Uncle Grubb's Mysterious Mansion [Quest, Original Setting]

JMHthe3rd · Aug 15, 2015

JMHthe3rd Presents:
Uncle Grubb's Mysterious Mansion

Chapter One

Soft, brown clouds trail from the tires as you drive the SUV and the attached trailer down the dirt road through the woods. It's a sunny August afternoon, but thick leaves overhead cast a gloom broken by only sporadic peeks of day. Gnarled trees seem to lean in menacingly as you pass.

In the passenger seat beside you, your twin sister, Helen, mugs for yet another selfie, though she won't be able to post it until you get back. There's no coverage out here in the sticks. You're cut off. A stray bit of gravel kicks into the vehicle's undercarriage and rattles unsettlingly as if there's something beneath clawing from the earth. You hope you don't have a breakdown here. It's a long walk back to the redneck town of Huckley.

"I hope the house is haunted!" says your little sister, Maribel, from the backseat. "I mean, it has to be, right? It's like a hundred years old. All the ghosts are probably bored and waiting for someone with an Ouija board."

"Ghosts," mutters Eddie, your little brother. He snorts. "None of that shit's real. After you die there's nothing. We're all just chemical meat puppets."

"'Meat Puppets,'" repeats Helen. "Isn't that a band?"

"My Chemical Meat Puppets," you whisper, and you both snicker.

"Ghosts are real!" Maribel cries. "I've read like eight books on them. I'm going to record their voices on tape, and then I'm going to become a world famous parapsychologist!"

"Whatever," Eddie says. He puts in his earbuds and glowers out the window, his teeth idly clicking against his lip rings. He's become more of a dick than usual recently, but you know the last few weeks have hit him harder than he lets on.

"Bert, do you think I'll be able to contact mom and dad?" Maribel asks. "Or . . . or anyone? I know they didn't die here, but ghosts can fly place to place, right? Or I guess they can use telepathy."

"Somehow, I don't think Uncle Grubb's house is haunted," you say, "but if it is, I'm sure they'll stop by to say hi."

You exchange a sad look with Helen. You're all grieving in your own ways, but Maribel's new obsession with the paranormal has you worried. You don't have the heart to tell her it's all bunk.

Turning carefully down the winding path, you pass a half-collapsed stone cottage overgrown with weeds. It's picturesque, like something from an oil landscape. You recollect it vaguely.

The last time you were here was seven years ago, during your Great-great Uncle Grubb's final Christmas. His lifelong smoking habit had finally caught up with him; he never saw the New Year. The passing of his estate turned out to be a Gordian knot of legal issues because apparently he'd written your great-grandfather and his descendants out of his will . . . but then drafted a second will that contradicted the first. You're still not sure of all the lawyering ins and outs, but every branch of your family's been squabbling for his stuff ever since.

Or at least they were until five weeks ago. There was a family reunion. And a bus crash. Fortunately, you and your siblings were in a different car.

After a slew of wakes, funerals and meetings with attorneys, you found you've inherited, among other things, Uncle Grubb's estate--including this spooky mansion in the back woods of North Texas. For the weekend you plan on inventorying his effects, and you know this is going to be hard. It'll be like digging through a grave, and there'll be so many questions with no answers. No longer can you pick up an old photo and ask, "Hey, grandpa, who's this?" And neither can you ask your dad nor your mom nor your uncles, aunts and cousins. You've lost so much it seems unreal. You feel alone.

But you're not, you remind yourself. Your family rides with you in this SUV. You four are the last of the Springwells.

Helen points at a shallow creek peeking through a grove of oak trees. "That leads to that lake I was telling you about, Maribel. Me and Pookie went swimming there last time." She laughs. "You remember that, right?"

"I remember, Goosie," you say, using her nickname back. "That place was . . . weird. You really want to kayak in that? I ended up covered with ticks and leeches."

"'Covered?' There were only like a couple. Okay, three, four tops. And besides, kayaking is not swimming. We'll be fine." Helen turns in her seat to look at Maribel. "Uncle Grubb once told me there's a cave in the bottom where the 'Deep Ones' live. They're ugly fish people from those Cuh-thul-hoo books."

"Cthulhu," Eddie corrects without looking up.

"Is the cave real?" Maribel asks, suddenly interested.

"The cave might be real," you say, "but there's no such thing as 'Deep Ones.'"

Maribel is unconvinced. "If ghosts are real, then fish people can be real too."

You sigh. "Sure. I guess."

Another couple of turns, and you see the house, a gray, gloomy, three-story Victorian-Era mansion. It's always looked rundown, but the past seven years have been especially cruel. A few windows are cracked or smashed. The rotten wood siding peels like dead skin. Broken shutters hang like crooked teeth. A wayward tree branch invades through the west wall.

You pull into a gravel driveway all but reclaimed by weeds.

Maribel sits up and points beside the house. "Look, a graveyard! That means there has to be ghosts!"

You forgot about the cemetery. It's not very big, and some of the tombstones are so old they're toppling. Could your first ancestors in Texas be buried there? 'Springwell' is an Anglicized form of the German 'Springenwelt,' though you don't know much about your family's history. Maybe Uncle Grubb left some records.

You all step out into a heat so humid it might as well be the jungle, though the low-hanging clouds cast the sky with an almost winter dreariness.

"We're spending three days here?" Eddie sneers.

"Yeah, you'll love it," you say. "Come on, everyone grab a bag. Let's get inside."

Weighed down with luggage, you all amble up the stone steps to a pair of doors fitted with fogged glass panes. You insert the old fashioned key into the lock, and as you turn the metallic grinding echos unnaturally as though large unseen machines are waking from a long slumber. You hear the click. You open the doors.

Well, at least bats didn't fly into your face.

Eddie hums the first few bars of Bach's Toccatta and Fugue. It fits. You're hit with the smell of must. Cobwebs drape like vines from the vaulted ceiling. Crossing the checkerboard floor, you pass from the vestibule into the great hall. White sheets cover the chairs and sofa and look like crouched ghosts in the weak sunlight filtering through the dirty French windows. An ornately carved staircase curves to the second story. Along the balcony you spot an black suit of medieval armor, flanked on either side by rows of old portrait paintings.

It's just like you remember, only a lot dustier.

"This is so cool!" Maribel cries. "It's like a house from Scooby Doo!"

"Yeah," Helen says unenthusiastically. She pulls off her Ace Rimmer sunglasses and squints her honey-brown eyes disapprovingly. "This is . . . rougher than I expected. I don't want spiders eating me while I sleep."

"It'll be cramped, but we can stay in the trailer if we have to," you say. "But it won't be so bad once we clean this place up a bit. We'll even have lights once we set up the generator."

"Yeah, but no internet," mutters Eddie.

"Screw the internet. I want to ride my dirt bike," Maribel says. "I can ride my dirt bike, right, Helen?"

"Of course, but only with me."

"And wear your helmet," you add with a frown.

The idea of your two sisters careening around the woods on motorcycles conjures stomach-churning images of them in wheelchairs or coffins. But you're not your dad: it's not like you can forbid Helen from doing what she wants. And it should be safe for Maribel as long as she's with a responsible adult, and Helen's at least one of those.

Honestly, you're not happy with how Helen's treating this trip like a vacation, bringing along kayaks and bikes and even skateboards. She wanted her girlfriend to come, but though you'd never admit it, you're glad Roberta couldn't get out of work. She's obnoxious and even a little intimidating, and she seems to bring out the worst in your twin.

And on top of that, Helen seems to have become a little unhinged after your parents' deaths, growing more reckless and with weirder mood-swings. It's got you worried.

But then, you've always been the levelheaded one. While Helen's already dropped out of college, you've done very well in your classes. Currently, you're majoring in [medicine], though you also have interests in [first aid], [history], [literature] and [Latin]. You're not much of the physical sort, but you have dabbled in [Muy Thuy Kickboxing].

Walking along the hall, the wood floor creaking under your feet, you come to an open door beside the entryway to the kitchen. On your previous visits, you're pretty sure this room's always been locked. You peek inside. It's a study. Piles of papers clutter an ancient mahogany desk, and some have spilled onto a cracked leather armchair. An overburdened bookcase takes up the back wall, its bowed shelves crammed with everything from paperbacks to manila folders to massive leather-bound tomes. The light from the window gives a sheen to the white dust that covers every surface.

Perched on the corner of the desk is a framed black and white photograph of a young woman in a dark Victorian dress. She's beautiful, but there's something strange about her you can't quite put your finger on. Nearby is a glass display case holding a variety of artifacts: a stone tablet etched with runes catches your attention, as well as the large skull of what you guess must be some great ape. A great ape with three eyes.

Helen taps you on the shoulder. She's taken off her backwards snapback, and her mess of long, blond hat hair makes her look as if she's just woken up.

"Pookie, we're going to explore the rest of the house; you want to come?"

That sounds fun: most of the house you've never seen, as Uncle Grubb was very restrictive about letting his guests wander. And it couldn't hurt to keep an eye on your siblings. Maribel tends to get into mischief, and Eddie sometimes lacks common sense. And Helen is . . . Helen.

But on the other hand, you want to spend some time in this study. It looks like it could have useful records, not to mention the various curios that warrant investigating. Your brothers and sisters should be fine: Helen isn't stupid. And how dangerous can a spooky old house be?

Your twin raises an eyebrow, awaiting your answer.

[ ] Stay in the study and dig through Uncle Grubb's stuff. Tell Helen, Eddie and Maribel to stick together.
[ ] The study's not going anywhere. Explore the house with your family. But where should you explore first? The first floor? Or upstairs? You've never been up there. How about the basement?
[ ] Write in.

Anything specific Herbert should do? Feel free to elaborate.

Pick Herbert's skills:

[College major]
[Mental Skill]
[Mental Skill]
[Mental Skill]
[Mental Skill]
[Physical Skill] (can be combat, but must be realistic)

Note: This is crossposted to SB, SV and QQ, votes will be pooled.

JMHthe3rd · Aug 15, 2015

Dramatis Personae

Herbert "Pookie" Springwell

Age: 19
Gender: Male
Height: 6'2
Weight: 170lbs
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Blue
Bookish, lanky. Wears hornrim glasses.

Strength: Good
Dexterity: Above-Average
Intelligence: Near Genius
Perception: Good
Willpower: Good
Health: Good

Academic (Moderate bonus to academic and research-related skills).
Antiquarian (Moderate bonus to history, literature and other related skills)
Language Talent (Note: Burt isn't particularly aware of this)
Slightly Nearsighted (Wears glasses)
Bookworm
Worries a lot
Skeptical, levelheaded
A bit of a square
Special bond with twin sister.

New Skills are Yellow

Languages

English (Native)
Latin (Fluent)
'Germanese' (Accented, Written)

Mental Skills

Computer Operation +5
First Aid +6
History (America, 19th and 20th Century) +5
Literature +6
Medicine +5
Research +8
Writing +6

Physical Skills

Driving (Automobile) +2
Guns (Shotgun) +1
Muy Thuy Kickboxing +1

Minor wound to chest (pellet)
Superficial wound to upper right arm (pellet)

Helen "Goosie" Springwell
(Hebert's twin sister)

Age: 19
Gender: Female
Height: 5'9
Weight: 130lbs
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Light brown
Pretty, lanky, tomboy

Strength: Average
Dexterity: Very Good
Intelligence: Bright
Perception: Good
Willpower: Good
Health: Good

Artificer (Slight bonus to mechanical related skills).
Musical Ability (Slight bonus to music-related skills)
Natural Athlete (Moderate Bonus to athletic skills)
Pothead
College dropout
Lesbian
Tomboy, snarky, reckless
A little unstable
Special bond with twin brother.

New Skills are Yellow

Languages

English (Native)

Mental Skills

Artist (Drawing) +2
Computer Operation +4
Mechanic (Classic Automobiles) +4
Mechanic (Generators) +2
Musical Instrument (Drums) +3

Physical Skills

Bicycling +8
Driving (Automobile) +5
Driving (Motorcycle) +6
Guns (Rifle) +4
Muy Thuy Kickboxing +5
Skateboarding +7
Sports (Softball) +7

Edward Springwell
(Herbert's little brother)

Age: 16
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1
Weight: 140lbs
Hair: Dark blond (dyed black)
Eyes (Blue)
Lip rings. Skinny, gloomy teenager

Strength: Average
Dexterity: Above-Average
Intelligence: Genius
Perception: Very Good
Willpower: Good
Health: Good

Wizard (World-Jumper)
Computer Wizard (Slight bonus to computer related skills)
Occultist (Slight bonus to Occult related skills)
Poet (Moderate bonus to writing-related skills)
Straw Nihilist
Gloomy, sullen, snarky
Plays pen-n-paper RPGs
Drinks cough syrup
Kind of lazy

New Skills are Yellow

Languages

English (Native)

Mental Skills

Computer Operation +6
Fast Talk +3
Hobbies (role-playing games, video games, science-fiction novels) +6
Mental Strength +1
Runology +1
Writing +9

Physical Skills

Bicycling +2

Maribel Springwell
(Hebert's little sister (adopted))

Age: 12
Gender: Female
Height: 4'8
Weight: 80lbs
Hair: Black
Eyes: Dark Brown
Little girl. Black. Usually keeps hair in ponytail.

Strength: Weak
Dexterity: Good
Intelligence: Near Genius
Perception: Good
Willpower: Very Good
Health: Good

Wizard (Aeromancer, possibly a minor World-Jumper)
Psientist (Heavy bonus for Psi related skills)
Curious
Gets into mischief
Interested in the paranormal
Likes video games, anime
Thinks Helen is cool

New Skills are Yellow

Languages

English (Native)

Mental Skills

Computer Operation +5
Hobbies (anime, video games, and the paranormal lore) +5
Magic (Aeromancy) +2
Mental Strength +6

Physical Skills

Bicycling +5
Driving (Motorcycle, dirtbike) +4
Skateboard +3
Sports (Soccer) +4
Tae Kwon Do +3

Moderate wound to right hand (2nd degree burn)
Moderate wound to left hand (2nd degree burn)

Roberta "Bobbi" Zacarias
(Helen's Girlfriend)

Age: 22
Gender: Female
Height: 5'7
Weight: 160lbs
Hair: Black
Eyes: Brown
Butch, 'bad boy' style, tattoos

Strength: Above-Average
Dexterity: Good
Intelligence: Clever
Perception: Above-Average
Willpower: Good
Health: Good

Artificer (Moderate bonus to mechanical related skills)
Driver's Reflexes (Slight bonus to driving related skills)
Musical Ability(Slight bonus to music-related skills)
Pothead
Addiction: Nicotine
Reckless
Butch lesbian
Owns a restored 1970 Ford Galaxie 500.
Maribel thinks she's cool.
You and Eddie don't

New Skills are Yellow

Languages

English (Native)
Spanish (Accented, Spoken), (Fluent, Written)

Mental Skills

Computer Operation +3
Hobbies (Prog Rock, Southern Rock, 80's music) +4
Hobbies (Classic Automobiles) +5
Mechanic (Classic and Modern Automobiles) +7
Mechanic (Classic Motorcycles) +6
Mechanics (Generators) +5
Musical Instrument (Guitar) +4
Streetwise +2

Physical Skills

Bicycling +5
Muy Thuy Kickboxing +5
Driving (Automobile, Motorcycle) +6
Skateboard +4

NPC Party Members

Age: 80s?
Gender: Male
Height: 5'5
Weight: 130lbs
Hair: Balding, white
Eyes: Blue
Decrepit old man, poor health. Has a Kaiser mustache.

Strength: Below average
Dexterity: Below average
Intelligent: Above average?
Perception: ?
Willpower: ?
Health: Poor?

Very wealthy
Ally: Oswald Kuckenbacher (Son)
Ally Group: Hired Help
Possibly an alcoholic?
Addition: Tobacco
?

Aficionado for model ships
?

Age: 40?
Gender: Male
Height: 5'7
Weight: 140lbs
Hair: Blond
Eyes: Blue
Handsome, full-lipped, pencil-thin mustache

Strength: Above-average?
Dexterity: ?
Intelligent: Bright?
Perception: Seems pretty alert?
Willpower: ?
Health: Above-average?

Very wealthy
Ally: Oskar Kuckenbacher (Father)
Ally Group: Hired Help
Contacts (Street) Skinny Pete
Former Military Rank (Major, Army Air Corps)
Addiction: Tobacco

Pilot +?

Age: 50s?
Gender: Male
Height: 6'0
Weight: 250lbs
Hair: ?
Eyes: Dark brown
Middle-age black man. Large, somewhat overweight.

Strength: Very Good?
Dexterity: ?
Intelligent: ?
Perception: ?
Willpower: ?
Health: Average?

Patron (Oskar Kuckenbacher -- employer)

?

Age: Mid-30's?
Gender: Male
Height: 5.8
Weight: 170lbs
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Hazel
Handsome, square-jawed hick.

Strength: Above-average?
Dexterity: ?
Intelligent: Seems pretty smart.
Perception: ?
Willpower: ?
Health: Average?

Patron (Oskar Kuckenbacher -- employer)

?

Age: About 50?
Gender: Male
Height: 6'0
Weight: 230lbs
Hair: Brown, streaked gray.
Eyes: Brown
Big burly guy with a beard.

Strength: Very Good?
Dexterity: ?
Intelligent: ?
Perception: ?
Willpower: ?
Health: Average?

Patron (Oskar Kuckenbacher -- employer)

?

Age: 30's?
Gender: Male
Height: 5'6
Weight: 130lbs
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Pale blue
Scrawny guy with acne scars. Nervous looking.

Strength: Average?
Dexterity: ?
Intelligent: ?
Perception: ?
Willpower: ?
Health: Average?

Patron (Oskar Kuckenbacher -- employer)

?

JMHthe3rd · Aug 15, 2015

Inventory

Dodge SUV with trailer, half tank of gas (Parked in front of the house)

Water: 5-gallon water jugs (4)
Fuel
- Gas can
Vehicles
- Dirt bikes (2)
- Kayaks (2)
- Skateboards (2)

Water
- 5-gallon water jugs (4)
- Bottled water (16)
Food
- Food for three or four days (1/2th of a day used)
  - Boxes of snacks, sandwiches.
- Mini-fridge
- Styrofoam cooler
Medicine
- First aid kit
- Misc. Medicine
Weapons
- Halberd
- Aunt Esha's saber
Ammo
- Box of ammunition for the Golden Revolver (100 bullets, blunt tip) (2 boxes)
- Box of ammunition for the Golden Revolver (14 bullets, 'Stilettos'?)
- Box of ammunition for the Golden Revolver (10 bullets, 'Ice bullets'?)
- Box of .38 Special (50)
- Boxes 9mm Parabellum (No inventory taken, but hundreds of rounds found in the basement)
- Boxes of 7.57Ln Shot Shells (83)
- Boxes of 7.57Ln Slug Shells (77)
- Box of 7.57Ln Black Stilettos (10)
- Box of 7.57Ln Thunderfists (6)
- Box of 7.57Ln Atomic Wrath (5)

Camping Supplies
- Changes of Clothes
- Floor lamps (4)
- Propane Generator
- Fuel: 5-gallon propane tanks (8)
- Tents (4)
- Misc. camping gear
Electronics
- Eddie's laptop
- Maribel's Tablet
- 1950's Portable Radio
Research Items/Artifacts
- Hieroglyphic book
- Old computer
- Volume 1 of Uncle Grubb's Journal
- Various books and letters taken from the library and bedroom
Tools/Hardware
- Ax
- Box of Nails and Screws
- Chainsaw (Rusted)
- Claw hammers (2)
- Collapsible ladder (12ft, can telescope to 24ft)
- Drill
- Hacksaw
- Hatchet
- Hedge Clippers
- Hoe
- Jumper Cables
- Machete
- Roll of Twine
- Shovels (2)
- Sledgehammer
- Tacklebox with fish hooks and string.
- Tire iron
- Wood floorboards, 3ft long (5)
- Wood planks (12)
- Wrenches and pliers

Armor
- Normal clothes (Jeans, button up shirt, shoes, etc)
Weapons
- Ernestine-Wettin Ancestral Sword
- Eirohm 7.57Ln Triple Barrel Shotgun (Loaded: 3 shot shells)
  - Ammo: 7.57Ln Shot shells (3, shirt pocket)
  - Ammo: 7.57Ln Slug shells (3, shirt pocket)
- Leather scabbard for shotgun
Personal Effects
- Wallet, Drivers Licence, Credit Cards
- $300 Cash
Electronics
- Smartphone
Keys
- Ring of old fashion keys
Magic Items
- Copied Runic Diagram (Anti-Fog)
- Mysterious Amulet

Artifacts.
- Strange Newspaper
- $560 in Earth-1901 money

Utility/Tools
- Flashlight
- Bag of Herbs
- Spoon

Armor
- Normal Clothes (T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, snapback hat
- Hiking Vest (Very Light Armor: Torso)
Weapons
- .38 Special Revolver (Loaded: 6/6 rounds)
  - Ammo: Box of .38 Special ammo (50 bullets)
- Elvish Carbine (Loaded: 9/9 rounds, standard)
  - Boxes, (~250 bullets, 36 'Black Stilettos')
- Ammo:
  - 7.57Ln Shot Shells (4)
  - 7.57Ln Slug Shells (4)
  - 7.57Ln Black Stilettos (3)
  - 7.57Ln Thunderfists (3)
Personal Effects
- Wallet, Credit Cards, Etc
- Cash?
- Keys
- Glass Pipe
- Lighter
- Bag of Marijuana
- Sunglasses
Electronics
- Smartphone
- Earbuds
Magic Items
- Copied runic diagram ('Anti-Fog')
Artifacts
- A few Teddy Roosevelt 'novelty dollars'
Utlity/Tools
- Flashlight
- Bag of Herbs
- Spoon
- Olive-green canvas bag, moldy (contains Carbine ammo).

Armor
- Normal Clothes (T-shirt, jeans, shoes, etc)
Weapons
- Golden revolver (loaded: 7/8 rounds)
  - Ammo: Box of 93 bullets for the golden revolver
  - Holster for golden revolver
Personal Effects
- Wallet
- Cash?
- Keys for SUV
- Bag of marijuana (bad quality)
Electronics
- Smartphone
- Earbuds
Magic Items
- Copied runic diagram ('Anti-Fog') (x2)
- Heartstone
Utility/Tools
- Flashlight
- Bag of Herbs
- Spoon

Armor
- Normal Clothes (t-shirt, jeans, sneakers, etc)
Electronics
- Smartphone
- Earbuds
Magic Items
Copied runic diagram ('Anti-Fog')
Utility/Tools
- Flashlight
- Bag of Herbs
- Spoon

JMHthe3rd · Aug 15, 2015

Notes & References

General Notes and Background

Story Background

Five weeks before the story begins, a bus crash wipes out most of the Springwells on their way back from a family reunion.
- You, Helen, Eddie and Maribel were riding in Helen's car, and thus were spared.
As the last of the Springwells, you've inherited Uncle Grubb's estate. Each of you has about $700,000, though Eddie and Maribel can't touch their inheritance until they're eighteen.
The story begins on August 7th, 2015. You plan to spend three days inventorying Uncle Grubb's effects.
You drove to the mansion in a blue Dodge SUV towing a trailer. The trailer is stocked with camping supplies.

World Events

1927: A chemical plant explodes near Innsmouth, Massachusetts, killing hundreds and contaminating the surrounding coast. The government orders an evacuation and cordoned off the town. To this day the fenced-in area is known as the Innsmouth Exclusion Zone.
Late-1930's: H.P. Lovecraft contracts an illness that causes his hair to fall out and tumors to grow on his skin. He is put into an insane asylum, but escapes and is never seen again.
1998: A physics experiment at the Black Mesa Research Facility caused mass psychosis, requiring military intervention. Stories concerning the incident are contradictory and frequently absurd.

These maps are more abstract than precise. They are intended to give an idea of the general layouts.

Mansion and Surrounding Area
Mansion, First Story
Mansion, Basement
Mansion, Second Story
Mansion, Attic
Mansion, Attic Tower and Roof Deck
Mansion, Backyard

Characters

'Springwell' is an Anglicized form of the German 'Springenwelt.'
- You've just learned it means 'World Jumper.'
- If Uncle Grubb's journal is be believed, your original family name was 'Wettin-Ernestine'
- Your family are apparently bearers of the 'World-Jumper' gene.
The Springewells have supposedly lived in Texas since the Republic
- But Aunt Rudy said that was all made up.
  - It seems she is right.
Springwells tend to be tall, lanky and blond. Maribel called them 'tall skinny beanpoles.'
Grubb, Fulbert and Hilda were tall with narrow, Nordic features which gave them a regal bearing.
- They had long faces with deep set eyes, aquiline noses and prominent cheekbones.
- Later in life they had wavy white hair.
- Current evidence suggests Fulbert and Hilda were siblings.

Herbert Springwell "Pookie" (You)

Alternate Picture
Physical traits and description

Age: 19
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Blue
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 170lbs
Wears horn rim glasses
Wearing a button up blue shirt and jeans
You're the strongest of your siblings.
Large hands
Right handed

Personality and Abilities

Pre-med student
History buff
Bookworm, enjoys literary classics and historical fiction
Has some experience in Muay Thai Kickboxing
Worries a lot
Skeptical, levelheaded
A bit of a square
You find Roberta obnoxious.
Apparently is a 'muggle,' possessing little magical ability.

Background

At a young age, you and Helen were distinguishable only by her longer hair.
You were at Uncle Grubb's house during the Christmas of 2001. You and Helen played with action figures in the front yard.
You were also at Uncle Grubb's house during the Christmas of 2002. It was snowing. You got stuck in the oak tree by the tool shed after trying to rescue Helen.
You went swimming in Uncle Grubb's lake during the Christmas of 2008. Got ticks and leeches.
- Helen, Jeff and Desiree were there
- (See: Locations: Lake)
You and your twin once dressed as Raggedy Ann and Andy.
- Worst. Halloween. Ever.
First smoked weed when 16, with your twin sister.
- The pizza man gave you a funny look, and you became . . . excessively paranoid.
Once went on a duck hunt with Uncle Stewart during the Autumn of 2012.
- You later claimed you found the sport barbaric, but secretly you enjoyed the hunt.
- Helen bagged more ducks than you.

Helen Springwell "Goosie" (Your twin sister)

Alternate Picture
Physical traits and description

Age: 19
Hair: Dirty Blonde (with highlights), long
Eyes: Light brown
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 130lbs
Wears a snapback hat, 'Ace Rimmer' sunglasses, All-Star sneakers
Wearing a blue tie-dye shirt and ripped jeans.
Wearing a navy blue hiking vest (very light armor)
The most athletic among you, though lacks upper body strength.
Has a tattoo of the Dark Side of the Moon prism on her upper arm.
Right handed

Personality and Abilities

Picked up some auto-mechanic skills from Roberta
Skilled with skateboards, dirt bikes
Skilled in Muay Thai Kickboxing
Can play the drums
Pothead
College dropout
Lesbian
Tomboy, snarky, reckless
Texas Rangers fan
Used to play softball
Has become a little unhinged after the bus crash, growing more reckless and with weirder mood-swings
Likes beer, but not hard liquor
Apparently is a 'muggle,' possessing even less magical aptitude than you do.
Not much of a reader
Good shot with a rifle.

Background

At a young age, you and her were distinguishable only by her longer hair.
Was at Uncle Grubb's house during the Christmas of 2001. You and her played with action figures in the front yard.
Was also at Uncle Grubb's house during the Christmas of 2002. It was snowing. Got stuck up the oak tree by the tool shed.
2007: Won a Rangers cap at a fair. Wore the hat every day.
Went swimming in Uncle Grubb's lake during the Christmas of 2008.
- You, Jeff and Desiree were there.
- She tossed her Rangers cap into the water. Never got it back.
- See: Locations: Lake
Was into poetry when she was thirteen (~2009). Had a crush on Katie Garrison.
She and Herbert once dressed as Raggedy Ann and Andy.
- Worst. Halloween. Ever.
Once went on a duck hunt with Uncle Stewart during the autumn of 2012.
- '"Uhg," Helen says. "Uncle Stewart spent the whole trip drinking beer and bitching about Obama."'
- She bagged more ducks than you did.
- She used a 20ga, though she can handle a 12ga.
Was estranged with her parents after she came out.
- Her mother's last words to her: "I have nothing to say to you."
Has a girlfriend named Roberta.
- They've been talking about getting married.

Eddie Springwell (Your little brother)

Alternate Picture
Physical traits and description

Age: 16
Hair: Dirty Blonde (dyed black)
Eyes: Blue
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 140lbs
Wears lip rings
Wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans
Has 'skinny arms,' not athletic.
Has the 'World-Jumper' gene.
Left handed

Personality and Abilities

Is a fan of H. P. Lovecraft
Familiar with Worm, ROB scenarios: possibly a member of SB/SV.
Likes to write
Skilled with computers
Straw Nihilist, in a 'goth phase'
Gloomy, sullen, snarky
Plays pen-n-paper RPGs
Used to be into Dragonball Z.
Drinks cough syrup, has a history of substance abuse
Doesn't like Roberta.
Can see through the heartstone
World Jumper

Background

Ride a tricycle in the front yard of Uncle Grubb's house, Christmas of 2001.
Friends with someone named Brandon.
Has only shot handguns. The recoil from your father's Super Blackhawk (.44 Magnum) nearly whacked the gun into his face.
Made a hissy fit in front of the whole family reunion
- "I was arguing with mom and dad, right before they got on the bus. They weren't going to let me go to Europe with Brandon, even though we'd been talking about it for months, and I was so pissed. I was like, 'Fuck you! Maybe I'll just ditch you like Goosie did!' and then mom slapped me."
His experience with the heartstone:

The warm surface touches his palm. His eyes widen, and it happens.

Color drains from the room; the floor-lamps gutter. The stone darkens and shines like the brilliant halo of an eclipsed sun. Eddie's face is lunar pale.

His black t-shirt and jeans are clothes-shaped voids.

There's an unseen disjunction, and it jerks the world like a nicked wire sliding across a razor edge. An abyss gapes in your mind. You shiver with cold as the light slowly returns.

The ball has fallen from your brother's grasp. He sits on the stool, chewing his lip rings. Trembling, he stares at you with madman eyes, the whites visible all around his ice-blue pupils.

"Eddie . . . " you say.

"Burt . . . I . . . I'm a wizard."

You breathe a nervous snicker. "You're telling me!"

He rocks in place. His teeth chatter. "I could see forever, Burt! I . . . I touched existence! There's something behind the curtain. Something beautiful. Something terrible. I . . . I just don't remember what it was."

Maribel Springwell (Your little sister (adopted))

Alternate Picture
Physical traits and description

Age: 12
Hair: Black
Eyes: Dark Brown
Height: 4'8"
Weight: 80lbs
Wearing a green t-shirt and jeans
Keeps her hair in a ponytail. When it's out it forms a bush like a troll doll.
Eddie sometimes calls her 'Munchkin.'
Apparently is a 'Wizard'
Left handed

Personality and Abilities

Interested in the paranormal
- Has read eight books on ghosts.
- Wants to be a 'world famous parapsychologist'
Likes to skateboard, rides dirt bikes
Has taken Tae Kwon Do classes
Plays soccer
Gets into mischief
Likes video games, anime, Doctor Who
Thinks Helen is cool
Thinks Roberta's cool too.
Has a friend named Emily.
Magical powers (Psychokinesis? See 'Magic Powers and the Heartstone Effects')

Background

Uncle Grubb talked your parents into adopting her.
- 'Since you were a little kid, you were told that, 'Uncle Grubb found a baby who needed a home, and that's where your little sister came from,' and that story was so often repeated that it became an unquestioned narrative in your life.'
- 'Only now does it seem odd. Where did an eccentric octogenarian recluse living in a house filled with inexplicable knickknacks 'find' a black baby in need of adoption? Did someone drive through all these woods and leave Maribel on his doorstep?'
Her experience with the heartstone:

A gale wind blasts you in the face. You stumble backwards into the computer desk. A pale blue aura pulses from the heartstone cupped in Maribel's hands. Her dark eyes shimmer, and her kinky hair sways like serpents. She grins ecstatically. Is she growing taller? No, you look down and see her little sneakers levitating inches above the floorboards.

Dust and drywall particles gather around her and swirls into a miniature whirlwind. From their shelves, books jiggle free and bob in the air like half-filled helium balloons. The broom rises erect and spins on its axis.

Your heart pounds. A seashell roar fills your ears. Eddie stands beside you and watches your floating sister in wonder. Helen is backed against the wall, her eyes wide in disbelief.

"I'm a wizard!" Maribel cries with glee as she kicks her feet. With two fists she thrusts the heartstone above her head where it shines like a cyan star. "I'M A WIZAAAAAAARD!"
Eddie theorizes she might be descended from Sloka (Elfstar).

Your parents

They had a number of firearms in their house. They were kept locked up
- Includes rifles and shotguns (Including a Marlin 1894)
- Ruger .44 Magnum Super Blackhawk
They did not take Helen coming out of the closet very well.
- '. . . while they didn't disown her, they weren't exactly on speaking terms either.'
Died in the bus crash.

Aunt Rudy (Your Aunt)

Mother of Desiree
Was drunk a lot of the time.
Said a lot of the Springwells' supposed history was made up, said there was 'crazy crap' in the family
Died in the bus crash

Desiree (Your cousin)

Daughter of Aunt Rudy
Followed the 'Lanky Aryan' template that characterizes your family.
A pretty strawberry redhead. Was a couple years older than you.
In Christmas, 2002, she made fun of you when you and Helen were stuck up the oak tree.
Stole cigarettes from her mom.
Was a bit of a snob.
You went with the lake with her during the Christmas of 2008
- She refused to get in the water.
Died in the bus crash.

Uncle Stewart (Your Uncle)

Father of Jeff and Shane.
Husband to Aunt Cindy
Bitched a lot about President Obama
You and Helen went on a hunting trip with him in the autumn of 2012.
Had a 'horsey snigger' laugh
Died in the bus crash.

