves round her arm, sinking their fangs wherever they could, but she paid no attention. If she ever wanted relief – to find her sanity, be in control, get back Petr – she would have to fulfill her last task.
She Squeezed.
Pop. The spectators couldn’t quite hear it as much as felt it. Kevin felt his own relief wash over. Ochenkov released the boy's heart and he fell to the ground. His head, eyes wide open and a calm smile on his face, landed with a thud to stare at Moses. Circe cursed.
Chary, kneeling, panting, slowly erupted into a laugh of triumph. He unnaturally sprung to his feet, wafting away the plumes of oleander smoke that moments before had brought him to his knees.
“Wonderful my girl, simply amazing!” Chary said as he grabbed Ochenkov’s blood-soaked hand. He lifted it into the air and addressed his attackers, stunned by Kevin’s death.
“To think I was ever worried!” Chary guffawed. “No child can stop us, no moon, no Sculptor. Our dear Mary’s transformation has proven it. This is the power we needed, and it shall only grow from here!”
~
Damaged Clipping from the New Orleans True Crescent
Author: Unknown
Newsprint, 3x3 in.
DOZENS DEAD IN FIRES – The number of those killed in the recent wildfires is growing by the day. While many are beyond recognition, the True Crescent can today publish the names of eight more of the deceased: Louie Burns, Emolet Gabb, Murr James, Cadianne Landry, Kevin Linus, Leola Skidd, Luetta Williams, and Rossanna Winston.
And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. (Revelation 21:4)
A public memorial service will be arranged in the coming weeks.
~
Wax Cylinder Transcript, 4x2 in.
Labeled “Port Sulphur Field Recording”
Just a warning, it’ll be messy. You don’t get to judge until opening night.
[Laughter]
[Pause]
The devils in the circle
The devils in the night
The devils in the water
Reflecting the light
The devil is calling
You'll get what you see
Cause devil's on fire
And the devils in me
I guess now we draw the line
Light the match and start the fire
Embers flare up one more time
There's nothing left to lose
And there's nothing left to hide
I fought back and I fought hard
And in the circle I got lost
Always painful memory
The devils in the details
And the devils in me
[A few bits of Applause]
[Transmission cuts off here]
~
Manuscript, "Lunae Diaboli"
Author: Simon Moore
Undated
Bleached paper, typewritten, 8.5x11 in
Chapter 41
In the cool and the dark, Kevin opened his eyes. There was nothing but a soft glow. No pain, no Chary, no moon. Just him. He took a few cautious steps forward, testing his balance. He started walking, for minutes, days it seemed; but it didn’t matter. The calm washed over him.
And then two silhouettes, a man and a woman. Kevin didn’t let himself hope, but he ran to them. Amelia and Robert Linus. His mother and father.
Kevin wrapped his arms around them, and they wrapped their arms around him in return. He crumpled to the ground, and they crumpled with him.
“Is it okay now? Can I be with you again mama?” Kevin sobbed, his face flushing with every fallen tear. His crying showed what he had hidden for a while, something that, to keep going, he'd forgotten: his age.
“My sweet baby, I’m sorry.” Amelia kissed the crown of her child’s head. “There’s still more to do, and you’re still much too young to be here now.” Kevin looked to his mother in confusion.
“Kevin, you have to go back. You have to see this to the end, and I don’t mean just killing that man.” Robert began.
“It won’t end with him, things will keep on coming until you get to the root of the problem.” Kevin’s father stroked his hair. “And you’re young scout. There’s so much more living left for you to do.”
“Can you hold out? Just a little longer?” Kevin’s mother asked. The boy was quiet for a moment, then nodded.
“You always told me that I have to keep my word. And I will.” With that, Kevin held his parents in a tight hug. They returned it with everything they could muster.
“We love you, now go get him.”
~
Journal of Elise Austin
Brown leather wrapped in black chord 5” x 7”
Date Unknown
It’s all strange, fascinating, and sick. A system, imperfect, that keeps itself running based on a status quo that even the most wicked vowed not to break. And then one man enters, he works his way up the metaphorical ladder and nestles himself into a position at the top, just to tip it all over.
I can scarcely say who did it first. Who started the inferno, the hellfire, the devil’s hour. There’s just too much chaos to get an accurate testimony before the fools burn themselves up. The so-called Lunar Pact, moon crazed, have been lighting fire with bundles of herb, like they’re smoking something out with the rancid smoke. The Infernal Pact are doing what they can to destroy the bodies, killed in the crossfire, building pyres that turn folks to ash.
I’ve yet to witness all this myself, but I know what whoever caused the fires are destroying the work of future archaeologists, researchers, and academics. They’re turning history to a black void. An abyss into which many will lose their minds delving into.
And all because of one man who wormed his way in. For now, it doesn’t stop me and my work.
~
A letter from a stack found at Port Reeker, all identical.
Damaged but intact with envelope, no return or recipient address, 8 x 11 in.
Hello,
You do not know me, we haven’t met yet, but I am told we will. I hope we speak the same language. I am told you have experience with
monsters and more terrible things.
The same things that happened where you are, they have been happening here for a while. Even though there are oceans between us. Things that can’t be explained. If my friends are to be believed it is worse here in Louisiana than anywhere else. And it’s spreading, there are rumors, and spreading.
The American Hunter’s Association wants to keep this to themselves. But they’re losing control, and if someone else doesn’t step in, we’re all goners.
I know you have no reason to care. I know you have no reason to help. But if even a small part of you wants to come to New Orleans, please follow it. We are a small group, but we are growing, and I promise we’ll do anything we can to repay your kindness.
When you call for me, I will answer. When you are ready, I will be waiting.
May her light keep you,
Linus
~
Poster, “TO THE AHA: THE CORRESPONDENCE OF ELWOOD FINCH”
Letter pressed, 12x18 in.
To all Hunters,
It is with great sadness that the Louisiana branch of the American Hunter’s Association can no longer sustain itself. Though it may outlive me, not for long. There are those that would see the Sculptor thrive in our home. Our administration cannot respond to correspondence at this time, we must take action against those terrorizing our group.
It is no secret that our influence has been waning: others are paying bounties, providing arms, and have their own beliefs. This chaos has allowed the problem to fester. And now these damned Pacts are holding more sway. There is one consolation: they too will soon burn out.
Representatives from both eastern and western branches have been called to lend their strength against those who seek to undermine our mission. I fear it will not be enough.
Though hidden, our arm of the AHA has always been a pillar of New Orleans, Louisiana, and the south itself. I hope some of you will join me in continuing that fight.
In Service,
Dr. Elwood Finch
Director, American Hunters Association
~
Found Page
Author Unknown
Torn on the left edge, 5x8 in.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
When Hell had come like hell we fought,
regardless of the crime.
We take the sin with money got
for auld lang syne.
We stood as brothers side by side,
as fires died with time.
The devil gone; the heralds sing.
For auld lang syne.
And when the fight has come again,
your gun will become mine!
For dead men shall not shoot again.
For auld lang syne
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?