In reply to novissimo (msg # 26):

The name Dean Halsey instantly brings back memories. The shame of Miskatonic University. The famed Cannibal Killer. Halsey was the former dean of the medical school who went on a killing spree, murdering and eating a number of victims before being committed to a mental institution....

Dr West pauses a moment before answering. While he gaze is focused on Byron, his hands continue to deftly work, stitching and suturing the father's wound. "I studied there.... a long time ago..." Returning to the cabinet, he pulls out a long length of bandage which he begins to wrap around Father Henesey's abdomen. "Halsey was a gifted doctor.... if short sighted..." Dr West seems to drift into a memory of the past. "When he died, I knew I had the perfect specimen. If it worked, not only would I be vindicated, I would be giving him the greatest gift.... rebirth..."

As his hands tie off the bandage into a knot he seems to come back to the present. The procedure done, the doctor seems to lose all grace, his hands fumbling at his sides. "Your... friend.... he needs rest... yes, rest.... Could I interest you in some... tea?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 27):

The eerie voiced scared the hell out of Mike and he quickly rushed out of the shower room closing the door behind him. He took a minute to compose himself. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

Get the Padre, find a hotel. Get out of here, get some sleep.

He entered the room as the Doctor was finishing up. "So Dr. West, what's the prognosis for the Padre? Will he be ok to walk?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 28):

Byron turned to his friend.

"Hello Mike. You look refreshed! The good doctor says the Father needs a bit of rest. And he was just offering us some tea."

He turned back to the doctor

"And I wouldn't mind a quick pick-me-up, kind sir. What was this about a 'specimen'?"

In reply to novissimo (msg # 29):

Mike nodded, "A tea might be nice. It was a long night."

Still disturbed by the voices from the vent, Mike wasn't sure if he wanted to stick around much longer. But if the Priest needed some rest, he guessed he shouldn't insist on moving him. He remembered the scratches on his back.

"Say, Dr. West," Mike started, "Sorry to trouble you further, but I have some scratches from the tussle last night. Do you mind taking a look and bandaging them up?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 30):

Dr West glances over towards the prone father on the operating table. "We should adjourn to..... the sitting room..." He leads you to an adjacent room that, while still rather bare and utilitarian, is much warmer. In it are a number of lightly padded chairs and a fireplace housing a low burning fire. On a table is an open medical text. Without a word Dr West places a kettle over the fire. Lost in the work of readying the tea, the doctor once again loses his awkward nature.

"Specimen, patient, we quibble over these words although our goals are the same. Doctors bring patients back from the brink of death all the time. A child drowns and is dead for minutes before being resuscitated. A man's heart stops during surgery. But we haven't found a way to cure true death. I've been searching for the key and I've come so close! The last thing I need is..." The doctor is suddenly interrupted by the whistling kettle.

Pouring a few cups he sets them on a side table. His awkward nature returns as he gestures towards a small stool and says to Mike "You'll have to... remove your shirt" With a small first aid kit he is able to treat the various scratches on Mike's back (add 3 HP).
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:58, Tue 13 Feb 2018.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 31):

As the Doctor poured the tea, Byron absent mindedly noticed a medical text book open on the table.

Byron also noticed the Docotors strange prattling and wondered to himself if he should be unnerved..

He dismissed it as mental fatigue on his part. He was so exhausted that he realized he had forgotten THE  Dean Halsey,  the murderous cannibal he’d read about in the papers.

“Thank you for your kind hospitality Doctor “

Byron walked to the cups of tea and took a sip. The warmth of the beverage combined with the caffeine perked Byron up instantly. He hadn’t eaten anything in nearly a day and any sustainance was thoroughly appreciated

As an avid bibliophile and partial to the medical profession himself, as it was tangentially related to his own academic field, Byron couldn’t resist the urge to glance through the open medical text book
This message was last edited by the player at 10:22, Sat 24 Feb 2018.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 32):

Picking up the book and thumbing through the pages, Byron realizes that the majority of the writing is about medical techniques in preserving a corpse. He stops at a dog-eared page with a heavily underlined passage:

Electrical conductivity within brain and muscle tissue begins to decline almost at the moment of death. Resuscitation also seems to be a factor. The stop and start of neural pathways acts as a sort of wear and tear that reduces their performance...