Jeff (Your Cousin)

Son of Uncle Stewart and Aunt Cindy
Followed the 'Lanky Aryan' template that characterizes your family.
Tall and scrawny. Was about your age
In Christmas, 2002, he made fun of you when you and Helen were stuck up the oak tree.
A bit of a redneck.
Went 'pond dipping' all the time back home.
You went swimming with him in the Lake during the Christmas of 2008.
Had a laugh that was a lot like his father's.
Died in the bus crash.

Shane (Your Cousin)

Son of Uncle Stewart and Aunt Cindy
Liked Dragonball Z.
Died in the bus crash.

Your grandparents, Great-Uncle Freddy, Aunt Cindy, Cousin Richie,

All died in the crash
Your grandfather gave you a biography on Frederick the Great during the Christmas of 2008.
- The book was soaked in the Lake.

Gerbern Springwell "Uncle Grubb" (your great-great uncle)

Tall with narrow, Nordic features, giving him a regal bearing.
Later in life he had wavy white hair.
Had a German accent (Or Austrian. Or maybe Dutch)
Tended to look distracted, unhappy.
Would sometimes disappear for long periods of time.
The Springwells would sometimes have Christmas over at his house.
He was very restrictive about which places in the house guest could go.
Was viewed as an eccentric recluse.
- "Trust me, he was weird. He never married. He never needed a job. He just sat around this house for like sixty years."
Talked your parents into adopting Maribel.
While n pain medication, told Helen about the Deep Ones that live in a cave under the Lake.
Died in late 2008 from lung cancer, was in his eighties.
Had written his brother Fulburt and his descendants out of his will, but later drafted a second will that contradicted the first. His estate was tied up for years.
Evidently the father of Sloka ka V'Janahavabor ("Elfstar")
According to his journals,
- He's 'Gerbern Ernestine-Wettin, Reichsgraf of New Dresden, Welt-Springer and great-great-great-grandnephew of Sigivald the First, Sarvesara-Kaiser of Greater Jaganma.'
- Held the rank of Korvettenkapitän in the Kaiserliche Marine.
- Held a Doctorate in theoretische physik
Was kind of racist.

Fulbert and Hilda Springwell (Your great-grandparents)

Current evidence suggests they were siblings.

Esha ku V'Janahavabor (Your great-great aunt?)

Picture
Evident wife of Uncle Grubb
According to her passport (1904):
- Race: Elf
- Height: 4'6"
- Age: 27 Earth Years
- Occupation: Domestic Servant
- Note: '"So, she's Aesiran," Eddie says. When you raise your eyebrows, he explains, "The two-headed dragon, that's their flag. And as far as anyone knows, they're the only steampunk elves around. But it doesn't add up: in the book, the Aesirans didn't meet the humans until like 1913, after Teddy Roosevelt got eaten by Morlocks. So, how could 'Esha' immigrate to the US in 1904? She must have lied about where she came from. And why are Uncle Grubb and Papa and Mama in those old pictures? Did they come from Aesiria too?"'
Mother of Sloka ka V'Janahavabor
According to Uncle Grubb's journal:
- She's a gifted runologist
- Is the eldest daughter of an elvish 'Makha.'
- Was a child prodigy
- Loves mythology and poetry
- Plays the harpsichord
- Won the Purple Dragon in women's fencing
- Attended Zaila University where she studied runology, archaeology and linguistics.
- Received a commission of Leutnant zur Luft in the Kaiserliche Marine
Possibly the grandmother or great-grand mother to Maribel.
Gymnast
Left handed
Current status unknown

Sloka ka V'Janahavabor "Elfstar" (Your third-cousin, twice removed?)

Picture
Son of Uncle Grubb and Aunt Esha
Sixties rock star 'Elfstar,' who was in the psychedelic band Mission to Bellona
Began a cult in the 1970's.
Claims to have magic powers.
Owner of the 1966 Chevy Truck
Current status unknown.
Possibly the father or grandfather to Maribel.
In 1920, on Earth-1901, he purchased land around Black Mesa, New Mexico.
- Black Mesa is 'Foggy' land.
By the late-70's (our timeline) he became disillusioned with his cult and wanted to help the Elves on Earth-1901.

Roberta (Helen's girlfriend)

Is over 21
She's an auto-mechanic
Is a musician
You and Eddie think she's annoying
Maribel thinks she'd play a good 'female Ash.'
Has a 'bad boy' attitude.
Her and Helen have been talking about getting married.

Locations

The mansion's located in the Henrietta Woods in North Texas
- Near Texas Highway 148 and the redneck town of Huckley.
A winding dirt road leads to the house.
Along the road lies a half-collapsed stone cottage overgrown with weeds.
A shallow creek runs near a grove of oak trees. It leads to a lake where you and Helen went swimming during the Christmas of 2008.
- 'The path veered alongside a burbling creek, and as you all drudged deeper into the woods the feeble light dimmed further to ashen gray. A foreboding hung in the brisk air, as if an unseen boulder teetered on a precipice.' (2008)
- See: Lake
A trail also leads to the lake: 'The four of you setted out on an overgrown trail which creeped through the woods like a dirt whisper. Gnarled, leafless oaks loomed on either side, and though it was a clear afternoon, the arching branches sieved the sunlight to a twilight drizzle. The crunching of your footsteps echoed from the shadows.' (2008)
'But even if the weirdness stayed hidden, these woods always bore for you an uncanny unease.'

Uncle Grubb once told Helen there's a cave at the bottom of the lake where the 'Deep Ones' live.
- He was on pain killers at the time.
The four of you passed between a pair of withered willow trees, and there beyond lay the lake.

The last time you were here you were five or six and hiking with your parents. That memory now was only a faint imagining, and so when you walked to the bank's steep edge and peered across the dark waters, you felt as though you trod upon an abandoned dream.

It was a spooky scene, but a nice place to read your book.

A fog drifted amid the oaks on the far shore, its sickly luminescence silhouetting the trunks and bare branches. You spotted an old iron lamppost and the vestiges of a small dock. You wondered when they were last used.
You saw a runic stone in the water: 'The water grew inky farther out, but by your feet you saw the pebbles and grit of the lakebed. Among them, a black stone square caught your eye. It was a foot or so wide, and you could just distinguish the etched white cross. You squatted closer and noted the symbol was comprised of hundreds of overlapping spirals. Through the lake's ripples and depth, the thin lines jiggled unnaturally. Your head began to ache . . .' (2008)
The water was warmer than you expected.
Kicking and paddling after your twin, you found the heated water a strange, primal comfort, as though you both had returned to the womb. You relaxed. You submerged. Darkness scrutinized you. An abyss waited below.

It was only when your lungs ached that you knew you were drowning. You thrashed in weightless panic as you somersaulted and flipped, striving for wherever 'up' lay. You scrabbled and prayed.

Finally, you gasped the cool air.

"There you are!" Helen said nearby. "I didn't see you, and I was beginning to think . . ."

"I . . . I'm going to get out. I don't feel so well . . ." You trailed off, examining your arm. At first you assumed it was an old leaf or piece of mud stuck to your wrist. But the glistening black pinkie pulsated, and you felt the needling bite as it suckled your skin. Another clung to your chest and another on your shoulder.

"L . . . L . . . LEECHES!" you cried. "LEECHES! LEEEECHESSS!"

"AHH! GET'EMOFFGET'EMOFFGET'EMOFF!"

"FUCK THIS LAKE! EVERYBODY OUT!"

The mansion: "a gray, gloomy, three-story Victorian-Era mansion. It's always looked rundown, but the past seven years have been especially cruel. A few windows are cracked or smashed. The rotten wood siding peels like dead skin. Broken shutters hang like crooked teeth. A wayward tree branch invades through the west wall."
- Outside the mansion is a gravel driveway all but reclaimed by weeds.
- A cemetery is next to the house: "It's not very big, and some of the tombstones are so old they're toppling."
- Stone steps lead up to the mansion. The front doors have fogged glass panes and an old fashioned lock.
  - A small terrace, like a second porch, is halfway up the steps. It has a stone balustrade.
Seems to be protected from the Fog.

'You're hit with the smell of must. Cobwebs drape like vines from the vaulted ceiling. Crossing the checkerboard floor, you pass from the vestibule into the great hall. White sheets cover the chairs and sofa and look like crouched ghosts in the weak sunlight filtering through the dirty French windows. An ornately carved staircase curves to the second story. Along the balcony you spot an black suit of medieval armor, flanked on either side by rows of old portrait paintings.'
"Under the white sheets the antique furniture is well-preserved but otherwise unremarkable."
In the ceiling is a jagged hole where heavy books fell through the floor above.
A doorless opening leads to a dining room, another to the kitchen. A pair of sliding doors lead to the den. A thick oak door near the stairway leads to the basement.
A short hall behind the stairway leads to a bedroom.
- The short hallway has two other doors:
  - One leads to a walk-in closet crammed with dusty old clothes and cardboard boxes.
  - The other leads to a bathroom with an antique toilet and sink and a cracked clawfoot tub. The sink's cobwebbed knob squeaks when you turn it, but water trickles out. It stinks like sulfur.
  - Eddie clogged the toilet: '"Shitty plumbing. Don't go in there."'
Coffee table sawed in half by Aunt Esha's saber.
Armchair exploded by the Runic Halberd.

'Piles of papers clutter an ancient mahogany desk, and some have spilled onto a cracked leather armchair. An overburdened bookcase takes up the back wall, its bowed shelves crammed with everything from paperbacks to manila folders to massive leather-bound tomes. The light from the window gives a sheen to the white dust that covers every surface.'
'Perched on the corner of the desk is a framed black and white photograph of a young woman in a dark Victorian dress. She's beautiful, but there's something strange about her you can't quite put your finger on. Nearby is a glass display case holding a variety of artifacts: a stone tablet etched with runes catches your attention, as well as the large skull of what you guess must be some great ape. A great ape with three eyes.'
'You're kneeling in the corner, struggling with an old filing cabinet, when you notice a cracked wood panel on the wall. You push at it, and it slides away to reveal a small safe. You have no idea what the combination could be'
Items in the glass display case (See: Artifacts)
Books in the Study (See: Books)

'A pair of wooden sliding doors reveals a den with a covered sofa and a large, cobwebbed TV set that looks older than you and Helen combined.

Aside from a few family photos in frames and albums, you don't find anything personal of your great-great uncle's, no diaries or important records.'
In the den's corner is well-stocked minibar. The bottles are dusty.

'The pantry's filled with canned goods with labels so faded you can barely read them. Rat droppings litter the tile floor by the bottom cabinets, and peeking inside you see the tattered remains of cereal boxes and other dry goods. You don't even bother opening the fridge: at best, it's empty, at worse, a bio-hazard.'
- 'There's a spice rack in the pantry. You discover dusty jars of cloves, garlic, ginger, sage, parsley, rosemary and thyme'
Eddie noticed a vibration from the floor: "Maybe like a machine or something below our feet."
'It's especially musty in here. Cobwebs hang like gossamer drapes from the walls and cabinets. Taking up a corner of the tile floor is a round breakfast table with plastic molded chairs that seem absurdly anachronistic for this mysterious old mansion.'

'The small room is down a short hall behind the stairs. A fourposter bed with sheer curtains takes up most of the floor space.'
The bedroom has an ornately carved dresser. The dresser contains:
- an antique watch
- socks and underwear (including frilly bras and panties for someone very petite)
- A .38 Special revolver (Currently in Helen's inventory)
- a couple of boxes of .38 Special (One of which is in Helen's inventory)
- a ring with seven keys (currently in Helen's inventory)
- twenty dollar bills with Teddy Roosevelt's face on them (See: Artifacts)
- a crumpled up newspaper (See: Books)
Inside the bedroom's closet is:
- The robot (See: Artifacts)
- A wooden chest. Inside is:
  - an array of strange tools along with a highly organized collection of gears and springs and pistons and other metal parts.
  - a red crystal sphere--the heartstone (See: Artifacts)
  - a small tin full of a pink powdery substance (See: Artifacts)
  - A leather-bound book. (See: Books)

'You find the right key and open the door. The long unused hinges protest with a low whine. Your flashlights reveal a steep wooden stairway leading into a black abyss.'
'Dust hangs in the air like a persistent ghost, and you catch whiffs of a deep, earthy smell that reminds you of wet clay. Your pale yellow flashlight beams cast smoky shadows against the vinelike cobwebs dangling from the rafters. They catch in your hair and tickle your cheeks. Cursing, Helen swats a few down and rubs clean her blonde bangs. The creak of the wooden steps unnerves you more than it should, and a chill spreads along your arms. You keep your finger away from your gun's trigger, but your thumb prods the hammer's golden spur, ready to pull back in an instant.'
'Above, mounted along the top of the brick wall, long dead halogen lamps aim their dusty funnels across the basement at the barricaded metal doors .'
The workbench.
- 'You check the workbench and discover a cabinet crammed with ammunition. Most boxes contain 9mm Parabellum, but the the larger ones hold shells.'
- a ring of keys.
- a small crate half-filled with about fifty road flares.
- Has a couple of claw hammers, screwdrivers and other hardware odds and ends.
The bookcase (See: Books)
Has a chalkboard covered in calculations. (See: Books)
A wooden table covered in runes (See: Artifacts)
A set of massive metal doors. (See: Artifacts)
The triple-barreled shotgun. (See: Artifacts)

'Eddie points his flashlight at the corner of the basement on the far side of the metal doors. "There's a hallway over there," he says.

The 'hallway' is an alcove no bigger than a closet. A half-rotted armchair sits against one wall with a very cluttered and dusty nightstand and lamp squat beside it. Crowded around a stack of books and magazines, you see an empty whisky bottle, a lowball glass, a pair of spectacles and a framed photograph of Aunt Esha that, by the oriental-esque cut of her dress, looks as though it was taken during her life in Jaganma.'
'Eddie shines his flashlight up and down the brick wall at the rear of the alcove. "The bricks are uneven. And they're a different shade than the others.""

You rub your fingers along the cold, gritty mortar. It's smeared in places, and the bricks are stacked in an almost slipshod manner that contrasts with the professional work of the adjacent walls.

"This used to be a doorway," Eddie says, "until it was bricked in."'
See: Pictures
See: Books

'It's not so dark that you need one yet, but the windows are already graying to twilight. So you each take a flashlight from a gym bag before climbing the curving staircase. You cringe at the creaking sound as you ascend the steps, and you can't help but feel as though you've all become dangerously conspicuous, as though someone were watching you. But that's a silly fear. Aside from the four of you, there's nothing in this house except the remnant lifework of a very lonely genius.'
- Suit of armor and halberd (See: Artifacts)
- Oil portraits: (See: Pictures)

'Past the balcony you enter a long hallway that runs the length of the mansion. At the front end the windows are broken, and water damage from no doubt years of rainstorms has stained the walls and warped and splintered the floorboards. There's two doors at that end, but as you walk closer, the wood creaks unnervingly beneath your feet and buckles slightly. You stop, step back and sweep your flashlight beam across the ruined floor.'
- Helen thinks she can jump to the door.
- The floor now has a jagged hole where Helen and Maribel 'tested' the floorboards.
- The door on the right leads to the Rec Room.
'Down the hall, you pass a second, narrower stairway that must lead to the attic . . .'
'You move on. The back half of the hallway has three doors.'
- 'The first leads to a luxurious bathroom that with all its dust, cobwebs and white marble looks remarkably like a crypt. Maribel shines her flashlight to see if there's a skeleton in the clawfoot tub, but no such luck.'
- The second door leads to the library, the third to Uncle Grubb's bedroom.
Paintings on the walls. (See: Pictures)

'The next door requires a key from the keyring and opens to a large room made small by five great freestanding bookcases. Unlike the study, most of the books here seem mundane in subject matter.'
- Has a desk for the Old Computer
  - Desk is currently broken on the floor after being levitated and dropped by Maribel.
- Hole in the wall where Helen and Maribel used a broomstick to batter a way into the room down the hall.
- Books, Old Computer (See: Books)
- Broom
- Old phone behind computer desk (disconnected, currently on the floor)
- As of Chapter Nine: 'You stop by the library, which is now a mess from Maribel's wizardly awakening. In the corner, the computer desk sits in a broken heap, and books and papers lay strewn across the floor.'

'The door across the hall also requires a key, and leads to a massive, lavish bedroom dominated by a king-sized fourposter with faded-green curtains. There's more than enough room, however, for the other furniture: a marble-top dresser, a cluttered bureau, a tea table with two delicate wooden chairs and a great oak chest at the foot of the bed. A closet door is to the side.'
'Two dirty picture widows show the mansion's backyard.'
The bureau:
- 'You find a lot of paperwork concerning taxes, bills and Uncle Grubb's various investments. Curiously, he funded cancer research--specifically, acute lymphoblastic leukemia--as well as homeopathy and other 'alternative medicines.' The latter's woo, but you recognize some of the chemotherapy drugs that Uncle Grubb apparently helped finance the development of. These papers date from the early fifties to the early nineties, and the total amount Uncle Grubb spent is staggering.'
The Closet: 'You use a key to unlock the closet. No robots here, just Uncle Grubb's musty clothes. In an old wooden crate at your feet you find carefully folded tiny dresses, skirts and blouses.'
Golden locket: 'The golden locket is shaped like a heart, and clicking open the latch you see a tiny sepia photo of Uncle Grubb and the elf girl cuddling on a chair.'
Books: (See: Books)
Golden revolver, bag of runes, passports, Elvish papers, Esha's uniform, saber (See: Artifacts)

Was inaccessible due to the rotten floorboards in the hall. You had to saw through the attic floor with Aunt Esha's saber.
'You hack away the last board and look into the dimness below. Curtained window light spills across a largish room. You see a piano, a secretary desk, a sofa, and a set of shelves along a wall. Helen dumps an armful of hefty tomes down the hole. The books crash in a poof of dust, but the wood floor stays firm.'
'As you step off the ladder you wrinkle your nose at a faded mildewy funk.'
Piano
- 'The piano is of an elegant style with pastoral scenes painted along its wood panels. It has a high bench, as if for a child, and two rows of ivory keys. Maribel walks her fingers across a few, but the strings are hopelessly out of tune. The instrument might be a harpsichord, but you wouldn't know the difference.'
Pool table: 'On the pool table, a few balls lie on the dusty green.'
'An antique turntable/radio set takes up the center shelf, with boxes of record albums on either side. There's also a 16mm film projector as well as a wind-up phonograph with a tulip-shaped speaker-funnel and Elvish gold leaf on the wood case. The records are all classical works, mostly from the Baroque and Classical Eras, and nothing from the 20th century. Behind the phonograph is a box of black cylinders with Elvish labels. You wonder what their music sounds like.'
- See: Artifacts
See: Old Photographs

Helen cuts away the fourth board and dumps it with the others. She and Eddie lean close and shine their flashlights through the rectangular opening.

She fans her nose and gags. "What's down there, a dead body?"

"I think it's just mildew," Eddie says, grimacing. He points. "That branch's been letting rain in for years."

You crouch with them by the edge and hold your breath at the musty black odor. With your flashlight you glimpse a water-damaged bureau, a moldering mattress and a bookcase full of old paperbacks. A sturdy tree limb intrudes through a mottled wall like a tentacle petrified mid-attack.
'You and Eddie retrieve the ladder and ease it down the hole until its feet touch the floorboards, which creak at the weight. Helen ties the rope around her waist, and you all hold on tight while she descends into the room and tests the floor with hard stomps.

Finally, she says, "It's rotted out by the wall, but the rest is okay. I think this is Elfstar's room. There's a bunch of sci-fi toys . . . a flying saucer, a retro-robot and a NASA rocketship too. Come on down, Eddie. You like this shit!"'
'"There's spent casings by the window," Eddie says. "Was there a shootout?"'
'"Nothing else here," Eddie says. "Just models and science fiction books. He's got a box of old Analogs, but water's gotten to them."'

'The steps creak protests as you ascend, but they seem sturdy enough. You unlock the door and enter into a darkness that only grudgingly yields to your sweeping flashlights. The cobwebs are especially thick here, and you have to gingerly bat a few down as you pass.'
'Once you work through the short hallway by the door, you find the attic akin to a haunted warehouse. Bookcases and cardboard boxes make a rat maze of the space, but most of these barriers aren't high enough to block your line of sight. Along the far walls you can make out a few doors to perhaps closets. There's another stairway by the north wall which must lead up the mansion's small turret.'
'. . . the windows are small and especially dingy . . .'
There's more books here in Elvish than German, and the German ones are older.
While carrying the ladder, Helen, Eddie and Maribel accidentally broke a vase and tore a gouge in an oil painting.
You sawed a hole in the floor to the Rec Room.
Books (See: Books)
Elvish Map (See: Pictures)

"We went up the tower in the attic," Maribel says. "The room's tiny and all it has is a round table with an elf scrabble game."

"All the chips have runes on them," Helen says. "There's also a few shelves with a bunch of old elf books."'
'Next, you all climb a short, curving stairwell to the top of the mansion's small tower. You emerge into a dusty square room lit by a window on each wall. A round table, a chair and a bookcase and cabinet give the space a coziness that borders on claustrophobic with the four of you herded inside.'
The shelves have a wood case containing a small brass telescope.
Elvish religious text and other books (See: Books)
'Elvish Scrabble Game,' Elvish Shrine, Elvish 'Tarot Cards,' (See: Artifacts)

'Eddie rubs cobwebs off the window facing the rear of the house. "I can't see much, but the roof has a deck. There's even some old iron lawn furniture down there. The attic must have a pull down ladder or something."'

[From Uncle Grubb's bedroom] 'Sunlight is little more than a suggestion now, but if you shine your flashlight away from the glass you can still make out the weed-choked lawn and the wide, round fountain that takes up its center. [...] Off to the east are the garage, shed and a gnarled oak tree you and Helen once climbed when you were little. The yard ends at a picket fence long fallen apart amid a flood of knee-high grass. In the woods beyond you can just make out the white gauzy blur of the fog your sisters saw.'
[From the backdoor] 'Wrought-iron chairs and a table sit on the rust-stained flagstones. To the left lie the garage and tool shed.
[The fountain]
- Wide and round.
- 'Three nymph statues crowd its pedestal, and you remember how they used to spit water into the air. Now their upturned, puckered faces are bone dry. Only dead leaves fill the Jacuzzi-sized dish below.
  
  A curving stone bench circles the fountain, and nearby slumps a now-rusted sundial.'
- Ahead, in the center of the yard, the three bronze nymphs pose on tiptoes in their petrified dance, their arms splayed like wings, their upturned, puckered lips squirting nonexistent water into the granite basin at their feet.'
- The statues fascinated you when you were little, and you and Helen used to splash in the round pool as their never-ending spit trickled on your heads. They seemed like wondrous relics from a fairy tale age. Now they stand forsaken.
  
  Under the flare's bright flicker you can't help but think the nude figures squirm on their pedestal. Their sad metal eyes follow you across the lawn.'

In the backyard.
'"There's a garage out back, away from the house. It has an Oldsmobile station wagon from the seventies. It's an ugly piece of shit, like what the Griswolds drove in that Vacation movie, but parked next to it is a real beauty: a 1966 Chevy C10 Pickup. Cherry red, or at least it used to be.

Both cars have been left to rot, though, so the tires are shot and the gas and fluids have turned to sludge. But I bet Roberta could restore it."' - Helen
A stink of must and grime creeps in the air. Cobwebs drape from every corner. Unlike the house, the garage isn't Fog-proof; the light from the two windows is a Vaseline haze.

Old cardboard boxes are crammed along the walls. Wooden crates and paint cans clutter the shelves. An ancient lawnmower squats in the corner like a great motorized toad.

Most of the space is taken up by two dust-shrouded vehicles: a boxy seventies-era station wagon you vaguely recollect, and a sixties Chevy pickup you're sure you've never seen before. The tires are flat and tattered.'
The Chevy Truck has worn leather seats.
Mysterious Amulet in the Chevy Truck (See: Artifacts, Garage)

'"And next to the garage is a tool shed," says Maribel. "It has an ax and a machete and even a chainsaw!"'
'It's a slumping addendum to the garage. Anaconda-thick roots have undermined its concrete foundation, leaving its plank walls with a ramshackle slant.'
'It's much like the garage only smaller and darker, and suffocatingly claustrophobic with the four of you herded between the dusty workbench and shelves. The sole window tints the Fog a sickly yellow. Helen flinches from a dangling dead light bulb that taps her hat.'
Stone birdbath outside the shed.
Oak tree.
- Gnarled, ugly
- '. . . the tree's as familiar as a bygone adversary. Fireflies orbit its top branches like lazy planets.'

'Beyond the ruined picket fence, the Fog curdles to opaque white, and you feel as though you peer upon the world's blurred boundary. The milky void beckons you . . .'

Pictures and Artifacts

In the study:

Photo of the 'Elf Girl,' Aunt Esha
- 'Perched on the corner of the desk is a framed black and white photograph of a young woman in a dark Victorian dress. She's beautiful, but there's something strange about her you can't quite put your finger on.'
Christmas, 2001
- A stuffed manila envelope with the words, 'Christmas, 2001' catches your eye, and inside you find a stack of photographs.
  
  Contrasting all the surreal things you've come across, this is mundanely melancholy.
  
  Your memories of this specific get together are so faint as to be almost imaginary, but seeing your family captured in these bygone moments tugs at you.
  
  In one, Aunt Rudy holds a beer in each hand as she chats with Great-Uncle Freddy, who's smoking a cigarette through his Santa beard. Another shows your grandparents playing cards with your mom and dad; all four have felt antlers clipped to their heads. Your mom's laughing at something, a glass of eggnog held to her lips. Your throat tightens a little, but you keep sifting through the pictures.
  
  You see Uncle Stewart and Aunt Cindy hugging on the back porch. You see your cousins Jeff and Shane sparring with collapsible lightsabers while behind them Uncle Grubb slaves over a stove. And you come across a photo of a pair of near-identical tow-headed five year olds playing in the mansion's front yard.
  
  At that age, you and Helen were distinguishable only by Helen's longer hair. You both have mud on your clothes and together are conducting a battle between X-Men and Pokemon action figures. A toddler Eddie with blond hair dirtier blond than you and your sister's peddles a big-wheel tricycle in the background. You smile as you half-remember, and you go on.
  
  It's the last picture that gives you pause. It's a family portrait of four generations. At the top, Great-great uncle Grubb stands beside his brother, your Great-grandfather Fulbert, who in turn stands beside his wife, your Great-grandmother Hilda. Below them are Great-uncle Freddy and your grandparents, and below them are Uncle Stewart, Aunts Cindy and Rudy, Cousin Richie and your mom and dad. Being the youngest, you, Helen and Eddie, along with your cousins Jeff, Shane, and Desiree, make up the bottom row.
  
  You hunch in the leather chair, the sudden grief stifling you like a gloomy cloud. You run a finger over the photo, touching each face. Uncle Grubb has his usual distracted, vaguely unhappy gaze, which is juxtaposed by Great-grandpa Fulbert's easy smile. It's little wonder, really. Great-grandpa Fulbert had the loving family, while Uncle Grubb spent his life alone, apparently constructing a fantasy world around himself.
  
  But other than that, the two brothers look much alike with similar heads of wavy white hair and narrow, Nordic features which gave them a regal bearing in their old age. Great-grandma Hilda looks like them too, now that you think about it. You lift the picture and squint: No, she really looks like them.
  
  A lot. She has the same long face with the same deep set eyes, aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones. They all three look more alike than you and Helen do. Was Hilda Grubb and Fulbert's cousin? Or maybe even their . . . . No, that's crazy. It can't be. But the resemblance is uncanny.

In the bedroom behind the stairway:

Aunt Esha
- '"Looks like he also had a girlfriend," Helen says. "Tiny little thing. And really cute." She passes around a black and white photo of a fortyish Grubb wearing a tweed jacket and boulder hat. Standing beside him is a very pretty woman who comes scarcely up to his elbow. She has to be under five feet tall. You recognize her as the same woman from the picture in the study.'
- '"Here's another one of her. Check out the ears."'

In the Basement Alcove:

' . . . a framed photograph of Aunt Esha that, by the oriental-esque cut of her dress, looks as though it was taken during her life in Jaganma.'

In the Stairway:

Oil portraits:
- 'Oil portraits hang on either side of the armor. You brush away the cobwebs and see they're both of dour old men in 18th century waistcoats. You recognize neither of them, though they share the same Nordic features of Uncle Grubb and your great-grandparents.'

The second story hallway:

Paintings:
- 'There are a few more paintings on the walls here, mostly portraits of similarly-faced men and woman, though you notice a pastoral landscape of Greco-Roman-style ruins overgrown with trees and vines. In the background, against the faded baby blue of the sky, a fine thin line of alternating silver and dark rises straight up from the horizon. The ringworld. The Arc of Heaven.'

Uncle Grubb's Bedroom:

Portrait of Uncle Grubb, Esha and baby Sloka
- '"There's that elf girl again," Eddie says.
  
  You turn and see he's shining his light on a framed black and white photograph hanging on the wall. A young Uncle Grubb sits with small elf woman on a Victorian settee. Both are smiling, and in the woman's arms, bundled in a blanket, is a very tiny newborn.
  
  "Aw!" Maribel squeals. "It's a baby elf! Look, it even has pointy ears! Do you think Uncle Grubb's the daddy? I bet he is. He looks so happy. I guess that means the baby's our half-elf cousin."'
Old 1950's photographs
- 'Eddie's standing by the dresser with a stack of photographs in his hand. Silently, with a blankly disturbed expression, he passes her the photos.
  
  Shining them with your flashlight, you look over Helen's shoulder as she shuffles through the pictures. They're black and white, and from the quality and the clothes, you date these around the 1950's. Many were taken in this very house. One picture is in the den. Uncle Grubb is on the couch, a cigarette in his mouth and an arm around the elf girl. She's wearing a sundress, and though she's smiling, you think she looks a little pale and gaunt.
  
  A pointy-eared toddler boy sits in her lap. Both Great-grandpa Fulbert and Great-grandma Hilda recline in nearby chairs, iced drinks in their hands. An early, round-screened Zenith television set squats in the background.'
- 'The rest of the pictures are general snapshots of domestic life. The elf girl kneels with gloves and a straw hat in a backyard garden. Uncle Grubb and Great-grandpa Fulbert fish by the lake. The elf toddler rides a tricycle. Some photos are on a beach with an old Buick convertible in the background. The elf girl wears a babushka to cover her ears, the toddler a baseball cap. ("Aw!" says Maribel). In some of these, your great-grandparents have a baby with them, which must be your grandfather.'
Mysterious photographs
- 'But in the bottom drawer of the dresser, Eddie finds more black and white pictures. Aside from having a peculiar texture and gloss one usually doesn't find with photographs, these photos are noteworthy in that nearly everyone in them is an elf. The setting appears to be a sort of 19th century. The architecture and clothes are vaguely Victorian, but salted with an Art Deco look and with a heavy slant toward the Gothic style.
  
  There are plenty of horse-drawn carriages, but one picture shows a primitive-yet-sleek, three-wheeled automobile.'
  
  'A picture of a cityscape looks impressively sprawling, albeit very smoggy. Behind a massive tower stands a statue that likely rivals Lady Liberty.'
  
  "Another is of an 'air warship,' bigger and bulkier than the ones you saw in On God's Ring."
  
  Most of the elves wear oddly-cut suits, dresses or priestly-looking robes. Some smoke cigarettes, others from comically curved pipes. Among the elves are the occasional humans, standing out by both their height and thicker bodies. The two races mingle as evident equals. It takes you a moment to recognize them because they're so much younger, but Grubb, Fulbert and Hilda are in a few of the pictures, as well as a teenage Esha. In one, they're toasting at a dinner party; in another, they're crowded in the seat a carriage, mugging for the camera in a way that wouldn't look out of place on a Facebook page. In one of the larger pictures, slightly water damaged, they're on a high balcony, a foggy city spread behind them. Grubb has an hand around Esha's tiny waist, his other holding the leash of a little pug dog.
  
  In the last photo, Esha is a little older, perhaps twenty or so, and wears a dark double-breasted coat that from the metal stars and crosses pinned below the epaulets you guess is a military uniform. Her long hair is in a bun, and over it she sports a visor hat with aviator goggles on the bill.
  
  Behind her, in the sky above, looms a massive airship bristling with armored turrets. A word in the 'Elvish' language is painted along its side--the name of the ship, you suppose. The wide, square banner of a two headed dragon flaps from the superstructure.
  
  Esha's smile is slight and proud with an aristocratic glint in her eye. Strapped to one hip is a slightly curved saber, on the other a revolver that looks suspiciously like the one from the wooden chest.

Rec Room

'Old photographs hang on the walls. In one, a bare-chested Uncle Grubb mows the lawn while a toddler Elfstar follows in a cowboy hat. In another, a smiling Aunt Esha is literally dwarfed by the robot looming next to her in the kitchen. The blank-faced machine is dressed as a butler and gripping a tray of drinks in its spindly arms.

There's only three color photos, all of Elfstar. In the latest, he's a teenager with blond Ringo hair and stands with his father in front of an old Model T car. Your cousin (who's short for a Springwell) scowls while Uncle Grubb sports a fake grin that can't hide the distracted vacancy in his eyes.

It was a gloom he bore for as long as you can remember.'
[In the closet]
- A shoebox contains several 3-inch 16mm film reels.
- 'Digging deeper, you uncover a framed photograph of a teenage Aunt Esha posing proudly in her fencing gear. Others show sparring matches between petite female figures, though the face-plates make it impossible to tell which one is her. A few show her in skintight leotards, leaping and back-flipping over gymnasium bars.'

Attic

Elvish Map
- 'Helen shines her flashlight at a wall. "I think this is an elf world map."
  
  It's a painted wooden rectangle about five feet wide, most of the colors either green or blue with some patches of white. The landmasses seem hopelessly cluttered.
  
  "It looks like someone vomited a bunch of archipelagos," Helen says.
  
  "If this is a ringworld, each of those islands could be the size of Africa or Asia," says Eddie. "This map could be a hundred thousand miles wide. Maybe more."
  
  You lean closer and see tiny Elvish script labeling each of the continents, with innumerable dots representing cities. Black hair-thin lines mark national boundaries. There must be thousands of countries or provinces. Elvish geography must be a real headache.'

