On the rainy evening of Friday, August 20th, 1880, in the small town of Devil's Fork, four men congregate in the dark sactuary of the Last Salvation church. Several candles cast an eerie light on the communion table around which they sit, discussing the events of the past few days. Not 10 days ago, Devil's Fork was just another backwater town tucked in the rainy woods of South Carolina. But now, something was amiss.
On August 15th, Cole reported a 3-month regular, Mr McCornin, failed to show up at the Crusty Cup to get blind drunk before Sunday service. Richardson began his investigation by seeing Wilkens to find if McCornin had fallen ill. He had, in fact, been in a few days earlier with a fever. Wilkens prescribed bed rest, but McCornin seemed too excited about something he'd found recently. He wouldn't discuss it much, but as he was a gold hunter, it is assumed to be along those lines.
Richardson continued his investigation by speaking with Smith to make sure he hadn't buried anyone matching McCornin's description recently. Smith reported he hadn't, but that he had buried a few strangers recently that he didn't recognize. He described them to Richardson, but even he hadn't heard of them. In a town with as many drifters as Devil's Fork, such a thing is not unheard of. But with Richardson's vigilant eye, it was rare that someone passed through without him knowing. Furthermore, Smith reported seeing figures, he thinks at least two distinct individuals, poking around the graveyard at night. He'd even found an unearthed grave that day, headstone shattered beyond recognition.
While doing his thinking at the bar of the Crusty Cup, Richardson was approached by Cole with more town gossip. Apparently, on August 18th, the children of a local hunter named Hewitt had gone missing. They often went out unattended, but by now Hewitt was worried sick. Being a hunter of some skill, he set off to find them on his own, and hadn't been seen or heard from since.
The four men, Cole, Smith, Wilkens, and Richardson, now meet over candlelight to discuss the issues at hand and weigh any concerns of what may or may not be lurking in the shadows.
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The missin' children bother most of all, but ya throw in McCornin's strange illness and this grave bein' messed with, then things are goin' strange within the last five days, no?
"Phah! That drunk McCornin probably stumbled into a ravine somewhere! And if those vandals come round again messin' with my graves you won't need to do much investigatin'... The kids are a shame though, awful young to meet their end." Smith looked at the other men gathered around. "Speaking of the graves... You found the robbers yet Richardson?"
Henry levelled serious brown eyes on Smith. "No, I have not found the two individuals you reported seeing, and not for lack of trying. It's as if they up and vanished as quickly as they appeared. I don't like this. I don't believe in coincidences. And I don't like that we have four individuals missing and unaccounted for."
Rubbing tiredly at his mildly stubbled jaw and looking out at the shadows cast by the candlelight in the dark church, Henry feels a deepening sense of unease. "Is there any way of finding out whose grave it was they unearthed? I realise the headstone was destroyed. Someone seems very intent on covering their tracks. And I'm intent on finding them before others start disappearing."
Wilkens leans in to add his voice to the conversation. "I don't know what to think about this yet . . . I would have suggested that the feverish state I last saw McCornin in had taken over and been followed with belligerent madness. With the addition of the two figures though." He pauses and listens to the rain for a moment before continuing."He is likely to also be a victim of whatever we're dealing with."
"We could try searching through the church records, but with four people missing and an empty grave in such a short amount of time I fear that we may need to move more quickly than that would allow."
He looks to the others and tries to read their faces in the flickering light. Allowing a small bit of worry to show on his own.
"One thing that I am sure of, is that if we take this mystery on, we need to meet it together. Hewitt was--is a competent hand in the woods. For him to succumb spells out danger for me."
"Wilkens is right about the graveyard records... But I don't keep a map of who got buried where, and it would take a while to find all the names and then match 'em up to the intact headstones." Smith leaned forward lowering his voice to a whisper. "We can't forget that there's a madman locked away in this church, who knows what drive him mad... I've heard tales of creatures from beyond that have an appearance no man could understand. You mark my words men, that madman is involved somehow."
"Aren't you his keeper, Smith? Has he been acting more mad or peculiar than usual? If the Madman is behind these strange disappearances, then I say we interrogate him now and not waste any more time!" Henry's voice echoed in the dark recesses of the church and he agitatedly looked about the space as if searching for hidden monsters or ... lurking, finger pointing apparitions.
Aye, bring the mad dodger in here now, and we can deal with him.
Cole cracks his knuckles and gets an ominous expression on his face.
A dark and serious look comes over Smith's face. "Hush!" he said in a sharp tone. "Listen... What do you hear? Only the rain. The madman normally makes at least some noise." Smith then stood up and grabbed his shovel, then took the key to the Madman's tower from the desk he kept it in. "Be on your guard men, strange forces are about, and I don't plan to lose another fight."
Cole unsheathes his short sword and prepares to follow the others to the madman.