In the margin Byron notices, in the cramped almost illegible scrawl the medical profession is known for, a small notation.

Apply injection at the moment of death

BBBBRRRRRIIIINNNNGGGGG.... BBBBBRRRRIIINNNNGGGG.... BBBBRRRRIIIINNNGGG....

The loud ringing of a telephone breaks the silence that had filled the room. Glancing towards the door, Dr West sets the pot of tea on the side table.

"It seems I have.... a call...." he says in his slow drawl. "Excuse me." He quickly exits into the entrance of the moratorium, leaving the party alone in the sitting room.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 33):

Mike sipped the hot tea gingerly to avoid burning his tongue. Still creeped out by the voice from the vent, he didn't want to stay in the mortuary longer than he had to. Still he didn't entirely like the idea of leaving the Father there by himself over night. He turned to his friend Byron, "Should we stay here with the Father or find a hotel?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 34):

The scuffing of the soles against hardwood announces the doctors return. "There is an emergency... the sheriff says a doctor... is required." Opening a small cabinet, Dr West takes out a small medical bag.

Suddenly he straightens, eyeing the party with a cold mechanical glare and ferocious snarl. "Don't. Touch. Anything."

A placid look washes over the doctor's face. "There is.... a guest room," he says gesturing towards back room. Noticing Byron's interest in the medical text he says to him "the father is... stable... check his dressings..." Fumbling with his bag, the doctor seems overcome by a moment of indecision. "Just... stay here." With that, Dr West turns and leaves.

The tinkle of a bell, followed by a more ominous turning of a lock confirms his departure.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:40, Mon 26 Feb 2018.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 35):

Hearing the door lock, Mike looked to Byron. "Does something seem wrong about the doctor to you?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 36):

"My, that is most peculiar" says Byron in a huff, putting the medical text down.

"I don't like the look of this. But let's take advantage of the situation and do a little snooping around. Let's check on the priest first before we get into too much trouble."

Byron exits the room to find the priest.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 37):

Clarke looked over at the priest, in his arms was the stone that had caused so much death. It radiated with a grim satisfaction. At least, in his mind it did. The box seemed to crave attention, and the more one gave it, the more it needed.

"It is strange that he hasn't asked for payment," Clarke agreed. "I doubt pro-bono gets you far in this town. We should find an alternative way of this place if things don't work out."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 38):

While none of the party are overly familiar with mortuaries, this one seems... strange. All the normal decor aimed at assuring that the dearly departed enjoy a wondrous afterlife are absent. In fact the only artwork of all is a single painting that dominates the far wall of the sitting room.

As everyone gathers in the room, silence reigns, everyone seemingly lost in thought.

Clarke
Zoe walks around the room peering into the various cabinets. "Maybe the doctor accepts different forms of payment?" With a dramatic flourish she spins around, her outfit changing into that of a shakespearian playactor, complete with ruffled collar and lace cuffs falling to cover her hands. "The pound of flesh which I demand of him is deerely bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it!"

Byron
While the priest is resting peacefully on the table, the blotting on his bandages shows the severity of his wounds. Byron's ametur opinion tells him that the father will be up and about soon but will be extremely limited in his ability to exert himself. Maybe we should stock up on medical supplies He runs his eyes over the labels, some familiar, so unknown. (Make a sanity check)

Mike
The hot tea creating a warm sensation in his stomach, Mike drained the last of the cup and placed it on a table at the side of the room. The rattle of the cup against the saucer revels the state of his nerves. While he could no longer hear the voice, the rhythm of the tune was stuck in his head. A moments when his mind drifted he feel himself almost begin to hum it.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he straightens his ragged shirt and takes a deep breath. Determined to take charge of the situation, he opens his mouth to speak when his ears catch a strange tapping...

