Wednesday, July 3, 1940
The case continues to get stranger. I went with Dr. Glasby to check on another potential victim, only to find his house had been broken into and he had been abducted. With one of the local constables, I followed the tracks to an old gas works building. Inside the building was a large hole in the ground, which had apparently broken up the floor boards. I'm not sure what would do that, except a mining crew digging from underneath. We went back to the police station to report the whole thing. They took forever getting statements, including a very particular Mr. Reynolds from the Home Office. I was relieved to find that someone in the government was taking this thing seriously, since it is clearly beyond my ability to handle. I go now to lunch after this brief entry, and plan to scrub Mrs. Callahan's cellar this afternoon. Hopefully, that will be the end of my involvement in this odd affair.
More oddness this afternoon. We exhumed a body from the former back yard of a Mr. Doggett, grandfather of one of the lads based on a tip. The coffin, though it didn't look as such, included some sort of giant green grub - 3 feet long to my eye. Why it would be alive after all of these years, I have no idea. Did it eat the person inside? Dr. Fisher beat it to a pulp with a shovel or some such. Inside we found the remains of what we assume was Mr. Doggett and a small silver lock box. The box itself contained three odd pieces of jewellery and nothing else. We had hoped to find something more enlightening. The lady at the local historical society spoke at length concerning how disreputable Mr. Doggett was. Since the others apparently found another hole in the ground in the woods, we will be looking into that tunnel in the morning. We are staying in Aylesbury overnight tonight.
Thursday, July 4, 1940
The papers are all about a British raid on the French fleet - not surprising since it can't fall into German hands. Not enough time to read more about the war, we are looking for an early start.
The tunnels are a horror. Why, oh, why did we go down there?!? They led under the graveyard into all the coffins. Part of the tunnels were infested with the parasitic worms. We only managed to escape through one of the monuments. Shortly afterwards, tunnels collapsed throughout town. I poured some petrol down into the monument to kill some of the worms - not nearly enough, I am sure. I called Mr. Reynolds and his office assured me they would take care of it. We returned to London on the first available train.
Friday, July 5
The papers show that Aylesbury has been quarantined - hoof and mouth disease they say, though I fear it is much worse. No word from the home office, but I don't think they would consult me in any case. I'm glad the home office took care of this crisis.
Friday, July 12
More German air attacks last night. I wonder vaguely whether a full out submarine attack will start on the Atlantic shipping as it did in the Great War - rationing is certain to begin if it does. Things are better in Aylesbury - the quarantine has been lifted. I do hope it has not distracted too much from the war effort.
Eternal Lies:
From the Desk of Grace Sullivan
Sunday, March 25, 2018
Tuesday, August 15, 2017
Meeting Clark Gable!
10th November
(Saturday) – evening:
I have managed to catch up
on some much-needed rest, and tended to the injuries on my face. I don’t think anything will scar, not more
than my pride anyway. Erik came to see
me, and together with Frank (now I’ve seen his reaction, we’ll have to remember
to include him more often) met the others for a nice dinner at the new
hotel.
I’ve brought the files
with me, reasonably secure I’ve gleaned all I can from them without weeks of
tedious study (probably to no further end).
I’ve read more about “old gods” in the past forty-eight hours than in my
entire career (boy do I miss Mary at
times like this). Even among this
group of “friends” it appears there was distrust, and political maneuvering –
all about power, of course. What else is there, really.
Erik has found Ayers’
papers in the UCLA library. From 1911-1921
there were fairly regular publications; they became sporadic until 1924, then
stop entirely. He has also found
unpublished papers, which are more about spiritualism. The librarian, however, has a pile of books
not yet categorized into the libraries system (with a telegram on top – this
telegram is from Ayers to Prof MacDunn, instructing him to acquire a portion of
Echavarria’s library; telling us MacDunn lied to us about knowing Echavarria). There are 5 books of different sizes and age:
Cults of the Aksumite Empire; Fishing the River of Stars, Rift of the Maw, Unaussprechlichen
Kulten, and Ziggurats of the
Pre-Helletic Period.
At dinner I learned a bit
about what the others have been up to in my absence. It seems their move to this hotel did not go
unnoticed, as my assailant – Jack Pizner, Private Eye – has followed them, and
made his presence well known. Our PI,
Quincy, followed Mr Pizner the best he was able in unfamiliar territory, and
observed Mr Pizner meeting with a very well-dressed (and well-automobiled) gentleman. He and Otto have come into possession (I
won’t say how, and am glad of not knowing the details) a note signed “Walker”
with descriptions of each of us (not including Frank) and an offer to pay us
off, not wanting the hassle of us right now.