In the study:

A stone tablet etched with runes.
A three-eyed ape skull.
- Has long, jagged fangs
- Feels like carved rock

In the bedroom behind the stairway:

Twenty dollar bills with Teddy Roosevelt's face (Some are in your and Helen's inventory)
- 'It feels real, it looks real. The green lines are remarkably fine, especially for a 'gag dollar'. The date on the front is, '1930.' On the back you see a warship with three smokestacks and a US flag flapping from its superstructure. Being a history buff, you recognize it as the battleship USS Connecticut, the flagship of the Great White Fleet, a battle fleet commissioned by President Roosevelt to circumnavigate the world. 'The Great Expedition: 1910-1913' reads along the top the bill, and above that there's a zodiac sun inside a wide circle, around which is inscribed the Latin phrase: TERRA NOVA, AETAS NOVA. 'A new world, a new age.''
Other money
- 'Aside from the twenties with Roosevelt's portrait, the tens celebrate the American Bison, and the fifties show a mustached man named, 'Clark Savage.' The rugged, lantern-jawed face is familiar but not the one you know. He must be the father of the famous 1930's millionaire. The single one hundred you find features Abe Lincoln.'
The Robot
- 'You nearly jump when you see the blank iron face staring down at you. Maribel screams and hides behind you.'
- 'You, Helen and Eddie all have tall lanky builds, and you yourself are six foot two. This . . . statue is both skinnier and at least a hand taller. You poke it with a finger and feel hard metal beneath its frayed button up hobo shirt. You push; the statue doesn't even wobble. It must weigh several hundred pounds.'
- 'As you stand up, the iron-faced statue looms from the closet and seems to stare at you accusingly with its blank, black eyes.'
A red crystal sphere--the 'heartstone' (Currently in your inventory)
- It's about the size of a baseball
- 'The sphere feels heavier than you expected and glows subtly at the touch of your skin. Some sort of inner light that reacts to bio-electric contact?'
- When near the runic armor: 'You notice the red crystal sphere in your pocket feels slightly warm. You touch it with a finger and decide it might be your imagination.'
- . . . old relics from the Vendi-Ka Wastes. Normally, these red crystal spheres are used to determine whether one was born with a Erbfaktor and its class and level. However, the stones can also be used to augment the gedankenformen ('thoughtforms') behind 'Platonics' and 'runic semantics'--vital for transversing the Fog.
- The stone has shown that Eddie and Maribel have powers.
  - For Eddie: The stone darkens and shines like the brilliant halo of an eclipsed sun.
    - Eddie can see through the stone
  - For Maribel: A pale blue aura pulses from the heartstone cupped in Maribel's hands.
    - Shines like 'a cyan star' when she holds it over her head.
a small tin full of a pink powdery substance

In the Basement

Runic Table/Witchboard
- '. . . you spot ahead a shimmer like smoldering coal. Your shine your flashlight across the darkness to find a wide round table about twenty feet away. It's tiered with three plateaus, each smaller than the one below, giving the impression of a squat ziggurat. From the table's center rises a silver pole, and on its tip rests a heartstone glowing dimly like a feeble red sun.'
- 'Helen steps towards the table. "This looks like the Tardis control console . . . if it was built by a schizophrenic carpenter."
  
  You snicker because it's sort of true. Under the dust, the table's wood plateaus are carved with arcane symbols, geometric shapes and spooky little doll faces that under your flashlight seem worryingly lifelike. Certain areas of the table are smeared with a dark, dried substance that you're afraid to identify. Others are marked off with hexagon grids and cluttered with small runic counters similar to the ones on the board in the attic tower. The heartstone is attached to the pole by a three-clawed mechanical vice.'
- Uncle Grubb used the Witchboard to 'align' with Earth-1901.
Metal Doors
- 'On the room's far side, away from you, loom a set of gray, formidable-looking metal doors. They're reinforced by four heavy crossbars, and a barred gate, like one you'd see outside a bank vault, is closed across them and secured with a massive padlock. For about a yard around the doors, the wood floor has been stripped away, exposing soil etched with runes.
  
  The doors ooze a subtle foreboding that sets you on edge. The dirt runes in jiggle in your sight, making your head ache.'
- 'Above, mounted along the top of the brick wall, long dead halogen lamps aim their dusty funnels across the basement at the barricaded metal doors.'
Eirohm 7.57 Ln Triple Barrel Shotgun
- 'The triple-barrels are bound in a triangular pattern, with the sights on the topmost one. The gun's a little over three feet long and has a solid weight. The wood stock is engraved with an arrowhead logo with an archer crouched inside. Shining your flashlight along one of the barrels, you read the inscription: 'Eirohm Unternehmen von Schusswaffen'
  
  You open the breach and finger the three empty chambers. The bore is bigger than a 12ga.'
- 'You inspect the shotgun and learn it's a single-action semiautomatic: you have to click back the hammer, but after that each trigger pull fires a barrel. Maribel says it'd be cooler if you could shoot all three at once, but doing so would probably rip your shoulder off.'
Ammunition for the Triple Barrel Shotgun
- 'You check the workbench and discover a cabinet crammed with ammunition. Most boxes contain 9mm Parabellum, but the the larger ones hold shells.
  
  You pull a few of these out and lay them on the bench counter top. According to their Elvish/German labels, the caliber is '7.57 Ln,' whatever that means. The shells are brass cased and an intimidating four inches in length. Some are shot, others slugs. Three boxes have the 'Happy Dwarf' logo, suggesting they're magical like the golden revolver's 'ice' and 'stiletto' bullets. You'll take a closer look later.'
- Helen: '" . . . these long-ass Elf shells look like something you'd load in an elephant gun. Like, 'nine-hundred nitro magnum express.' It looks badass, but I don't want to break my shoulder."'
- In the cabinets you find seven dusty boxes of '7.57 Ln.' Each displays the warning, 'Hohe Rückstoß! Nicht für Elfen gedacht!' ('High Recoil! Not intended for Elves!') and is stamped with, 'Eigentum von der Kaiserliche Marine,' (Property of the Imperial Navy). Four hold 'normal' shells, and in those you count ninety-three shot and eighty-seven slugs. The three smaller boxes sport the 'Happy Dwarf' logo.
  
  On the first of these, the label shows a faded cartoon of a soldier in fatigues blasting a shotgun into a man in plate-mail. The spreading pellets penetrate through the enemy's cuirass and exit gorily out his back. The text describes the shells as Schwarze Stilettos, or 'Black Stilettos,' and boasts of the Eirohm Firearm Company's patented armor-penetrating micro-runes. The box is over half full, containing thirteen shiny black shot shells.
  
  The next box has the soldier firing at a dark-skinned man wearing a vaguely 18th century uniform. The man looks alarmed as his entrails splatter from his belly. These are 'Donnerfauste' ('Thunderfists') and the description brags of the 'rune-activated chemical reaction' engineered to explode inside the target. Nine brass-colored slugs remain in the box.
  
  The last box is the smallest, and plastered on its side is the image of an orange, demonic-looking skull surrounded with wavy yellow lines. The cartoon shows the soldier grinning with his shotgun, smoke rising from the barrel. In the background burns the melted wreckage of what looks like a World War One tank on steroids. These shells are called, 'Atomar Zorn'--'Atomic Wrath.' 'Dwarven science has harnessed the power of the atom!' the text proudly declares. Below, you read a list of warnings:
  
  Handle with care.
  Avoid prolonged exposure.
  Keep away from reproductive organs.
  Pregnant women should avoid contact.
  Do not use at ranges less than fifteen elles.
  Do not breach the shells' protective lead casings.
  
  You lift the lid. The inside is lined with some sort of foil. Your flashlight beam glints off five gray cylindrical shells. You open the box wider, but Helen grabs your hand.
  
  "No touchy!" she snaps. "I can't read this Nazi shit, but that scary-ass skull and the word 'atom' tells me we shouldn't fuck with it."
  
  "And they're old," Eddie says. "They might be 'leaking.'"
  
  You use the shotgun to push the box to the far side of the countertop. "Good call. Let's stay away from these. I mean it, Maribel."
  
  "I will! I don't want my hair to fall out!"
  
  "It looks like they'd be cool to shoot, though," Eddie says. "And I'm getting a serious 'Vault Boy' vibe from that little army guy."
Leather scabbard
- 'You also discover a long leather 'scabbard' that allows you to carry the shotgun on your back. As you fasten its straps across your chest, Maribel points out that this makes you look very much like Ash from Army of Darkness.'

On the stairway:

Suit of armor
- 'On the balcony, you shine your light over the suit of armor you saw earlier, revealing that it's not black but rather a very deep shade of bronze. By the complex nature of the plate mail, you guess it's from the 16th century. Elaborate scrollwork of dragons and serpents and other mythological creatures cover its every inch, and as you gaze into the patterns your eyes seem to skirt along the surface, unable to focus. Some sort of optical illusion, perhaps? The helmet, a visored burgonet, stares at you menacingly.'
- 'You lean closer and squint. There's etchings into the metal so faint they seem nearly subliminal. You wiggle your flashlight to verify their presence. The symbols shimmer as though made of oil.
  
  "There's runes on this," you say. "The same kind in that book and on that stone tablet."'
- You and Eddie are too tall to wear the armor, though Helen might fit in it if she hunches a little. Maribel thinks it would fit her if she wore platform shoes.
Halberd
- 'You shine the flashlight above the armor and spot a long-shafted halberd mounted on the wall. You'd need a ladder to reach it. Idly, you wonder whether you'd find runes on its dark blade.'
- The shaft's about seven feet long.
- The dark, spiked ax-blade projects an aura of Gothic deadliness.
- You might be able to get it down if you stood tip-toed on a table.
- 'As you all ascend the staircase, you eye the halberd high on the wall. If you were to venture into the Fog, its seven-foot shaft and heavy, brutal ax blade might keep back unfriendlies. On the other hand, it looks unwieldy.
  
  Your lack of skill aside, you think you're strong enough to swing it if you have to, but you'd rather keep a hand free for your gun. Eddie's too much of a beanpole. Helen's the most athletic, but despite her kickboxing hobby, she isn't exactly known for her upper-body strength. And heaven help you if you give the halberd to Maribel.
  
  However, you suspect the weapon is runic and make a note to investigate it later.'
- The shafted weapon has a solid weight, but is lighter than it looks.
- 'The ax is concave and has three cross-shaped holes stamped through the charcoal-black blade. A pick curves on the opposite side, and the broad spearhead top protrudes a good foot. Squinting close, you detect all but invisible runes jiggling across the metal like oil over water. The shaft is ribbed with dark, hair-thin wires.'
- You take it down the stairs and choose one of the sheet-covered armchairs.
  
  "Everyone stay back." You arc the halberd above you and, feeling a little reckless, swing down.
  
  Wind blasts your face. Thunder claps your eardrums. You wipe your eyes and sneeze.
  
  Upset dust drizzles around you. The armchair is gone. Scraps of fabric and wood lie scattered across the checkerboard floor. Careful to point the halberd away, you turn to your siblings.
  
  "Anyone hurt?" you ask over the mild ringing.
  
  "That was so cool!" Maribel cries. "Do it again! Do it again!"
  
  Helen rubs a pinkie in her ear. "What does it have, 'grenade runes'?"
  
  The halberd doesn't seem damaged. There wasn't even a 'recoil' when you struck the chair. "They might be 'concussive' runes. Maybe some form of air magic like Maribel's?"

Uncle Grubb's Bedroom

Golden Revolver (Currently in your inventory)
- 'From the chest your twin pulls out a gold-plated handgun. Superficially, it resembles an old LeMat revolver, but it's too small, more the size of a pocket pistol.'
- 'She opens the gun and checks the inside of the cylinder, rotating it with her thumb as she shines it with her flashlight. "Huh, an eight-shooter. We found it in its own wooden case here. Real nice. Got a little plaque inside too, along with a few boxes of tiny bullets. Don't know the caliber. The words are all in like Hebrew or Arabic or something."
  
  She holds up an ammo box. The cardboard is old but intact. You don't know Hebrew or Arabic, but you wouldn't bet that strange script is either of those languages. Whatever it is, it's notably distinct from the hieroglyphics found in the 'instruction book' in the closet with the 'robot.''
- 'In the chest you find a black leather holster and a Sam Browne-style belt with pouches. Of course the belt's far too small to fit around your waist, but it only takes a few moments to unbuckle your own belt and slide the holster into place.'
- Not that it really matters, but the holster's for a left-handed draw; curiously, even on the revolver the latch to open the cylinder is on the right side--for a left thumb.
- 'You open the revolver and spin the cylinder with your thumb. Twinkling in the light, eight empty chambers go around and around like the spaces on a tiny golden roulette wheel. You snap the gun shut, pull back the hammer and test the action. The trigger pull is very light, maybe no more than a pound.'
Ammo for the Golden Revolver
- 'Opening up a box of ammunition, you find inside one hundred rounds. The bullets have blunt, hollow-point tips and are no wider than six or seven millimeters. The brass cartridges are long and slender, and superficially they remind you of slightly scaled up .22 magnums. You work the box into your back pocket.'
- Four ammo boxes:
  
  After a minute of rooting around, you find four small ammo boxes for the golden revolver. Two hold one hundred rounds each and contain standard blunt-nosed tips. The other two are smaller and half empty, and at a glance you can tell they are special.
  
  The label on the first of these shows a cartoon elf in a military uniform firing what looks like a stiletto dagger from a revolver. In the upper corner, circled by Elvish text, floats the grinning gray-skinned head of a three-eyed dwarf. With his wide chin and the long pipe jutting from his lopsided mouth, he reminds you of Popeye. Inside the box are fourteen conical bullets with needled points. They seem to be made of the same 'obsidian metal' as the saber.
  
  The second box shows a drawing of a blue-robed elf sitting on a throne of ice. A crown of icicles rests on his white head. Snowflakes fall around him.
  
  Sporting a mischievous smile, the 'Winter King' regally holds up a revolver and a carbine as though they were scepters. Once again, the happy dwarf logo sits in the corner, though here he wears a fur hat and scarf. Inside you count ten silver bullets, their surface rough with nearly microscopic etchings.
  
  Experimentally, you probe one with your finger and find it icy to the touch.
Bag of runes
- ' . . .you also find a small cloth bag and a golden locket. The bag is filled with flat pebbles carved with runes and reminds you of a Bananagrams sack.'
Passports
- 'In the chest, Helen and Maribel discover US passports and 'Certificate of Residence' papers for 'Gerbern', Fulbert and Hilda Springenwelt as well as the elf woman who's name apparently is, 'Esha ku V'Janahavabor.' The date on the papers is 1904, and Esha's race is given as, 'Elf,' her height is, 'four feet, six inches,' her age, 'Twenty-seven Earth Years' and her occupation is 'domestic servant.' Her country of origin is listed as 'Zurain.' The Springenwelts hail from Germany. Digging a little deeper, Helen finds a birth certificate for a 'Sloka ka V'Janahavabor,' born January 15, 1905.'
Elvish papers
- 'Also among the photos are 'elven papers.' They're of little interest, since you can't hope to translate them, but one has Esha's picture and is clearly some form of identification card. A two-headed dragon symbol is stamped in the corner.'
Esha's uniform
- 'Esha's uniform, wrapped in cellophane, rests among them. It's difficult to tell, but under your flashlight the coat looks a deep cobalt blue. The stars and rings under the epaulets shine like silver.'
Esha's saber
- 'A short curved saber leans sheathed against the closet's wall.'
- Description:
  
  Your eye settles on Aunt Esha's stubby little saber leaning against the wall, and you lift it up and draw it from the leather scabbard.
  
  Not two feet long, the saber is more like a cutlass. At first you mistake the short, smooth glimmering dark blade for obsidian, but the length flexes slightly under the pressure of your fingertips--something glass would never do. Your flashlight reveals in the metal faint shimmering runes so tiny they're little more than geometric specks. The golden, lion's head grip is too 'elf-size' for your admittedly large hands, but as you awkwardly make a few practice swings the weapon takes on an unnatural balance as through a second, unseen hand were guiding your movements. You don't even bother with a rational explanation. It's a magic sword. Carefully, you sheath it and put it in the box. Perhaps you'll show it to Eddie later.
  
  It's not until you've taken a few steps away that you notice the blood welling on your fingertip. The cut is nearly invisible and fortunately not too deep. But you barely even touched the edge. The blade must be razor sharp. Sucking your finger, you open the chest at the foot of the bed.
- After you and Helen recuperate, you pull the white dust cover off the great hall's coffee table and slowly draw Aunt Esha's saber. You can only wrap three fingers around the tiny golden hilt, but the sword's superior balance somewhat ameliorates this awkwardness. You raise the obsidian blade and give the furniture a whack.
  
  Your wrist jars at the sinking impact. The result amazes you. With one slash, you've chopped halfway through a three inch-thick, two foot-wide tabletop.
  
  Firmly gripping the saber, you saw through the wood with no more difficulty than if it were stale bread. The table collapses down the middle.
  
  You hold the blade up to your eye: the edge is unblunted.
- 'The floorboards put up a sterner fight than the coffee table, though it's still no harder than cutting balsa wood.'
- 'Helen kneels and draws the short saber. The Elvish grip is too small for even her thin hand, but at least she can fit all her fingers through the guard.'
- 'You've carved a yard long scar into the brick wall, but it's only a centimeter or so deep. While the saber remains unblunted, you'd make better progress with the sledgehammer. You sheath the sword. You'll come back later.'

Rec Room

Elvish Phonograph
- '. . . a wind-up phonograph with a tulip-shaped speaker-funnel and Elvish gold leaf on the wood case. The records are all classical works, mostly from the Baroque and Classical Eras, and nothing from the 20th century. Behind the phonograph is a box of black cylinders with Elvish labels. You wonder what their music sounds like.'
Ernestine-Wettin Ancestral Sword
- In the back of the closet rests a long mahogany case. You pop the clasps and raise the lid to reveal a curved sword in a silver scabbard. A plaque reads in German:
  
  'For his services to the Kingdom of Westphalia against the Trollish Intrusion at Bochum in the Year of Our Lord, 1759,Frederick Johann Ernestine-Wettin, Count of Arnsberg, is presented this saber crafted by the Dwarven Peoples of Aimar City.'
  
  You lift the weapon from the velvet indentations and wrap your fingers around the leather and gold grip. Carefully, you draw the blade, which seems to almost radiate in the dim room.
  
  "It's a scimitar!" Maribel says.
  
  "No, it's a cavalry saber." Though you can see the Middle Eastern influence in its sweeping design. You stand up and roll your wrist; the sword moves like an extension of your arm.
  
  "It's probably magical," Maribel says. "Test it and see what it does."
  
  "Everyone keep back." You swipe at the air.
  
  The sharp edge flares orange-red, and you smell the foul burning of dust particles. Somehow, you feel no heat through the grip, though goosebumps ripple through you.
  
  "I knew it!" Maribel says.
  
  Helen nods approvingly. "Nice. A lightsaber."
  
  "More like a 'branding-iron' saber,'" Eddie says.
  
  You grin at its sizzling. "I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of this. And it fits right in my hand too."
  
  You examine the hot metal and see granular runes dazzling like star clusters. Along the blade's fuller reads the blazing word, 'Trollfluch.'
  
  The other side is inscribed with a phrase in Greek.
  
  You hold the saber still and the heat dissipates. The writing vanishes. You tap the blade; it's cool. You surmise the runes are 'swing activated.'
  
  You slide it back in its sheath.
- 'Its presence at your hip heartens you, and you imagine your ancestors wielding the red hot blade through the generations. How many battles has it seen? How many trolls has it slain?'
[In closet]
- 'Inside a sturdy wood chest you find practice foils, padded armor, wire-mesh masks and a number of ribbons and medals. One is a gold pendant of a two headed dragon with purple silk pinned along the wings.'

Elfstar's Bedroom

Elvish Carbine
- '"We found another gun!" Eddie calls out. "It's a Winchester sniper rifle!" Metal clicks drift up through the hole.
  
  "No, it's not Winchester," Helen says. "It's Elf. But it's lever-action. Nice balance, too. It has a weird feed system, like a 'revolver magazine.' There's a button on the side of the scope . . . Check this out, Eddie! Night vision!"
  
  "Huh, it's as bright as day. It can't see through the Fog, though."'
- 'It's a spindly carbine a little over three feet long, with a short fore-end and a butt curved like a crescent moon. The grip and lever are cleverly contoured to accommodate both Elvish and human hands. A trapdoor on the right swings out to reveal a detachable cylinder with nine empty chambers. Bracing the weapon, you find it bears the same unnatural steadiness of the two sabers. You peek through the long, black scope: the attic is illuminated perfectly, if not desaturated. You aim out the window, but the Fog is an opaque white wall.'
Ammunition for the Elvish Carbine
- '"We found like two hundred and fifty of these." Helen tosses up a skinny bullet, and you catch it midair. It's the big sibling of the golden revolver's cartridges, though it's still no more than a varmint round.
  
  "Thirty-six are those black-tip 'Stilettos,'" she adds. "You know, the AP rounds."'

Attic Tower

'Elvish Scrabble Game'
- 'On the table, the 'Elf scrabble game' is a circular chessboard scattered with small stone counters engraved with tight, curving symbols that remind you of treble clefs. A melted candle nub sits in the board's middle.
  
  "These are like the runes in the bedroom," you say. "They were in a little bag. They reminded me of Bananagrams."
  
  Eddie picks up a rune. "I saw those. No, these are . . . different. Not just how they look, but how they feel. It's like if the runes on the computer are 'down,' these are 'up.' I guess it's like the difference between 'Arcane' and 'Divine' magic."'
Elvish Shrine
- 'Inside a cabinet, you see an ornately decorated display case containing a little gold statue of an Elvish woman. At her feet rests a small offering dish.'
'Elvish Tarot Cards'
- 'a strange deck of Elvish 'Tarot cards'

Garage

Mysterious Amulet (Side 1/Side 2)
- Found hanging from the Chevy Truck's rear view mirror.
- 'The palm-size disc is made from a light-shade wood that emanates a faint, creamy scent. A symbol is inked on each side. The first is of a winged serpent issuing alien letters from its mouth. The second is of the constellation Orion with an open hand in the pentagon of the hunter's body. As far as Eddie can tell, they're not runic.'

Books
In the Study:

Written by Edward L. Gardner, copyright 1962
'The Biology of Woodland Fairies covers more than what its title would imply. Flipping through, you see chapters covering habitats, histories and social hierarchies. There's also a few pictures, most being drawings, but a few you recognize as the infamous 'fairy photographs' from the early 1900's. If you remember correctly, Sherlock Homes author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle got duped into believing the hoax. Evidently this book argues the photographs are real.'
- Old photograph
"The author's a crackpot," Eddie continues, "but I guess that's par for the course. He says fairies are energy beings from the 'astral plane.' They can change appearances and sometimes even materialize into physical form--usually as 'little people.' They're the basis behind not just fairies, but gnomes and leprechauns and other fairy tale shit. Elves too, though they're not the same as the ringworld Elves. Anyway, in their natural state, they look like this."

He stands beside you and flips through the book in your hands until he comes to a black and white photograph of a foggy grove of trees speckled with hundreds of small translucent blotches. Yesterday, you would have chuckled and dismissed them as rain on a window, but you can see now that doesn't quite fit. The droplets grow cluttered in the pale overcast sky, and if they were yellow and swirling the image would match almost perfectly with the eerie scene outside.

"They're also known as 'spirit orbs' and tend to hang around cemeteries and haunted houses."

He turns to another black and white picture, this one exceedingly grainy. The image shows a bright circle hovering before a gravestone.
The book has instructions for contacting fairies.
- '"They have a reputation for being assholes sometimes, but better them than the Deep Ones."'
'According to Eddie, The Biology of Woodland Fairies lists a number of means of protecting against fairies and/or evil spirits, though who can say how accurate these methods are? Along with fire, iron is supposed to be a good ward, but it's not clear whether this has to be pure iron or can be mixed in an alloy.'
Cloves, garlic, ginger, sage, parsley, rosemary and thyme are mentioned in the book as fairy deterrents.
Eddie wags his flashlight at Maribel's book. "You learn how to contact fairies?"

"Not yet. But there's instructions on going into a trance. That way the fairies can talk through me."

"Talk through you? Like, possess you?" Helen asks.

"They'll only do that if they're evil," Maribel says. "And there's spells to keep bad fairies away . . .
Maribel says she can contact them with an Oujia board.
Partially read by Eddie and Maribel

'Eddie's eyes light up when he finds a cheap hardcover called, Visions of Y'ha-nthlei. He says the name's from the 'Cthulhu Mythos,' and is supposed to be a city of the 'Deep Ones.' The book seems to investigate a Massachusetts-based cult that worships them.'
David Icke is a known 'New Age woo-meister.'
The copyright is 1991.
". . . a lot of this book has to do with what happened in Innsmouth."

"Oh, that," you scoff. "Let me guess: the book says it was 'Deep Ones'."

"Yeah, pretty much."

It was one of the worst industrial accidents in US history--worst than even the Texas City Disaster, depending on who you ask. In 1927, a chemical plant exploded near Innsmouth, Massachusetts, killing hundreds and contaminating the surrounding coast. The government ordered an evacuation and cordoned off the town. To this day the fenced-in area is known as the Innsmouth Exclusion Zone.

The abandoned ruins, perhaps giving a sort of Chernobyl-vibe, have captured the imagination of conspiracy nuts, much the same way they're attracted to the incidents at Roswell or Black Mesa or the so-called 'Philedelphia Experiment.' There's been a number of books and films about what 'really happened'--sometimes it's aliens, sometimes zombies or demons. A horror movie about the town came out a few years ago. You never saw it but you think it involved 'fish men.'

"Even with all the weirdness going on in this house, this seems like a dead end," you say. "You might as well read about the Chupacabra or the Loch Ness monster."

"I think it's more relevant than you think," says Eddie.

"That's cryptic. Care to elaborate?"

"Let me give you some background first. You know Lovecraft's book, The Shadow Over Innsmouth? This book says it was actually a nonfiction account, that Innsmouth really was the home of a cult called the 'Esoteric Order of Dagon.' It was founded in the 1840's by Obed Marsh, a sea captain who got the idea from some islanders in the South Pacific. Here's a picture of his grandson."

Eddie flips to a page, and you have to turn on your flashlight to see clearly. The sepia photo's caption reads: Barnabas Marsh, circa 1890's, and shows a robed man sitting in a chair, his hand resting on a stack of books to the side. He wears a strangely pointed hat. There's something about his face . . .

"You see it, right?" Eddie asks.

"His mouth's too wide," you decide. "And his eyes are off."

"The book says it's a sign of interbreeding."

You squint at your brother incredulously. "With Deep Ones?"

"Yep, members of the Order had to bump uglies with the fish folk--and also do human sacrifices. Apparently by the 1920's most of the town had what was known as the 'Innsmouth Look.'"

He turns the pages to two more black and white photographs, one of an old man in a rain slicker, the other a portrait of a woman. Their faces are . . . unsettling.

"The book says the chemical spill was a cover story," Eddie says. "Instead the government sent in the Army and 'disappeared' all the people who looked like that. Years later, a few soldiers claimed they got into shootouts with 'fish monsters with Tommy guns,' but I guess Deep Ones aren't bulletproof, since the troops won.

"After that, the Navy dropped depth charges on Devil's Reef off the town's coast. The book claims their target was the undersea city of Y'ha-nthlei, but this David Icke guy doesn't think it was destroyed. He thinks the city exists on a 'higher vibration.'"

"David Icke also thinks the President's a space lizard," you say. "A few photoshopped pictures and unverified anecdotes aren't very impressive--not compared to the rest of Uncle Grubb's hokum."

"Hold on, I'm getting to the important part. Anyway, ever since the quarantine went up, the town's been under a constant fog, and some people say they've seen weirdly shaped creatures in the distance. Of course, people say they've seen a lot of things around Innsmouth, but it turns out the Order of Dagon wasn't dead. First they resurfaced in New Orleans, then Haiti and so on. And there have been Deep Ones sightings all over the world."

"And?" you say dismissively, though the mention of the fog disturbs you.

The tent's air feels uncomfortably warm. In the dim light, you can just barely make out your brother's grin.

"You ever heard of Elfstar?" he asks.

The non-sequitur gives your brain whiplash. After a few seconds, you say, "Wasn't he a singer from the sixties?"

"Yeah, he was in Mission to Bellona. Acid rock band. Real trippy. Their songs were in multiple languages--some of them made up. The group never made it too big, though they played at Woodstock. He was also in Moby Grape, but only for like a year."

"And what does he have to do with anything?"

Eddie is flipping through the book, looking for something. "You remember what Elfstar's gimmick was, right? He'd surgically given himself elf ears--though he claimed he was born with them."

"No," you say flatly. You don't like where this is going.

But your brother continues, "He's probably best known for that Laugh In skit where he sang that 'Bilbo Baggins' song. He also played a Vulcan on a Star Trek episode. But it's in the seventies when he got weird. You see, he moved to San Francisco and started his own cult: The Temple of New Atlantians. He claimed he had magic powers and taught his members to do the same. Basically, it was Hogwarts for hippies. He also claimed we needed to prepare for a war against the Deep Ones and that there was going to be a 'New Heavens and New Earth.' What to see what he looks like?"

"I guess you're going to show me."

Eddie holds out the book, and you shine over the photo with your flashlight. You see a man in a purple blazer and black turtleneck sweater. Ancient carvings cover the wall behind him. The caption reads: Elfstar at his temple, 1984. Looking at the man's face, any doubt that he isn't your cousin immediately vanish.

He has the same blond hair that follows the Springwells from one generation to the next, and while his features are softer than Uncle Grubb's chiseled Nordic mien, the resemblance is uncanny. You guess he's about thirty, though it's hard to tell. He could be your older brother. His expression is calm, contemplative. The ear facing the camera ends at a tapered point.

"So, this is Uncle Grubb's son?" you ask.

"He has to be." Eddie then quickly adds, "And no, I don't believe any of this is real, but we can see what happened here. Uncle Grubb and Aunt Esha raised their boy totally immersed in their Larping--even going so far as to cut on his ears. He grows up thinking he's an elf from a ringworld and goes balls deep into the hippy New Age movement. As soon as I get internet access, I'm Googling him to see if he's still alive."

"We should. He is family after all. And maybe we can get some answers from him."

Halfway read by Eddie

From the bookcase you pull out an ancient leather-bound tome titled, Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle. It's pages are handwritten in German

and interspersed with detailed illustrations of hideous, dangerous-looking creatures. One looks like an albino gorilla with three eyes . . .
It's nearly too thick to grip with one hand
You lean back in the chair and open Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle. At first you flip through the pages, trying to get a feel for the language. You've studied Latin and know a smattering of German, so deciphering the text is merely awkward, not impossible. Some of the words you think might be neologisms, though you lack a German dictionary to cross-check. Happily, the author makes liberal use of Latin words and phrases. The pages are of a thick, yellowing paper that's very old, but otherwise the book's in good condition. The handwriting is tight and neat.

On the first page, the author introduces himself as 'Doctor Jochen Ritter von Senckenberg,' a physician with the University of Würzburg. He states that he is writing this journal so that the reader may have a better understanding of 'the people and creatures that inhabit the underworld.' He splits the contents into two parts: one for the Zwerge, the other for the Trolle. The book's first entry is dated, 13 Januar, Die Jahre des Herrn 1767, with an additional note: 260. Jahr der Neuen Erde. '260th Year of the New Earth.'

You assume at first that the book deals in 'occult knowledge' or a 'secret history,' similar to New Age books that make up nonsense about Roswell or Bigfoot. But Senckenberg feels no need to provide evidence for 'Zwerge und Trolle' ('Dwarves and Trolls') but instead assumes the reader is already familiar with their existence. It's as if he were writing about a subject as mundane as Italians or Ethiopians. Briefly, however, he explains that Dwarves and Trolls live primarily inside mountains, and in Europe most Dwarven settlements lie within the Alps. The Dwarves claim their civilization is many thousands of 'Man years' old, and while Senckenberg doesn't dispute this ('though queer and miserly, Dwarves are honest to a fault'), their world was separate from ours until 'God changed the Heavens and the Earth.'

Though on average they're 'two heads shorter than the common man,' Dwarves are broader of chest, thicker of limb and inhumanly strong. They're also hairless, though their skin is covered in a gray fungus that makes them look as though they're made of stone. Senckenberg theorizes that this growth is the source of their 'odious stench' and advises travelers to plug their nostrils when with them in close quarters (he however notes that Dwarves find Men just as smelly). A Dwarven lifespan is between two or three centuries. Males and females appear indistinguishable.

From Senckenberg's inked drawings, Dwarves bear little resemblance to the race from Tolkien's books. Aside from the lack of hair or beards, their arms are longer than their legs, giving them a somewhat apelike appearance, and their faces are distinctly inhuman. They have cleft upper lips, flat, almost nonexistent noses, conical ears and three small eyes that are both beady and bulging, like those of a koala's. The author writes that these eyes are sensitive to sunlight, and Dwarves on the surface will typically wear wide-brim hats and tinted visors.

Senckenberg describes what he's been able to deduced of Dwarven society, though he admits this has been difficult as they are a secretive race.

Generally, they live in city-states carved in tunnels beneath mountains, though he makes mention of a sprawling 'Loufear Empire' in the Far East as well as the 'Farastar Kingdoms' in the 'West-Near Americas.' The elective monarchy is the Dwarves' favorite form of government, with candidates being chosen from a number of noble families.

Aside from the 'Dolomite-Papal Wars' of the late sixteenth century (in which a Dwarven army once laid siege to Rome), conflicts between Dwarves and Men have been limited mostly to small skirmishes, though Dwarven mercenaries have since become a staple of modern warfare. Senckenberg attributes this relative harmony less to a love of peace and more to the fact that, being self-sufficient through their subterranean aquifers and fungi, Dwarves have little interest in surface lands. Human rulers have at times attempted to invade Dwarven cities, but these attempts have almost always ended in disaster for the aggressors. Not least because attacking a mountain fortress is a foolhardy endeavor, but also because of the might of Dwarven war-magic.