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 39):

Mike looked at his friends, tilting his head and straining his ear to hear where the tapping sound was coming from. "Do you guys hear that?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 39):

Bryon riffles through the medicine cabinet.

Bottles jostle and clink as he sifts thorough the different tinctures and elixirs.

"Some acetaminophen would be useful. A package of gauze, too. Penicillin for infections..."

He turns to address his friend's query ,

"What's that Mike?"

Sanity @ 47, Sun 11 Mar: novissimo rolled 80 using 1d100.  (in)Sanity check

In reply to novissimo (msg # 41):

Mike kept tilting his head, his eyes looking around the room as he tried to pin point where the sound was coming from. He raised a finger to his lips, "shhhhhh. Listen."

He walked towards the door towards the shower room trying to tell where the tapping was. "It's inside the house."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 42):

After watching Mike strain his hearing, Clarke listened too. He was curious about this sudden change in his friend.

Listen: 85: Fail.

Clarke was sure that the stone he was carrying, in some way, must have affected his hearing.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 43):

Byron puts the medical vials down and contorts his face into a quizical look.

He approaches Mike at the door, who looks like he is straining to hear something,

Byron puts his head to the door as well.

**novissimo rolled 80 using 1d100.  Listen!**

Byron wasnt sure he could hear anything specifically unusual and glanced sideways at Mike

In reply to novissimo (msg # 44):

Mike
While Clarke and Byron look at Mike as if he is hearing things, Mike can still hear a faint tapping. Maybe its the pipes or something. Despite his straining, he is no closer to identifying where the sound is coming from.

Clarke
"How is a stone gonna affect your hearing? What did you do, stuff it in your ear?" says Zoe. Leaning over Mike's back in the direction he is facing, she raises an old fashion ear trumpet. "Oh.... I see.... very interesting..." she mumbles to herself.

Byron
Shifting the strap of his satchel bag, Byron wonders why it suddenly feels so heavy. Perhaps he was a little more tired than he thought. Adrenaline often had lasting affects on strength and stamina. Maybe the sounds Mike was hearing were simply the result of exhaustion. They could all us some sleep.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 45):

Mike looked at his friends who both looked at him blankly, apparently hearing nothing. He placed a hand on his revolver to reassure himself and motioned for them to follow.

He slowly went back to the shower room, past the heavy steel door and stopped and looked around, still straining to hear where the tapping was coming from.

21:32, Today: Jrodimus rolled 68 using 1d100 ((68)). Listen again.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 46):

Crossing the wooden floor, Mike strains to find the source of the tapping. While he is unable to identify the source of the sound, he is able to finally pick up a pattern that seems to be repeating itself. However, just as Mike starts to memorize it, the tapping disappears.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 13:10, Mon 19 Mar 2018.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 47):

Mike looked around, crossing the room from side to side, still trying to hear something. He went to the large steel door and tapped it a few times, still listening.

When nothing came, he turned to his friends and scratched his head sheepishly. "Well I guess we should be getting some sleep. I think exhaustion is getting to me." He did his best to smile disarmingly.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 48):

Clarke rubbed his ear. He was sure Mike was right. They were all tired, and exhausted. He was imagining Zoe, seeing her emerald eyes sparkle as she spun around and twirled in the old, crooked house that corpses built. Was it that far off to assume he was conjuring sounds from the void that never existed?

And yet, something deep inside, that steely heart, told him things were off here. It had stopped being a hospital a long time ago. It had become something else. Not a mortuary, but a location that hovered between healer and killer. This was not a place he wanted to spend time in. This was something out of Cairo, and he desperately wanted to sleep under the starry night sky instead.

