Meeting Clark Gable!

10^th 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  He has also found unpublished papers, which are more about spiritualism.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.

11^th 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. 

From the Desk of Erik van Achthoven

FROM THE DESK OF MR ERIK VAN ACHTHOVEN

"After I appraised the value of those books what I stumbled upon in the library, I decided it was time for me to follow the plan and join Grace at the warehouse, where she continued searching through prof "Ayers's" effects. On my arrival to the scene, I should witness a subversion in front of the warehouse; the police was present, statements were taken, an injured security guard had been receiving first aid from the ambulance... Rather upsetting sight, I should say, I felt the urge to demand some explanation from a police officer. He was ready to share that an ambush took place earlier in the warehouse, but its victim left with a cab, and he demanded to know my involvement, too. I happily informed him that the victim should be a certain Grace Sullivan who worked for the federal government, and to my best knowledge, stayed at the Michaelangelo's.

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.

Trouble in LA

November 8^th (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….  

Douglas Henslowe's Journal

Henslowe's Journal Takes us to LA

November 5^th (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 11^th 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 13^th.

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 6^th (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.  

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 13^th (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 5^th (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. 

The first clue, however, fell from a book – the one Otto had mentioned, written by Frank Hickering, called “Communion Rights of Victorian Death Cults”.  A picture of the Henslowe family home spilled out, with a set of clues (coordinates) on the back (and also one on the front, as we later discovered).  Using these various clues we (after some confusion) managed to find a box containing what we expect is Douglas Henslowe’s journal.  (It was buried out in the old family cemetery, between graves, on a carefully plotted “X”.)

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. 

Interview with Edgar Job

INTERVIEW WITH EDGAR JOB:

Edgar Job smelled of cigarettes and mouthwash.  Dr Keaton granted Mr Job a crumpled, green packet of Lucky Strikes (which we later learned are his favourites).  He lit one and sat quietly before he spoke. 

Edgar referred to the cult as “Echavarria’s people” (they didn’t really use the word “cult” themselves).  He met Echavarria at UCLA, introduced by one George Avery.  Echavarria thew the best parties, focused on sex and drugs, and Mr Job claims he was basically high from 1923 through August 1924. 

Echavarria gave them ideas of things to say, things out of books.  He had a whole library of books – creepy books.  He made them promises of power, said they “would get whatever they wanted in the new time”, “when Golgarath was here” (“the Fisher from outside”).

It wasn’t what Edgar Job wanted – he just wanted the sex and drugs.  But then “things got serious”.  He referred to the incident, that night at the barn.  He went on to describe Vincent Stack’s assault upon the group with a shotgun, and his murder of Echavarria (as a shotgun to the belly).  In retaliation, Mr Job “gutted” Mr Stack with Echavarria’s knife. 

(He admits it, “knows it was wrong”, but can’t undo it.  Believes, like the doctors say, he should just move on.) 

Mr Job continued about that night – saying the summoning worked, alright.  Echavarria put spells on them, on him at least (he assumes that meant he was important somehow), just before the Fisher turned up.  He described the creature as having long arms, no head, but lots of mouths.  He couldn’t quite make it out, as he was too busy screaming.  Whatever they summoned, it wasn’t what they promised or what Echavarria expected.

He doesn’t know if anyone got away that night.  Except Mr Henslowe, that is.  Since he believed Mr Henslowe wanted him dead, he came after him first. 

(Following this, Dr Keaton terminated the interview.)