Senckenberg spends an entire chapter dealing with the use and history of runic magic. Being 'attuned to the Earth Elements,' Dwarves not only have the power to 'bend stone' with their bare hands (a fact that makes them challenging to imprison), but by the use of runes they can 'compel spirits to act on their behalf.' The author then goes on a theological tangent, the gist of which is that, as a member of the 'Zoubartic' sect of Christianity, Senckenberg believes that magic and spirits are neither good nor evil but merely a part of the natural world. This is opposed to the Catholic faith, which still holds that Dwarven magic is inherently demonic (however, Senckenberg snidely mentions this doesn't stop Catholic nations from using runic weapons or armor or employing Dwarven mercenaries).

He describes an ongoing debate as to whether Dwarves are Sons of Adam and then offers his own position: Dwarves share no blood with Man, but they know good from evil and therefore have souls. He conjectures that the Dwarven god 'Hokrom' may be 'but another face of Our Heavenly Father.' Cryptically, he alludes that this question may have ultimately have caused the 'Second Schism,' and then mentions a 'Marshal-Pope in Avignon' but says no more.

Throughout all this there isn't a single reference to Protestantism.

And then back on topic. By etching runes on weapons, armor or castle walls (or anything, you gather) and offering prayers to Hokrom, Dwarves are able to imbue these materials with supernatural properties (either through 'elemental magics' or the 'application of otherworldly strength'). A master runic greatsword might be able to slice through a granite or unleash 'blades of wind.' Runic warhammers can project fiery shockwaves or rumble the ground with their blows. Kingly runic plate armor can withstand direct cannon shot--assuming the cannonball itself is not runic.

While Dwarven musket fire can be devastating, Senckenberg argues that runic artillery is where warfare has seen the greatest change, for the side with the most Dwarven cannon almost invariably wins. The author then describes the Battle of Strasbourg where 'Eis Strom' runic hail-shot not only 'froze and shattered' Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian III's army (and the Emperor himself lost his nose to frostbite), but triggered a 'snowy maelstrom' that wiped out half the the city.

Every country wants Dwarven equipment, especially artillery, and this stuff isn't cheap. The Dwarves have made a lot of money over the last two centuries, and have invested heavily into businesses throughout Europe. Senckenberg opines that their aptitude for fiscal pursuits 'rivals that of the Jews.' However, unlike the Jews, no one dares persecute the Dwarves.

The chapter ends with a glossary of Dwarven runes. He admits that it's incomplete, and since only Dwarves can instill power into these runes, the list is for identification purposes only. He does claim, however, that certain devout Zoubaric priests are beginning to craft their own runic magic ('through the Power of Christ'), though as of yet it's no where near the equal of the Dwarves. The runes are chicken scratchings to you, and though you idly wonder whether you can translate the stone tablet in the display case, you skip past this section for now.

The second part of the book, the one that covers 'Trolls,' is much shorter. Senckenberg stresses that while Dwarves and Trolls share superficial similarities (e.g. three eyes, long arms, gray skin fungi), Trolls are no more like Dwarves than Men are like apes. Trolls are a vicious, cruel race with a 'bestial hunger' and a 'stone-age cunning.' Some breeds are bigger than others; some hunt in packs while others are solitary. Some can even craft runes. But all can be identified by their prominent jaws, their protruding teeth and their small craniums. The accompanying drawings look like hunched and snarling three-eyed gargoyles, their long arms ending with gnarled, clawed hands. One Troll looks like a furless rat; another's more porcine, with an ugly snout and pendulous belly.

Stronger than Dwarves, they're resistant to both musket and saber and able to ignore grievous wounds. The best way to defeat them is through runic weapons, preferably firearms. Barring that, bright lights can blind, and they're susceptible to fire. But a mere lantern or torch may not be enough: Senckenberg advises the use of magnesium flare sticks, which hurt the eyes with their blaze. He then goes on to explain that these flares are used by mercenary 'Troll hunters' (many whom are Dwarves) to disable before the killing blow.

Trollish have plagued Europe since 'the Change,' usually hunting a small packs though sometimes they raid in armies hundreds strong, eating entire villages before slinking back into the mountains. The book ends with a grisly account of the Troll Hunter Enzo d'Arvieux's excursion into a cavern in the Scottish Highlands. There, he encountered hundreds of 'demonic totems' crafted from victims' bodies. A few victims were kept alive in cages, but d'Arvieux was unable to save them since the Trolls had 'consumed their feet, among other parts' and they appeared to be in the advanced stages of blood poisoning. Filled with righteous anger, d'Arvieux and his men used 'Dwarven blasting powder' to collapse the cave, wiping out the pack.

You close Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle and look at your phone. It's only been a little over an hour. But then you're a fast reader, and the thick, sturdy pages made the book seem longer than it really was. That, and you skimmed the parts where Senckenberg went on about 'the four humours of Dwarves' or the 'metaphysical theories of thaumatology' or 'thoughts on the location of Hades.' The book has a lot of silliness, but as a work of alternate history, it's fascinating. But frustratingly, it only touches on major geopolitical changes.

For example, at one point Senckenberg mentions 'the stretching of the seas' and 'the new heavens' and how this disrupted navigation and trade, but he never elaborates (It however makes you think of the map on the cover of On God's Ring and the jumbled up continents). You've pieced together from offhand comments that France has been embroiled in crippling succession wars, and Spain and Portugal are suffering a renewed Moorish invasion. So it looks as if only England has a foothold in the Americas, though the author has little to say about that. On a couple of occasions, he mentions the 'Elf Lands across the Southern Sea' and an 'Arc of Heaven' in the sky, but you wish he explained when he meant.'

Read by you

'You're about to stand up, but you spot on the floor a relatively pristine book: On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism, by Charles A. Beard. You recognize the author as a famous historian, but that's not what catches your eye. You brush away the dust on the jacket to better show the detailed color picture below the title. It's a map. An impossible map.
'The continents in the center are familiar enough, but they're laid out wrong, distorted, as if the Earth had been peeled and stretched on a flat surface. Europe is directly 'north' of North America. Australia is thousands of miles from Antarctica. But there's also other continents along the edge of the oval-shaped map. You don't recognize them at all.
You open the book and see that it's a first edition, copyright: 1931. Which is absurd, since the pages aren't even yellowed. The table of contents lists chapters such as, 'The Early Panic,' 'The Great Expedition,' 'First Encounters with the Elvish Tribes,' 'Missionaries, Colonists and Elvish Immigrants,' 'Adventures of the HMS Enterprise,' and 'The Aesiran Republic.' And that's just 'Part One: The History' It's a thick book.
Halfway read by Eddie
''Eddie lifts his nose from the book and grins, his blue eyes gleaming. "Get this: On March 3rd, 1901, the sky turns into a kaleidoscope acid trip, and everyone thinks the sun's exploding or it's the Second Coming or whatever. And when it all clears, the moon's gone. The planets are gone. And all the stars are different. The sun's still there, but there's also a hair-thin line that goes across the sky like a huge arch. It doesn't take long for people to realize that approaching ships don't 'come over the horizon' anymore, they just slowly fade into view. The world's now flat, laid out like a map; the continents aren't where their supposed to be. And the sun doesn't rise or set any more but instead goes into an eclipse every eleven and a half hours. Come on, Bert, can you guess what happened?"

You hold up Senckenberg's book. "I think the world in this book's gone through something similar, but theirs happened in 1507."

Eddie nods, his grin broadening. "Yeah, they got radio signals from other 'Earths' snatched from other time periods, so they know they're not the only one on the ring. Anyway, Uncle Grubb was a genius. He should have published this. This would make an awesome RPG setting."

"What are you talking about? What's 'the ring'?"

"The ringworld," he says.

"Ringworld," you repeat. The term sounds familiar.

Eddie puts the book in his lap. "It's like . . . okay, Earth orbits about ninety-three million miles from the sun, right? Now, instead of Earth being there, imagine there's a ribbon that follows the orbit. It's a ribbon that's so long that it forms a ring around the sun--a ring a hundred and eighty-six million miles wide."

"That's wide," you say.

"Yeah, and now imagine the ring is rotating around the sun so fast that it gives the inside gravity through centrifugal force."

"Like those plans they have for wheel-shaped space stations," you say. "Like the one from 2001: A Space Odyssey."

"Yeah, or like Halo, but on a much, much, much larger scale. The ribbon itself is a million miles wide, so its inside would have a surface area of millions of Earths. And once it's spinning, you can stick thousand mile high walls on the side and fill it with atmosphere, water, land, whatever."

Visualizing a structure of this scale boggles your mind, though you strongly suspect it'd be impossible to build. Surely no material could be strong enough to support something that size. Not that that matters. It's not like this is real.

"So, in this book, the surface of Earth in 1901 was peeled off and teleported--or, 'transmigrated'--to the inside of a ringworld?"

"Well, the book doesn't call it a ringworld," Eddie explains. "'Ringworld' was coined by Larry Niven in the seventies. This book calls it 'God's Ring,' because pretty much everyone agrees it's an act of god." He opens the book and shows you a couple of pictures.

The first is an illustration showing a star with a slender ring around it. The second is a black and white photo of a diagonal, splotchy band across a backdrop of stars.

"Is that the 'ribbon'?"

Eddie nods. "It's a photo of the opposite side of the ring, taken by astronomers in 1902. That gray band's nearly a million miles wide. Each one of those little black and white dots is an ocean or a continent. Earth would just be a tiny drop."

"Huh," you say, trying to wrap your head around that. "So, what did they do next?"

"Okay, so at first there was a lot of panic. A lot of crazy cults sprang up. Some were Bible-thumping doomsdayers, some worshiped a bunch of old pagan gods, and some were lifted straight out Lovecraft. The book lists sightings of what sound like Deep Ones, and even mentions the Esoteric Order of Dagon, the Church of Starry Wisdom and a few others.

"But anyway, people soon grok that there's new lands beyond Earth's 'borders,' and so they get in ships and set out exploring. A couple of months after the Event, some robed cultist guy headshots President McKinley, and Teddy Roosevelt's sworn in. He gets gung-ho about building a big fleet and going full out expansionist. About this time the elves are discovered, but they're a bunch of runty little primitives, which of course means they need white men with guns tell them about Jesus.

"The first decade is a huge land grab. Lots of natural resources. Lots of ancient elven temples and crypts to loot--most filled with monsters and magic swords and shit. And there's the colonization. Pretty much any nation that's not landlocked plants flags as fast as they can send out ships. There's a lot of independent settlements too, usually religious ones like Mormons and Amish. There's also 'filibusters,' basically assholes who load up on boomsticks and try to scare the fuzzy-wuzzies into making them king.

"The British Empire goes into imperialist overdrive; America and Germany get into a dick-waving contests. But mostly everyone behaves themselves--no World War One. I guess no one wants to fight in trenches when there's new lands to exploit.

"Literal boatloads of elves immigrate into the US. Mostly servants and cheap labor, though the book says a lot of elf girls wind up in whorehouses.

There's also discrimination, and the 'Elvish Influenza' of 1913 doesn't help. Lots of anti-elf laws are passed, and some elves turn to crime. You have elven gangsters and 'gypsy bands.' Some elven 'shamans' have psychic powers and use this to rob banks and confuse cops and stuff.

"Anyway, the elves cause trouble in the colonies too, but the big nuisances there are big scary things like dinosaurs and dragons and sea serpents and, oh yeah, these really tough, gray-skinned, three-eyed alien-things that people call 'Morlocks,' like out of The Time Machine. They live in caves, hunt at night and are always chaotic evil."

You gesture with your book. "They're called 'Trolls' in here. Or at least the bad ones are."

"Yeah," Eddie says. "Same 'verse, I guess. Anyway, the Morlocks killed Teddy. After his second term was up, he went along on the 'Great Expedition,' where the 'Great White Fleet' sailed around all the outer colonies and showed the world how big its dick was. He decided to go on a safari, do some big game hunting. Here he is riding a raptor.

You look at the photo. Sure enough, it's TR on a dinosaur. "Morlocks ate him?"

"Yep, overran his camp. Never found his body. It was around this time the fleet came across the Aesiran Republic. You see, most elf civs' tech was somewhere between Stone and Iron Age, but the Aesirans were totally steampunk. They were a little backwards, about Civil War-level in most things, but this was more than made up by the fact that they have flying ships. Here, look."

The photo is of two craft that look like a cross between a dirigible, a naval vessel and a submarine. They have gun turrets and smokestacks.

"The Aesirans have 'Cavorite.' Or at least that's what we humans call it. It's basically 'anti-gravity-helium.' You burn these rocks, and it makes a magic gas. This gives their airships enough lift that they can coat them with armor, mount big guns on them. The Aesirans are peaceful enough, if a little snooty, but we shit kittens at these uppity elves. And we go all, 'there must not be a Cavorite gap!' The problem is Cavorite ore isn't local.

It's all in faraway continents, and the Aesirans don't want to share. Right now--'now' being 1931--we're prospecting in distant medieval elf lands to find the stuff, and the Aesirans are getting pissed because they think only they should have weapons of mass flying. The book suggests tensions are pretty high. It might lead to a war."

You pull out the rolled newspaper from your back pocket and hold up the headline. "Looks like it did."'
'"On God's Ring never says anything about heartstones, so that can't be the only way of . . . 'triggering.' But anyway, Elves are far more likely to have psychic powers than humans. The book doesn't give exact figures, but it guesstimates one out of every few hundred Elves has the 'gift.' With humans it's more like one out of every few hundred thousand.'

'. . . a rolled up paper. It's a map of the surrounding geography penned over with strange calculations and measurements.'
- 'He unrolls a paper and holds it out. It's the map you saw earlier, the one scribbled over with strange calculations. The terrain is clearly local: the green patch is labeled, Henrietta Woods, and it even has the thin gray stripe of Texas 148 running along the bottom. You recall there's a similar map folded in the last volume of the journals.
  
  "I don't know what the equations mean, but look how these wavy graph lines intersect here." Eddie points at a black dot in the epicenter of the mathematical gibberish. "What if this house is built on a 'weak spot,' a place where other dimensions bleed through? Maybe that's what the Fog is."'
- Unstudied, but you likely lack the scientific skill to fully understand it,
'An entire shelf is dedicated to 'science,' or pseudoscience, anyway. Some of the titles are: Geomagnetic Morphology, Leyline Energy Grids, Akashic Field Theory and Astral Dynamics.'
- All Unread

In the bedroom behind the stairway:

The newspaper: 'You skim the first few paragraphs of the article. "Weird, it says 'New

Bristol' is three thousand miles south of Antarctica.What the hell could that mean?" You feel like you're missing some vital context, but flipping through the pages (the quality of the paper doesn't seem even close to eighty years old) you catch a couple of mentions of a 'Great Transmigration.'

Whatever that is.'
Skimmed by you

'Stuck in a side pouch in the chest is a leather-bound book. You flip through its pages and see various inked etchings and schematics, but the hieroglyphic-looking text is of no language you've ever seen.'
Unread, in the hieroglyphic language

In the Basement:

'a blackboard chalked with calculations'
Unstudied.

'On the bookcase, the majority of the volumes are in either Elvish or the hieroglyphic language, but you note a number of old, thick, Germanese books:
- Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie (Klostermann's Theoretical Runeology)
- Das Neue Platonismus (The New Platonism)
- Eine Abhandlung über Panpsychismus (A Treatise on Panpsychism)
- Void , Substanz und das Träumen Gott (Void, Substance and the Dreaming God)
- Das Welt und das Abyss (The World and the Abyss)'
All unread.

Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie is a thaumatological textbook published in 352 N.E. (or, A.D. 1859). The contents cover the advanced grammar and interactions between the five primary runic 'schools.' Three of these are associated with different Elvish faiths, one is solely the domain of the Dwarves and the last is the creation of the Zoubartic Church.

Runes are used to augment, propagate or defend against magical effects. That much you already know, but the book delves into the metaphysical 'why.' There's a lot on Plato and Aristotle, as well as the sixteenth century alchemists, Paracelsus and Cardano. The explanations about 'eternal objects' and 'irreducible semantics' fly over your head, but Eddie more or less follows along. As before, he semi-recognizes some of the runes.

One page shows the etched cross symbol you remember from the stone block in the lakebed. The inked, spiraled pattern twitches like a dying spider.

Eddie taps it. "This, it protects from 'bad vibes.'"

You read its description; sure enough, it wards off Gnostic, or mental, attacks. "You can tell just by looking at it?"

"Like I said before, it's self-evident. You might as well ask me, 'How do you know a circle's round?'

He searches for runes in the spreadsheet program and tinkers with various plugins. The algorithms are complex enough that it'd take years to comprehend the subject, but as you read the chapter on 'sequencing,' you have reason to believe that dispelling the Fog might not be as difficult as you feared.

In the Basement Alcove:

an ancient German Bible
a door-stopper edition of Goethe's Faust
- You have read Faust
a mottled copy of The Return of the King that probably dates to the seventies
- had a bookmark of a kitten in a wizard hat.
- You and Eddie have read The Return of the King
several yellowed paperbacks
old issues of Archaeology and National Geographic

In the Library:

'Eddie hands you a jacketless hardcover. The spine reads: Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves by Hereward Carrington. The copyright is 1924. Skimming through, you see the book deals with various parapsychology experiments as well as reports of famous (and infamous) Elvish psychics in the United States.'
A dozen or so pages are dedicated to black and white photos. One shows a gypsy-dressed Elf woman levitating while basketball-sized globes of water circle around her. By the crowded stadium seats behind her, you guess she's a circus performer.

In another, this one somewhat blurred as if snapped on the run, six little men in suits and fedoras are rushing out of a building. Some hold canvas sacks, others small pistols, but what really stands out are the dozen or so shiny metal disks hovering above them. One disk is swerving towards the camera.

The caption reads: 'The Dicers Six Gang during a 1921 bank robbery in Sacramento, California. All members had powers, but most infamous was Zurain immigrant 'Rough Cut' Zarzola. A ferro-specialized psychokinetic, his weapons of choice were levitating circular saw blades which he used to grizzly effect. Journalist Dorothea Lang was decapitated moments after taking this photograph.'
Half-assedly skimmed by Helen.

'One book by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle catches your eye: The Lost Treasure of Min'Karanda. You've never heard of that one before. You take it down and, reading by flashlight, flip through the text until mentions of 'elven tribesmen' confirm your suspicions. There's even illustrations of pointy-eared little people dressed like Native Americans.'
Unread

'An Encyclopedia Britannica set takes up the bottom shelf of one of the bookcases. It's the thirteenth edition, copyright 1926. Already knowing what you'll find, you grab the volume titled, Education-Excavation and look up the entry for 'Elves.' You sigh and shake your head as you read about their discovery, their customs, the differences in their anatomy, etc, with a sizable section detailing the Aesiran Republic (which has its own article).'
[*]'. . . you look up 'psychic research.' There's an article on Elvish 'shamans' (along with a photo of a small woman levitating above a crowd), but it's disappointingly brief.'
The Encyclopedia Britannica has no entry under 'Deep Ones,' but you find one under, 'Fish Men.'

The article briefly delves into their role in ancient mythology (they're the basis of mermen legends), but they didn't capture the public's imagination until after the Great Transmigration. Since then, there have been Fish Men sightings along the New England coast, as well as around Cornwall and the Stockholm archipelago.

A Masonic chapter based in Innsmouth, Massachusetts has long been rumored to have dealings with these creatures, but an investigation ordered by Governor Jedidiah Marsh found these claims groundless. Radio personality Father Coughlin blamed the 'fish stories' on Elvish sorcery, an accusation which prompted the 1925 'Easter Witch Hunt,' where an angry mob lynched three Elvish women. One was the youngest daughter of Shaman Bakala-Doom, who in retaliation inflicted 'a plague of rats' on the town of Rowley, killing thirty-six and forcing an evacuation.

The article ends with speculation that Fish Men may exist, but so far the evidence is inconclusive.
Mostly unread

'Maribel points to a desk where a very obsolete PC sits. Cobwebs shroud the bulky, small-screened monitor and CPU beneath; dust blankets the keyboard and mouse pad. A printer and scanner in similar states flank the old machine.

Helen snickers. "What's it operate under? Windows '87?"

Kneeling close, Eddie blows and then coughs, waving a hand at the resulting white cloud. He shines a flashlight along the front of the computer and taps a small label. "Look here: 'Gateway 2000, P5-60.' That's like early nineties. Shit, I wonder if this still works."'
A couple of dozen 3.5 inch floppies are piled to the side. Some are Microsoft programs such as Excel and Word, and others are more esoteric software that by their names you guess have to do with mathematics. Most, however, only have messily handwritten labels with cryptic names such as, 'Platonic Algorithms 13' and 'Semantic Meta-Analysis 27.'
"I have no idea what any of this means. Everything's either runes or in German or whatever."

"Let me see." You slide out of the chair and crouch by his side. On the screen Eddie's opened a very antiquated spreadsheet program, the interface graphics large and blocky. Dwarven runes take up most of the rectangular cells. As Eddie highlights each one, different Germanese descriptions appear in the text space above.

"It's like equations or something," Eddie says. "You can plug in different runes for different results. See?"

He selects a symbol that looks like a fish bone, another that looks like a stick-figure dog with a star for a head and a third comprised of a winged triangle over a cross. The 'answer cell' flashes new runes: a very skinny dragon, a cube with eye-stalks and a backwards 'K.' Reading over the Germanese descriptions, you catch the phrases, 'Werden gemeinshaft ständnis / Erfarungs-aggregatio.'

"I . . . don't know what that means either," you say. "But I have a theory as to what this is for."

"Some sort of translator program?"

"Maybe, but I think it's more than that. You remember when Goosie went through her poetry phase?"

"Oh yeah. That was back when she was like thirteen. You know it was only because she had a crush on that Katie Garrison girl."

"I think you're right; it was obvious in hindsight. But anyway, Goosie had that magnetic poetry kit, the one with all those words you could stick on the refrigerator to form phrases."

"I made some dirty limericks out of those."

You grin. "I remember."

"So you think this is a 'runic poem maker'?"

"Not necessarily poems, but something along those lines, though probably constrained by whatever grammar rules Uncle Grubb made up for the language.

This is just a guess, though. It's going to take a while to work all this out."

"That might be a problem," he says. "You hear that sound?"

You lean forward. Over the whir of the computer's fan and the propane generator's background drone, you notice a soft-grinding sound coming from inside the machine.

"Death rattle?" you ask.

"Not yet, but the hard drive's not long for this world. I can't even back up the files to my laptop, because this computer pre-dates USB ports. It can't even burn CDs. I could put stuff on the floppies, but that'd take forever. And my laptop can't read those anyway. The best way would be to hook up the hard drive directly, but I'd need adapters I don't have."
Cleaned and operated by Eddie.

'Skimming the dusty spines, you notice works by Joseph Conrad, H. Rider Haggard, Rudyard Kipling, Oscar Wilde, and others.'
There's a number of World Almanacs
All unread

Uncle Grubb's Bedroom

'Deeper into one of the drawers, you come across a small, softcover leather book shut with a button clasp. Carefully, you open it to find it handwritten in German . . . but not any kind of German you've seen before. Some of the words are spelled strangely, and a few don't even use the Roman alphabet. You have a feeling this will prove harder to translate than the Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle.

Browsing by flashlight, you note each entry has three dates. For example, on the first page: "3. Januar 2001 / 5. Mai 1935 / 31. Oktobor 498. Jahr

der Neuen Erde." Whole sections are of what look like to be 'sentence diagrams' with runic sequences. There are side notes mentioning 'Spinozas Nebel,' or 'Spinoza's Fog,' along with a bunch of mathematical formulas that you couldn't make sense of if someone held a gun to your head. You know Baruch Spinoza was a 17th century Dutch philosopher, but the rest is gobbledygook.

Slipped between the pages, however, is a folded map of the local area: the house, woods and surrounding twenty or so miles. Wavy lines cover certain areas, and though the German is hard to decipher, you catch the word 'magnetreonanz' a few times. Whatever that means.'
'"I think we have the rest here," Helen says and pulls out a handful of similar leather books, though these covers are more creased and worn.

"There must be like a dozen of them.'
'. . . you climb the creaky stairs, enter the bedroom and from the chest retrieve what you think is the earliest volume of Uncle Grubb's journals.

The first page reads only one date:"1. März, 451. Jahr der Neuen Erde."'
On the inside cover you see an inked seal and a flag. The seal is the two-headed dragon of the Aesirin Republic, though this one has a crown over the twin heads. The flag is white over green with a shield in the center bearing a green sash over yellow and black stripes. Along the bottom are two green zodiac suns. You find the flag vaguely familiar.

Uncle Grubb begins with, "This is the Expeditionary Journal of Gerbern Ernestine-Wettin, Reichsgraf of New Dresden, Welt-Springer and great-great-great-grandnephew of Sigivald the First, Sarvesara-Kaiser of Greater Jaganma" Well, you're related to royalty. How about that?

He doesn't give much background information--it's almost as if he expects you to know who he is--but he mentions his younger siblings, Fulbert and Hilda (You wince at the revelation--assuming its true) as well as his fiance, Esha ku V'Janahavabor, a gifted 'runologist' and the eldest daughter of an elvish 'Makha,' which you guess is a title of nobility. Though young, Grubb says he holds a doctorate in theoretische physik as well as the rank of Korvettenkapitän in the Kaiserliche Marine, though the latter he admits he purchased rather than earned. However, this, combined with his wealth, grants him the authority to requisition airships for special assignments, which in turn allows him to indulge his fiance's passion: archaeology. At this point in the journal, Uncle Grubb engages in a bout of exposition.

Far 'Left Spinward' of the Jaganma Reich are the Vendi-Ka Wastes: nine ruined continents that a half millennium ago were the home to a number of advanced human civilizations. Not only had they harnessed the power of 'mikrorunen,' 'luftsteine' and 'herzstine' ('micro runes,' 'air stones' and 'heart stones'), but could soar above the atmosphere itself. They built 'diamond cities.' They created alchemical brains and put them inside steel men. To the elves with their swords and castles, the Vendi-Ka were like gods.

But there was a war. No one knows why, but the Vendi-Ka nations fought each other not with armies but with 'sorcerous infernos.' The few eye witness accounts describe fiery toadstools obliterating entire cities. Poisonous ash drifted across the ocean and descended upon the Jaga'han lands. Crops withered, sickness spread. The Winter Years followed, and three out of four elves perished.

A few human refugees made new homes in Jaa'hana, and though there was great resentment, their scientific knowledge and remnant machines helped launched the elves into a new age of steam and luftsteine. But as great as the Jaga'han people have risen, most of the wonders of Vendi-Ka remain lost.

With his brief history lesson out of the way, Uncle Grubb declares that he intends to do nothing less than revolutionize the empire. He won't merely scour desert ruins for broken baubles: he plans to explore Vendi-Ka's last city: D'yute, or, known among Germans as, 'der Herbststadt' (the Autumn City) or Duellona.

The legends differ, but most agree it was an experiment gone wrong that made the city what it is. Shrouded under perpetual fog, Duellona survived the Vendi-Ka War and stands to this day, forever unchanging in its 'wirbel der zeit ('vortex of time'). Explorers have entered its white clouds, but most never return. The few who did, emerged only decades later, untouched by the passing years. They told of abandoned diamond towers filled with technological treasures.

Of the original inhabitants, a few remain, but as the fog has made them effectively immortal, the long centuries have driven them mad--some violently so, others merely akin to 'gypsies and vagabonds.' Custodian automatons still patrol the smooth cobble streets, seemingly oblivious to the disaster.

Some explorers report seeing 'frog men' under in city's harbor waters and three-eyed abominations lurking in its sewers (Uncle Grubb points out these latter can only be Trolls--creatures otherwise unknown to the Jaga'han Elves).

But Duellona's most peculiar characteristic is its warping of time and space. The elvish adventurer, Meero D'Merski, once likened the phenomena to a serpent eating its tail. Days repeat like reoccurring dreams. Whole neighborhoods disappear and reappear. Walk down a straight street and more often than not you'll find yourself arriving where you began. And the distortions are as fickle as the weather. 'It is an inconstant city,' Uncle Grubb writes.

Though Duellona contains marvels that could advanced the Reich by generations, most people are understandably leery about entering its domain. However, Uncle Grubb and Esha have developed a defense against the fog, named 'Spinoza's Fog' after the English scientist, Benedict Spinoza. By combining 'Platonic equations,' 'runic semantics' and his own 'Erbfaktor' ('inherited trait,' 'gene'), Grubb and Esha have been able to craft a 'gedankenform barriere' to protect both themselves and the airship during the expedition.

You skim the next few pages. Uncle Grubb 'shows his work,' but to you it's mathematical gibberish. He does say that preliminary tests with Fog from the 'Dortmund Portals' prove the runes will work but neglects to explain what these portals are, though by the offhand way he mentions them, you surmise these are well-known to the intended audience. After more physics stuff, he comments that the portals allow one to cross 'three million miles of Ring with a single step' and that perhaps even 'the Change' itself had something to do with the properties of Fog (though he admits this is conjecture).

Uncle Grubb then goes on a tangent defending his marriage to Esha. Though he's a bearer of the 'Welt Springer Erbfaktor' ('World Jumper Gene'--you get goosebumps. It never occurred to you to consider what your family name meant) and is thus expected to keep the bloodline pure, Fulbert and Hilda are already doing that. And while miscegenation is frowned upon, Grubb argues that this makes this union all the more important: by marrying Esha, he's helping bridge the gulf between two cousin races,' 'equal in both intellect and spirit . . . if not stature.'

"Und auch," Uncle Grubb writes, "ich liebe sie."

The rest of this journal entry is a nearly stream-of-consciousness spiel about how wonderful she is. She's beautiful. She's funny. She's smart--no, not just smart: brilliant. She's a prodigy. She loves mythology and poetry. She plays the harpsichord. She won the 'Purple Dragon' in women's fencing. She attended Zaila University where she studied runology, archaeology and linguistics. Recently, she received a commission of Leutnant zur Luft in the Kaiserliche Marine. Uncle Grubb's known her since they were children. She's his muse. She's the light of his world.'
Under an entry dated, 22. März, 451. Jahr der Neuen Erde, Uncle Grubb spends a few pages describing the SMS Humperdinck and the SMS Pfeil, the airships assigned for the expedition. The Humperdinck is a Achenbach-class korvette, and at 215 feet and 1,900 tons is the 'longer, fatter sister' of the 205 foot, 1,050 ton Pfeil (German for 'Arrow'), a Blitz-class aviso. Grubb gleefully lists the ships' various stats, but most of the numbers and jargon fly over your head.

The gist however is that while these ships are somewhat antiquated (The Pfeil is a veteran of the Spice Wars), they've been heavily retrofitted with the best technology money can buy. Uncle Grubb mentions vacuum-insulated luftsteine boilers, and steam turbines enhanced with the latest mechanica mikrorunen. In loving detail, he expounds on why the swept-tip propellers improve propulsion, why the turret guns have increased firepower and why the Dwarven steel hulls have the best rating. 'These ships are Wonders of the Machine Age!' he humbly declares.

Of course, for this expedition the most important components are the defensive runes developed by he and Esha. Only with these will they be able to transverse Duellona's Fog. Here Uncle Grubb has drawn a diagram. The angular, alien symbols are arrayed in a galaxy swirl of nested octagons that you find somehow disorienting. You remind yourself these are only inked shapes on paper, yet when you stare at them they seem to drift faintly, like oil over water. A dull ache grows behind your eyes. Quickly, you turn the page.

As a loan from the Thaumatological Academy of New Dortmund, Uncle Grubb will take on the journey two priceless herzsteine ('heart stones'), old relics from the Vendi-Ka Wastes. Normally, these red crystal spheres are used to determine whether one was born with a Erbfaktor and its class and level. However, the stones can also be used to augment the gedankenformen ('thoughtforms') behind 'Platonics' and 'runic semantics'--vital for transversing the Fog.

You pause and pull the red crystal ball from your pocket. The glassy surface lights up dimly at the contact with your skin, and you're almost certain now it's radiating a subtle warmth. Does this mean you have magic powers? Without instructions on how to interpret the effects of the 'heartstone,' you can only guess. You glance at Eddie, but his nose is buried in a book. You place the heartstone on the desk beside the cardboard box and then pick up the journal and keep reading.

Aside from standard crews, Uncle Grubb has hired four Elvish sorcerers: a husband-wife team of 'Gnostics' as well as two 'Elementalists.' He's also garnered the interests of a young Dwarf named Widari, who just so happens to be a member of the vastly wealthy Eirohm Family--one of the Empire's largest arms manufacturers. Eager for adventure (and patent rights on discovered tech), Widari has not only helped finance the expedition, but supplied Uncle Grubb's naval infantry platoon with the finest body armor and repeating rifles.

While reading this, you've pieced together clues sprinkled throughout Uncle Grubb's writing. From an offhand comment that the Dortmund Portals are 'unaligned,' and from the apparent lack of communication with the 'Fatherland,' you conclude these Germans are cut off from their Earth. This doesn't seem to be a new situation; it's possibly been this way for decades.

The Jaganma Reich seems to consist mainly of Elves, which suggests the stranded colony has undergone mass immigration. You gather the Germans are the ruling class, though the Elves have their own aristocracy. Uncle Grubb states that Dwarves are rare, which you guess is because so few of them were on the Jaganma-side when the portals closed. He also mentions the 'coal-faced Vendi' (the infantry captain is one) which are probably human descendants of the Vendi-Ka.

Christianity exists in Jaganma, at least in the form of the 'Zoubartic' sect. Some elves have converted (the Water/Air Elementalist is an ordained priest), though you don't think this is the norm. Both the Humperdinck and Pfeil have their own shamans, and Uncle Grubb seems slightly derisive of the Elves' 'pagan ways,' which evidently includes the faith of his fiance.

You get the impression that there's a racial division between occupations. All infantry for the expedition are human (Uncle Grubb describes the difficulty in renovating their elf-scale quarters to human proportions), which implies that's who infantry tend to be. However, most of the crew, as well as the four 'sorcerers,' are Elves.