“Right now” feels just as
important a phrase as “shame on you” – something is afoot, something more than
these “cultists” and parties-gone-wrong from a decade ago. We learned a bit more about what that might
be the next day.
Journal
page 18
But I’m getting ahead of
myself, as we had a rather fortuitous encounter at dinner. None other than Clark Gable came in to dine
nearby. I recalled reading Mr Gable’s
name in association with the deceased Richard Spend’s, and hastened to use the
connection to try to reach Ms Olivia Clarendon.
Which actually worked! By the end
of the next morning, the kindly Mr Gable had not only passed along my message
to Ms Clarendon, but she had responded – agreeing to meet with me.
11th November
(Sunday)
The next day proved most
productive. Included in the note from
walker, was the address of an old farm (Highland
Park Agricultural District Lot 12).
Quincy having departed for a family emergency, the remainder of us set
off early the next day to see what we hoped would be the site of the incident. Which, it undoubtedly was. Nothing remains there now but the burned-out
shell of some buildings which were likely the farmhouse and the barn. Anything of interest was long ago
removed. But it was nice to see a visual
confirmation of the site and the story of two madmen locked away in Savannah –
and know we weren’t merely chasing ghost stories.
What was interesting was
the amount of real-estate development occurring in the area, and even more
interestingly the ceased work which included this very farm. Trenches had been dug, which looked like the
beginning of construction, and then abandoned.
Could this be what “Walker” wanted to keep us away from or out of? Might he be involved in the
re-development? Was this all about
money? Or is there more to it? Was something buried here, and removed after
the dust of that night settled?
Erik (who had taken a
nasty bite from a feral cat) and Chastity spoke to a neighbor, who were none
too pleased to see strange folk about (not that that’s any surprise). They remembered the “raucous” night with
shotgun fire and city folk left dead.
These neighboring farmers had tried grazing their cattle on the
abandoned land (which hardly sounds legal), but two of them got attacked by
“wolves” (chewed right down to the bones), which put a stop to that. It may behoove us to find out who currently
owns the land, and who owned it ten years ago.
Journal
page 19
Some of the others
whispered a bit about the “wolves” perhaps being the creature. It’s interesting to learn more about who are
the “believers” among us.
When we returned to the
hotel after our foray into the countryside, there was a message for me to meet
Olivia Clarendon. Which Chastity and I
did just a few hours later. She was
gracious and sent a car (a limousine, really, which was a bit much) for us, and
saw us before her evening engagement.
Its too bad Quincy couldn’t come along, I know he’s such a fan.
Ms Clarendon admitted
attending a few of Echavarria’s parties, but said she found they weren’t to her
taste. She described Echavarria himself
as a Satan-worshipping pervert, and said she disassociated herself from him
even though Richard Spend continued to attend.
She insisted they were more acquaintances and co-workers than close
friends.
Its hard to say with these Hollywood types. It’s possible Mr Spend considered them closer, or she could be “mis-remembering” in hindsight, or it could all have been for the press in either case.
Mostly, Ms Clarendon told
us what we already knew, and plead innocence and ignorance over most of
it. She did, however provide us with a
new name. In addition to Ayers and
Echavarria, whom she described as good friends, there was a third major player
- a Sam (Samson?) Tramell who was in property, a realtor perhaps. Ms Clarendon also mentioned that often at the
parties there was a particular, honeyed drink, shared amongst the
participants. This could have been
anything from a bathtub hooch to a hallucinogenic, herbal mood enhancer,
really. I’m not sure it’s much to go
one, but if she remembered it, the least I can do is note it down.
A new lead and two ties to
real estate. Well, we have a new
direction to take our investigation it seems.
Time to follow the money.
Labels:
Ayers,
Echavarria,
Jack Pizner,
Los Angeles,
mouth,
Nectar,
Olivia Clarendon,
Savannah,
Tomes,
Trammel,
Walker
Tuesday, August 8, 2017
From the Desk of Erik van Achthoven
FROM THE DESK OF MR ERIK VAN ACHTHOVEN
After these details were cleared I hurried back to our motel where I found the others, including prof Wolf (who had just arrived back from New York, minutes before me), gathering in Quincy's room. They were quite concerned about a piece of paper, which was slipped under the door earlier. After having a quick look, I was convinced the warning came from Grace. At this moment the members of our group seemed to have a different opinion on the matter; the good professor and I (probably because of our senile age) wanted to stay, while the others would rather leave Los Angeles.