Straining with everything he had in him, he listened for the tapping once more. He listened to see if he could find out the direction it was coming from. To listen for even the faintest scuffle of feet on floorboards. Or breathing. Or anything which should not exist before they slunk into slumber.

Rolled for Listen: 50: Fail

He heard nothing. And yet, the disquiet remained.

"Well Mike, I've fought too long to die standing. If there is something out there, maybe it would be kind enough to kill us in our sleep."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:36, Mon 19 Mar 2018.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 49):

Searching around the mortuary, opening doors cautiously and carefully peering around corner, the party is able to find a back room that seems to have been set up as a small bedroom. The room houses a small bed with a quilted blanket and a small cot propped up against the wall. Though cramped, everyone is able to fit into the room. After a quick game of roshambo Byron dejected settles on the floor as Mike and Clarke take the beds. Despite the dim light of the falling dusk, the days exhaustions seem to catch up to everyone as you are finally able to sleep.

"I've been doing everything you ask of me Constable". Dr West's voice drifts in faintly from the sitting room, causing the party to slowly stir. "Surely none of this necessary."

A heavy wooden groan fills the air. You can almost imagine someone leaning back in an old chair, perched precariously on it's hind legs.

"Hell Herby!" The sound of someone spitting and a loud wet slap punctuates the comment. "I leave 'ya pretty much to your own devices out here. Don't know what you're doing, don't very much care. As long as you know your place. We bring 'em, you make 'em disappear.

The chair groans again and the footfalls of thick soled boots replace it. "And now I hear you're housing subversives? One of them... a heathen preacher." The man sighs. "Herby, Herby, Herby..." A pregnant pause fills the air. "I've tolerated your little... Proclivity.... Don't make me regret it."

The night falls silent, only to be broken by the metallic whirl of a spinning revolver chamber followed by the scrap of metal on leather. "I suppose you ought to wake them. I need to have a word with our guests."
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:56, Tue 20 Mar 2018.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 50):

Mike walked up and opened the door to his and Shelly's small house. The lights in the kitchen were surprisingly bright compared to the darkness outside. He squinted in surprise as he walked in. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled his nostrils and he took a deep breath of relief taking it in. Shelly sat at the kitchen table with her back to the door. He grinned a big stupid smile, it'd been so long since he'd been home.

He took a few steps towards her seated profile. Her brown hair was down and cascaded around the back of her neck and shoulders. She held a cup of coffee in her hand, the steam rising from the mug. "Sorry I was away for so long. I wanted to call but couldn't get to a phone."

"Surely none of this is necessary." She replied, before twisting in the chair and standing to face him. She left the cup of coffee on the table. She gazed at him with a calculating coldness he'd never seen before.

Breathless and taken aback he tried to reply. "I'm sorry, things got so - "

With a sudden fury her face twisted into pure anger and hatred. "You're dragging in mud, Mikey!" She shouted. "You're always dragging in fucking mud. Everywhere you go. You can't just leave a place unscathed, can you?"

Mike was shocked. Not knowing what to say. He was stammering, trying to find the words, when he saw it. Despite the bright light, her shadow was lengthening behind her, before peeling off the table to stand behind her. Tendrils for arms ending with sharp black fingers. The shadow placed its hands on her shoulders. He looked back to her face to call a warning but was taken aback when he saw her black eyes and her crooked and wicked grin.

"Sh-Shelly." He stuttered, his knees going weak. He dropped to the muddy floor unable to look at her. Instead he examined his filthy hands. He should wash his hands.


"Hell Herby!"

Mike shook awake to get his bearings. He looked at his friends who were all stirring to alertness. A sudden pain in his rib reminded him that he had fallen asleep on his revolver.

Safety first. He sat up and checked it to make sure the safety was still intact trying to move as quietly as possible.

The nightmare fled from his mind as he realized they might yet again be in trouble.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:59, Tue 20 Mar 2018.