The Empire also seems to be only a small part of a 'Jaa'hana' region or continent. Uncle Grubb name-drops a 'Confederation' and mentions wars in neighboring countries, but doesn't offer enough context to know the big picture. You really wish you could ask Uncle Grubb about this world. The journal just isn't enough.
The Anti-Fog Runes
- 'The angular, alien symbols are arrayed in a galaxy swirl of nested octagons that you find somehow disorienting. You remind yourself these are only inked shapes on paper, yet when you stare at them they seem to drift faintly, like oil over water. A dull ache grows behind your eyes. Quickly, you turn the page.'
- You all try copying the octagonal diagram onto notebook paper. That the symbols seem to faintly wiggle like worms makes the task impossible for you. Even tracing them doesn't work as your lines swerve wrong no matter how you move your pencil. You can feel their otherworldly essence and nearly see it in your mind, yet they elude you.
  
  A fairly accomplished doodler, Helen draws the pattern with relative ease, but the reproduction is lifeless, lacking the uncanny depth and movements of the original. Curiously, your twin finds nothing disorienting about the runes.
  
  "They just look like a bunch of squiggles to me," she says.
  
  Maribel's copy inflicts the subtle 'wrongness,' but not enough to give you a headache. It's Eddie's that best reproduces the eerie effect.
  
  To experiment, you use your phone to take a picture of the diagram. The photo is as lifeless as Helen's.
  
  Standing by the window, Eddie holds the journal with one hand, his other resting atop the page. He squints through the glass into the outside whiteness.
  
  "At least we know the runes work," he says. "When I touch them, the Fog really does thin out. Not totally, but I can see the graveyard."
  
  "Any zombies?" Helen asks. "That'd be just our luck, you know."
  
  Testing the diagram, you find it works for both Maribel and yourself, though at least for you the Fog's thinning is unhelpfully weak. Like milk and water, it looks diluted, yet is still more or less opaque. With Eddie's copy, the effect is diminished but otherwise the same. Helen, however, doesn't notice a difference with either set of runes.

'In the bureau, you uncover a thick hardcover handwritten in the hieroglyphic language. The book is of course unintelligible to you, but Uncle Grubb wrote extensive notes in 'Germanese' in the margins. The phrases, 'Spinozas Nebel' and 'Der Herbststadt' ('The Autumn City') are repeated several times.'
It's difficult to tell for sure, but from the way the notes only comment on the hieroglyphics rather than translate them, you get the distinct impression Uncle Grubb was fluent in the hieroglyphic language--which is hardly surprising, since he doubtless invented it.

However, some of the notes hints at what the hieroglyphics could be about.

Evidently, the book was written either in or about 'der Herbststadt' ('the Autumn City'). On occasion you come across the Latin phrase, 'Urbs Aeterna Nebula,' or 'City of Eternal Fog.' Or 'Eternal Darkness.' The word, 'Duellona,' pops up enough that you're fairly certain that's the city's name.

The book probably describes an experiment. Or perhaps only a theory. Whatever it is, it has to do with fog, specifically, 'Spinoza's Fog.' The notes fail to explain what that is. Your missing vital context.

Some of the notes show Dwarven runes arrayed in a diagrams. The Germanese portions don't quite tell you what they mean, though beneath one diagram you read: 'verpflichten zu der primäran, gespiegelt unaufhörlich' which more or less translates to a cryptic: 'Behold to the primary, mirrored perpetually.' Some of the notes are mathematical nonsense. Others are written in Elvish, in what you're pretty sure is another handwriting.'
Partially translated by you (The 'Germanese' parts, anyway)

'In the back [of the closet] sits a large cardboard box filled with books, both paperback and hardcover; all of them are in Elvish. A few seem to be romance novels, judging by their cover art. The Elven books open 'backwards,' like Japanese manga.'

[In the closet] 'You also come across a shoebox packed with handwritten letters, some in Germanese, the others in Elvish.'

Rec Room

'. . . a diary, but it's written in Elvish.'

The bottom shelf has an encyclopedia set, though infuriatingly it's in Elvish. The first volume, however, does list the publishing information in German: 'Albertine und Ab'haja Bibliothek, Neu Dresden, 446. Jahr der Neuen Erde / 3. Alter, 7:10.' You flip through glossy pages and look at pictures.

One's a black and white photograph of a portly dwarf in a white button-up smock. His meaty, six-digit hand holds a curved pipe to his cleft-lip mouth as he regards the camera with three beady black eyes. A mirrored visor clings atop his wrinkly gray scalp. Behind him, a mammoth artillery gun lounges on railroad tracks, its long phallic barrel craned erect. Maribel calls the dwarf a, "steampunk space alien." Below, among the text, are schematics for firearms and an image of the 'Happy Dwarf' logo.

The next few pages show Gothic paintings of an ice age apocalypse. A walled city lies in snowy ruin beneath a charcoal sky. Feral, tumorous Elves toss body parts into a boiling cauldron. Desperate pikemen fight to the last against hordes of . . . werewolves? These pictures are accompanied by confusing maps of either battlefields or mass migrations.

Eddie looks over your shoulder. "Winter is coming."

"Yeah," you say, "I think this is their 'Winter Years.' Like our Black Death, except a lot worse."

A thick book printed in the hieroglyphic language. Many of its pages display blueprints for what looks like a lantern.

In the secretary desk you discover letters bundled in rotted rubber bands. In the first, dated 1966, Uncle Grubb lambastes his son for 'consorting with degenerates.' 'Your mother would not approve,' he writes. He also expresses annoyance at Elfstar stealing the 'Dortmund Stone' and books from his grimoire. 'Though you wound me, I still love you.'

Elfstar's reply is equally critical. 'You're an imperialist fossil, father. You don't belong in this world, and neither do I. So don't tell me what to do.' He then goes on a ramble about how he will use his power to 'overthrow the old and evil' and usher in a New Age when the 'change' happens. There's some cryptic comments about an upcoming war, but no details. 'Attune your energy to a higher vibration,' he advises. 'Your Prodigal Son, Sloka.'

There's forty of so letters, the last one dated 1982. You put them away for now.
"Uncle Grubb talks about the Witchboard," Helen says. "He used it to 'align' to that other Earth, the 1920's one with psychic elf gangsters."

"Does he say anything about controlling the Fog?" Eddie asks.

"I don't know," Helen says. "I haven't read them all. He tells Elfstar it's getting harder to go through the 'portal.' The 'bypass' through 'Troll land' is growing longer, and it's going to get worse because of 'cosmic drift.' He says Aunt Esha would have known how to fix it."

"When was that letter written?" Eddie asks.

Helen ruffles through the pages in her lap. "That one, 1979. Elfstar says he wants to leave his Atlantis cult and move to the other Earth. He says ours is going to 'transmigrate' soon, and when it does someone's going to panic and push the red button. And then the Deep Ones will take over what's left. At least the other Earth has a future. He wants to help the Elves there rise up against the humans.

"Uncle Grubb doesn't like that. He tells Elfstar those Elves aren't 'his people.' They're 'degenerate savages' that his mother's people, the Jaga-whatever, ruled over in their colonies. Uncle Grubb then says some bullshit about skull-shapes and brain pans. And then in the next letter, Elfstar calls him a Nazi."
'"Uncle Grubb calls them 'Woodlands' in the letters," Helen says. Her giggle is high, ragged. "It doesn't sound like he liked them, but he liked the Deep Ones even less."'

'Their German title reads, 'Zyklopädie der Neuen Welt' ('Cyclopedia of the New World'). They were published in '343. Jahr der Neuen Erde.' From the introduction, it appears the trilogy is intended as a compendium guide for Germans emigrating through the Dortmund Portals (evidently this was written when they were still active). Curiously, New Dortmund is referred to only as a colony. There's mention of the 'Fatherland,' but no 'Jaganma Reich.'

These books are a century older and not as comprehensive as the Elvish encyclopedia, but at least you can read them.'
The entry on 'Elfen' is long and more detailed than you need, so you quickly browse the text.

Elves are a race of pygmy humans notable for their pointed ears and affinity for magic. They are slight of build and rarely reach five feet in height (though the tallest recorded Elf was a M'refi tribesmen who stood 6'7"). Though they are agile and swift, they lack strength and endurance and thus tire easily under strenuous labor. They possess keen hearing and eyesight. They have slender jaws and lack wisdom teeth. They cannot grow beards.

Though actual sorcerers are rare among Elves (approximately one in four hundred are born with a 'trait'), all have a vestigial 'Gnostic' ability. This mental communication is usually limited to emergencies and only between close family and friends (or fellow soldiers in the case of Jaganma's Special Airborne). More powerful Gnostics are used to send messages across hundreds of miles, which is why, despite their advanced technology, Jaa'hanan Elves never developed the telegraph.

Elves are part of panhumanity and therefore can procreate with humans. While such marriages are recognized by the Zoubartic Church, they are outlawed within the German Reich.

There are two known Elvish 'breeds': the 'arboreal savages' of the Eddland Archipelagos (located across the 'Southern Sea' beyond Africa's tip) and the 'civilized people' of the Jaa'hana continent. You skip the paragraphs on the island natives, though the gist is English colonists have 'significantly culled their numbers.'

Jaa'hanan Elves are physiologically similar to their Eddland cousins, except their internal anatomy is situs inversus, with the heart on the right side, the liver and gall bladder on the left, etc (bizarrely, this abnormality includes all animals native to the Jaa'hana region). They are also afflicted with an unusually high cancer rate, with as many as one in eight Elves succumbing before their fiftieth year. Doctors theorize this 'blood taint' was brought on by the poisonous ash that fell across the continent during the Winter Years (54 - 49 vor dem Wechsel (A.D. 1453-1458)).
You look up, 'herzsteine.' There's a section on the history of heartstones and the laws regarding their use, but you concentrate on what's relevant.

Heartstones are rare, magical artifacts from the Vendi-Ka continents. They are translucent, red-tinted spheres made of an (almost) indestructible material. Before the war that destroyed their civilization, the Vendi used them as energy sources for their machines as well as instruments for their Elvish sorcerers. Because Vendi technology is still so puzzling, Jaa'hanans today employ only the latter use.

It's well known that quartz and gemstones can detect and augment sorcery, but with heartstones this effect is amplified a hundredfold. A top-tier Earth Elementalist can collapse a building. With a heartstone, he can flatten city blocks.

To prevent them from falling into the wrong hands, their access is restricted by international treaty to government militaries and thaumatological institutions. There are four hundred thirty-three known heartstones in the Jaa'hana continent, eighty-one of which are among the Jaganma Kingdom. Three have been loaned to the German Reich in accordance to the Jaga-West Trade Alliance.
You look up 'Spinozas Nebel.' Since the Fog is your most immediate obstacle, you read this entry closely.

Though anomalous fogs have appeared throughout history, it wasn't until after the Change that the phenomena became more prevalent, infesting numerous remote woods, wetlands and other wildernesses. The English scientist Benedict Spinoza (123-186 Neuen Erde (A.D. 1630-1693)) was the first to prove that some fogs are more than mere water vapor. Through his investigations on the Isle of Man, he categorized Fog's otherworldly properties.

Entering Fog can result in 'reverie,' a state in which one loses sense of the world and relives the past. This symptom grows ever more prominent and repetitious until one is locked in perpetual reminiscing. For many, the relived memories are highly traumatic.

Stronger Fogs may violate the laws of space and time. Landscapes circle back on themselves as though contained on a small globe. Individuals awake to the same day again and again.

Time inside Fog may fluctuate, progressing faster or slower. Two famous examples illustrating this effect are those of Spinoza and the Confederate Captain Meero D'Mirsky (180-243 N.E. (A.D. 1687-1750)).

While taking barometric measurements on Snaefell Mountain, Spinoza became separated from his entourage and disappeared. Three days later he was discovered naked in a nearby village. Wild-eyed and raving, he looked at least a decade older, with new lines on his face and gray in his beard. He claimed to have been abducted by winged 'bat-men' and had spent years in the realm of the Celtic god Nodens. His colleagues assumed the Fog had warped his body and mind, and he spent most of his remaining life in Bedlam Hospital.

Meero's account is less ambiguous. Despite his reputation for embellishments, it's well documented that the Elvish captain and his crew were missing in the D'yute Fog for twenty-one years, while by their own reckoning (and supported by their unchanged appearance), only nine months had passed.

There are other, less understood elements associated with Fog, such as lycanthropy, vampirism, fairies and so-called 'fish folk,' but these subjects have their own entries.

The article's last section deals with Fog's relation to World-Jumping. In the early third century (N.E.), Dwarven runologist, Mulnak zun Aimar (61-338 N.E. (A.D. 1568-1845)) noticed that when certain humans enter 'nebel anfällig' (Fog-prone) areas, Fog will gradually manifest and thicken, generating by their very presence. After years of experimentation, he discovered that these humans bear a previously unknown magic that makes them sensitive to Fog.

You're no physicist, but the following paragraphs summarize scientific theories that read like retellings of relativity and quantum mechanics mixed with gobbledygook about 'panpsychism' and the 'Platonic realm'. You suspect the author doesn't understand any of this either. However, the brilliant Mulnak used these principals to construct massive, torus-shaped 'Resonance Keys' in the Fog-prone Ardey Hills outside Dortmund.

With the aid of humans with the magical trait, Mulnak's machines harnessed the Fog and opened a number of 'portals' to a location three million miles 'down the Ring'--a public park in rural Jaganma. On April 2nd, 273 N.E. (A.D. 1780), a small expeditionary force led by the Dwarf made first contact with a group of terrified picnic-goers and a surprisingly cool-headed policeman. No shots were fired, officials on both sides met and history was made.

The article neglects to detail what happens next (doubtless the intended audience would already know), but it does explain that the portals have for the past seventy years been dutifully maintained by 'Welt-Springen' humans. Mulnak's Resonance Keys were soon made obsolete by the adoption of Jaa'hanan 'Witchboards'--rune-carved, gem-powered tables used to control magical effects or apparatuses. The ones used for portals are fitted with heartstones.
. . . you look over the articles on 'feen' and 'fischmenschen.'

Neither are particularly informative. The overall consensus is that fairies and fish-men are real, but their nature is debatable. For fairies (or spirits in general), the competing theories are that they are 1) entities from another realm, 2) deceased souls or 3) 'thought forms.' Current evidence both supports and contradicts each of these, though the first and second are the most popular.

Spirits are found in isolated, Fog-prone locales, usually woodlands. Their dispositions run the gamut between congenial tricksters to violent demons. The Zoubartic Church views them with suspicion, though among the polytheistic faiths of the Jaa'hanans, spirits are revered as angels or minor deities.

As for fish-men, while unseen in modern times (Captain Meero's encounters over a century ago mark their last credible appearance), their sightings are frequent enough throughout history that their existence is undisputed. They are thought to live in aquatic cities, either under the sea or in other-dimensional 'water realms.' They usually interact with panhumanity in remote fishing villages, and their aims involve breeding to create hybrid abominations (though to what end is anyone's guess). Fish men are associated with 'Mother Hydra' and 'Father Dagon,' demonic Jaa'hana deities with illegal cults along rural coastal communities.

Elfstar's Bedroon

There's science fiction books and a box of old Analog magazines, though they're water damaged.

Attic

'You're certain one is an Elvish-Germanese dictionary broken into seven volumes, and you make a mental note to come back to them later.'
A few of the volumes are damaged by falling through the rotted floorboards.

Translation: 'An Elvish Odyssey: Captain Meero D'Mirsky's Voyage to the Venda-Ka Wastes'
'The cover art is a ridiculous drawing of a 'balloon ship' that's closer to clockpunk than steampunk.'
'Published in '350. Jahr der Neuen Erde' the book is a German translation of an Elvish captain's account of his extraordinary travels.

According to the dust jacket, Meero and his crew sailed to D'yute where they were 'lost in time' for decades. Glancing over the table of contents, you note such chapter titles as "In the Caverns of the Triclopses," "The Automatons Attack!" and (most intriguingly) "Escape from the Sea Devil Kingdom."'

Translation: The Magic of World Jumping
Seems to be a laymen's overview of this 'special human magic.'
A significant portion of the text deals with the Ernestine-Wettins, the only World-Jumper family of noble lineage. The publication date is, '330. Jahr der Neuen Erde'

Maribel shows you a worn copy of Shubba und Wolff's Illustriertes Deutsche-Jahag Wörterbuch ('Shubba and Wolff's

Illustrated German-Jahag Dictionary'). It's surprisingly thick, perhaps five hundred pages or so, though at least half of this is in comic book form. Published by the 'Bildungsministerium' ('Ministry of Education'), the dictionary seems intended to teach young Elvish children how to read German.

"It goes right to left like manga," Maribel explains. "And look, everything's labelled! Like these are fire men--'feuerwehr'. That's German, right? That means the wiggly letters below must must be Elf. And here, they're riding a yellow old-timey fire truck--or 'feuerwagen,' and now they have a hose--a 'schlauch' to spray water--'wasser' . . ."

Maribel walks you through a few of the short picture stories which offer a child's eye glimpse into this other world. In one, the (mostly human) police find a 'cookie burglar' through the thought-bubble visions of an Elvish detective (called a 'hellseherisch gnostic' in the text). Another comic educates the reader on the Reich's government structure. Apparently humans and Elves have separate Reichstags (Parliaments). Presiding over both is an ancient, white-bearded human sitting regally on a throne. The caption below reads: 'Kaiser Sigivald I.'

The vocabulary and grammar is elementry level, but for cracking Elvish, this book is a Rosetta stone. You'll take a closer look later.
Partially read by Maribel

"Look, elf baby books!" Maribel says, handing you a handful of thin hardcovers.

Most of these have large text and are colorfully illustrated. From the pictures, you can tell some are fairy tales--either that or in the Aesirian Republic roosters wear waistcoats and snakes smoke cigars. A few are clearly intended to teach children how to read, with Elvish 'letters' accompanied by images of various people and objects. These can prove useful, though learning the intricacies of Elvish grammar is just as important as the vocabulary.

One of the books is readily familiar to you as a 'space book,' much like the ones you used to read as a child. However, lacking planets to describe, the illustrations make do primarily with the ringworld itself and its sun, though there are also a few grainy photographs of asteroids and planetoids. One photo was taken from a high altitude, probably from one of their flying ships. The 'Arc of Heaven' rises straight out of a hazy horizon.

Later, the book deals with beyond the solar system, with a number of pictures making it clear that the elves know stars are just faraway suns. One picture in particular shows a size comparison between the sun and ringworld and a gargantuan orange ball that could be Betelgeuse, Antares or some other supergiant.'
Eddie was flipping through a book about flying warships.
'[Maribel] finds a slim hardcover filled with pastel-colorized photographs of what looks like a petting zoo.

"Look! She's holding a baby rabbit! And he's riding a pony! Aw! Elves are so tiny! They look like Hobbits!"'
A stack of hardbacks that you guess are kindergarten-level lesson books.

'Not wanting to stay long, you only briefly peruse the shelves. Most of the books are in either Elvish or Germanese, and seem to vary wildly by subject. Some appear to be text books, others novels.'
'The bookshelves hold hundreds of books, and the few boxes you open contain stacks of old magazines and newspapers.'

Attic Tower

'[You] take from a shelf a thick, ancient tome. After blowing off the dust, you see the

front cover is a richly textured mosaic of a tree in the shape of a woman. Each corner of the image shows a different season.

Amid the pages of Elvish text you come across paintings of bizarre creatures and mythological events. In one, a seven-eyed pregnant woman floats in void, her legs splayed as she gives birth to a starry river. Another picture shows a humanoid tree with the face of a smiling young girl. Sick and elderly Elves reach desperately to touch her leafy hands, which glow with golden light.'
Unread.

'Helen works a small leather notebook from a pocket on her dusty vest. "There's a lot of names in here, though half of them are probably dead by now. On the inside he wrote some digits. They're too long to be a phone numbers. Maybe they're codes."'

There's a few shelves of old elvish books.

Garage:

'The vehicle registration lists 'Elfstar Jones' as the owner. It has a San Francisco address and expired in 1999.'

Created Works:

Four reproductions of the runic diagram found in Uncle Grubb's journal. Allows the bearer to see through the Fog, albeit with varying levels of success depending on the individual.
Are stronger than the original in the journal.
Created by Eddie while holding the heartstone.
Offer protection from the Fog dazing effects, though not as strongly for muggles.

Strange Happenings

You're in a dim and muddled world. A great watery space opens before you, and in a stupor you wander through titanic sunkenporticos and labyrinths of weedy cyclopean walls with grotesque fishes as your companions. Then the other creatures appear, rough-hewn beings bearingthe shape of men but with the unhuman trappings. They circle you and regard you with bulbous eyes. They probe at you with scaly hands, jab at you with bony spears. Their saw-toothed maws form terrible grins.

Something draws you, and you look above. In the dark, undersea sky, distant fireflies swarm like a cosmos run amok. They do not share a world with the undersea creatures, though you don't know why you know this. The creatures grab at you, but you rise up and--

Everyone had the same dream, though for Maribel and Eddie it was more intense.

"Tell me what happened, Goosie," you say.

Her hands flutter as she speaks. "We were doing the Ouija board thing. Our hands were on the plastic pointer, and Maribel was asking if anyone was there. And then it began to move. At first I thought it was Maribel or it was us pushing it around without knowing it. You know, doing it subconsciously. But then it began to move harder, faster. And then we took our hands off, and it was still moving. Nothing was touching it! It was just jerking and wiggling on the board as if some invisible hand had a hold of it. It couldn't be real. It had to be a trick!"

"I keep telling you: it wasn't me. It was a ghost," Maribel says.

"No," you say, and then you pause for a moment as you try to think fast. "Let's be reasonable here. The power of suggestion can be overwhelming sometimes . . ."

Maribel gives an exasperated sigh. "We didn't imagine it. Here, let me go get the tape recorder. I bet twenty dollars the ghost said something. I felt it."

Maribel disappears into the great hall and quickly returns with a clunky eighties-era tape recorder that your parents kept in an old closet. Your little sister presses rewind, and after the audio whir ends in a click, she holds the recorder up and presses play.

Through the tinny speaker, the generator is a steady background purr over which Maribel's voice speaks.

"--so I can ask them some questions. Okay, um . . . Are there . . . um . . . any spirits out there? If so, please say something . . ."

"This is stupid," says Helen.

"Shh! Let them talk!"

And then the background purr slows and deepens as if plunged underwater. A garbled static emerges, and your breath catches in your throat as you hear a bass, warbling voice that's part whale song, part malevolent frog.

"Hafh'dm hai ilyaa ch' shugg ron s'uhn tharanak throd shagg y'hah . . ."'

Eddie stands beside you. "Look up," he says.

Across the white sky above, barely perceivable through the fog, you make out a swirling sea of yellow pinpricks that jerk and dart and orbit each other playfully. Fireflies? It's surreal. You've never seen so many of them: thousands, millions. Innumerable as the stars. But then the deja vu crashes like a wave, and the dream's memory returns to you: the seabottom ruins, the creatures, the fireflies . . .

It was a dream. But now you're awake. And yet there the fireflies are. The unreality of it all threatens to overtake you. Your heart races; your throat grows parched. You stumble back.

So far, they've done nothing.

Started in the woods behind the house.
It was too warm for fog.
Maribel and Helen walked a little into the Fog. Maribel thought it was pretty, but Helen made them turn back.
'In the woods beyond you can just make out the white gauzy blur of the fog your sisters saw.

Helen stands beside you. "It looks a little closer now," she says.

You frown. The fog seems to glow, though it's probably just a trick of the twilight. "The lake's not out there, is it?" you ask.

Helen gestures behind her. "No, it's that way, near the road. So, I don't know what's causing it."'
With your own flashlight in hand, you follow your sisters outside. A warm, wet, earthy smell hits you as you step through the doorway into the night air. Helen and Maribel stand on the porch's stone steps.

Helen's frantic flashlight cuts only a short, fat swath through the darkness, the yellow beam clouding against a fog that seems to thicken farther away from the house. The SUV and trailer are but dark, ghostly shapes in the yard.

"The fog," Helen says quietly. "It sneaked up on us . . ."
In the blurred morning ambiance, the fog has taken a milky hue. As last night, it seems to thicken farther from the house, and you can make out the vague shape of the SUV and trailer forty feet away before the world vanishes into cloudy haze.
Those in the Fog are prone to slipping into a daze. You and Helen had a flashback/daydream of the time when you swam in the lake. (See: Lake)
- '"Wha . . . ?" She wobbles on her feet as if shoved. "Wh . . . what happened?"
  
  Eddie steadies her. "You tell me. You two got quiet while you were carrying all that stuff, and then it was like you were both sleepwalking. We shouted
  
  at you, but you both were just shambling around like you were on Dramamine. We had to herd you inside."'
- Touching an Anti-Fog rune diagram offers protection, but not so much for 'muggles.'
- The hearstone seems to be able to snap people out of the daze.
- So far, Eddie and Maribel seem to immune, or at least resistant.
- Flashbacks cause dry mouth.
- Flashbacks
  - Flashback of the Lake (Christmas 2008, Chapter 10) (See: Lake)
  - Flashback of the Oak Tree (Christmas 2002, Chapter 11)
    - "I wonder if the flashback was sent by the fairies," Maribel says. "Did you see any clues?"
      
      "Like the rune from the lake?" you ask. "I don't remember anything like that."
      
      But Helen frowns. "No, not during the flashback. But when we were in the tree there was a fog in the woods past the fence, and we thought we heard wolves. It freaked us out."
      
      The rejuvenated memory comes to you readily, and you recall the ghostly vapor slinking between the trees. Later, Uncle Grubb dismissed the howling as wind, but the air had been still.

Seems to block radio signals.
The mansion seems to be immune.
The sun is moving faster across the sky.
From what you read in the Zyklopädie, the Fog seems to be responding to Eddie's presence.

Eddie
- Eddie with the Heartstone
  - The warm surface touches his palm. His eyes widen, and it happens. Color drains from the room; the floor-lamps gutter. The stone darkens and shines like the brilliant halo of an eclipsed sun. Eddie's face is lunar pale.
    
    His black t-shirt and jeans are clothes-shaped voids.
    
    There's an unseen disjunction, and it jerks the world like a nicked wire sliding across a razor edge. An abyss gapes in your mind. You shiver with cold as the light slowly returns.
    
    The ball has fallen from your brother's grasp. He sits on the stool, chewing his lip rings. Trembling, he stares at you with madman eyes, the whites visible all around his ice-blue pupils.
    
    "Eddie . . . " you say.
    
    "Burt . . . I . . . I'm a wizard."
    
    You breathe a nervous snicker. "You're telling me!"
    
    He rocks in place. His teeth chatter. "I could see forever, Burt! I . . . I touched existence! There's something behind the curtain. Something beautiful. Something terrible. I . . . I just don't remember what it was."
  - "It's weird. When I hold it, it's like a part of me. I can even see through it!" He shuts his eyes and then covers his face with an arm. "Test me."
    
    You hold two fingers to the stone.
    
    Eddie giggles. "Peace, man!"
    
    You raise your middle finger.
    
    "You're flipping me the bird."
    
    Your brother's seeing through a magic gem. The sorcery's sheer blatantness gives you vertigo. "Very weird," you agree.
  - "Let me see the stone, Burt."
    
    Helen and Maribel look up from their books as you pull the heartstone from your pocket and, with some trepidation, pass it to your brother. His face tightens under the abrupt red glow which paradoxically seems to drain light from the study. He holds the stone in his right hand while he draws with his left.
    
    At first, Eddie moves with the laid-back precision that typifies his artistry. But, gradually, he quickens, and his pencil scratches with inhuman haste, each angular symbol and octagonal pattern manifesting unerringly on the paper as though he's sketched the diagram a thousand times. By the stone's dull radiance you see his pale features are slack, his blue pupils dilated. He stares into nothing, not even glancing at the open journal beside him. You exchange concerned looks with Helen and Maribel. This is 'Stoned Eddie,' a familiar sight.
    
    Without breaking pace, he completes the first copy, rips the sheet from the notebook and starts on the second.
    
    You lay a hand on his shoulder. "Eddie . . . ?"
    
    He nods quickly, shoos you away. You step back, unsure what to do.
    
    By the time he finishes the fourth diagram, sweat beads his forehead and cheeks. He plants the stone on the stack of copies, and as soon as he pulls his hand away, the gloomy glow ceases. Closing his eyes, he slumps back in the leather chair. His breaths come heavy. You wonder if he's passed out.
    
    Maribel steps forward and pokes him in the arm. "Are you okay, Eddie?"
    
    "I saw . . ." he rasps. "I saw . . . I saw . . ."
    
    "You saw what?" Helen asks.
    
    "I saw . . . the abyss. I was me, but I was more than me. I was others. And I understood. There's gears under the world. There's eyes behind the stars. I . . . I don't remember the truth, but it was intense."
- Eddie's Powers
  - Can effectively reproduce the Anti-Fog runes.
    - Doing so exhausts him.
  - '"It's weird, but I feel like I know these already," Eddie says, "like they've always been inside me."
    
    "Genetic memory?" you suggest.
    
    "I don't know. The runes, they call to me, but it's not like remembering. Their meanings are just . . . self-evident, like they're beyond language.'

Maribel
- Maribel with the Heartstone
  - Helen sighs and lets Maribel snatch it from her palm--
    
    A gale wind blasts you in the face. You stumble backwards into the computer desk. A pale blue aura pulses from the heartstone cupped in Maribel's hands.
    
    Her dark eyes shimmer, and her kinky hair sways like serpents. She grins ecstatically. Is she growing taller? No, you look down and see her little sneakers levitating inches above the floorboards.
    
    Dust and drywall particles gather around her and swirls into a miniature whirlwind. From their shelves, books jiggle free and bob in the air like half-filled helium balloons. The broom rises erect and spins on its axis.
    
    Your heart pounds. A seashell roar fills your ears. Eddie stands beside you and watches your floating sister in wonder. Helen is backed against the wall, her eyes wide in disbelief.
    
    "I'm a wizard!" Maribel cries with glee as she kicks her feet. With two fists she thrusts the heartstone above her head where it shines like a cyan star. "I'M A WIZAAAAAAARD!"
  - Maribel levitates in the swirling haze. She holds the heartstone above her head where its pale blue light casts a nebula glow on the dusty streams sweeping around her.
    
    "I'm flying, Pookie! I'm flying!" Her joyous laughter echos in the wind.
    
    You open your mouth, but words stick in your throat. You step forward but stumble, and you feel a sudden, sickening buoyancy as though the whole house is plunging from a great height.
    
    Helen screams. She's drifting upwards, her arms flapping, her legs kicking for the floor inching away. Beside her floats the computer desk. A wayward smack of her foot sends it somersaulting past you.
    
    Hands grip your arm and shoulder, and you turn to find Eddie clinging to you as he rises. You pull him back down, but that only bobs you up in his place. Your stomach flutters. Beside you, a massive bookcase creaks menacingly.
    
    "Maribel! Stop this!" you shout. "Someone's going to get hurt!"
    
    For the first time, Maribel seems to notice the chaos around her, and her glee turns pensive. She lowers the heartstone, and the brightness wanes. The whirlwind disperses. She settles back to the library floor.
- Maribel's Powers
  - She points at a bare spot on the desk. At first, you see nothing, but then specks of dust rise and dance gracefully around each other until they form a tiny, wispy tornado.
    
    Maribel watches with uncharacteristic intensity. Finally, she huffs a breath and the miniature storm fades away. "That's all I can do!"
  - 'Helen giggles, and you both turn to see her holding out her hand while a dust devil the size of a Dixie cup sashays in her palm. Maribel's eyes are fixed with concentration as she works her magic.'
  - 'She's crouched and shining her flashlight on the floor, her face set in a brooding scowl. As you watch, a swirling, dinner plate-sized whirlwind gradually materializes and rises to ankle-height. The tiny storm sweeps slowly across the floorboards, churning dust and billowing it across the room.'
  - 'A bookmark of a kitten in a wizard hat falls out. Maribel wiggles her fingers at it, and the bookmark flutters before standing on its end and spinning slowly in place.'
  - Can reproduce the Anti-Fog runes, but not as effectively as Eddie.
  - Her powers may manifest without her knowledge: ' You're not sure if she's aware, but a baby dust devil sashays figure-eights between her sneakers.'
  - '"I bet I can explode things too if I practice enough." Maribel aims an open palm at a second chair. Its dusty white cover flaps as if in a gentle breeze.
    
    "You have some leveling to do," Eddie says.'
  - Helen groans. "I'll go down first."
    
    "I don't think that's a good idea," you say.
    
    "I'll be fine. I could really use a gas mask, though."
    
    "I mean it could be dangerous," you say. "With all that concentrated fungi, there's probably mycotoxins in the air."
    
    "I have some incense in my backpack," Helen says.
    
    "That . . . wouldn't help."
    
    "What if we wrap rags around our mouths?" Eddie asks.
    
    "Let me try something," Maribel says. Standing by the rectangle, she raises her arms, wiggles her fingers and says, "Stinkious Be-Goneius!"
    
    Warm air breezes from the square window behind you and tugs at your shirt and jeans as it flows through the opening at your feet. Below, the bedroom's dust stirs and sparkles under the flashlight beams as it shapes into a horizontal funnel, like a miniature tornado on its side. It swirls over the breach in the wall.
    
    She's ventilating the room, blowing in new air while jettisoning the old. After about half a minute, the downdraft dies away.
    
    Helen lowers her head through the hole a takes a sniff. "It's not fresh baked cookies, but at least I'm not going to vomit." She hugs Maribel.
    
    "You are the cutest little air freshener ever!"
    
    "That was very impressive," you say, ruffling her hair.
    
    "It's cool having an aeromancer in the family," Eddie says.
    
    Maribel beams, her chin held high. A wispy whirlwind sways her hair like a sea anemone. "'Aeromancer' . . . I like that!"

'An electronic gargling plays through the great hall. Your sisters are hunched over the radio, and as Helen tunes the receiver, the noise oscillates between highs and lows, sounding too much like moaning.'
' At least this time there's no demonic voices.'

Time seems to be accelerated outside the house.
The sun's moving faster, with a day passing in a few hours.
Eddie is bent through a square window, his torso out in the Fog.

"Time?" he calls back.