Finally, we met in the middle, stayed in the city but moved to a first class hotel. Moreover, we took some precautionary measure, deposited the case's materials in the vault of a downtown bank, set up a strict policy on who and how were permitted to access it and such.
Finally, we put the cherry on top of the day and went to the Chinese district to comply our dinner invitation with Vanessa. The food was gorgeous, Vanessa sparkled, the whole evening went very well. However, she wasn't really a good use; we hardly learnt anything new - at a certain point, my companions suspected that she was pumping us for information; which was nonsense, really - I knew her too well and for too long to believe such accusations. She was just simply curious, and a bit all over the place, as she had always been.
Anyway, I achieved what I came for: I casually offered a late night lecture (claiming during the day I would be too busy with the case) for her students (we used to gave these night lectures all the time back in the day at Sorbonne; it has a certain charm, gives a bohemian feeling - after all, artists are flamboyant people) what she accepted happily, and we set the date sometime the upcoming week.
My real intention was, to conduct a search in prof MacDunn's office, when the building would be otherwise deserted, preferably by Quincy, during this lecture. (Unfortunately, Vanessa might have withdrawn her consent when I upset her the very next day...). Anyway, after the dinner we went back to the Hotel and retired.
Next morning, during breakfast, the ambusher turned up at the reception; prof Wolf, as a man of discipline, had already earned his reputation among the staff, therefore he was quickly but discreetly informed which bought some time for Quincy, to hunt down this man... Unfortunately, the ambusher still managed to take to his heels, with Quincy in his footsteps. (Apart from the fact he drove away in his car meanwhile Quincy hailed a cab and followed him unnoticed). After this early morning interlude, Chastity and the prof decided to set up a trap for our stalker.
Meanwhile I went to the airport to check upon Grace. At the airport, Frank told me that Grace had been in a quite bad shape when she turned up the day before. I would have liked to talk to her but she was sleeping; I knew from Frank, she hadn't slept through the night, so I didn't have the heart to wake her. On the other hand, I wished to tell her the newest developments of our case, so I chose to wait. I the meantime, I skimmed through prof "Ayers'" effects, paying special attention to Grace's notes who already went through the boxes. (I must say, her notes were professional; such a great, great material).
After some time, she woke; I reported her what we had been up to; in return, she told me about the ambush - that she wasn't sure what would have been the best to do, therefore she fled back to the Silver Sable. I told her we all were very concerned about her well-being and no one could blame her for what happened. Earlier she managed to make out Edward Job's and prof Ayres's former addresses at UCLA, so we decided I should check them out. (I was heading to the university anyway, to study those books I found at the library).
I took a cab to the campus. First, I paid a rather awkward visit to the department of administration; I wasn't quite sure how to hold forth my enquiry in a plausible manner (i.e. to get access flats or dorm rooms, used-to-be-accommodations of former teachers and students...), and I must say, I really missed both Grace's company and her handy badge issued by her government... and boi, sure I didn't impress the lady behind the desk, so in desperation, I happened to mumble something about Vanessa and her permission, which, to be honest, just made the whole situation even worse. I had to come to the conclusion, it was better off to leave the scene before it would be too late.
Then I headed to the library, but to reduce the damage that I had just done, I called Vanessa to give her heads up about the incident with the administration. Unfortunately, she had already knew it, and I felt that she was genuinely upset... I tried to convince her it was a miscommunication between the parties but she wasn't really receptive for my explanations. I assured her I was deeply sorry and asked not to let this incident to interfere with our friendship, but she hung up. After this I was really worried about my "late night" lecture on the upcoming week...
Regardless, I went to the library and tried to read the book titled the Cults of Askumite, but I wasn't be able to process the text... Due to my humiliation I was so absent-minded, I couldn't have been able to follow the reading even if it had been written in Dutch.
Tuesday, August 1, 2017
Trouble in LA
November 8th
(Thursday)
We divide to conquer once
more, following up on our various leads.
Chastity and Quincy head back to Long Beach in pursuit of the bank
deposit box, whilst Erik & I will head to Filmland Express and then onto
UCLA.