Wilkens glances at the other men. Their uncertainty and the past conversation adds to his own unease. He moves close to Cole and places his hand on the knife at his belt. Prepared to act, but certain that four men would be more than enough to handle the madman.
With gun in hand, Henry points to the Madman's gaoler, and instructs in low voice, "Lead the way, Smith. I'll take the rear." Smith had the key and Henry had a rifle. If anyone came at them from behind, he'd be at the ready.
As the four men ascend the stairs into the tower, only the sound of the Carolina rain can be heard over the thundering of the pulse in each man's ears. Lightning illuminates the landings through narrow slit windows in the tower, and small puddles splash half-heartedly underneath soggy boots with each slow step. As they reach the 4th landing, a cramped space like a storage closet, they find discarded restraints lying carelessly on the floor. But as thunder rumbles in the night and storm and candle light the room, no other sign of the Madman can be found.
Henry, did he leave a trail?
Henry raised his hand to quieten Cole in case the Madman was near or hiding in some known shadows to him. The Madman had spent the better portion of a decade locked in the cramped attic, so he knew the place better than any of them.
He looked about the floor, relying on candlelight to see any footprints or markings to show them where the Madman had gone (or could be).
Cole scowls at Henry, then remains still as he too looks around the quarters of the Madman.
Perception:
Smith, any idea wher he may find shelter in this storm?
"Hmm..." Smith tapped his chin in thought. "He could well still be in the church. If not.... I'm not sure. Maybe he went into the woods. He is crazy after all."
"There are no tracks in this tower. We need to get back down and check the nave and possibly the altar. The Madman could have been hidden down there the entire time we were talking. If he is as insane as Smith believes, then we best hurry and find him, then lock him away more securely."
"It looks like we'll be needing these again then. At least to start." Wilkens picks up the restraints and tries to determine if they were escaped through cunning or strength and how serviceable they are for further use.
"It's too bad I used the last of my chloroform to help put down Wilson's horse last week. It could have been useful here."
He turns to Richardson, "The man is mad, and dangerously so from the times Smith has asked me to check up on him. But don't assume that he's stupid because of it. I've seen and read of cases like this when a moment of clear insight provides an incredible manic advantage to the insane."
Wilkens proffers a hand toward the exit, signalling that further conversation should take place as they continue to pursue their quarry.
Connor sheathes his Short Sword and draws his sap as he heads outside and begins to aid Richardson as he looks for the tracks.
I can put him down quickly with this.
Perception:
Henry moves carefully back down the stairs and into the main part of the church. He searches, using the candlelight within the space. The rain outside continues to fall, but it does not stop him from heading out to look at the wet ground for signs of footfall or other. Henry was determined to pick up the Madman's tracks. Four people had already disappeared and Henry could not allow the escaped Madman to add to that tally.
Smith also joins in the search outside, looking for places that might serve as suitable shelter for the madman to have gone our for anything misplaced inside the church while making his way out.
Perception
Richardson sees tracks leading toward Smith's shack not far from the church, in the shape of bare feet. He also notices shadows playing off of the walls through one of the windows in the shack. Something is moving within.
Doc's words regarding the Madman's cunning or cleverness was not something Henry had ever discounted. There had to have been a significant reason why he had been locked away for so long. That the Madman had managed to survive these past ten years, cuffed and imprisoned, meant the man was at least resilient. Henry wished they knew more about him.
Amid the steady rain, Henry signals to Cole, Smith and Doc Wilkens. Pointing toward the building, he reports his findings in lowered voice, "There's someone inside Smith's shack. The tracks I discovered just beyond the church stop here. I saw shadows against the wall through the window, there, just a minute ago." Wiping the rain from his face, Henry turns to Smith, "Is there a back entrance into your shack, Smith? If not, we all go in through the front door. The rain should help to mute the sounds of our movement. Still, he has the advantage right now, so do not advertise our position."
Henry advances, his rifle ready in case the Madman decided to jump them as soon as they entered the shack.
Cole nods and moves to the front door with the rain pouring over his closely shorn pate and off his face. He has his sap drawn, and he tries to remain as silent as possible behind Richardson, as they move to the front door of the shack.
Stealth:
Wilkens nods silently as he goes to follow the other two out of the door. He rearranges the restraints in his hands so that if they can keep the madman pinned, he can have the man back inside them in short order.
Smith did his best to move quietly in the soggy ground.
It would make sense for there to be a back door though, I would think.
Smith whispered as he was sneaking alongside the other men, "There's a back for that I don't use often, but nothing is blocking the exit, so he could go through there."
The door of the shack swings open wide, banging against the outside wall, and a curious vision appears in the entryway.
Holding a candle in his left hand, and a straight razor in his right a man with half a face of shaving foam calls out into the rain. He is mostly clean, and wearing clothes that Smith may recognize. Pushing battered and slightly cracked spectacles up the bridge of his nose, he says plainly
"Gentlemen, come out of the night. This is no weather to be out in."