Helen glances from her sword to her smartphone on the floor beside her. "Forty-two seconds. You?"

"Same." Eddie pulls back inside, his own phone in hand. "I guess my arm's not long enough."

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Running an experiment," Eddie says. "If the Fog's causing the time dilation, then maybe the deeper you go, the faster time moves."

"Like clocks falling into black holes or something," Helen says. "I saw that in a Youtube video."
In the study, Eddie opens his laptop. He checks his phone.

"My phone's one minute ahead. They had the same time before."

Maribel turns on her tablet and compares it to her phone. "Mine's a minute fast too."

"We were outside for how long, ten, fifteen minutes?" Eddie asks. "That's like a ten percent increase."

Known Worlds

An Earth that was transmigrated to the Ringworld in A.D. 1507.

After the event, 'Dwarves' and 'Trolls' were found to live beneath certain mountain ranges.
- The Dwarves traded runic weapons and armor with the humans.
- The Trolls spread death and chaos.
- As of 1767 (260th Year of the New Earth), history is drastically different from your own Earth's history.
  - Protestantism evidently never took off. Catholicism's main rival is a 'Zoubartic' sect of Christianity which embraces magic.
  - France has been embroiled in crippling succession wars.
  - Spain and Portugal are suffering a renewed Moorish invasion.
  - It seems only England has a foothold in the Americas.
  - There are 'Elf Lands across the Southern Sea.'
    - The 'Eddland Archipelagos '
  - 1780: The Dortmund Portals are made. First contact with Jaa'hana Elves.
See Books:
- Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle by Doctor Jochen Ritter von Senckenberg (Written in 1767)
- Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie
- Zyklopädie der Neuen Welt

An Earth that transmigrated to the Ringworld in A.D. 1901

Earth's (now flat) continents are surrounded by lands populated by a pygmy race with pointed ears. They are dubbed 'Elves.'
- A few have psychic powers.
- Most of these Elvish civilizations are primitive and are quickly exploited.
  - An exception is the Aesiran Republic, discovered in 1913. Not only do they possess nineteenth century-level technology, but anti-gravity (in the form of Cavorite) as well.
Many Elves immigrate to Earth countries (particularly the United States). Many are used for cheap labor, though some turn to a life of crime.
History is radically different:
- 1901: As in your time line, President McKinley is shot, but here the assassin was a 'robed cultist.' Teddy Roosevelt is sworn in.
- 1901-1932: The British Empire, the United States and Germany experience a new age of colonialism and exploration. Hundreds of thousands of Elves immigrate.
- 1910: After serving two terms, Roosevelt sails with the Great White Fleet to the US's colonies in the Elvish lands.
- 1913: During a safari, Roosevelt's camp is overrun by 'Morlocks' (i.e. Trolls). His body is never found.
- 1913: The Great White Fleet encounters the Aesiran Republic. Though peaceful (if arrogant), the Republic's fleets of flying warships worry the Earth nations, setting off a frantic search for 'Cavorite.'
- The First World War never happens.
- 1932: After years of tension, the Aesirian Republic bombs the British colonies of New Bristol and Avon.
See Books:
- On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism by Charles A. Beard (Published in 1931)
- Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves by Hereward Carrington (Published 1924)
- The Lost Treasure of Min'Karanda by Sir Author Conan Doyle
- Encyclopedia Britannica, 13th Edition (Published 1926)
- The crumpled up newspaper (Dated, July 13th, 1932)

A predominately Elvish region that includes the Jaganma Reich (Later the Aesirian Republic?) as well as a offhandedly mentioned 'Confederation.'

The Jaganma Reich was founded by Germans from 'Earth-1507.'
The Germans made first contact with the Jaa'hanan Elves in 1780, after Mulnak created the Dortmund Portals.
The region is three million miles 'down the Ring' from Earth-1507.
The Germans seem to be cut off from their 'Fatherland,' and have been so for decades.
Their Jaganma leader is 'Sarvesara-Kaiser Sigivald I'
19th century tech level, augmented with runic magic and 'Cavorite.'
The Dwarven Eirohm Company is one of the Reich's biggest weapons manufacturers.
Elves outnumber humans.
Some of the humans are descendants of the Vendi-Ka.
There are a few Dwarves. They manufacture weapons.
Humans and Elves have seperate Reichstags (Parliaments)
Uncle Grubb's Journal begins on the '451st Year of the New Earth,' which makes it the year A. D. 1958 under Earth-1507's calendar.
At some point the Reich becomes known as the 'Aesirian Republic.' Uncle Grubb's journal has yet to explain this.
Five hundred years ago (A.D. 1453 / -54 N.E.) : The Vendi-Ka destroyed themselves in a war. Poisonous ash crossed the ocean and fell upon the Jaa'hana Region. Sickness spread, crops withered. The Winter Years followed, and three out of four Elves perished.
- Refugees from the Vendi-Ka arrived, bringing technological knowledge.
Elvish text is, 'slanted, calligraphic.'
Jaa'hanan Elves
- are situs inversus.
- have an unusually high cancer rating, killing one in eight before the age of fifty.
See Books:
- The Elvish-Germanese Dictionary
- Ein Elfen Odyssee: Kapitän Meero D'Mirsky die Reise in die Venda-Ka Wüste
- The Elvish religious text
- Die Magie der Welt-Springen
- Shubba und Wolff's Illustriertes Deutsche-Jahag Wörterbuch
- Uncle Grubb's Journal
- Zyklopädie der Neuen Welt
- Anything in Elvish

A highly advanced civilization destroyed in a cataclysmic war five hundred years ago.

Located 'Far Left Spinward' to the Jaganma Reich.
Composed of nine continents.
Frequently explored for artifacts.
Vendi-Ka humans are 'coal-skinned.'
'D'yute' (Known to the Germans as 'Duellona' or 'The Autumn City'): The Vendi-Ka's last intact city. It's shrouded in a anomalous fog which distorts space and time. Entering is dangerous, though the rewards are great.
- Trolls and Deep Ones have reportedly been seen there.
See Books:
- Uncle Grubb's Journal
- Anything in Elvish?
- Anything in Hieroglyphics?

JMHthe3rd · Aug 20, 2015

Chapter Two

Your eyes linger over the study and all of its untapped mysteries, but you tell yourself you can come back later. After all, someone should keep your siblings out of trouble.

"All right, Goosie, let's see what there is to see."

The great hall and dining room don't have much of interest. Under the white sheets the antique furniture is well-preserved but otherwise unremarkable. A pair of wooden sliding doors reveals a den with a covered sofa and a large, cobwebbed TV set that looks older than you and Helen combined. Aside from a few family photos in frames and albums, you don't find anything personal of your great-great uncle's, no diaries or important records.

Standing in a slouch, hands in his pockets, Eddie points with his chin. "Cool. Booze."

There's a well-stocked mini-bar in the den's corner. Helen lifts the glass stopper on a dusty bottle and sniffs its contents.

She makes a face. "Uhg. Gin."

"You keep away from that, Eddie," you say. "The last thing we need is for you to drink yourself into a coma."

"Okay, Dad."

You glare at him, anger boiling inside you. Too soon. Not funny. Helen laughs.

"Whatever," she says. "Eddie's a robo-tripper. Booze would just mess up his high."

You palm your face. "Eddie, please tell me you're not still doing that stuff. Cough syrup can kill you."

"I'm not! I haven't done it in months! I swear!"

But you know your brother, and you know he's lying. Eddie has a history of substance abuse. It scares you. You sigh and make a note to later hide the bottles--and maybe snoop through his luggage too.

There's a thick oak door near the stairway that you think leads to the basement, but it's locked and far to sturdy to force open. You move on to the kitchen. The pantry's filled with canned goods with labels so faded you can barely read them. Rat droppings litter the tile floor by the bottom cabinets, and peeking inside you see the tattered remains of cereal boxes and other dry goods. You don't even bother opening the fridge: at best, it's empty, at worse, a bio-hazard.

Eddie kneels, puts his palm flat on the floor. "You feel that? It's like a vibration. Maybe like a machine or something below our feet."

Before you can reply, Maribel walks into the kitchen. You didn't even notice she was gone.

"Look what I found!" she exclaims, waving around a revolver.

"Whoa!" you cry.

"Shit!" Helen grabs Maribel's hand and holds it up as she takes the gun away from her. She swings out the cylinder: fully loaded. She ejects the bullets (.38 Specials, you think), pockets them and then swats Maribel on the back of the head.

"Christ, Maribel, your finger was on the fucking trigger."

"But I was barely even pulling it!"

"Gun safety fail," says Eddie.

"Yeah, you know better than that," you say. "Guns are not toys."

Maribel hangs her head like a scolded puppy and says nothing. At least she didn't call you 'Dad.'

Helen shakes her head. Back at home you own several firearms--an inheritance from your parents--and precisely for this reason they're kept securely locked up. Helen sticks the empty handgun down the front of her jeans.

"Where did you find it?" she asks.

Maribel grins and motions you to follow.

The small room is down a short hall behind the stairs. A fourposter bed with sheer curtains takes up most of the floor space. Maribel points at an ornately carved dresser with one of the drawers already open.

"There's a lot of neat stuff in there. Cash too. Look."

She pulls out a wad of bills from a wooden box. You take one and examine it. The wrongness is so strange, it takes you a moment to realize what's different.

"The last time I checked, Teddy Roosevelt wasn't on the twenty dollar bill," you say dryly.

"Must be novelty money," Helen agrees, rubbing another in her hands. "They sure feel real, though."

You search the drawers and aside from an antique wristwatch and socks and underwear (including frilly bras and panties for someone very petite), you come across a couple of boxes of ammo for the pistol, a ring with seven old fashion keys and a crumpled up newspaper. You open the paper and stare at the headline in disbelief:

"Huh," you say. "I must have slept through this in history class. Any of you remember an Elf War in the thirties?"

"Um, what?" Eddie asks, and you show him the paper. He breaks into giggles. "Oh, wow, yeah, I remember that. The Drow teamed up with Hitler and Sauron. We ended up nuking Mordor."

You skim the first few paragraphs of the article. "Weird, it says 'New Bristol' is three thousand miles south of Antarctica. What the hell could that mean?" You feel like you're missing some vital context, but flipping through the pages (the quality of the paper doesn't seem even close to eighty years old) you catch a couple of mentions of a 'Great Transmigration.' Whatever that is.

Maribel tugs on a closet door. "This one's locked. You want to try one of those keys?"

You do. It opens on the second try.

You nearly jump when you see the blank iron face staring down at you. Maribel screams and hides behind you.

"What the fuck is that?" Helen asks from the dusty bed. She was in the middle of rooting through the nightstand and seems more annoyed than alarmed.

You, Helen and Eddie all have tall lanky builds, and you yourself are six foot two. This . . . statue is both skinnier and at least a hand taller. You poke it with a finger and feel hard metal beneath its frayed button up hobo shirt. You push; the statue doesn't even wobble. It must weigh several hundred pounds.

"I swear, if that thing moves, I'm going to shit my pants," Eddie says.

"Yeah," you say, looking into its dead black eyes. "But I bet it's just a sculpture. Or a prop from a science fiction movie or series. It looks like something out of Doctor Who."

Maribel is still behind you. You feel her clinging to your shirt. "It's like one of those Weeping Angels," she says.

You see a wooden chest by its feet. You kneel and lift the lid to reveal array of strange tools along with a highly organized collection of gears and springs and pistons and other metal parts. There's also some sort of red crystal sphere about the size of a baseball and a small tin full of a pink powdery substance. Stuck in a side pouch in the chest is a leather-bound book. You flip through its pages and see various inked etchings and schematics, but the hieroglyphic-looking text is of no language you've ever seen.

"Okay, so why does Uncle Grubb have a steampunk C-3PO in his closet?" Eddie asks. "Or funny money and a fake newspaper?"

"Maybe he's a time traveler," Maribel says, completely earnest, "and this stuff's from an alternate history."

Eddie makes a snapping sound with his tongue. "You hear that? It's you breaking Occam's razor."

You chuckle, putting the 'instruction manual' back in its pouch. "No, Maribel. Uncle Grubb was kind of an eccentric and rich too. He probably bought all this stuff off eBay."

"Looks like he also had a girlfriend," Helen says. "Tiny little thing. And really cute."

She passes around a black and white photo of a fortyish Grubb wearing a tweed jacket and boulder hat. Standing beside him is a very pretty woman who comes scarcely up to his elbow. She has to be under five feet tall. You recognize her as the same woman from the picture in the study.

"Here's another one of her. Check out the ears."

"So, she's an elf," says Eddie. "All right, this is just getting weird."

You agree. But what should you do now?

[ ] Go back and investigate the study.
[ ] See if one of the keys can open the basement door.
[ ] Go upstairs.
[ ] Write in.

Anything specific Herbert should do? Any items he should take? Feel free to elaborate.

New Items in Inventory

Hebert

Strange Newspaper
Ring of old fashion keys
A few Teddy Roosevelt 'novelty dollars

Helen

.38 Special Revolver (Unloaded)
6 .38 Special bullets
A few Teddy Roosevelt 'novelty dollars

JMHthe3rd · Aug 25, 2015

Chapter Three

You take the red crystal ball from the chest and close the lid. The sphere feels heavier than you expected and glows subtly at the touch of your skin. Some sort of inner light that reacts to bio-electric contact? That has to be it. Perfectly rational. You stick it in your front pants pocket where it bulges awkwardly. As you stand up, the iron-faced statue looms from the closet and seems to stare at you accusingly with its blank, black eyes.

"Hmm, come on, let's go back to the study," you say. "Maybe we'll find answers there."

Maribel says, "I bet you ten--no, twenty dollars he was a time traveler. Or a dimension jumper. Or Time Lord. Or whatever." She waves a little brown hand at the statue, though she keeps her distance. "I mean, this is obviously from a magic steampunk alternate history. What else could it be?"

"A lot of things," Eddie says. He's squinting at the photo of the elf girl and gnawing on one of his lip rings. "I'm guessing Uncle Grubb was into role-playing and these are just props. Really, really elaborate props."

"Maybe," you say and exchange a look with Helen.

She's lounging on the musty bed with her sneakers propped on a pillow and her hands behind her head. The sleeve of her blue tie-dye's rolled up, showing off a tattoo of the Dark Side of the Moon prism that wasn't there a couple of months ago. The butt of the revolver sticks out from the waist of her jeans. Smirking, she shrugs her eyebrows at you as if to say, Fuck if I know.

You shake your head and are about to turn and leave when a worrisome thought strikes you. You then close the closet door and lock it.

Eddie sneers. "Yeah, we don't want the robot to escape, do we?"

"Something like that," you say, though in truth you're more worried about Maribel doing something stupid--a personal habit of hers. If that thing's as heavy as you think it is, then it could be dangerous if it falls over. And she might hurt herself on something in that wooden chest. At least that's what you tell yourself. That 'robot' creeps you out. You don't make a big show of it, but after everyone leaves the bedroom you find a key on the ring and lock that door as well. Better safe than sorry.

Walking back to the study, you tug out a Teddy Roosevelt bill and examine it carefully. It feels real, it looks real. The green lines are remarkably fine, especially for a 'gag dollar'. The date on the front is, '1930.' On the back you see a warship with three smokestacks and a US flag flapping from its superstructure. Being a history buff, you recognize it as the battleship USS Connecticut, the flagship of the Great White Fleet, a battle fleet commissioned by President Roosevelt to circumnavigate the world. 'The Great Expedition: 1910-1913' reads along the top the bill, and above that there's a zodiac sun inside a wide circle, around which is inscribed the Latin phrase: TERRA NOVA, AETAS NOVA. 'A new world, a new age.'

Strange. You pocket the bill.

You all enter the study. Your siblings gawk at all the books and papers and other odds and ends. Eddie hefts a thick, hardbound book and with a deadpan expression shows everyone the spine: The Biology of Woodland Fairies.

Your twin sputters a laugh. "Okay, I think it's official: Uncle Grubb was a crazy man."

Maribel's dark face pouts into a scowl. "He was not!"

Eddie drops the book back on the desk where it puffs up dust. "You were like five when you saw him last. I think you spent the whole time watching Dora the Explorer. Trust me, he was weird. He never married. He never needed a job. He just sat around this house for like sixty years."

"Grandpa said he disappeared a lot," you say. "I think he traveled."

"Probably to Argentina," Helen says with a smirk. "You know, to visit old war buddies."

You give her a look. "Come on, that's not true. Our family's been in Texas since the Republic."

"Aunt Rudy said that was all made up. She was kind of drunk, but she seemed serious. Think about it: he and great-granddad spoke with German accents. What else can that mean?" Helen straightens her posture and in a clipped voice snaps, "I veemember nutt-ting before nineteen forty-five!"

Your about to protest, but she has a point. He did have a slight accent (German or Austrian or maybe Dutch?) though as a twelve year old you never gave it any thought. You just sort of implicitly assumed old people spoke funny.

"But he's the one who convinced mom and dad to adopt me!" Maribel says. "A Nazi wouldn't do that!"

Helen pauses and then shrugs. "That's a good point."

She picks up the framed portrait of the 'elf girl' and frowns, and you know you two are thinking the same thing. Since you were a little kid, you were told that, 'Uncle Grubb found a baby who needed a home, and that's where your little sister came from,' and that story was so often repeated that it became an unquestioned narrative in your life.

Only now does it seem odd. Where did an eccentric octogenarian recluse living in a house filled with inexplicable knickknacks 'find' a black baby in need of adoption? Did someone drive through all these woods and leave Maribel on his doorstep? Well, it's too late to ask him or your parents, but maybe you can find the answer somewhere here.

"Come on," you say, "let's look through this stuff."

There's no real rhyme or reason to the search: you all just grab things that look interesting. But you keep an eye on Maribel to make sure she doesn't find a hand grenade or something.

The Biology of Woodland Fairies covers more than what its title would imply. Flipping through, you see chapters covering habitats, histories and social hierarchies. There's also a few pictures, most being drawings, but a few you recognize as the infamous 'fairy photographs' from the early 1900's. If you remember correctly, Sherlock Homes author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle got duped into believing the hoax. Evidently this book argues the photographs are real.

Eddie's eyes light up when he finds a cheap hardcover called, Visions of Y'ha-nthlei. He says the name's from the 'Cthulhu Mythos,' and is supposed to be a city of the 'Deep Ones.' The book seems to investigate a Massachusetts-based cult that worships them.

Eddie grins. "Oh, man. I'm definitely reading this."

You rarely seen him this excited about anything, but then you know he's into those Cthulhu stories, which from what you gather are about ancient monsters from other dimensions.

"So . . . the book's trying to say H. P. Lovecraft was writing nonfiction?" you ask incredulously.

"How do you know he wasn't?" asks Maribel. "Let's go to the lake. I want to see fish people!"

"Um, maybe later," you say, tossing the book back on the desk.

From the bookcase you pull out an ancient leather-bound tome titled, Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle. It's pages are handwritten in German and interspersed with detailed illustrations of hideous, dangerous-looking creatures. One looks like an albino gorilla with three eyes, and you immediately turn to the glass case. But Helen has the skull in her hand. She and Maribel poke at its long, jagged fangs with their fingers.

"I don't think this is real," your twin says.

Eddie snorts. "Oh, you mean it's not a genuine 'triclops'?"

"Well, I mean aside from that. It feels like carved rock. Good attention to detail, though."

An entire shelf is dedicated to 'science,' or pseudoscience, anyway. Some of the titles are: Geomagnetic Morphology, Leyline Energy Grids, Akashic Field Theory and Astral Dynamics.

"Woo," you judge, running your fingers across the dusty spines, though you notice at the end a rolled up paper. It's a map of the surrounding geography penned over with strange calculations and measurements. You put it back on the shelf and keep looking.

You're kneeling in the corner, struggling with an old filing cabinet, when you notice a cracked wood panel on the wall. You push at it, and it slides away to reveal a small safe. You have no idea what the combination could be.

You're about to stand up, but you spot on the floor a relatively pristine book: On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism, by Charles A. Beard. You recognize the author as a famous historian, but that's not what catches your eye. You brush away the dust on the jacket to better show the detailed color picture below the title. It's a map. An impossible map.

The continents in the center are familiar enough, but they're laid out wrong, distorted, as if the Earth had been peeled and stretched on a flat surface. Europe is directly 'north' of North America. Australia is thousands of miles from Antarctica. But there's also other continents along the edge of the oval-shaped map. You don't recognize them at all.

You open the book and see that it's a first edition, copyright: 1931. Which is absurd, since the pages aren't even yellowed. The table of contents lists chapters such as, 'The Early Panic,' 'The Great Expedition,' 'First Encounters with the Elvish Tribes,' 'Missionaries, Colonists and Elvish Immigrants,' 'Adventures of the HMS Enterprise,' and 'The Aesiran Republic.' And that's just 'Part One: The History' It's a thick book.

Eddie peeks at the cover, rubs at his dyed black hair and then grins. "Oh, cool! Looks like an 'act of Rob' scenario."

"Who's Rob?" you ask.

"'Random Omniscient Being.' It's from a forum I hang out on. It's like a thought experiment. Like, 'what if the moon were turned to gold' or 'what if all electricity and gunpowder stopped working.' It's like an alternate history, except impossible. There's a whole genre of books like that."

When it comes to science-fiction and fantasy, you're a layman. You've watched shows and movies and have read some of the more famous works of the genre (Wells, Asimov, Clarke, among others), but you yourself are more into literary classics and historical fiction. Eddie's the one who's really into that stuff.

You stare at the book and feel a faint giddiness.

"I wonder who really wrote this," you say.

"You think Uncle Grubb did?" Eddie asks, still kneeling by your side.

"Maybe." You wave around at everything in the study. "Maybe he wrote all of this. Maybe he 'shopped all the photos and carved the three-eyed ape skull and built the robot in his garage. Hell, maybe he even believed all of it was true. Either way, this is pretty neat."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, and you notice he has a childlike wonder in his blue eyes that you haven't seen since before his 'nihilist-goth' phase. It's a welcome sight.

"Look," Helen says, "as much fun as it is rooting through a schizophrenic's writings, the novelty's wearing thin."

She's sitting cross-legged on the floor, her knees poking through her torn jeans. Blond bangs dangle in front of her face. Beside her, Marbel has her own hair out of its ponytail, and it's messed upwards in a kinky troll doll bush.

"Yeah, I'm bored too," Maribel says. "Let's explore the rest of the house. We've found so much cool stuff already, who knows what we'll find? Maybe a time machine. You think it's like a Tardis or a DeLorean? Does Uncle Grubb have a garage? I bet he has like an old-timey car, like out of Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang."

"I think he drove an Oldsmobile," you say. "But anyway, we've barely even scratched the surface here. I was kind of wanting to read some of this, maybe get some answers."

"Me too," Eddie says. "Uncle Grubb may have been crazy, but this place is pretty cool."

"Okay, then let us explore the house on our own," Helen says and throws an arm around Maribel's shoulder. "I promise I won't let her play with any more guns."

"I wasn't playing!"

"I don't know if splitting up is a good idea," you say.

Helen rolls her eyes. "Christ, Pookie, this isn't a Scooby Doo episode. Old Man Withers isn't going to chase us around dressed as a ghost."

"Hey! I know! Me and Goosie can hold a seance!" Maribel cries.

"Wait! What? No!" Helen says. "That's stupid!"

But Maribel won't be deterred. "I can get my Ouija board and my tape recorder for EVPing. and we can ask the ghosts questions. Maybe we can reach mom and dad! And we can do it from the living room, so that way Pookie won't have to worry about the boogieman getting us."

Helen groans and gives you an exasperated, 'help me' look. Though she's not a dyed-in-the-wool skeptic like you are, helping Maribel subconsciously push around a piece of plastic on a Parker Brothers game board while she asks imaginary spirits questions clearly isn't her idea of fun. You're tempted to be a dick and say, ''Why, I think that's a wonderful idea!' but on the other hand there's only about three hours or so of daylight left. You look out the study's dirty window. This house is going to be pitch black at night.

"Maybe you two could set up the propane generator," you say. And by 'you two,' you of course mean, 'Helen.' She's more mechanically inclined than you. On the other hand, it couldn't hurt to give her a hand.

"Come on! That's no fun!" Maribel says.

"Where should we set up the lights?" Helen asks. "Are we going to spend the night here or in the trailer? We brought tents, so we could even sleep outside if we want."

Eddie snorts. "We don't."

You rub your chin and think. So many options. What should you do?

New item in inventory: Red crystal sphere

Character Sheets
Inventory

[ ] You and Eddie can stay in the study while Helen and Maribel do something else. But there's so much to investigate here. Where should you start?
-[ ] Read The Biology of Woodland Fairies
-[ ] Read Visions of Y'ha-nthlei
-[ ] Try to translate Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle (Note: Your skills with Latin will help)
-[ ] Look over the science books and the map. (Note: You probably lack the necessary science skills to understand this)
-[ ] Read On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism
-[ ] Keep searching the study for more material.
-[ ] Write it in.

-While you're doing that, what should Eddie do?
-[ ] Read The Biology of Woodland Fairies
-[ ] Read Visions of Y'ha-nthlei
-[ ] Look over the science books and the map. (Note: He probably lacks the necessary science skills to understand this)
-[ ] Read On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism
-[ ] Keep searching the study for more material.
-[ ] Write in.

-What should Helen and Maribel do?
-[ ] Explore the house on their own.
-[ ] Hold a seance in the great hall outside the study.
-[ ] Set up the propane generator and lights. But where should they set it up?
--[ ] Set up lights in the mansion
--[ ] The trailer
--[ ] Set up the tents, we're sleeping outside!
-[ ] Write in

[ ] Hmm, on second though, maybe you should all stick together. So, what should the four of you do?
-[ ] Continue exploring the house. But where?
--[ ] Keep searching the first floor
--[ ] Basement
--[ ] Upstairs
-[ ] Hold a seance (Note: you and Eddie think this is stupid)
-[ ] Set up the propane generator and lights. But where?
--[ ] Set up lights in the mansion
--[ ] The trailer
--[ ] Set up the tents, we're sleeping outside!

[ ] Want to do something else entirely? Want to add anything? Write in.

JMHthe3rd · Sep 6, 2015

Okay, here you go. Sorry this took so long to write, but the word count ended up being longer than I anticipated.

Chapter Four

"We'll sleep in here," you say. "And unpack the tents and sleeping bags too. I wouldn't want to lie on the beds here."

"Yeah," Eddie mutters. "This place is Cobweb City."

"The tents have bug netting," Helen says, "and we brought some repellent stuff. That should keep the brown recluses away. Come on, Maribel. Let's go get everything together."

Your sisters leave the room, and as they walk away you hear Maribel ask, "You really think brown recluses live here?"

"Maybe, but they'll leave you alone if you leave them alone."

"But their bites cause zombie rot! I saw it on Youtube. It was so gross because you could see . . ." The front doors open and shut, and they're outside.

You toss Eddie On God's Ring. "Here, you know more about these 'Rob scenario' things. See what you make of this. I'm going to try to translate this weird German book. I want to know where that three-eyed skull came from."

Eddie blows dust off a wooden stool before squating on it. "Like you said, Uncle Grubb probably carved it himself."

"But why? And what is it?" You heft up Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle; it's nearly too thick to grip with one hand. "I bet the answers are in here."

Wanting a place to sit, you empty the leather armchair of its papers, taking time to rifle through them. A stuffed manila envelope with the words, 'Christmas, 2001' catches your eye, and inside you find a stack of photographs. Contrasting all the surreal things you've come across, this is mundanely melancholy.

Your memories of this specific get together are so faint as to be almost imaginary, but seeing your family captured in these bygone moments tugs at you. In one, Aunt Rudy holds a beer in each hand as she chats with Great-Uncle Freddy, who's smoking a cigarette through his Santa beard. Another shows your grandparents playing cards with your mom and dad; all four have felt antlers clipped to their heads. Your mom's laughing at something, a glass of eggnog held to her lips. Your throat tightens a little, but you keep sifting through the pictures.

You see Uncle Stewart and Aunt Cindy hugging on the back porch. You see your cousins Jeff and Shane sparring with collapsible lightsabers while behind them Uncle Grubb slaves over a stove. And you come across a photo of a pair of near-identical tow-headed five year olds playing in the mansion's front yard.

At that age, you and Helen were distinguishable only by Helen's longer hair. You both have mud on your clothes and together are conducting a battle between X-Men and Pokemon action figures. A toddler Eddie with blond hair a dirtier shade than you and your sister's peddles a big-wheel tricycle in the background. You smile as you half-remember, and you go on.

It's the last picture that gives you pause. It's a family portrait of four generations. At the top, Great-great uncle Grubb stands beside his brother, your Great-grandfather Fulbert, who in turn stands beside his wife, your Great-grandmother Hilda. Below them are Great-uncle Freddy and your grandparents, and below them are Uncle Stewart, Aunts Cindy and Rudy, Cousin Richie and your mom and dad. Being the youngest, you, Helen and Eddie, along with your cousins Jeff, Shane, and Desiree, make up the bottom row.

You hunch in the leather chair, the sudden grief stifling you like a gloomy cloud. You run a finger over the photo, touching each face. Uncle Grubb has his usual distracted, vaguely unhappy gaze, which is juxtaposed by Great-grandpa Fulbert's easy smile. It's little wonder, really. Great-grandpa Fulbert had the loving family, while Uncle Grubb spent his life alone, apparently constructing a fantasy world around himself.

But other than that, the two brothers look much alike with similar heads of wavy white hair and narrow, Nordic features which gave them a regal bearing in their old age. Great-grandma Hilda looks like them too, now that you think about it. You lift the picture and squint: No, she really looks like them. A lot. She has the same long face with the same deep set eyes, aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones. They all three look more alike than you and Helen do. Was Hilda Grubb and Fulbert's cousin? Or maybe even their . . . . No, that's crazy. It can't be. But the resemblance is uncanny.

"What're you looking at?" Eddie asks.

You blink and realize your eyes are watering. Wordlessly, you pass him the photo and then listen to the squeak of tired springs as you rock listlessly in your seat.

He's silent for a while, but finally he says, "It's stupid, but sometimes I forget they're dead."

"It's not stupid. I get it too. It's like you think, 'I can't wait to tell . . .' and then it hits you."

He nods. "I was arguing with mom and dad, right before they got on the bus. They weren't going to let me go to Europe with Brandon, even though we'd been talking about it for months, and I was so pissed. I was like, 'Fuck you! Maybe I'll just ditch you like Goosie did!' and then mom slapped me."

"I remember," you say. He was throwing a hissy fit, making a scene in front of the whole family reunion. "They loved you," you add because you know it's true.

Eddie sneers. "Like they loved Goosie? They practically disowned her."

"That's not true. They loved her too, they just . . ." You trail off. Your parents didn't take Helen's coming out very well, and while they didn't disown her, they weren't exactly on speaking terms either. "They would have accepted her, eventually."

Your brother stares at his boots. "I wish they were still here."

"I do too."

"Any of them," he continues. "Even Aunt Rudy. And I know he's been dead for seven years, but Uncle Grubb too. I would have liked to have known him. Really know him, not just hang out at his house at Christmas."

"He may be gone, but around us we have his life's work," you say and nod at On God's Ring and gesture with the book in your hand. "Let's dig in."

You lean back in the chair and open Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle. At first you flip through the pages, trying to get a feel for the language. You've studied Latin and know a smattering of German, so deciphering the text is merely awkward, not impossible. Some of the words you think might be neologisms, though you lack a German dictionary to cross-check. Happily, the author makes liberal use of Latin words and phrases. The pages are of a thick, yellowing paper that's very old, but otherwise the book's in good condition. The handwriting is tight and neat.

On the first page, the author introduces himself as 'Doctor Jochen Ritter von Senckenberg,' a physician with the University of Würzburg. He states that he is writing this journal so that the reader may have a better understanding of 'the people and creatures that inhabit the underworld.' He splits the contents into two parts: one for the Zwerge, the other for the Trolle. The book's first entry is dated, 13 Januar, Die Jahre des Herrn 1767, with an additional note: 260. Jahr der Neuen Erde. '260th Year of the New Earth.'

You assume at first that the book deals in 'occult knowledge' or a 'secret history,' similar to New Age books that make up nonsense about Roswell or Bigfoot. But Senckenberg feels no need to provide evidence for 'Zwerge und Trolle' ('Dwarves and Trolls') but instead assumes the reader is already familiar with their existence. It's as if he were writing about a subject as mundane as Italians or Ethiopians. Briefly, however, he explains that Dwarves and Trolls live primarily inside mountains, and in Europe most Dwarven settlements lie within the Alps. The Dwarves claim their civilization is many thousands of 'Man years' old, and while Senckenberg doesn't dispute this ('though queer and miserly, Dwarves are honest to a fault'), their world was separate from ours until 'God changed the Heavens and the Earth.'

Though on average they're 'two heads shorter than the common man,' Dwarves are broader of chest, thicker of limb and inhumanly strong. They're also hairless, though their skin is covered in a gray fungus that makes them look as though they're made of stone. Senckenberg theorizes that this growth is the source of their 'odious stench' and advises travelers to plug their nostrils when with them in close quarters (he however notes that Dwarves find Men just as smelly). A Dwarven lifespan is between two or three centuries. Males and females appear indistinguishable.

From Senckenberg's inked drawings, Dwarves bear little resemblance to the race from Tolkien's books. Aside from the lack of hair or beards, their arms are longer than their legs, giving them a somewhat apelike appearance, and their faces are distinctly inhuman. They have cleft upper lips, flat, almost nonexistent noses, conical ears and three small eyes that are both beady and bulging, like those of a koala's. The author writes that these eyes are sensitive to sunlight, and Dwarves on the surface will typically wear wide-brim hats and tinted visors.

Senckenberg describes what he's been able to deduced of Dwarven society, though he admits this has been difficult as they are a secretive race. Generally, they live in city-states carved in tunnels beneath mountains, though he makes mention of a sprawling 'Loufear Empire' in the Far East as well as the 'Farastar Kingdoms' in the 'West-Near Americas.' The elective monarchy is the Dwarves' favorite form of government, with candidates being chosen from a number of noble families.