Chastity and Quincy,
talking to some locals, discover the First
Bank of Long Beach suffered trauma from the earthquake of ’33 and continued
to have difficulties, eventually being foreclosed upon. The FDIC (a government agency) came through
and confiscated all belongings of the bank, including the various bank boxes.
In the meantime, Erik and
I caught a taxi to Filmland Express. A
far cry from the large and well-oiled machine of the LA Times, the staff here
were all far too young to recall the massacre in 1924. One, Marvin
Penny, was very helpful, and offered us assistance in return for “the
scoop”. We spent much time down in the
“archives” and, just before giving up, Erik at last found the article in
question. This too mentions the now
A-list actress Olivia Clarendon as companion to Mr Spend (“at crazy parties”). She’ll be worth talking to.
The article does list Mr
Spend as having been stabbed to death, unlike the mainstream news article, and
covers (either misleadingly or unintentionally) the cult activity as a
masquerade-gone-wrong (robes and masks).
This article mentions at least a dozen other deaths, and questions the
hidden personality of Richard Spend.
I question Mr Penny about
his tabloid’s access to an actress such as Ms Clarendon. He promises to ask around for me, as well as
to look into the author of this old article.
Journal
page 14
While Chastity and Quincy
chase down the bank box, and make an appointment to visit the warehouse
tomorrow, Erik & I continued on to UCLA
to meet Erik’s friend Vanessa Mallory,
an Art History tutor. She’s a very artsy
sort, which is apparent from both her dress and her cordial greeting. To my amusement, and Erik’s embarrassment,
she makes reference to their time together (mentions of Amsterdam and
absinthe), and says she’s quite happily enjoying the Los Angeles lifestyle. After pleasantries have been exchanged, we
settled into business. Vanessa
introduced us to a Professor MacDunn
in the History Department.
Professor MacDunn knows of
no George Avery, but there is a George
Ayers listed in the directory. Prof MacDunn
says Professory Ayers went away on sabbatical for a dig in 1924. He couldn’t say much more, but that Ayers had
no leave to take students, and has yet to return. Only recently, his office had finally be
turned over to one Miles Roman, and Ayers’ office was packed up and sent off to
storage. This lead would soon prove both
intriguing and dangerous.
Professor Ayers, who we
are now quite certain is (was) the same man as George Avery, specialized in
sub-religions, cults, and symbology, and has published papers in the school’s
library. Leaving the university to
pursue the belongings of George’s office, we say goodbye to Vanessa with a
promise to meet her for dinner tomorrow evening.
An initial perusal of
Ayers’ boxes upon boxes gave us one gem – his travel itinerary from 1924. Ayers was due to visit Massau/Ethiopia,
travelling approximately 22 June through 19 July, 1924. The travel was arranged by Cox & Kings
(Agents) Ltd who seem to be based in London (among other international
offices). This was all we had time to
unearth before the warehouse shut for the day.
We returned to the Michelangelo to compare notes with Quincy and
Chastity.
We learned of their chase
from Long Beach to City Hall in search of the box. During their lunch at the Michelangelo,
Quincy noticed a stocky man in a dark suit and fedora possibly watching
Chastity suspiciously, and believes he had noticed the man at breakfast as
well. To my detriment, I will soon learn
his suspicions were well-grounded. The
next day, while Quincy and Chastity continued to chase the bank box, and Erik
went on to the UCLA library to read up on Ayers’ papers, I returned to the
warehouse.
Journal
page 15
My initial morning search
through boxes of books, private writings and notes, flushed out an autographed
photograph of Olivia Clarendon signed “thanks for all your help”. Also included was an address book (including
an address for Echavarria) and an old campus address for Edgar Job.
While I perused the boxes,
and not long into my hunt, I was accosted by (whom I assume was) the same stout
man. The man intriguingly “shamed” me
for chasing the old case. A very
interesting choice of phrase, which will leads me to believe he works for
someone involved with the celebrity angle of the case.
I was too forgiving when I
saw his shadow behind me. I won’t make
that mistake again. Separated from my
gun almost immediately, there was little I could do but try to banter my way
out. But there’s no reasoning with a
common thug. Finally, promising to leave
LA as he wished and leave the case alone (which, of course, I have no intention
of doing) he let me go. I went around
the building and re-entered through a back window, but the warehouse was too
big. By the time I snuck back up to the
office, he was long gone.
