McCurdy didn’t mind when the lizard-rodent scrambled up onto his arm, he didn’t even mind when the thing gave him the wet nose, but he didn’t particularly care for the teeth marks on the brim of his hat. He smirked in mock-irritation as he dusted the Fedora and snugged it atop his head again. “You keep hangin around like a mink stole and I’m gonna have to give you a name. Maybe I’ll name you after a certain red-head in our midst.” He grinned at some unspoken ending to that suggestion and started after the others.

The pirates led the way again, moving into the jungle that seemed to consist of dark green shadows and sounds...sounds of things moving in the underbrush, moving around them, moving behind them.  But as they turned to look, there was nothing that could be seen.  It was eerie, and raised prickles of alarm on their consciences.  Even Hornsby, who seemed unperturbable, got jumpy, and Hawksmoore merely became more so.  The lizard-squirrel settled in to sleep and was soon snoring, draped over McCurdy's shoulders like some erzatz stole.

The shadows seemed to close in then, and darkness so complete fell that Hornsby lit a lantern to guide their way, pulled from his pack, and Hawksmoore lit a torch.  It made little difference in the inky blackness, but they were careful to keep along the marked path.

Then the whispers began....

Voices heard, remembered from the past, and calling to them, half-heard pleas and calls, and the shadows were shifting around them in a very unsettling way...as if disturbed by phantasms half-glimpsed.  A warning chitter came from the awakened beast that had adopted McCurdy, and it was tensely clutching his shoulder now, the bottle-brush tail bristling.

Among the whispers, the group could hear the black-clad preacher from Texas muttering another prayer, or was it a passage from his missing Bible that he remembered?

What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us?
He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?
Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God's elect? It is God that justifieth.
Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us.
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?
As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.
Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.
For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,
Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Looking over, they noticed Brother Clary gripping the stock of his shotgun a little more tightly than usual...

McCurdy gently moved the tail out of his ear, the gesture slow and careful, an indication of the tenseness in him. His every sense was alert and listening, seeing, feeling... Always a vision at the corner of his eye, a familiar voice whispering at his cheek, yet gone from him whenever he dared to look. He shouldn’t have asked what it was that would be whispering to them in the dark; the ghosts. He should have chosen oblivious ignorance instead. Then he might not have believed he was hearing his mother calling to him. Or his father. And worse... Voices from the war drifted through him and around him; friends he had watched die, men he had killed; all bringing to the fore of his mind the image of each one, in life as well as death.

McCurdy swallowed, trying to ignore the haunting voices of his past, but he could feel the temperature growing cold, his skin becoming clammy. He reached up to stroke the fur of the monster-squirrel at his neck and the gesture served to calm him better than anything else could have at that moment. It was something tangible to touch that was as frightened as he knew he would be if he had been alone in this darkness. He found his mind beginning to clear and he began to drift closer to Liza and Marianne, still cautious, still wary, thinking that perhaps they too might feel comfort in the proximity of another living being...

Each of the adventurers were seeing distinctly different visions...and had their own issues to handle.

"Tarnation!  We got to move, NOW!"

Brother Clary cut loose with a thunderous shotgun blast into the air, hoping to clear the cobwebs and visions from his own mind as much as from everyone elses'.  He immediately moves to help McCurdy up to his feet, hustling him along the path, trying to herd the others as well.

Mrs. Brown, the sweet woman next door, Cousin Elizabeth, even Dr. Kirk, her old history professor - she felt them all there, standing just outside of reach, calling to her in low whispers. But when she turned to look for them, there was only the jungle and the shifting shadows. She proceeded onwards, looking back from time to time, wanting to catch a glimpse of the people who were calling her -- until the vision appeared.

She had no idea if what she was seeing was real or simply an illusion, but fear overwhelmed those considerations. She reacted instinctively, kicking and screaming and struggling to get away from her phantoms and follow the others.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:02, Tue 17 Jan 2006.

McCurdy didn’t know what was going on... “Pete?” He was looking to his left at nothing. “Pete!” McCurdy’s skin shone pale in the gloom and his eyes looked wild and haunted. He didn’t seem to notice the preacher and his loud shotgun.

“Dammit, Pete, why’d you do it? It should have been me... You had a family...”

McCurdy felt himself grabbed roughly and vaguely heard someone yelling. He instinctively braced to rid himself of whatever it was that had hold of him, but when he saw it was the preacher, he kept his fists to himself. “What the hell, padre?”

And then it struck him what was happening. “Holy s---! What the f--- is that?!” He was looking toward the ground now and what he saw there made his blood run cold. He could feel his limbs stiffening and felt something he thought he could never feel again; something he thought the war had used up enough for two lifetimes. McCurdy had faced many life threatening situations since returning from France; he’d braced many a man threatening him with gun or fist too many times to count since coming home. And never once had he felt even the slightest twinge of fear; it just wasn’t in him any more after what the war had shown him.

But this was not a man with a gun shooting at him from a speeding car... this was not human at all!

McCurdy let out a string of cussing that his mama would have slapped him into the next decade for and started moving like he was a young boy again. The fear shocked his senses back into his head and he began to get a grip on what was happening. Instinct took over and he immediately started looking for the others; looking to see if anyone else was in trouble. He pushed Clary ahead of him as he looked for Marianne and Liza.