Aside from the 'Dolomite-Papal Wars' of the late sixteenth century (in which a Dwarven army once laid siege to Rome), conflicts between Dwarves and Men have been limited mostly to small skirmishes, though Dwarven mercenaries have since become a staple of modern warfare. Senckenberg attributes this relative harmony less to a love of peace and more to the fact that, being self-sufficient through their subterranean aquifers and fungi, Dwarves have little interest in surface lands. Human rulers have at times attempted to invade Dwarven cities, but these attempts have almost always ended in disaster for the aggressors. Not least because attacking a mountain fortress is a foolhardy endeavor, but also because of the might of Dwarven war-magic.

Senckenberg spends an entire chapter dealing with the use and history of runic magic. Being 'attuned to the Earth Elements,' Dwarves not only have the power to 'bend stone' with their bare hands (a fact that makes them challenging to imprison), but by the use of runes they can 'compel spirits to act on their behalf.' The author then goes on a theological tangent, the gist of which is that, as a member of the 'Zoubartic' sect of Christianity, Senckenberg believes that magic and spirits are neither good nor evil but merely a part of the natural world. This is opposed to the Catholic faith, which still holds that Dwarven magic is inherently demonic (however, Senckenberg snidely mentions this doesn't stop Catholic nations from using runic weapons or armor or employing Dwarven mercenaries).

He describes an ongoing debate as to whether Dwarves are Sons of Adam and then offers his own position: Dwarves share no blood with Man, but they know good from evil and therefore have souls. He conjectures that the Dwarven god 'Hokrom' may be 'but another face of Our Heavenly Father.' Cryptically, he alludes that this question may have ultimately have caused the 'Second Schism,' and then mentions a 'Marshal-Pope in Avignon' but says no more. Throughout all this there isn't a single reference to Protestantism.

And then back on topic. By etching runes on weapons, armor or castle walls (or anything, you gather) and offering prayers to Hokrom, Dwarves are able to imbue these materials with supernatural properties (either through 'elemental magics' or the 'application of otherworldly strength'). A master runic greatsword might be able to slice through a granite or unleash 'blades of wind.' Runic warhammers can project fiery shockwaves or rumble the ground with their blows. Kingly runic plate armor can withstand direct cannon shot--assuming the cannonball itself is not runic.

While Dwarven musket fire can be devastating, Senckenberg argues that runic artillery is where warfare has seen the greatest change, for the side with the most Dwarven cannon almost invariably wins. The author then describes the Battle of Strasbourg where 'Eis Strom' runic hail-shot not only 'froze and shattered' Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian III's army (and the Emperor himself lost his nose to frostbite), but triggered a 'snowy maelstrom' that wiped out half the the city.

Every country wants Dwarven equipment, especially artillery, and this stuff isn't cheap. The Dwarves have made a lot of money over the last two centuries, and have invested heavily into businesses throughout Europe. Senckenberg opines that their aptitude for fiscal pursuits 'rivals that of the Jews.' However, unlike the Jews, no one dares persecute the Dwarves.

The chapter ends with a glossary of Dwarven runes. He admits that it's incomplete, and since only Dwarves can instill power into these runes, the list is for identification purposes only. He does claim, however, that certain devout Zoubaric priests are beginning to craft their own runic magic ('through the Power of Christ'), though as of yet it's no where near the equal of the Dwarves. The runes are chicken scratchings to you, and though you idly wonder whether you can translate the stone tablet in the display case, you skip past this section for now.

The second part of the book, the one that covers 'Trolls,' is much shorter. Senckenberg stresses that while Dwarves and Trolls share superficial similarities (e.g. three eyes, long arms, gray skin fungi), Trolls are no more like Dwarves than Men are like apes. Trolls are a vicious, cruel race with a 'bestial hunger' and a 'stone-age cunning.' Some breeds are bigger than others; some hunt in packs while others are solitary. Some can even craft runes. But all can be identified by their prominent jaws, their protruding teeth and their small craniums. The accompanying drawings look like hunched and snarling three-eyed gargoyles, their long arms ending with gnarled, clawed hands. One Troll looks like a furless rat; another's more porcine, with an ugly snout and pendulous belly.

Stronger than Dwarves, they're resistant to both musket and saber and able to ignore grievous wounds. The best way to defeat them is through runic weapons, preferably firearms. Barring that, bright lights can blind, and they're susceptible to fire. But a mere lantern or torch may not be enough: Senckenberg advises the use of magnesium flare sticks, which hurt the eyes with their blaze. He then goes on to explain that these flares are used by mercenary 'Troll hunters' (many whom are Dwarves) to disable before the killing blow.

Trollish have plagued Europe since 'the Change,' usually hunting a small packs though sometimes they raid in armies hundreds strong, eating entire villages before slinking back into the mountains. The book ends with a grisly account of the Troll Hunter Enzo d'Arvieux's excursion into a cavern in the Scottish Highlands. There, he encountered hundreds of 'demonic totems' crafted from victims' bodies. A few victims were kept alive in cages, but d'Arvieux was unable to save them since the Trolls had 'consumed their feet, among other parts' and they appeared to be in the advanced stages of blood poisoning. Filled with righteous anger, d'Arvieux and his men used 'Dwarven blasting powder' to collapse the cave, wiping out the pack.

You close Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle and look at your phone. It's only been a little over an hour. But then you're a fast reader, and the thick, sturdy pages made the book seem longer than it really was. That, and you skimmed the parts where Senckenberg went on about 'the four humours of Dwarves' or the 'metaphysical theories of thaumatology' or 'thoughts on the location of Hades.' The book has a lot of silliness, but as a work of alternate history, it's fascinating. But frustratingly, it only touches on major geopolitical changes.

For example, at one point Senckenberg mentions 'the stretching of the seas' and 'the new heavens' and how this disrupted navigation and trade, but he never elaborates (It however makes you think of the map on the cover of On God's Ring and the jumbled up continents). You've pieced together from offhand comments that France has been embroiled in crippling succession wars, and Spain and Portugal are suffering a renewed Moorish invasion. So it looks as if only England has a foothold in the Americas, though the author has little to say about that. On a couple of occasions, he mentions the 'Elf Lands across the Southern Sea' and an 'Arc of Heaven' in the sky, but you wish he explained when he meant.

"How's yours going?" you ask.

Eddie lifts his nose from the book and grins, his blue eyes gleaming. "Get this: On March 3rd, 1901, the sky turns into a kaleidoscope acid trip, and everyone thinks the sun's exploding or it's the Second Coming or whatever. And when it all clears, the moon's gone. The planets are gone. And all the stars are different. The sun's still there, but there's also a hair-thin line that goes across the sky like a huge arch. It doesn't take long for people to realize that approaching ships don't 'come over the horizon' anymore, they just slowly fade into view. The world's now flat, laid out like a map; the continents aren't where their supposed to be. And the sun doesn't rise or set any more but instead goes into an eclipse every eleven and a half hours. Come on, Bert, can you guess what happened?"

You hold up Senckenberg's book. "I think the world in this book's gone through something similar, but theirs happened in 1507."

Eddie nods, his grin broadening. "Yeah, they got radio signals from other 'Earths' snatched from other time periods, so they know they're not the only one on the ring. Anyway, Uncle Grubb was a genius. He should have published this. This would make an awesome RPG setting."

"What are you talking about? What's 'the ring'?"

"The ringworld," he says.

"Ringworld," you repeat. The term sounds familiar.

Eddie puts the book in his lap. "It's like . . . okay, Earth orbits about ninety-three million miles from the sun, right? Now, instead of Earth being there, imagine there's a ribbon that follows the orbit. It's a ribbon that's so long that it forms a ring around the sun--a ring a hundred and eighty-six million miles wide."

"That's wide," you say.

"Yeah, and now imagine the ring is rotating around the sun so fast that it gives the inside gravity through centrifugal force."

"Like those plans they have for wheel-shaped space stations," you say. "Like the one from 2001: A Space Odyssey."

"Yeah, or like Halo, but on a much, much, much larger scale. The ribbon itself is a million miles wide, so its inside would have a surface area of millions of Earths. And once it's spinning, you can stick thousand mile high walls on the side and fill it with atmosphere, water, land, whatever."

Visualizing a structure of this scale boggles your mind, though you strongly suspect it'd be impossible to build. Surely no material could be strong enough to support something that size. Not that that matters. It's not like this is real.

"So, in this book, the surface of Earth in 1901 was peeled off and teleported--or, 'transmigrated'--to the inside of a ringworld?"

"Well, the book doesn't call it a ringworld," Eddie explains. "'Ringworld' was coined by Larry Niven in the seventies. This book calls it 'God's Ring,' because pretty much everyone agrees it's an act of god." He opens the book and shows you a couple of pictures.

The first is an illustration showing a star with a slender ring around it. The second is a black and white photo of a diagonal, splotchy band across a backdrop of stars.

"Is that the 'ribbon'?"

Eddie nods. "It's a photo of the opposite side of the ring, taken by astronomers in 1902. That gray band's nearly a million miles wide. Each one of those little black and white dots is an ocean or a continent. Earth would just be a tiny drop."

"Huh," you say, trying to wrap your head around that. "So, what did they do next?"

"Okay, so at first there was a lot of panic. A lot of crazy cults sprang up. Some were Bible-thumping doomsdayers, some worshiped a bunch of old pagan gods, and some were lifted straight out Lovecraft. The book lists sightings of what sound like Deep Ones, and even mentions the Esoteric Order of Dagon, the Church of Starry Wisdom and a few others.

"But anyway, people soon grok that there's new lands beyond Earth's 'borders,' and so they get in ships and set out exploring. A couple of months after the Event, some robed cultist guy headshots President McKinley, and Teddy Roosevelt's sworn in. He gets gung-ho about building a big fleet and going full out expansionist. About this time the elves are discovered, but they're a bunch of runty little primitives, which of course means they need white men with guns tell them about Jesus.

"The first decade is a huge land grab. Lots of natural resources. Lots of ancient elven temples and crypts to loot--most filled with monsters and magic swords and shit. And there's the colonization. Pretty much any nation that's not landlocked plants flags as fast as they can send out ships. There's a lot of independent settlements too, usually religious ones like Mormons and Amish. There's also 'filibusters,' basically assholes who load up on boomsticks and try to scare the fuzzy-wuzzies into making them king.

"The British Empire goes into imperialist overdrive; America and Germany get into a dick-waving contests. But mostly everyone behaves themselves--no World War One. I guess no one wants to fight in trenches when there's new lands to exploit.

"Literal boatloads of elves immigrate into the US. Mostly servants and cheap labor, though the book says a lot of elf girls wind up in whorehouses. There's also discrimination, and the 'Elvish Influenza' of 1913 doesn't help. Lots of anti-elf laws are passed, and some elves turn to crime. You have elven gangsters and 'gypsy bands.' Some elven 'shamans' have psychic powers and use this to rob banks and confuse cops and stuff.

"Anyway, the elves cause trouble in the colonies too, but the big nuisances there are big scary things like dinosaurs and dragons and sea serpents and, oh yeah, these really tough, gray-skinned, three-eyed alien-things that people call 'Morlocks,' like out of The Time Machine. They live in caves, hunt at night and are always chaotic evil."

You gesture with your book. "They're called 'Trolls' in here. Or at least the bad ones are."

"Yeah," Eddie says. "Same 'verse, I guess. Anyway, the Morlocks killed Teddy. After his second term was up, he went along on the 'Great Expedition,' where the 'Great White Fleet' sailed around all the outer colonies and showed the world how big its dick was. He decided to go on a safari, do some big game hunting. Here he is riding a raptor.

You look at the photo. Sure enough, it's TR on a dinosaur. "Morlocks ate him?"

"Yep, overran his camp. Never found his body. It was around this time the fleet came across the Aesiran Republic. You see, most elf civs' tech was somewhere between Stone and Iron Age, but the Aesirans were totally steampunk. They were a little backwards, about Civil War-level in most things, but this was more than made up by the fact that they have flying ships. Here, look."

The photo is of two craft that look like a cross between a dirigible, a naval vessel and a submarine. They have gun turrets and smokestacks.

"The Aesirans have 'Cavorite.' Or at least that's what we humans call it. It's basically 'anti-gravity-helium.' You burn these rocks, and it makes a magic gas. This gives their airships enough lift that they can coat them with armor, mount big guns on them. The Aesirans are peaceful enough, if a little snooty, but we shit kittens at these uppity elves. And we go all, 'there must not be a Cavorite gap!' The problem is Cavorite ore isn't local. It's all in faraway continents, and the Aesirans don't want to share. Right now--'now' being 1931--we're prospecting in distant medieval elf lands to find the stuff, and the Aesirans are getting pissed because they think only they should have weapons of mass flying. The book suggests tensions are pretty high. It might lead to a war."

You pull out the rolled newspaper from your back pocket and hold up the headline. "Looks like it did."

Eddie nods. "I wonder where Uncle Grubb got that paper printed. Or that funny-money. And where do you think the robot fits into all this?"

Before you can answer, Helen shouts from the great hall, "Hey! Mind giving us a hand?"

You and Eddie leave the study to find Helen and Maribel wheeling two overburdened dollies through a back entryway beside the kitchen. Helen's dolly's loaded with the generator, a five-gallon propane tank, a mini-fridge and floor lamps. Maribel, being younger and much shorter, is hauling the lighter load of tents, sleeping bags, a cooler and a cardboard box of various snacks. Neither look as if they're having an easy time. Helen's tie-dye shirt's stained with sweat.

"Took you long enough," Eddie says.

Maribel's dolly slips forward, and the stack of supplies topples across the checkerboard floor. "Oops."

Helen rolls her eyes but grins. She pulls a bottle of water out of the fallen cooler. "While you two were being bookworms, we did a little exploring. There's a garage out back, away from the house. It has an Oldsmobile station wagon from the seventies. It's an ugly piece of shit, like what the Griswolds drove in that Vacation movie, but parked next to it is a real beauty: a 1966 Chevy C10 Pickup. Cherry red, or at least it used to be. Both cars have been left to rot, though, so the tires are shot and the gas and fluids have turned to sludge. But I bet Bobbi could restore it."

"And next to the garage is a tool shed," says Maribel. "It has an ax and a machete and even a chainsaw! I've never seen a chainsaw in real life before, except at Home Depot, but they won't let you play with them--"

"And I wouldn't let her play with this one either," Helen interrupts. "Seriously, Maribel. the blades were rusty. Do you want tetanus? Because that's how you get tetanus."

But Maribel's not paying attention. "Hey, when Bobbi comes up here to fix the truck, maybe we could make our own Evil Dead movie. She could play a female Ash! She'd be perfect." Your sister mimes loading a double-barrel shotgun. "Yo, she-bitch, let's go!"

You and Eddie exchange looks. Neither of you like Helen's jerkass girlfriend, but yeah, you could see that.

"And maybe we could film chase scenes in that fog," Maribel continues. "Though the ghost or Deep Ones might not like that."

"Fog?" Eddie asks.

"There's a fog or mist or something in the woods behind the house," Helen says. "At first I thought it might have been smoke, but there's no burning smell. It's the weirdest thing because it's way too hot for fog."

"We walked into it a little," Maribel says. "It was really pretty, and I wanted to go deeper. But Goosie turned chicken and said we had to go back."

Helen flusters a little. "There wasn't much daylight left. And besides, it's too thick to see through anyway."

"Yeah, Maribel," you say. "You don't want to get lost in the woods at night. We can't even call for help out here. Now come on, let's set this stuff up."

It doesn't take long to hook up the lamps and mini-fridge. The propane generator isn't too noisy but purrs loud enough that you keep it out in the great hall. Helen says it should last for ten hours before you need to get another tank out of the trailer. After shoving the leather chair and stool aside and sweeping away most of the dust, you set up two tents on the study's floor, each one with a pair of sleeping bags and bug netting. The lamps you place in the corners of the room as well as in the great hall. As you're doing this, you and Eddie fill your sisters in on what you two have learned.

"All right," your twin says. "Uncle Grubb was a very creative crazy man. I remember reading about this old hermit janitor who died and left a fifteen thousand page fantasy novel in his apartment. Had lots of paintings too. He never told a soul. I think Uncle Grubb has that guy beat."

You nod. "These books kind of remind me of Robert Sobel's For Want of a Nail. It's an alternate history 'textbook' written in a world where we lost the Revolutionary War. Interesting stuff, though Uncle Grubb takes that idea to the extreme. Anyway, we might see if we can get his work published. He deserves posthumous recognition."

"I still think there's something real going on," Maribel says. "This is too weird for any boring explanation."

Eddie snorts, and you're about to say something rational when you notice the light from the windows is noticeably dimmer now.

You decide to change the subject. "We should go through the house before it gets too dark. Just to make sure there's no vagrants living upstairs or something."

You finish looking through the first floor. Behind the stairway, along the short hall to the bedroom, there's two doors. One leads to a walk-in closet crammed with dusty old clothes and cardboard boxes. The other is a bathroom with an antique toilet and sink and a cracked clawfoot tub. The sink's cobwebbed knob squeaks when you turn it, but water trickles out. It stinks like sulfur.

Maribel runs some on her fingers and sniffs it. "Ew! It's smells like rotten eggs."

"Looks like we're using the porta-shower," Eddie says.

"We better take an easy on that," you say. "We only have so much water in the trailer."

"So, where should we search next?" Helen asks. "Basement or upstairs? Or should we split up?"

Note: Camping inventory is now more detailed.

[ ] No, we should stick together.
-[ ] Get some flashlights and explore the basement.
-[ ] Explore upstairs.
-[ ] Write in.

[ ] Yes, we can get more done split up.
-[ ] One group should explore upstairs while another explores the basement. (Who should be in which group?)
-[ ] One group should explore while the other stays behind. (Who should be in which group?)
--[ ] Explore the basement
--[ ] Explore upstairs
--[ ] What should the group that stays behind do?
-[ ] Write in.

[ ] Think something else should be done? Write in.

[ ] What items do you want to add to your inventory?

Voting will remain open for three days, ending on Tuesday night. In the meantime, I'm going to work more on Ch.9 of "Tales of a Power Armor Apocalypse."

JMHthe3rd · Sep 17, 2015

Chapter Five

"Let's search upstairs," you say. "We're more likely to find something up there. And we better stick together. Just in case."

Helen shakes her head. "You worry too much, Pookie. Do you really think a hobo's hiding in the closet, waiting to pounce on us?"

"Or maybe a troll!" Maribel cries. "Or a ghost. Or a robot. Or a Deep One!"

"Or a snake," you say dryly. "Or the floorboards might collapse under our feet. Old houses can be dangerous, and there's safety in numbers. And yes, I do worry. Someone has to. Now come on, everyone, follow me."

It's not so dark that you need one yet, but the windows are already graying to twilight. So you each take a flashlight from a gym bag before climbing the curving staircase. You cringe at the creaking sound as you ascend the steps, and you can't help but feel as though you've all become dangerously conspicuous, as though someone were watching you. But that's a silly fear. Aside from the four of you, there's nothing in this house except the remnant lifework of a very lonely genius.

On the balcony, you shine your light over the suit of armor you saw earlier, revealing that it's not black but rather a very deep shade of bronze. By the complex nature of the plate mail, you guess it's from the 16th century. Elaborate scrollwork of dragons and serpents and other mythological creatures cover its every inch, and as you gaze into the patterns your eyes seem to skirt along the surface, unable to focus. Some sort of optical illusion, perhaps? The helmet, a visored burgonet, stares at you menacingly.

"I remember grandpa once told me this belonged to someone in our family from a long time ago," Helen says.

"Who was he, the King of France?" Eddie says. "This looks like it's worth a million dollars. At least."

"I bet you twenty it's another robot," says Maribel. "Except this one's clockpunk." She does a stiff-limbed 'robot dance,' making gear and spring sounds with her mouth.

"I hope not," Eddie says. "It doesn't look very friendly."

"Wasn't there a Doctor Who episode with those?" Helen asks.

"Yeah," Maribel says. "It was the one where he goes through a fireplace and meets Marie Antoinette."

"Madame de Pompadour," you correct. You lean closer and squint. There's etchings into the metal so faint they seem nearly subliminal. You wiggle your flashlight to verify their presence. The symbols shimmer as though made of oil.

"There's runes on this," you say. "The same kind in that book and on that stone tablet."

Maribel practically squeals. "Magic armor! Who should wear it?"

"I thought you said it's a robot?" Eddie says.

"I don't think it's my size," you say. Even with it on a pedestal, you're still taller than the suit. "Or Eddie's, for that matter. Hey Goosie, you're what, five-nine? Bet it'd fit if you hunch a little."

"No thanks. I'm good."

"Let me try it on," Maribel says.

Eddie snorts. "Your head won't even come out of the neck hole."

"I could wear platform shoes!"

"Whatever. Munchkins can't wear plate mail. It's against the rules."

"I'm not a munchkin! You're all just tall skinny beanpoles!"

"Be nice, children," you say. Oil portraits hang on either side of the armor. You brush away the cobwebs and see they're both of dour old men in 18th century waistcoats. You recognize neither of them, though they share the same Nordic features of Uncle Grubb and your great-grandparents. You shine the flashlight above the armor and spot a long-shafted halberd mounted on the wall. You'd need a ladder to reach it. Idly, you wonder whether you'd find runes on its dark blade.

You notice the red crystal sphere in your pocket feels slightly warm. You touch it with a finger and decide it might be your imagination. You motion for your siblings to follow.

Past the balcony you enter a long hallway that runs the length of the mansion. At the front end the windows are broken, and water damage from no doubt years of rainstorms has stained the walls and warped and splintered the floorboards. There's two doors at that end, but as you walk closer, the wood creaks unnervingly beneath your feet and buckles slightly. You stop, step back and sweep your flashlight beam across the ruined floor.

"The floor by that door looks okay. I bet I can hop there," Helen says next to you. "You want me to try?"

"Or me! I'm the lightest!" says Maribel.

"No," you say. "Everyone stay away from this part. I mean it, Maribel. I don't want anyone falling through. "

"But aren't we going to explore the rooms?" Maribel asks.

"Later. If we can figure out a way to do it safely. Now let's search what we can."

Down the hall, you pass a second, narrower stairway that must lead to the attic, but that can wait. There are a few more paintings on the walls here, mostly portraits of similarly-faced men and woman, though you notice a pastoral landscape of Greco-Roman-style ruins overgrown with trees and vines. In the background, against the faded baby blue of the sky, a fine thin line of alternating silver and dark rises straight up from the horizon. The ringworld. The Arc of Heaven.

You move on. The back half of the hallway has three doors. The first leads to a luxurious bathroom that with all its dust, cobwebs and white marble looks remarkably like a crypt. Maribel shines her flashlight to see if there's a skeleton in the clawfoot tub, but no such luck.

The next door requires a key from the keyring and opens to a large room made small by five great freestanding bookcases. Unlike the study, most of the books here seem mundane in subject matter. Skimming the dusty spines, you notice works by Joseph Conrad, H. Rider Haggard, Rudyard Kipling, Oscar Wilde, and others. One book by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle catches your eye: The Lost Treasure of Min'Karanda. You've never heard of that one before. You take it down and, reading by flashlight, flip through the text until mentions of 'elven tribesmen' confirm your suspicions. There's even illustrations of pointy-eared little people dressed like Native Americans.

So, Uncle Grubb penned a Lost World-esque 'adventures in elf land' novel in Doyle's name? You don't know why you find this surprising: you already know he wrote faux-history books, printed fake money, made a 'robot,' carved a 'troll' skull out of stone, was fairly adept at Photoshop and possibly dabbled in oil paintings. The amount of effort he put into his fantasy is mind-boggling--unsettlingly so.

An Encyclopedia Britannica set takes up the bottom shelf of one of the bookcases. It's the thirteenth edition, copyright 1926. Already knowing what you'll find, you grab the volume titled, Education-Excavation and look up the entry for 'Elves.' You sigh and shake your head as you read about their discovery, their customs, the differences in their anatomy, etc, with a sizable section detailing the Aesiran Republic (which has its own article).

"Faking an encyclopedia," you say. "Amazing."

"I know, it's like he's trolling us from beyond the grave," Eddie says, sitting on a stool beside you. Grinning, he's flipping through a dogeared copy of The World Almanac and Book of Facts: 1924.

"Hey! Check this out!" Maribel says from behind a bookcase.

"Bet she found another gun," Eddie mutters as you go to see what she's up to.

Maribel points to a desk where a very obsolete PC sits. Cobwebs shroud the bulky, small-screened monitor and CPU beneath; dust blankets the keyboard and mouse pad. A printer and scanner in similar states flank the old machine.

Helen snickers. "What's it operate under? Windows '87?"

Kneeling close, Eddie blows and then coughs, waving a hand at the resulting white cloud. He shines a flashlight along the front of the computer and taps a small label. "Look here: 'Gateway 2000, P5-60.' That's like early nineties. Shit, I wonder if this still works."

"You think it might?" you ask.

Eddie chews on his lip rings. "The hard drive could have gone bad--either a mechanical breakdown or magnetic decay. I can take it down stairs and hook it up to the generator. See what happens."

A couple of dozen 3.5 inch floppies are piled to the side. Some are Microsoft programs such as Excel and Word, and others are more esoteric software that by their names you guess have to do with mathematics. Most, however, only have messily handwritten labels with cryptic names such as, 'Platonic Algorithms 13' and 'Semantic Meta-Analysis 27.'

"We can do that later," you say. "Let's keep looking."

The door across the hall also requires a key, and leads to a massive, lavish bedroom dominated by a king-sized fourposter with faded-green curtains. There's more than enough room, however, for the other furniture: a marble-top dresser, a cluttered bureau, a tea table with two delicate wooden chairs and a great oak chest at the foot of the bed. A closet door is to the side.

Two dirty picture widows show the mansion's backyard. Sunlight is little more than a suggestion now, but if you shine your flashlight away from the glass you can still make out the weed-choked lawn and the wide, round fountain that takes up its center. Three nymph statues crowd its pedestal, and you remember how they used to spit water into the air. Now their upturned, puckered faces are bone dry. Only dead leaves fill the Jacuzzi-sized dish below.

A curving stone bench circles the fountain, and nearby slumps a now-rusted sundial. Off to the east are the garage, shed and a gnarled oak tree you and Helen climbed once when you were little. The yard ends at a picket fence long fallen apart amid a flood of knee-high grass. In the woods beyond you can just make out the white gauzy blur of the fog your sisters saw.

Helen stands beside you. "It looks a little closer now," she says.

You frown. The fog seems to glow, though it's probably just a trick of the twilight. "The lake's not out there, is it?" you ask.

Helen gestures behind her. "No, it's that way, near the road. So, I don't know what's causing it."

"There's that elf girl again," Eddie says.

You turn and see he's shining his light on a framed black and white photograph hanging on the wall. A young Uncle Grubb sits with small elf woman on a Victorian settee. Both are smiling, and in the woman's arms, bundled in a blanket, is a very tiny newborn.

"Aw!" Maribel squeals. "It's a baby elf! Look, it even has pointy ears! Do you think Uncle Grubb's the daddy? I bet he is. He looks so happy. I guess that means the baby's our half-elf cousin."

"I'd like to know what happened to them," says Helen.

"'What happened'?" repeats Eddie. "Um, I'm going to go with, 'nothing' because, you know, elves don't exist."

"No, smartass, I mean the woman and the baby. 'Shopped or not, they're real people. Maybe they were midgets or something, and Uncle Grubb just doctored pointy ears into the pictures?"

"Or they could have been normal-sized, and he used forced-perspective to make them look small," you say. "The ears could be prosthetics."

"Or the girl could be someone he didn't even know, and he just edited her into photos," says Eddie. "Maybe she was a celebrity or something. I'm getting a creepy waifu vibe. Like, he spent sixty years 'married' to her in his mind. Probably jacked off to her every day."

Maribel covers her ears. "Ew! Gross!"

"That's enough, Eddie," you say. "No one wants to picture Uncle Grubb doing that."

"But it's probably true," he says.

"Maybe," you say.

You start on the bureau while Eddie goes through the dresser and Helen and Maribel search the wooden chest.

You find a lot of paperwork concerning taxes, bills and Uncle Grubb's various investments. Curiously, he funded cancer research--specifically, acute lymphoblastic leukemia--as well as homeopathy and other 'alternative medicines.' The latter's woo, but you recognize some of the chemotherapy drugs that Uncle Grubb apparently helped finance the development of. These papers date from the early fifties to the early nineties, and the total amount Uncle Grubb spent is staggering.

You and your siblings are well off. Between your parents' savings and what you inherited from your relatives, you four have nearly three million in the bank (though Eddie and Maribel can't touch their share until they're eighteen). Uncle Grubb's estate accounts for a significant portion of this, but what he left is but a pittance compared to the tens of millions paid over this forty year period.

Deeper into one of the drawers, you come across a small, softcover leather book shut with a button clasp. Carefully, you open it to find it handwritten in German . . . but not any kind of German you've seen before. Some of the words are spelled strangely, and a few don't even use the Roman alphabet. You have a feeling this will prove harder to translate than the Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle.

Browsing by flashlight, you note each entry has three dates. For example, on the first page: "3. Januar 2001 / 5. Mai 1935 / 31. Oktobor 498. Jahr der Neuen Erde." Whole sections are of what look like to be 'sentence diagrams' with runic sequences. There are side notes mentioning 'Spinozas Nebel,' or 'Spinoza's Fog,' along with a bunch of mathematical formulas that you couldn't make sense of if someone held a gun to your head. You know Baruch Spinoza was a 17th century Dutch philosopher, but the rest is gobbledygook.

Slipped between the pages, however, is a folded map of the local area: the house, woods and surrounding twenty or so miles. Wavy lines cover certain areas, and though the German is hard to decipher, you catch the word 'magnetreonanz' a few times. Whatever that means.

"Cool! It's a golden gun!" Maribel exclaims.

"No touchy!" Helen snaps, slapping Maribel's hand. "But yeah, look at this. Weird little thing."

From the chest your twin pulls out a gold-plated handgun. Superficially, it resembles an old LeMat revolver, but it's too small, more the size of a pocket pistol.

She opens the gun and checks the inside of the cylinder, rotating it with her thumb as she shines it with her flashlight. "Huh, an eight-shooter. We found it in its own wooden case here. Real nice. Got a little plaque inside too, along with a few boxes of tiny bullets. Don't know the caliber. The words are all in like Hebrew or Arabic or something."

She holds up an ammo box. The cardboard is old but intact. You don't know Hebrew or Arabic, but you wouldn't bet that strange script is either of those languages. Whatever it is, it's notably distinct from the hieroglyphics found in the 'instruction book' in the closet with the 'robot.'

"I think it's a pretty badass little gun," Helen says, as she snaps it shut. She holds it up in a dramatic, 'movie poster' pose.

"Hey! Guns aren't toys!" Maribel says sarcastically.

"Unlike you, I made sure it was unloaded first," says Helen.

"Come on, I want to hold it. I want to make it go 'click.'" Maribel grabs out a hand, but Helen easily keeps the weapon out of reach.

As Helen puts the revolver back into the chest, you make a mental note to lock it later. In fact, probably should lock up the room as well.

"So, what have you discovered?" Helen asks you.

"I guess I found his journal," you say, "though it's written in a screwy 'Germanese.' Also looks like he didn't start writing it until a few years before he died."

"I think we have the rest here," Helen says and pulls out a handful of similar leather books, though these covers are more creased and worn. "There must be like a dozen of them. He sure liked to write. Hey, Eddie, what'd you find?"

Eddie's standing by the dresser with a stack of photographs in his hand. Silently, with a blankly disturbed expression, he passes her the photos.

Shining them with your flashlight, you look over Helen's shoulder as she shuffles through the pictures. They're black and white, and from the quality and the clothes, you date these around the 1950's. Many were taken in this very house. One picture is in the den. Uncle Grubb is on the couch, a cigarette in his mouth and an arm around the elf girl. She's wearing a sundress, and though she's smiling, you think she looks a little pale and gaunt. A pointy-eared toddler boy sits in her lap. Both Great-grandpa Fulbert and Great-grandma Hilda recline in nearby chairs, iced drinks in their hands. An early, round-screened Zenith television set squats in the background.

"Uhg," Helen says. "Anyone notice Papa Fulbert and Mama Hilda look really alike?"

"I did earlier," you admit. "It's funny how I never saw it before, but looking at this, it's a lot more obvious when they were younger."

"I . . . really don't want to think about the implications," Eddie says.

Maribel coughs. "Lannisters."

"We don't know that," you say. "They could be cousins."

"Identical cousins?" Helen asks incredulously.

"Look, even if it is . . . what it looks like, that's three generations ago. None of us have Habsburg jaws or hemophilia, so I think, genetically, we're fine."

"Still gross," Eddie says.

"Yeah, I'm glad I'm adopted," Maribel says.

The rest of the pictures are general snapshots of domestic life. The elf girl kneels with gloves and a straw hat in a backyard garden. Uncle Grubb and Great-grandpa Fulbert fish by the lake. The elf toddler rides a tricycle. Some photos are on a beach with an old Buick convertible in the background. The elf girl wears a babushka to cover her ears, the toddler a baseball cap. ("Aw!" says Maribel). In some of these, your great-grandparents have a baby with them, which must be your grandfather.

"Some of these would be really, really hard to fake," Eddie says. "But they have to be, right? Or did we have a midget great-great aunt with pointed ears? And what happened to her and her kid?"

"I hope they didn't die," says Maribel.

"Even if they did, how come we were never told about them?" Helen asks.

"Let's keep looking," you say. "I'm sure there's a rational explanation for this." You hope.

In the bureau, you uncover a thick hardcover handwritten in the hieroglyphic language. The book is of course unintelligible to you, but Uncle Grubb wrote extensive notes in 'Germanese' in the margins. The phrases, 'Spinozas Nebel' and 'Der Herbststadt' ('The Autumn City') are repeated several times.

In addition to this, you also find a small cloth bag and a golden locket. The bag is filled with flat pebbles carved with runes and reminds you of a Bananagrams sack. The golden locket is shaped like a heart, and clicking open the latch you see a tiny sepia photo of Uncle Grubb and the elf girl cuddling on a chair.