A security officer from a
nearby building was there on the scene, helping the guard (whom the thug had
knocked unconscious). I told him to call
for backup, and asked about the thug, who apparently drove off in a black
Chevrolet. The man had no further
details – doesn’t he know it’s his job?!
Frustrated and uncertain what to do next, and certainly wishing to avoid
mixing up my boundaries with the local police, I confiscated the boxes from
Ayers’ office and took off in a taxi (promising to check in at the station to
give my statement, another promise I’m unlikely to fulfill). The lies come so easily to me these days… my
uncle’s influence, no doubt. But, I’ll
have to ponder that another time.
For now, it’s time to make
this thug – and his employer – think he’s succeeded in driving me away. The taxi took me, and my newfound collection
of office files, to the hotel where I packed up and headed – visibly and
audibly – for the airport. I allowed
myself to look shaken and upset, using the sympathy of the staff to help drive
home my façade, and to make the transition swift. I slipped away only once, to leave a note
under Quincy’s door (grateful for the extra caution I knew he was inclined to
exercise).
Journal
page 16
Once at the airport, I got
in touch with Frank and made my way to the Silver Sable. I filled Frank in on every detail, hoping the
others would make contact with him. I
didn’t expect to make the dinner reservation, and wondered how Erik would take
finding me not only gone from the warehouse, but accosted to boot. It would be a good test to learn more about
my associates – about their temperament and loyalties.
Once I was tucked away in
the security of the Silver Sable, I found myself quite wired up, even after
telling Frank my tale. I spent some time
perusing the boxes, searching for anything of significance. I may have put my career on the line for
them, so I do hope I won’t be disappointed.
We may already have found the only item of significance (the itinerary),
but I’m holding out hope that we just might learn a bit more about what that
crazed group of cultists discovered and were pursuing. After some hours, I couldn’t say if it were
few or many, I drifted off to sleep in the comfort of our new mobile office and
temporary home, still contemplating my next move somewhere in the back of my
mind….
Tuesday, July 25, 2017
Henslowe's Journal Takes us to LA
November 5th
(late that evening)
The group of us reunited
that evening in Erik’s suite, to see what progress he had made with the
journal. Not wishing to meddle with
things he didn’t understand, the answer was: not much. The journal was protected by a stone bearing
the evil eye. Otto, our resident expert
in all things of the occult examined it briefly, but was undeterred – reaching
into the box to retrieve a letter, the journal, and a key.
Journal
page 11
The note and key were a
most unexpected but welcome surprise. If
only the contents of the box might shed more light upon the case. All of those involved seem quite in agreement
about the nature of their collective venture, and invested in the reality that
there is some other-worldly power involved.
Mr Henslowe again here refers to a creature, one which many of them
believe(d) truly exists (and is both evil and powerful). I have to agree with Dr Keaton in finding
the shared delusion intriguing, and look further to unravelling this mystery
further.
Otto, who will be leaving
tomorrow for a venture northwards (to the Arkham library), departs for the
evening. He has promised to update our
patron, Mrs W-R. The remainder of us,
however, stayed put took turns sleeping, reading and analysing Henslowe’s
journal into the wee hours. Sadly, there
was little of consequence within its pages.
I gleaned two items of interest:
“Vincent – Room 225” and “BA airfield 11th 10pm”. Of the former’s meaning we remain ignorant,
perhaps a reference to his flat or hotel room number at the time. Of the latter, we can guess this is the date
the group gathered for their flight to Los Angeles, since we (until proven otherwise)
are working with the assumption the
incident occurred on the 13th.
The remainder of the
journal was a collection of sketches and rambling thoughts. At the beginning, these are of his fellow
investigators – towards the end turning to the violent occurrences, the cult,
and the creature. Another glimpse into
the troubled mind of Douglas Henslowe, with troubling detail – but of little
use to us.
November 6th
(Tuesday)
The next morning, we
prepared to leave for Los Angeles.
Quincy dealt with the wrecked rented vehicle. The damages cost us $70 (I must remember to
include this in my expenses to Mrs W-R).
Erik and I went to the library to look up Mr Loman, but to no avail. Chastity went ahead to the airport to ready
Frank and the plane. After our various
errands, we checked out of the hotel and caught a taxi to the airport. Before taking off, we made one more attempt
at breaching the identity of the mysterious Daniel Loman.
