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Carver, Penelope's Journal
Exterminator Needed
Downtime
Fucking Creeps
I went to double check on the Chef. After some proper research, I figured out she was definitely being possessed by something. Turns out she lives around Maple Valley, so it was pretty easy to link up. Tracked down an exorcist and went to visit them. Guy turned out to be a creep, but a magical creep. I didn't even give him our real names but he still knew we were both named Penelope (Small world). Turned out the Chef is being slowly taken over by a spider god, one that the exterminator apparently had a deal with, hence why he couldn't deal with it for her. Gave us a grocery list for the ritual needed to clean her up. I was satisfied, and let her know if she needed any help she could call me. Once that was done with, (for now, at least) I talked with Dr. Belmont. Didn't tell her about my magical adventures in detail, but I asked for her help to get a hook prosthetic quick as she could. Called in some favors and now I got a fancy new hook. Hell of a month.
F#%* this, and F#%* You, Tom!
The Dead of Summer
CW for Gore
It's summer right now. It's hot, and it hasn't rained in over a month. I hate it. When times are tough, and I miss you more than anything, I could always count on the comforting embrace of a cold rain. But now it's just hot.
I feel empty. I've felt empty for months, but I feel especially empty now.
When you left, I had to grab onto something to keep going. The hollowness was terrifying, I would've done anything to fill that void. I used to have so much love and care in me, but it's like you took it all with you on your way out. In all your kindness though, you left behind a burning coal of anger.
It hurts to hold, but I can't bring myself to let go. I hold onto it for dear life with a white knuckle grip. My nails dig into my palms around it.
Blood leaks out around my clenched fist, and a dizzying heat climbs up my arm. It mixes with my sweat and makes this horrible concotion that seems to burn and melt everything it touches. What was once my hand is now a mangled hunk of flesh that used to be able to help people. My apartment is in shambles, the pictures on the walls have faded, the floorboards are bending, their stability long gone. The only things flourishing in these fetid walls are the plants. They drink up the disgusting ichor and grow into the shapes of human skulls, cracking open to reveal nightmarish, sickeningly pink flowers that defy description.
Still, with my world rotting around me, I hold onto that spiteful star. If I let it go, there won't be anything left to keep me standing, and there won't be anything left of you.
It's summer right now. It's hot, and I hate it.
Tales To Be Told
Downtime
Julia is dead
Julia is dead, and I need to be okay with that. Her spirit might be tied to a horrifying monster, she might still be conscious and doing gods know what, but that doesn't change the fact that in my plane of existence, she's dead. I'll never ride the elevator up to my apartment and make small talk with her again. She'll never be there to pick me up after work if I need it again.
We'll never have another movie night together. I'll never get to watch her face light up as she talks about Mercurio again. I'll never get to watch her pace around her apartment angrily ranting about city council proposing a plan to cut funding to public transportation. I'll never get to sit on her bed and feel butterflies in my stomach when she sits herself right next to me, close enough our arms are touching.
Julia is dead, but I'm still alive. And I can't just rot.
Not anymore.
To hunt or be hunted
The Sons of Salem
We swear to secure our people against the wickedness and evil of the invisible world.
We swear to aid the afflicted.
We swear to stay ever vigilant and seek out the abominable witchcrafts committed in this country.
We humbly pray to be blessed by God to hold all those who consort with the Devil accountable. Amen
—Opening and closing prayer for Sons of Salem meetings.
The Sons of Salem is a loosely-organized conservative populist movement in the United States that preaches violent opposition to anything they perceive as witchcraft, demonic, or monstrous.
Blowhard podcaster Ted Gundy and former general of the mercenary group “Hognose,” Roland Rush, founded the movement in 2010 after a series of violent werewolf attacks and unexplained, supernatural murders in Tennessee. Memberships grew quickly, stoked by Ted’s fiery doomsday rhetoric on his podcast "Truth Seekers" and the aspiration of the masculine power embodied by Roland.
Although they speak of duty, honor, and maintaining the “natural order” of things, the Sons of Salem are driven by fear. They collect guns and appear at protests en-masse as a way of easing the all-consuming terror of their powerlessness. At the same time, they have conditioned themselves to respond to fear with “strength” (read: violence).