“The women!” he shouted to Clary, “Help Liza!” McCurdy immediately shot for the redhead intending to do exactly that; help her and Liza out of the mire. As he struggled to get free of his demons, he turned to give a last look back at Pete, knowing the man had saved his life once again...

That’s two I owe you, buddy...

The strange visions continue !

"Liza!" Marianne screamed, and ran to the other woman's side, trying to pull her away while their nemesis was engaged. The sound of the shotgun rang in her ears as she looked around desperately. "Preacher! McCurdy! Help!"

While he was helping McCurdy, Brother Clary looked around at the weird scene as it unfolded before his disbelieving eyes.  "Wh-h-h?" he sputtered.  He hesitated for a moment, torn within himself to respond to one scene and then another.

He heard the redhead scream, and with the Arkie PI, he rushed to the women's sides to help them move further down the path, as he vaguely sensed he was supposed to do.  He was no longer muttering his prayers.  The others could hear him full voiced:  "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name..."

McCurdy didn’t hesitate, not even as the thunder exploded in his ears setting them to ringing like a chime stuck in constant tone. He went straight for the older man in khaki’s, doubling over charge in with an upper cut meant to send the guys lungs clear into his brain...

"McCurdy, NO!  We got to get out of here!"  Brother Clary wasn't sure the men in khakis were real or not, but something about the warning he received convinced him that they didn't need to stay put.

McCurdy paid no heed - he couldn’t if he had wanted to. He was committed, and he flew at the man fighting with the lizard-squirrel. If the man was a ghost then the ghost could feel. And McCurdy was going to make sure he felt something right then and there!

The roiling mass of monsters and shadows crowded over the path, grotesques half-glimpsed, with whispers and promises coming from them in the voices of loved ones long gone.

McCurdy plowed into the older man, who jerked his head out of the way of the fist and planted a very hard fist of his own into McCurdy's left kidney.  The lizard-squirrel went flying off the man's kicking leg, chittering in rage.  At last he could see the whole tableau; he could hear Brother Clary's voice in loud prayer, and see Marianne trying to drag the stunned Liza Waters away.  Hornsby had Hawksmoore in a choke hold and was trying his best to knock the boy out, and looked as if he had taken some lumps of his own trying it.  Ringrose and McCurdy went down, hitting the hard stony path, and McCurdy realised that he had a real battle on his hands - the old man was tougher than he looked, as promised. (McCurdy: roll a d20, and a d100 please.  There's a dice roller at the top of the screen)

Brother Clary prayed, and saw the things clearly.  A half-rotted woman in beautiful bridal robes was weeping in front of him, her skeletal hand extended as if begging for his attention.  A frog with the top half of a child appended to its body flopped and flailed.  A black rooster with human eyes laughed at him, and a huge bubbling mass of protoplasm lurched forward, trying to reach him with pseudopods of stinking goo.  A tangle of intestines with eyes on their ends floated above these, also reaching for him.  The old priest's voice was lost in the din.  He could see everyone...and everything, in horrible detail.  McCurdy was on the ground battling the old man who had stolen Brother Clary's cross and bible, Marianne was trying to move Liza along, and the two pirates were struggling.  The other man, with the eyepatch, was moving slightly, as if he might awaken. (Brother Clary, roll d100 please)

Marianne grabbed Liza's arm, and the stunned woman didn't respond.  She did allow herself to be led aside, in a stumbling slow walk.  (Marianne: roll a d100 please)

McCurdy rolled and struggled with the man with all of his strength. There wasn’t a man left alive he was afraid of and this man was no different. He was just another in a long line he’d put behind him. And he’d put this fellow behind him or he wouldn’t get up. As the detective struggled with the older man, he kept him close in a brawler’s hug, punching at his floating ribs until he could roll atop him. He wanted the man right against him when he put a bullet through his heart...

Marianne led Liza a little distance up on the path and turned back to the others. "Preacher! A little help!" she said sharply, suddenly annoyed as she saw Brother Clary standing around while they were all struggling for their lives. She marched over to where Hornsby had Hawsmoore in a chokehold.

Marianne dragged Liza along towards Hornsby and Hawksmoore; Hawksmoore was limp now, and being gently dropped to the ground.  But the older pirate had no time for her, and drew his cutlass, running towards Basil Ringrose with intent, apparently, to kill.  The horrors were something she could ignore now; they were not able to cross the path.  She knew that now.

McCurdy punched at the lower ribs, and received a hard fist to his ear, knocking him aside with a ringing in his head and flashes in his vision.  There was a hot burning pain in his side, and suddenly he realised he'd been stabbed.

Then the old bastard nutted McCurdy, smashing his forehead into McCurdy's face and nearly breaking his nose, and kicked himself free.  A small knife was in Ringrose's hand, blood dripping from it, and McCurdy's left side was a riot of agony.  Only when a howl of battle came across the clearing, and Hornsby was charging forward with drawn sword, did the old man break off the battle, rolling to his feet against this new threat.  The things encroaching on the path were the least of his worries though !