Journal
page 12
We did find the airport
check-in staff rather helpful. A flash
of the badge (I’d forgotten how effective that can be; and in fairness a
Federal Agent was assaulted in a hit-and-run incident, even if she was off-duty
at the time) and a bit of truth was all it took for the clerk to spill the
details about our foreign attackers.
Our silent assailants were
ticketed to catch flights from Savannah to New York, then to Nova Scotia, on to
Ireland, and eventually to Bangkok,
confirming Otto’s theory that the tattoos associated them with Thailand. These tickets were, indeed, paid for by a Daniel Loman. The clerk further confirmed the group (or
some group which looks similar, possibly some of the same and some different
each time) are monthly visitors, using five very artificial Caucasian
pseudonyms.
Feeling certain there was
nothing more we could learn on the subject at the time, we returned to the
Silver Sable and flew off towards Los
Angeles. Chastity and Frank stopped
us in Oklahoma for a refuel. I slept,
although I rather wish I hadn’t, as I had an unusually disturbing dream – a
nightmare, even, if one were to define it.
I dreamt I was a patient at Joy Grove, bound by a straight-jacket and
legchains; treated by Nurse Bethany (unlike the charming young woman who was so
helpful to us, she bore two toothy, grinning mouths beneath a surgical mask)
who threatened me with a syringe bearing a toothless mouth of its own. The experience is one I hope not to repeat,
lest this investigation turn me into an insomniac.
At last we reached sunny
Los Angeles, whose weather was far more welcoming than muggy Georgia. After much debate about where it would be
most convenient to stay, we checked into The
Michelangelo Hotel in the city centre (leaving the Silver Sable and her
pilot Frank in Glendale). Over lunch we
discussed our options, then once more split up to follow various leads. Erik and I visited the local paper, and were
referred to one Arnold Freeman, a
pressman who would have been with the paper in 1924. Mr Freeman recalled the incident, and
mentioned that a B-movie actor, “Dicky
Spend” (star of The Vampire Mystery) was stabbed to death in the incident. He helped us find a single article, which was
merely about the death of this celebrity – citing the cause of death as
“natural”.
Journal
page 13
I jotted a few notes from
the article:
Richard Spend,
age 32. Missed the Young Actresses Debut
Ball (had taken a full-page ad which merely said “Thanks, Livvy. – Richard
Spend” (referring to his co-star Olivia
Clarendon from “The Black Cat”.
Contracted by Universal for next project “Phantom of the Opera”.
Mr Freeman
recommended we try Filmland Express
to delve deeper, that they would have been more likely to cover such a
sensational event.
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
The Henslowe Estate
November 4th (Sunday) - continued
The nurse, Bethany Hampton, is sent to retrieve
the patient files for us, and we are given records to peruse for both Douglas
Henslowe and Edgar Job. According to the
receipts, Edgar Job’s treatment (at least
initially) was paid for by the Henslowe Estate. Considering the two men claim to be enemies,
the fact takes our interest. Could Mr
Henslowe have paid for them out of some sense of grief, shame, or penitence? There is also a note that Edgar Job has failed to get in touch with George
Avery, a Professor at UCLA. This
might be a potential lead for us, if George could be found and
interviewed.
Along with the files, we
found notes that indicated the esteemed Dr Keaton is writing a book which
features the shared-delusion of the two patients. Could his personal professional interest in
the case convince him to suppress evidence from us, a vital piece of the story,
or have tainted either Henslowe’s or Job’s recollections of the event? The Joy Grove Sanitarium may warrant a second
visit at a later date. Perhaps to visit
the head doctor, Dr Teak, before he retires.
Most helpfully, however,
we found a reference to a date within the patient files. These records indicated that “the incident”
may have occurred on August 13th (1924, of course), which is the
first time we’ve seen or heard a specific date mentioned. We also find that it was in January 1934 that
Douglas Henslowe voluntarily re-admitted himself to the Sanitarium.
Journal
page 7
After an all-too brief
chance to peruse the notes and files, Dr Keaton terminated our visit and
Professor Wolf and I returned to the hotel to compare notes with the
others. Unfortunately, my colleagues’
visit had not proved as productive. Upon
their arrival at the Henslowe Estate, the pair were turned down at the gate for
lack of an invitation. Fortunately,
having acquired just such an invitation from Mr Henslowe himself, we would be
able to make a return trip the next day.