Turning to address Smith before he goes back inside (presumably to finish shaving) he remarks,
"Thankfully I've found where you kept my glasses...I'd have knicked myself quite a bit more had you discarded them."
The rain drips from Henry's hair into his eyes and he shakes it away angrily. He raises his rifle and aims it at the Madman. To his elder comrade he asks, "Smith, is that him?" wondering at the general politeness and normality of the bespectacled man, hoping it was not part of his insanity.
"Do not do anything foolish, Madman." Henry's voice is hard and his eyes are fixed on the half-shaven man. He is caught off guard when the man re-enters the shack. What is this about, then?
To the others, he directs, "Do not underestimate the man. He may still yet prove dangerous."
Smith looks at Richardson with a look of profound confusion, "it looks like him... But he's never talked in the years he's been under my supervision." Smith then storms into his shack, "Just what the hell are you doing in my house, using my shaving kit? You truly are mad! And when were you gunna clue me in that you could damn will talk all along?"
A smile crosses his lips as he squints, peering into the old mirror propped against the inside windowsill and running the razor across his cheek one more time.
"I do apologize, but I felt...well...dirty. And damn if that beard wasn't itchy as all get out."
Grabbing a nearby wet rag, he wipes his face clean and examine himself once more in the mirror, taking a moment. I'd forgotten that I even had a face, thought I was only ears.
"If you'd like compensation for the clothes and razor, I'm sure you could take it out of the money I had on me all those years ago."
He folds his arms and runs his hand across his chin, feeling the stubble, and has a satisfied chuckle.
"No hard feelings of course. As for my inability to speak? Well, It wasn't so much that I couldn't...Just that I had a conversation that couldn't be interrupted for..oh...what was it, ten years?
Nodding to the other men as they come out of the rain, he addresses the whole gathering of men.
"Now, would any of you happen to have a cigarette? I haven't had a smoke in quite some time."
Henry followed closely behind Smith, stepping through the door, and standing at its entrance, water dripping from his person onto the floor of the shack. "Are you mad, Smith, barging in when you have no idea what this man will do to you? I bid you caution, man!"
The Madman appeared eloquent and well spoken, not raving mad as Smith, Doc Wilkens and the others portrayed him. The discrepancy in the Madman's character perplexed Henry and made him more paranoid than usual.
Fixing his ire on Smith and Doc but keeping his gaze squarely on the Madman, "You both informed me that he was raving mad and dangerous. So what is this?", pointing to the newly shaven man.
Henry had no cigarettes on him presently. Instead he decided to ask some direct questions. "How did you manage to escape? You have not done so these past ten years. So why now? And while I am asking the questions, what is your true name? I refuse to continue calling you the Madman." Henry's brown eyes seemed darker still in the poorly lit shack.
Conner, in disbelief, clutches his sap to the point of white knuckling the weapon. He slowly enters and stands just inside the door, eyeing the Madman like prey while Richardson continues to sort out the details.
Smith turns to Richardson, "Yes, as you said yourself boy... He was mad... Still is by the sound of it." Smith then turned back to the Madman, "A ten year conversation? You might be surprised to hear I might believe you if you can add more details. What was the conversation about?"
Wilkens follows the others in, briefly pausing outside to stomp some of the mud from his boots. As he enters he puts a hand on Cole's shoulder to calm the man slightly. He begins to talk to the madman.
"I'm not certain how much you remember me from your time in this 'conversation' that you've been having, but I'm Doc Wilkens." His speech is punctuated by a short introductory nod. "After we've finished with the introductions and explanations I would like to put you through a short mental evaluation. I think it would help to put my colleagues' and my minds more at ease."
He moves to lean against the wall, and prepares to listen to what this strange person has to say. He's not showing any major signs of his previous illness. I've never personally seen someone turn around so fast...
the "Madman" looks at each of them in turn.
"The shackles were old, and rather loose. It just took a bit of flexibility to shake them off. Well, that and dislocating my thumbs."
he pauses for a moment and holds his hands out to the assembled "audience" and wiggles his fingers, the knuckles in both hands, severely bruised.
"As for my name, I'll admit it took me a while to remember it. Zachariah is the name my mother gave me, and my father was Ezekiel Thistle, though I don't expect he'd like me making that claim."
He scratches his head thoughtfully, and frowns as he runs his hand slowly across his chest, lost in a memory.
"The conversation was about...well. Can't say I know exactly, but it was rather involved. Seemed to be very important too, and in a language I've never heard before, though at the time, I could swear I understood it."
pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose again,
"I wouldn't mind a test, doctor. But if no one has a smoke, is there at least some whiskey in this place? I don't know about you all, but I could use a drink."