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Sep. 4th, 2003 09:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vyvyanxLast night R ran a very enjoyable Call of Cthulhu game at the shop, to be continued in a couple of weeks. It is set in 1920s England, in a remote manor house near Durham. The players are all the children of the manor's owner, who died a week earlier, and have returned to their childhood home for the reading of their father's will and for his funeral. Shortly after arrival, an additional person arrived at the house, with evidence that he was our long-lost half-brother, who had arrived back in the country to discover that his father, whom he had never met, was dead. His appearance at this particular time provoked considerable suspicion amongst several of the siblings, who thought his interest was purely mercenary.
After a rather awkward dinner, all retired variously to bed (though I passed out in the parlour after drinking too much of my late father's whisky - for sentimental reasons, obviously). Not all fell asleep, however - my twin brother John decided to roam the corridors to spy on our guest, who was also awake, brooding on his father's death. An awkward meeting resulted in both descending to the ground floor, where they heard a crash from the back of the house. One of our sisters also woke, and descended to investigate. Everything was very dark, and what with all the noise of people crashing around, the rest of the household eventually woke and came to see what was going on - even me, from my drunken stupor.
Outside, the chickens were disturbed, and we found two mysterious parallel tracks running away from the house past the shed. Our combined tracking skills enabled some of us to follow these in the direction of the reservoir (where, incidentally, our mother had drowned five years earlier). Meanwhile, our sisters retired to the house to make tea. There, they discovered a terrible thing: our father's body had been taken from his coffin in the cellar! It seemed likely that someone had dragged it over the ground, so that its heels created two parallel tracks in the earth.
These tracks we followed to a ramshackle hut beside the reservoir. Here, we noticed a terrible stench of decay. At about the same time, we heard a loud splash from the water. Nervously, we entered the hut...and found to our horror, our father's body lying on the ground! A search of the area produced an even more shocking find: a second corpse, somewhat rotted, which had apparently been torn up by human fingernails, and chewed by human teeth. This body was clothed in strange grey robes and had a pendant hanging around its neck - on examination, I found that this pendant bore an image of the reservoir itself.
Deeply troubled, we took George's (our eldest brother's) advice, and investigated no further that night, feeling it was a matter for the police. We carried our father's body back to the house and explained matters to our sisters. Then, in spite of the lateness of the hour, several of us searched around for information which might explain these strange and horrible events. I and my sister Tabatha (who is an Egyptologist from London) flicked through some of our late father's books on the area, and discovered that the reservoir had been constructed 15 years ago on the site of a supposedly haunted hollow. When created, and every fifth year since, the area had been hit by a summer storm of remarkable intensity, previously unknown in the area. Mysterious deaths had been associated with these storms - including that of our mother. It was now the summer of a "fifth" year, and already, two deaths had occurred near the reservoir.
Meanwhile, our three brothers had been variously (and secretly) searching our late father's study and bedroom. They found a loaded shotgun under his pillow, some papers in the grate, and his diary, whose last entry (the day before his death) read simply, "It is coming for me". The entry associated with his wife's death read, "She has been taken". Disturbed, but exhausted, all finally retired to bed.
The next day, difficulties with contacting outside authorities presented themselves: there was no telephone, or even horse and cart by which to travel to Durham. The nearest village was eight miles away, and our sister Chris resolved to walk there. I watched while my brother struggled to mend his heap of a car (he is a mechanic, and built it himself) - but although everything seemed in working order, mysteriously it could not be persuaded to start. The weekend was only beginning, and already things seemed to be conspiring against us... (To be continued)
In other news, G and I went to a wedding in Harrogate last weekend, and to the Calling on Tuesday. I have been squabbling with people on cam.misc about linguistic topics. R is coming over on Friday, for dinner and Starcraft/Dungeon Siege.
I am considering taking another degree.
After a rather awkward dinner, all retired variously to bed (though I passed out in the parlour after drinking too much of my late father's whisky - for sentimental reasons, obviously). Not all fell asleep, however - my twin brother John decided to roam the corridors to spy on our guest, who was also awake, brooding on his father's death. An awkward meeting resulted in both descending to the ground floor, where they heard a crash from the back of the house. One of our sisters also woke, and descended to investigate. Everything was very dark, and what with all the noise of people crashing around, the rest of the household eventually woke and came to see what was going on - even me, from my drunken stupor.
Outside, the chickens were disturbed, and we found two mysterious parallel tracks running away from the house past the shed. Our combined tracking skills enabled some of us to follow these in the direction of the reservoir (where, incidentally, our mother had drowned five years earlier). Meanwhile, our sisters retired to the house to make tea. There, they discovered a terrible thing: our father's body had been taken from his coffin in the cellar! It seemed likely that someone had dragged it over the ground, so that its heels created two parallel tracks in the earth.
These tracks we followed to a ramshackle hut beside the reservoir. Here, we noticed a terrible stench of decay. At about the same time, we heard a loud splash from the water. Nervously, we entered the hut...and found to our horror, our father's body lying on the ground! A search of the area produced an even more shocking find: a second corpse, somewhat rotted, which had apparently been torn up by human fingernails, and chewed by human teeth. This body was clothed in strange grey robes and had a pendant hanging around its neck - on examination, I found that this pendant bore an image of the reservoir itself.
Deeply troubled, we took George's (our eldest brother's) advice, and investigated no further that night, feeling it was a matter for the police. We carried our father's body back to the house and explained matters to our sisters. Then, in spite of the lateness of the hour, several of us searched around for information which might explain these strange and horrible events. I and my sister Tabatha (who is an Egyptologist from London) flicked through some of our late father's books on the area, and discovered that the reservoir had been constructed 15 years ago on the site of a supposedly haunted hollow. When created, and every fifth year since, the area had been hit by a summer storm of remarkable intensity, previously unknown in the area. Mysterious deaths had been associated with these storms - including that of our mother. It was now the summer of a "fifth" year, and already, two deaths had occurred near the reservoir.
Meanwhile, our three brothers had been variously (and secretly) searching our late father's study and bedroom. They found a loaded shotgun under his pillow, some papers in the grate, and his diary, whose last entry (the day before his death) read simply, "It is coming for me". The entry associated with his wife's death read, "She has been taken". Disturbed, but exhausted, all finally retired to bed.
The next day, difficulties with contacting outside authorities presented themselves: there was no telephone, or even horse and cart by which to travel to Durham. The nearest village was eight miles away, and our sister Chris resolved to walk there. I watched while my brother struggled to mend his heap of a car (he is a mechanic, and built it himself) - but although everything seemed in working order, mysteriously it could not be persuaded to start. The weekend was only beginning, and already things seemed to be conspiring against us... (To be continued)
In other news, G and I went to a wedding in Harrogate last weekend, and to the Calling on Tuesday. I have been squabbling with people on cam.misc about linguistic topics. R is coming over on Friday, for dinner and Starcraft/Dungeon Siege.
I am considering taking another degree.