November 5th
(Monday)
Four of us drove off in
the car rental the following morning to the Henslowe Estate (we were missing
the PI, who was under the weather in his room - likely from an overindulgence
of drink). Chastity drove, and Erik –
who had been there before – navigated us successfully there. The weather was muggy, but the mossy trees
were a welcome sight – altogether different from what we see daily in the
capitol. The house itself, however, was
completely unwelcoming, with a six foot wall capped in iron spikes. The iron gateway was eventually opened for
us, by the keeper John Currothers
(and his dogs, which included Bullet, and Spike).
Mr Currothers was an older
man in a threadbare, plaid shirt, who wore big boots (which looked fairly appropriate,
given the aged and neglected state of the grounds). Mr Currothers had also never heard of a Frank
Hickering (which we later understood).
He warns us that there might be gators lurking around (which proved
true, to my dismay). The mansion itself
is a tall, classic plantation house, in a much better state than the rest of
it. The driveway itself was cracked, and
we could see what must have been the keeper’s cottage off to one side (the
third dog, lazing about out front was a strong clue).
All around were ruins and
remains of antebellum buildings, sinking into what was rapidly becoming a
swamp. But the mansion itself was a
large, white building with a greenish hue (no doubt from the moss and mud which
dared creep up its proud visage).
Inside, there was just as much sign of neglect. The gothic entry hall was dark with a worn
rug, which smelled of damp (and cat litter?).
We saw several rooms briefly, given a short and no-nonsense tour, of a
living room, den, dining room, and porch.
Upstairs we would find Mr Henslowe’s bedroom and study, but we were
strictly warned not to bother Mrs Henslowe.
Journal
page 8
We complied with Mr Currothers’
request and made a thorough investigation of Douglas Henslowe’s study. We found little enough of interest, but for a
few stray supplies on and near his desk (all of which, we later determined,
were of importance to finding the journal, through the carefully laid
treasure-hunt Mr Henslowe had set). Eventually,
we determined that the seemingly innocuous group of objects (blue ink and a
dried, stained brush, a ball of twine, a mud-encrusted shovel, a camera with no
film, and a flashlight) were all key to the investigation.
In addition to the prized
discovery, we noted markings in Henslowe’s study (generally where the wallpaper
was peeling) resembling eyes, the evil eye which is said to ward off evil. We expect this is what Douglas meant when he
said we should look for his symbols of protection. None are a proper spell, Otto told us, just a
mark (he certainly does seem to know a bit on the subject, to whatever end.)
As we retrieved the box,
with gators circling in nearby and the rain – which had long ago begun to all –
now falling harder, we decided to make an exit, and retreated to the rented
sedan, with only the briefest of polite goodbyes to Mr Currothers .
Journal
page 9
We hadn’t long left the
drive of the Henslowe Estate, however, when it became clear we were being
followed. I allowed the car plenty of
room to pass, hoping I was wrong, but instead we were met with a hard slam to
the car. Fortunately, only the vehicle
itself was damaged and we escaped (relatively, but for a bump to Erik’s head)
unscathed.
Five men exited the
vehicle, which had now prevented us from driving off. Some were white and some Asian; they wore
Fedoras and vests (dressed down in the heat, no doubt), which showed off an
abundance of unusual tattoos (which Otto later told us seem to be Thai). The rain was sheeting down. They spoke no English to us, but one did
speak in a language none of us knew. One
passed a note to Otto, then they all got back into the car and left.
The note read: “Drop this
case. Go Home.” And was on a torn bit of stationary, which some of my
colleagues later gleaned was of The
Gastonian hotel, here in Savannah.
Leaving the injured Erik behind to rest, and examine our treasure, the
three of us (Chastity, Otto, and myself) booked dinner at The Gastonian to do a
bit of reconnaissance. And to show that
we were undeterred from our course. I
didn’t have time to consider objecting, as we needed to leave almost
immediately, and so we found ourselves enjoying the hospitality of The
Gastonian for an evening out.
Having made little plan,
it was no real surprise that our first few attempts at raising some information
on our terrorists failed. We did learn,
however, that the group had indeed spent some time at the hotel and had now
checked out. Further questioning, and
the probably misuse of my badge once more, gleaned us a bit more information. The group has been seen in Savannah from time
to time over the past couple of years.
When they stay it is generally for 3-6 weeks at a time, and their most
recent stay was funded by a Daniel Loman. The group had checked out this morning, and
had their bags sent on to the Savannah
airport this afternoon. They could
be anywhere by now.
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