(Brother Clary: still need that d100 roll please)

Hawksmoore was apparently out cold, Liza was immobilized, and now McCurdy might be seriously injured. Marianne's glare at Basil as he got to his feet, blood dripping from his knife, was positively murderous. She hurried to Hawksmoore's side to see what shape he was in and if he had weapons on him that they could use.

McCurdy growled at the pain. He tried to blink his eyes clear, but the pain at the bridge of his nose effectively shut his eyes like a trap closing on a bear’s leg. He slapped a hand on his side, feeling the hot, stickiness of his own blood and growled some more. Then the pain from his groin burned through him worse than all of the rest. He yelled then; yelled as loud as he could. A deep, guttural roar to clear his head and force his body to quit crying like a spayed calf; to get up, pull his gun, and shoot the son-of-a-bitch!

"Land sakes, woman," the preacher growled, half to himself.  "I cain't help it if I'm tryin' to get everybody down this path and nobody wants to listen.  It's worse than sheep -- it's like herdin' a mess o' wet cats!"

Even still, he moved to where he could get a better angle on the large man wrestling with McCurdy.  When the two separated, with McCurdy villainously stabbed, Brother Clary looked first at the PI, then at the big man with the knife.  "Aw, now you shouldn't-a gone and done that," he said raising his shotgun.  Calmly levering a shell into the chamber, he said "You need to apologize to Mr. McCurdy.  And I want my cross and Bible back."

Brother Clary brought his shotgun to bear as McCurdy levelled a shaking gun on Basil Ringrose.  Marianne wrested the ugly machete from Hawksmoore's tight grasp and turned toward them, with Liza simply standing there like a mannequin.

"Not today, preacher," sneered Basil Ringrose, seizing the scruff of his unconscious henchman's canvas shirt in his free hand.  He was easily able to drag Carson along.  Brother Clary's shotgun boomed again, sending the wraiths and monsters skittering back, knocking Ringrose backwards off the path - and McCurdy's pistol barked, spinning the man and sending him into a heap of shadows and muck, and the two assailants were quickly covered over by the creatures of the darkness, to the chittering, howling glee of the nightmares of the dead.
Hornsby stopped by McCurdy, swore horrifically at the sight of the wound, and then said, in a voice of command, "Let's go."  He offered McCurdy a shoulder to lean on, and then shouted at the stirring Hawksmoore.  "BOY - MOVE YER ARSE !"

Hawksmoore scrambled to his feet, shaking his head, and stumbled onwards.  Liza had to be pulled along; it was as if she was unable to do anything for herself, but went where she was led.  Hornsby assisted McCurdy and proved to be another tough old man. "Sad part is, that won't kill him," Hornsby muttered, mostly to himself, then seemed to consider McCurdy's problem. "Patch you right up, mate...but not here.  Not now."  He practically marched McCurdy along the path. glaring at Hawksmoore, who did not argue but scurried ahead.

Bounding after them was the lizard-squirrel, in its funny lolloping gallop.

  Something rolled from the horrible shadows, fetching up along Brother Clary's foot; something roundish and dark brown, half-covered with grey-green moss.

McCurdy leaned into Hornsby for balance, trying not to put too much of his weight on him; he wasn’t very heavy, but he didn't want to risk a stumble anyway. He'd been cut before but never stabbed. He'd been shot before, but never stabbed. It was a different kind of pain altogether. He just hoped the knife hadn't hit anything vital. The look on Hornsby’s face made him think otherwise though. The image of Ringrose burned into his mind and he held it there. That was one face he would never forget. Ever. Ringrose was a dead man, immortal or not.

"That might not kill him," McCurdy hissed through gritting teeth to Hornsby. "It might not, but he is going to die. I’ll see to it. If'n I'da got my hands on him then he'd be crawlin' around with these ghosts right now. Crawlin' around lookin' for his head!"

It all happened so fast. One moment Basil was sitting on her couch, a cup of tea in one hand and that damned book in the other. The next moment, he had disappeared into the hungry, waiting shadows. As gleeful cries arose from the creatures, Marianne turned away, shocked and sickened by Basil's death and the manner in which it had come about. So it was with relief that she heard Hornsby tell McCurdy that Basil probably wasn't dead.

"You really think he's alive?" she confirmed anxiously, looking back to where her erstwhile companion had been just moments ago. "But those - those ghosts... He fell right into them." She knew they weren't out of the woods yet and moved quickly along the path, grasping the machete tightly in one hand for moral support and helping Liza with the other.

Brother Clary watched warily as the others began their trek down the path.  He kept his still-smoking shotgun ready for anything else that might jump out at them.  The grim sight of that Ringrose character being blasted off the path and carried away was not one he would forget.  Nor were the words of Hornsby confidently explaining that even still he would be coming back.

He fully planned to take the reargurd, but then, he felt something nudge his leg.  At first, he thought it was another critter like McCurdy's new 'pet.'  As he looked, he saw it was something inanimate, and something...old.  He looked up, as if he were listening to something, and then bent down to pick up the small, round object.  He looked at it for a moment, and then followed the patchwork group of adventurers he found himself a part of.