In the chest, Helen and Maribel discover US passports and 'Certificate of Residence' papers for 'Gerbern', Fulbert and Hilda Springenwelt as well as the elf woman who's name apparently is, 'Esha ku V'Janahavabor.' The date on the papers is 1904, and Esha's race is given as, 'Elf,' her height is, 'four feet, six inches,' her age, 'Twenty-seven Earth Years' and her occupation is 'domestic servant.' Her country of origin is listed as 'Zurain.' The Springenwelts hail from Germany. Digging a little deeper, Helen finds a birth certificate for a 'Sloka ka V'Janahavabor,' born January 15, 1905.

"I bet you all fifty dollars this is real!" Maribel says smugly.

The rest of you exchange glances, but no one speaks. You're about to say something like, Don't be silly, Maribel. This is all pretend, but those pictures have rattled you. A little. But that doesn't mean any of this is real. It can't be. Uncle Grubb just had a secret midget wife who liked to wear elf ears. The rest--all of it--is just an elaborate hoax. A really elaborate hoax. It has to be.

But in the bottom drawer of the dresser, Eddie finds more black and white pictures. Aside from having a peculiar texture and gloss one usually doesn't find with photographs, these photos are noteworthy in that nearly everyone in them is an elf. The setting appears to be a sort of 19th century. The architecture and clothes are vaguely Victorian, but salted with an Art Deco look and with a heavy slant toward the Gothic style. There are plenty of horse-drawn carriages, but one picture shows a primitive-yet-sleek, three-wheeled automobile.

A picture of a cityscape looks impressively sprawling, albeit very smoggy. Behind a massive tower stands a statue that likely rivals Lady Liberty.

Another is of an 'air warship,' bigger and bulkier than the ones you saw in On God's Ring.

Most of the elves wear oddly-cut suits, dresses or priestly-looking robes. Some smoke cigarettes, others from comically curved pipes. Among the elves are the occasional humans, standing out by both their height and thicker bodies. The two races mingle as evident equals. It takes you a moment to recognize them because they're so much younger, but Grubb, Fulbert and Hilda are in a few of the pictures, as well as a teenage Esha. In one, they're toasting at a dinner party; in another, they're crowded in the seat a carriage, mugging for the camera in a way that wouldn't look out of place on a Facebook page. In one of the larger pictures, slightly water damaged, they're on a high balcony, a foggy city spread behind them. Grubb has an hand around Esha's tiny waist, his other holding the leash of a little pug dog.

In the last photo, Esha is a little older, perhaps twenty or so, and wears a dark double-breasted coat that from the metal stars and crosses pinned below the epaulets you guess is a military uniform. Her long hair is in a bun, and over it she sports a visor hat with aviator goggles on the bill. Behind her, in the sky above, looms a massive airship bristling with armored turrets. A word in the 'Elvish' language is painted along its side--the name of the ship, you suppose. The wide, square banner of a two headed dragon flaps from the superstructure.

Esha's smile is slight and proud with an aristocratic glint in her eye. Strapped to one hip is a slightly curved saber, on the other a revolver that looks suspiciously like the one from the wooden chest.

Also among the photos are 'elven papers.' They're of little interest, since you can't hope to translate them, but one has Esha's picture and is clearly some form of identification card. A two-headed dragon symbol is stamped in the corner.

You use a key to unlock the closet. No robots here, just Uncle Grubb's musty clothes. In an old wooden crate at your feet you find carefully folded tiny dresses, skirts and blouses. Esha's uniform, wrapped in cellophane, rests among them. It's difficult to tell, but under your flashlight the coat looks a deep cobalt blue. The stars and rings under the epaulets shine like silver. A short curved saber leans sheathed against the closet's wall.

In the back sits a large cardboard box filled with books, both paperback and hardcover; all of them are in Elvish. A few seem to be romance novels, judging by their cover art. The Elven books open 'backwards,' like Japanese manga. You also come across a shoebox packed with handwritten letters, some in Germanese, the others in Elvish.

"So, she's Aesiran," Eddie says. When you raise your eyebrows, he explains, "The two-headed dragon, that's their flag. And as far as anyone knows, they're the only steampunk elves around. But it doesn't add up: in the book, the Aesirans didn't meet the humans until like 1913, after Teddy Roosevelt got eaten by Morlocks. So, how could 'Esha' immigrate to the US in 1904? She must have lied about where she came from. And why are Uncle Grubb and Papa and Mama in those old pictures? Did they come from Aesiria too?"

"Um, I'm going to go with, 'no,'" Helen says, imitating Eddie's snide voice. "Because, you know, none of this is real." Her tone sounds forced, however, as though she's trying to convince herself.

"I know that. I'm just talking about the story Uncle Grubb made up. Still, I'd like to know more about 'Auntie Esha,' whoever she really is. Maybe they were like hardcore Larpers."

"Maybe," you say, though you have no idea what a 'Larper' is.

"So . . . what should we do now?" Helen asks.

What should you do? It's getting dark, and you should finish exploring the house. On the other hand, you kind of want to read up on some of the materials you've found.

Note: Inventory is updated.

[ ] Everyone stick together.
-[ ] Explore the attic.
-[ ] Try to find a way across the dangerous floorboards to reach the two rooms down the hall.
--[ ] How?
-[ ] Explore the basement.
-[ ] Go back to the study, where your 'camp' is.
--[ ] Try to translate Uncle Grubb's journals (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[ ] Try to translate the 'Germanese' notes Uncle Grubb made in the hieroglyphic book. (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[ ] Try to translate the letters found in the closet (You can only try to translate the 'Germanese' ones).
--[ ] Read a book from the library.
---[ ] The Encyclopedia Britannica.
---[ ] The World Almanacs.
---[ ] The Lost Treasure of Min'Karanda
---[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
--[ ] Read another book from the study.
---[ ] Read The Biology of Woodland Fairies.
---[ ] Read Visions of Y'ha-nthlei
---[ ] Read On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism yourself, see if you can catch anything Eddie missed.
---[ ] Look over the science books and the map. (Note: You probably lack the necessary science skills to understand this)
-[ ] Write in.

--If you all go back to the study, what should Eddie do?
---[ ] Read a book from the library (Which one?)
---[ ] Try to get the old computer working again. (Note, Eddie's skills in Computers will help here)
---[ ] Read another book from the study (which one?)
---[ ] Write in.

--If you all go back to the study, what should Helen and Maribel do?
---[ ] Hold a seance.
---[ ] Write in.

[ ] We should split up.
-Write in who should stick with who and what each person should do.

[ ] Think something else should be done? Write in.

[ ] What items do you want to add to your inventory?

Voting will remain open for three days, ending Sunday around noon.

JMHthe3rd · Sep 29, 2015

Chapter Six

"Let's head back to the study," you say. "It's getting dark."

"We can still see!" To illustrate, Maribel dances her yellow flashlight beam around the bedroom, drifting dust sparkling in its wake. "Come on, let's explore the attic! And the basement! I bet we'll find lots of cool stuff!"

"Probably," you say, "But I want to examine some of the things we've found here. And besides: the attic and basement will be there tomorrow."

"But what if there's a murder-hobo hiding somewhere? Won't you feel bad if he slits our throats while we sleep?"

"She's got you there," Eddie says dryly.

Helen pats the revolver butt jutting out of her jeans. "I ain't afraid of no hobo."

"That doesn't even have bullets in it," says Maribel.

"Yeah, like I'm going to keep a loaded gun pointed down my crotch."

"Maybe we can search the rest of the house later tonight," you say. "But we've seen a lot of strange things so far, and I think we should take a breather and talk about what we think's going on here."

"What's there to talk about?" Maribel asks, looking at each of you in turn. "Do you really think Uncle Grubb faked all those pictures and books and everything? Is that really more likely then it just being true?"

"Yeah, it is," Eddie says. "Occam's razor: we know midgets exist; we know hoaxes exist. We don't know steampunk elves on ringworlds exist."

But you know your brother. Like Helen, his confident dismissal betrays desperation. You feel it too. You take this cue to back him up.

"Eddie's right," you say. "To quote Sherlock Holmes: 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' What Uncle Grubb's done here is amazing, but it's still possible."

"Didn't the guy who wrote Sherlock Holmes believe in ghosts?" Maribel asks.

"Yeah, but people were stupid back then," Eddie says.

"He's smarter than you!" says Maribel. "And Thomas Edison made a ghost-o-phone! Are you saying he's stupid too?"

"Edison made no such thing," Eddie says.

"Yes he did! I read it in a book."

"'New Age' books don't count."

"Yes they do! You're just a closed-minded skeptic!"

As Eddie and Maribel bicker, Helen takes you aside. Flashlights and blond bangs shadow half her face, but you can see the restrained tightness in your twin's eyes. She leans into your ear and whispers, "Pookie, be honest: do you think this is real or not? I mean, I know it can't be, but it's . . . it's so . . ."

Her tone is nearly pleading. You know what she's really asking. "This creeps me out too," you admit. "But we have to stay rational. This is the real world, not a science fiction story."

"I'd feel a lot better if we found proof this was fake. Like a picture of 'Esha' with human ears or something," she says.

"Me too, and I'm sure we'll find a smoking gun somewhere in this house."

She grips your arm. "But what if it is real? What do we do then?"

She's been hiding it well, but you've been through this enough to know she's succumbing to another one of her mood swings, the ones that transform her blase' devil-may-care attitude into a weepy, irritable mess. She's always had them, but they've grown worse since the bus crash. You give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Then we'll have to accept that the world's a lot stranger than we thought. That's all. But we have to keep it together, Goosie. For them. We're the grownups now."

She nods and smiles weakly. You don't ask, but she's probably packed a bag of marijuana in her luggage. You know from experience that it calms her down, though ideally you'd prefer she smoke it when Eddie and Maribel aren't around. Especially Eddie, as he'd see this as being given carte blanche to drink his cough syrup.

"Back me up here, Burt," Eddie says. "Tell her the Laws of Thermodynamics don't prove there's an afterlife."

Maribel stomps her feet in frustration. "I keep telling you! Energy can't be created or destroyed. So when someone dies, their life force has to either float around or fly up to a higher plane of existence. It's science!"

You raise a hand to silence the discussion. "That's enough. Let's get back to the study."

Before you leave, you pick up the hieroglyphic book and, too keep Maribel away from it, decide to take the golden revolver as well. Opening up a box of ammunition, you find inside one hundred rounds. The bullets have blunt, hollow-point tips and are no wider than six or seven millimeters. The brass cartridges are long and slender, and superficially they remind you of slightly scaled up .22 magnums. You work the box into your back pocket.

Helen urges you to follow her lead and stick the gun down your pants 'gangsta' style,' but that seems stupid to you. In the chest you find a black leather holster and a Sam Browne-style belt with pouches. Of course the belt's far too small to fit around your waist, but it only takes a few moments to unbuckle your own belt and slide the holster into place.

Not that it really matters, but the holster's for a left-handed draw; curiously, even on the revolver the latch to open the cylinder is on the right side--for a left thumb. You look at the photo of Esha. Sure enough, her gun's on her left hip.

"Maybe elves are southpaws," Maribel says.

"Or maybe just Esha," Eddie says. "I'm pretty sure midgets can be left-handed. I know munchkins can."

"I'm not a munchkin! And you're left-handed too!"

"So? I didn't say, 'All lefties are munchkins.' I said, 'Munchkins can be lefties."

"Whatever. Hey Pookie, you're right-handed. Let me have the gun." Maribel's brown hands try to snatch the pistol from you.

You swat them away. "Guns aren't toys."

Helen laughs. "Says the guy strapping on a toy gun."

"It's not--" you begin. "It's obviously a custom piece, but that doesn't mean it's not real. The bullets look real enough."

"I want to try it out, see if it really fires," Helen says.

"Maybe later," you say and motion for everyone to follow.

You all leave the bedroom, and you lock the door behind you.

"You want to try to get that computer running?" you ask Eddie.

Your brother grins. "Yeah, I bet I could. Brandon's dad has a P5-75 about as old, and it works fine. Of course, his isn't covered in dust."

"Let's check out the attic first," Maribel says, pointing up the narrow stairway. "I mean, we're already here."

Helen shrugs. "We might as well."

"All right," you say. "But just a quick peek."

The steps creak protests as you ascend, but they seem sturdy enough. You unlock the door and enter into a darkness that only grudgingly yields to your sweeping flashlights. The cobwebs are especially thick here, and you have to gingerly bat a few down as you pass.

"Everyone be careful," you say. "Maribel, stay by me. There might be black widows or brown recluses."

"Better load the guns," Eddie jokes.

Once you work through the short hallway by the door, you find the attic akin to a haunted warehouse. Bookcases and cardboard boxes make a rat maze of the space, but most of these barriers aren't high enough to block your line of sight. Along the far walls you can make out a few doors to perhaps closets. There's another stairway by the north wall which must lead up the mansion's small turret.

Not wanting to stay long, you only briefly peruse the shelves. Most of the books are in either Elvish or Germanese, and seem to vary wildly by subject. Some appear to be text books, others novels. You're certain one is an Elvish-Germanese dictionary broken into seven volumes, and you make a mental note to come back to them later.

"Look, elf baby books!" Maribel says, handing you a handful of thin hardcovers.

Most of these have large text and are colorfully illustrated. From the pictures, you can tell some are fairy tales--either that or in the Aesirian Republic roosters wear waistcoats and snakes smoke cigars. A few are clearly intended to teach children how to read, with Elvish 'letters' accompanied by images of various people and objects. These can prove useful, though learning the intricacies of Elvish grammar is just as important as the vocabulary.

One of the books is readily familiar to you as a 'space book,' much like the ones you used to read as a child. However, lacking planets to describe, the illustrations make do primarily with the ringworld itself and its sun, though there are also a few grainy photographs of asteroids and planetoids. One photo was taken from a high altitude, probably from one of their flying ships. The 'Arc of Heaven' rises straight out of a hazy horizon.

Later, the book deals with beyond the solar system, with a number of pictures making it clear that the elves know stars are just faraway suns. One picture in particular shows a size comparison between the sun and ringworld and a gargantuan orange ball that could be Betelgeuse, Antares or some other supergiant.

Eddie's flipping through a book filled with photos of flying warships. He glances at Maribel and Helen to see they're not listening and quietly says to you, "Maribel's right: it's hard to believe all this is made up. Just looking at all this stuff, I sometimes forget it's not real. There's just so much of it, and nothing 'breaks character.'"

You nod and put the book on space back on the shelf. For a brief moment, you consider telling him of Helen's concerns, but you won't break your twin's trust.

"I think Uncle Grubb and Esha were just really into role-playing," you say.

"Full immersion role-playing," agrees Eddie. "Like those weirdos who pretend they're Jedis or in Starfleet. The dedication, the worldbuilding . . . it makes Tolkien look like a lazy hack.

"Not that I believe in any of this," he hastily adds. "It just shows Uncle Grubb was a genius. Aunt Esha too, I guess."

Helen shines her flashlight at a wall. "I think this is an elf world map."

It's a painted wooden rectangle about five feet wide, most of the colors either green or blue with some patches of white. The landmasses seem hopelessly cluttered.

"It looks like someone vomited a bunch of archipelagos," Helen says.

"If this is a ringworld, each of those islands could be the size of Africa or Asia," says Eddie. "This map could be a hundred thousand miles wide. Maybe more."

You lean closer and see tiny Elvish script labeling each of the continents, with innumerable dots representing cities. Black hair-thin lines mark national boundaries. There must be thousands of countries or provinces. Elvish geography must be a real headache. You pull away.

You could spend hours up here. The bookshelves hold hundreds of books, and the few boxes you open contain stacks of old magazines and newspapers. And there's still the stairway up the turret. But all this can wait until tomorrow.

"When we explore in the morning, do we want to split up?" you ask.

"I thought splitting up was too dangerous?" Maribel says.

"I'm not happy about it. But this is a big house filled with lots of stuff, and I don't want to be here more than three days," you say.

"Staying in pairs should be safe enough," Helen says. "Like a buddy system."

The choice of who should group with who is obvious. Pairing Eddie with Maribel would be a disaster, and while Helen and Eddie don't get along too badly, Helen shares a special chemistry with Maribel. And you like having Eddie around.

"Agreed," you say. "You go with Maribel, I'll go with Eddie."

Helen giggles. "Can you imagine if Eddie and Maribel were to team up?"

You join her with a chuckle. "I was just thinking the same thing."

"Hey!" Maribel protests.

"No, they're right. We'd be Team Fail," says Eddie.

"Only because you're mean."

"And you're stupid."

"Quiet, children," you say. "Anyway, tomorrow morning, I think we should explore the basement together, just in case, but after that we can split into pairs and do our own things. Eddie and I might spent our time up here, digging into all this material. Is that all right with you?"

"Sounds good to me," Eddie says.

"And me and Maribel are going to go kayaking, right?" Helen asks, though it's not really a question. "Or ride our dirt bikes. Because I'm sick of hanging around Uncle Grubb's crazy."

The idea of your sisters adventuring in the woods sets you ill at ease, though you can't exactly tell them, 'Don't go! I have a vague, irrational fear you might be eaten by trolls!' But some time outdoors would help Helen unwind.

"All right," you say, "but be careful. There might be . . . cougars."

Helen gives you a funny look. "Seriously? You're worried about cougars? They like very rarely attack people."

"Pookie's not happy unless he's worried about something," Maribel says.

"Ha ha, very funny," you say. "Now, come on. Let's get the computer and head downstairs. And I don't know about any of you, but I'm hungry."

From the library you carry the bulky old monitor down the curving staircase while Eddie follows, cradling the CPU and keyboard in his skinny arms. The dozens of floppies Maribel holds in a small cardboard box. Helen declines to help, saying, "Fuck that. I'm sore from that heavy-ass generator."

You return to the study. The generator's gentle thrum and the shining floor lamps signify the room as a beacon of safety in the desolate house. Eddie toes a tent aside and lays the CPU on the cleared floorboards. You carefully lower the monitor beside the machine. After you all grab sandwiches, snacks and drinks, you watch as Eddie strips off the computer's metal cover and uses a can of compressed air he found in the library desk to blow away the inches-thick dust that smothers the components like a fungal growth.

He waves a hand and spurts another gust to keep the clouds from his face. The lamps' stark LED light gives the billowing dust an eerie glow.

"This isn't just because the computer's been abandoned," Eddie says. "All this shit built up while the computer was on. The fan draws the dust in, and it accumulates. Too much, and it can overheat. Uncle Grubb must have never cleaned this out, because I've never seen one this bad before. I hope it still runs."

"Either it does or it doesn't." You hold up the book you took from the bedroom. "I'm going to try to translate this. It looks like Uncle Grubb's invented three languages: Elvish, the hieroglyphics and 'Germanese.' If I can crack the last one, maybe I can decipher the others too."

Maribel speaks through a mouthful of potato chips. "Hey Goosie, while they're doing that, do you want to hold a seance?"

"No."

"Come on! This house is so weird, it has to have ghosts!"

Helen rolls her eyes. "Fine!"

Maribel's already rummaging through her suitcase. "Here's the Ouija board! And I brought a tape recorder so we can get EVP."

You catch Helen's eye; she doesn't look very comfortable with this. "Maribel, I don't know if Goosie's in the mood for, er, spirit contact."

"No, really, it's fine," Helen says. "I'll take one for the team and humor her."

Helen and Maribel go into the great hall while Eddie kneels on a sleeping bag and you sit in the leather armchair. Eddie's already hooked the CPU to the keyboard and monitor and plugged them into an power strip connected to the generator. He presses the ON button, and the computer hums to life. The small, dusty screen scrolls through its ancient startup sequence.

Outside the study, the propane generator's not loud, but it's noisy enough to dampen out most of your sisters' words. You can still hear them, if you concentrate.

". . . a Parker Brothers Ouija board?" Helen says with mock excitement. "Now I know it'll work."

"It will," Maribel says. "The board is just a tool for the ghosts to use. Now let me turn on the tape recorder so I can ask them some questions. Okay, um . . . Are there . . . um . . . any spirits out there? If so, please say something . . ."

"This is stupid."

"Shh! Let them talk!"

Eddie sputters a little, and you shake your head. You sip your Dr. Pepper, take a bite of your turkey sandwich, and open the hieroglyphic book.

Soon you regret not starting with Uncle Grubb's journals instead. You'd put that off because at a dozen volumes totaling at thousands of pages, they seemed too daunting to dig into right away--especially when written in a language you barely understand. With the hieroglyphic book, you hoped at least the 'Germanese' notes would help you learn the hieroglyphics. However, that's not the case.

It's difficult to tell for sure, but from the way the notes only comment on the hieroglyphics rather than translate them, you get the distinct impression Uncle Grubb was fluent in the hieroglyphic language--which is hardly surprising, since he doubtless invented it. However, some of the notes hints at what the hieroglyphics could be about.

Evidently, the book was written either in or about 'der Herbststadt' ('the Autumn City'). On occasion you come across the Latin phrase, 'Urbs Aeterna Nebula,' or 'City of Eternal Fog.' Or 'Eternal Darkness.' The word, 'Duellona,' pops up enough that you're fairly certain that's the city's name.

The book probably describes an experiment. Or perhaps only a theory. Whatever it is, it has to do with fog, specifically, 'Spinoza's Fog.' The notes fail to explain what that is. Your missing vital context.

Some of the notes show Dwarven runes arrayed in a diagrams. The Germanese portions don't quite tell you what they mean, though beneath one diagram you read: 'verpflichten zu der primäran, gespiegelt unaufhörlich' which more or less translates to a cryptic: 'Behold to the primary, mirrored perpetually.' Some of the notes are mathematical nonsense. Others are written in Elvish, in what you're pretty sure is another handwriting.

From the great hall, you hear, "Stop moving it, Maribel. You're not fooling me!"

"I'm not the one moving it. I'm barely touching it. It has to be you!"

You sigh. You know the Ouija board works via the ideomotor effect, wherein the participants' fingers unconsciously nudge the pointer along the board. It's nothing more than a parlor game. But it also can be disturbing for those don't understand the science behind the phenomena. Perhaps you should have discouraged the 'seance.'

"How's it going for you?" you ask Eddie.

On his sleeping bag, Eddie is hunched close to the monitor, a bulky mouse in one hand. He chews his lip rings thoughtfully. "I have no idea what any of this means. Everything's either runes or in German or whatever."

"Let me see." You slide out of the chair and crouch by his side. On the screen Eddie's opened a very antiquated spreadsheet program, the interface graphics large and blocky. Dwarven runes take up most of the rectangular cells. As Eddie highlights each one, different Germanese descriptions appear in the text space above.

"It's like equations or something," Eddie says. "You can plug in different runes for different results. See?"

He selects a symbol that looks like a fish bone, another that looks like a stick-figure dog with a star for a head and a third comprised of a winged triangle over a cross. The 'answer cell' flashes new runes: a very skinny dragon, a cube with eye-stalks and a backwards 'K.' Reading over the Germanese descriptions, you catch the phrases, 'Werden gemeinshaft ständnis / Erfarungs-aggregatio.'

"I . . . don't know what that means either," you say. "But I have a theory as to what this is for."

"Some sort of translator program?"

"Maybe, but I think it's more than that. You remember when Goosie went through her poetry phase?"

"Oh yeah. That was back when she was like thirteen. You know it was only because she had a crush on that Katie Garrison girl."

"I think you're right; it was obvious in hindsight. But anyway, Goosie had that magnetic poetry kit, the one with all those words you could stick on the refrigerator to form phrases."

"I made some dirty limericks out of those."

You grin. "I remember."

"So you think this is a 'runic poem maker'?"

"Not necessarily poems, but something along those lines, though probably constrained by whatever grammar rules Uncle Grubb made up for the language. This is just a guess, though. It's going to take a while to work all this out."

"That might be a problem," he says. "You hear that sound?"

You lean forward. Over the whir of the computer's fan and the propane generator's background drone, you notice a soft-grinding sound coming from inside the machine.

"Death rattle?" you ask.

"Not yet, but the hard drive's not long for this world. I can't even back up the files to my laptop, because this computer pre-dates USB ports. It can't even burn CDs. I could put stuff on the floppies, but that'd take forever. And my laptop can't read those anyway. The best way would be to hook up the hard drive directly, but I'd need adapters I don't have."

You're about to reply when Helen storms into the study, waving her arms.

"I'm done!" she declares. "I'm through!" Her sneaker trips on Eddie's tent, and then kicks at it. Her flexing shoulders, athletic and narrow, remind you of a frightened cat.

Maribel follows on her heels. "I swear, it wasn't me!"

Helen points a long finger at Maribel. "It had to be you! I know it wasn't me!"

"But you saw it: neither of us were touching it. It was a ghost!"

Helen's gaze darts around the room, the upward shining floor lamps giving her the look of a flustered actress on a stage. Bangs dangle over her face. Her breaths rage deep and fast. "Bullshit! That's impossible. You were using magnets or something. Whatever it was, it's not funny!"

"It wasn't me!"

Eddie snorts. "You're freaking out over an Ouija board? Oh noes! I hope we don't get possessed by demons!"

"Shut up, Eddie," you snap. You stand, take a step towards your twin and grip her by the arms. Unshed tears brim her brown eyes. You don't think you've ever seen her so scared.

"Tell me what happened, Goosie," you say.

Her hands flutter as she speaks. "We were doing the Ouija board thing. Our hands were on the plastic pointer, and Maribel was asking if anyone was there. And then it began to move. At first I thought it was Maribel or it was us pushing it around without knowing it. You know, doing it subconsciously. But then it began to move harder, faster. And then we took our hands off, and it was still moving. Nothing was touching it! It was just jerking and wiggling on the board as if some invisible hand had a hold of it. It couldn't be real. It had to be a trick!"

"I keep telling you: it wasn't me. It was a ghost," Maribel says.

"No," you say, and then you pause for a moment as you try to think fast. "Let's be reasonable here. The power of suggestion can be overwhelming sometimes . . ."

Maribel gives an exasperated sigh. "We didn't imagine it. Here, let me go get the tape recorder. I bet twenty dollars the ghost said something. I felt it."

Maribel disappears into the great hall and quickly returns with a clunky eighties-era tape recorder that your parents kept in an old closet. Your little sister presses rewind, and after the audio whir ends in a click, she holds the recorder up and presses play.

Through the tinny speaker, the generator is a steady background purr over which Maribel's voice speaks.

"--so I can ask them some questions. Okay, um . . . Are there . . . um . . . any spirits out there? If so, please say something . . ."

"This is stupid," says Helen.

"Shh! Let them talk!"

And then the background purr slows and deepens as if plunged underwater. A garbled static emerges, and your breath catches in your throat as you hear a bass, warbling voice that's part whale song, part malevolent frog.

"Hafh'dm hai ilyaa ch' shugg ron s'uhn tharanak throd shagg y'hah . . ."

Maribel's mouth drops open. Her dark pupils seem to float in her wide whites. The tape recorder slips from her grasp and crashes to the floor, but the inhuman speech plays on. For terrible seconds, the four of you listen.

"Nope!" Helen says finally."Nope! Nope! Nope!"

Her eyes desperate, her lips curled in an excited grimace, she yanks from your grip, grabs Maribel by the arm and drags her out of the room into the great hall. Stunned, you follow behind her.

"Everyone grab your shit," your twin calls as she snatches her flashlight off the checkerboard tiles. "Fuck this house! We're going home!"

She pulls her blue snapback from her back pocket and slips the hat over her head, bill forward. And with that she and Maribel leave through the front doors.

You spare Eddie a backward glance. His expression is worryingly blank as he stares at the still playing tape recorder.

"What could it be?" he mutters seemingly to himself. "Radio interference? Or what?"

You leave him for now. With your own flashlight in hand, you follow your sisters outside. A warm, wet, earthy smell hits you as you step through the doorway into the night air. Helen and Maribel stand on the porch's stone steps.

Helen's frantic flashlight cuts only a short, fat swath through the darkness, the yellow beam clouding against a fog that seems to thicken farther away from the house. The SUV and trailer are but dark, ghostly shapes in the yard.

"The fog," Helen says quietly. "It sneaked up on us. But we can still drive out of here. We just have to be careful."

She's squeezing Maribel's hand in an iron grip, but your little sister says nothing. Maribel whimpers to herself like a scared puppy. Her glee for the paranormal has fled.

That . . . audio anomaly has spooked everyone, and Helen's panic is proving contagious. You need to do something.

Note: Inventory is updated.

Helen wants to leave. What should we do?
[ ] Helen's right. Leave right now. Try to drive through the foggy woods at night.
-[ ] Pack up the supplies first.
--[ ] What items from the house do you want to take with you?
-[ ] No time to pack first. Leave with only the stuff you have in personal inventory and what's in the trailer.
-[ ] Write in.

[ ] Agree to leave in the morning. Hopefully by then the fog would have cleared.
-[ ] What items from the house do you want to take with you?
-[ ] Write in.

[ ] Helen's being irrational. We should stay the full three nights.
-[ ] How should we try to convince Helen?
-[ ] Write in.

[ ]Try to calm Helen (and everyone else) down.
- If you want to try to calm Helen down, what approach should you take?
--[ ] Helen should smoke her marijuana. It's worked before.
---[ ] Smoke with her. It's been a while, and it's not your thing, but why not?
---[ ] Try to keep Maribel and Eddie away while Helen lights up.
--[ ] Write in.
-What approach should you take with the others?
--[ ] Write in.

If you stay until the morning or the full three nights, what should be done in the meantime?
[ ] Stay together.
-[ ] Try to get some sleep. It's been a long day.
--[ ] Read a book before you go to sleep.
---[ ] Read something from the attic.
----[ ] The Elvish-Germanese dictionaries.
----[ ] The Elvish children's books.
----[ ] Look in the attic for something else to read. Anything specific?
---[ ] Try to translate Uncle Grubb's journals (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
----[ ] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic content. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
---[ ] Go back to the 'Germanese' notes Uncle Grubb made in the hieroglyphic book. (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
----[ ] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic conent. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
---[ ] Try to translate the letters found in the closet (You can only try to translate the 'Germanese' ones).
---[ ] Read a book from the library.
----[ ] The Encyclopedia Britannica.
----[ ] The World Almanacs.
----[ ] The Lost Treasure of Min'Karanda
----[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
---[ ] Read another book from the study.
----[ ] Read The Biology of Woodland Fairies.
----[ ] Read Visions of Y'ha-nthlei
----[ ] Read On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism yourself, see if you can catch anything Eddie missed.
----[ ] Look over the science books and the map. (Note: You probably lack the necessary science skills to understand this)
---[ ] Write in.
-[ ] Try to analyze the 'anomalous audio' from Maribel's EVP tape.
--[ ] Anything to look for specifically? Any specific methods? Write in.
-[ ] Continue exploring.
--[ ] The basement.
--[ ] Go back to the attic.
---[ ] Anything specific to do in the attic? Write in.
--[ ]Try to find a way across the dangerous floorboards to reach the two rooms down the hall.
---[ ] How?
--[ ] Write in.
-If you stay in the study, what should Eddie do?
--[ ] Keep searching the computer. (Note: Your skills in Latin will help translate the Germanese)
--[ ] Read a book.
---[ ] Which one?
-If you stay in the study, what should Maribel do?
--[ ] Write in.
-If you say in the study and can calm down Helen, what should she do?
--[ ] Write in.

[ ] Split up.
-[ ] Write in for who should go with who and what everyone should do.

[ ] Something you want to add? Think you should do something else? Write in.

Voting will remain open until Friday night.

JMHthe3rd · Oct 15, 2015

Chapter Seven

You lay a hand on Helen's elbow and guide her to face you. She stares at you blankly.

"Come on," you say, "let's go back inside."

"We have to get out of here, Pookie."

"Maybe, but not right now."

You lead Helen back through the front doors. Still in her grip, Maribel follows docilely while gazing behind her. In the absence of flashlights, the foggy night is an abyssal black.

When the door clicks shut, Helen shivers and asks, "What . . . what was that voice? Is Maribel right? Is all of this real? And now that fog! It doesn't makes sense, Pookie. What's going on? What are we going to do?"

Her voice cracks. The tears fall. You pull her into a hug, and as you squeeze her tight, you feel her own arms wrapping around you, clinging to you. Throughout your life together, she's been the confident one, the foolhardy one, the one who dragged you into adventures you'd rather avoid. But now it's you who have to be strong. Into your twin's ear, you whisper, "It's okay. Just take slow, deep breaths. Everything's going to be all right . . ."

Standing together, you rock her gently, and Maribel joins in the hug, her little brown arms trying to envelop you both. Eddie walks in from the study and, not being the touchy-feely sort, awkwardly pats Helen on the shoulder.

"Okay," he says. "So, what happened? Off the top of my head, I can't come up with any reasonable explanations for that demon voice or whatever it was."

Gradually, you pull from Helen's embrace. She's looking down, and takes off her blue cap to brush blond hair out of her face and wipe her eyes. You recognize her embarrassment as easily as you would your own.

"It . . . could have been radio interference," you say.

"Oh, come on!" Maribel snaps, still holding onto Helen, but there's little energy in her words.

"Or equipment malfunction," you add.

"Maybe, but Occam's razor's getting pretty dull here," Eddie says.

"I wish I was wrong," Maribel says desolately. "I don't want there to be ghosts anymore."

You hold up a hand. "I can't explain everything, but let's try to focus on what to do now. If we want to leave, that's fine. But we're all tired, and if we try to drive through that fog we're going to have a wreck. Let's get some rest. In the morning, we can make a more level-headed decision, and hopefully by then the fog will be gone. But I think we'll be laughing about this then. Anyway, Uncle Grubb lived here for sixty years without coming to a horror movie end, so whatever's happening here, I doubt it's dangerous."

That seems to settle everyone down, and you all return to the study. In order to preserve the hard drive for later copying, Eddie shuts down the computer.

By some unspoken agreement, Helen and Maribel share one tent while you and Eddie take the other. It's probably for the best, since Eddie and Maribel would pester each other, but you hope Maribel doesn't stir your twin up with more talk of the paranormal. From the worried expression in your little sister's eyes, you doubt she will.

You usually read before going to sleep, and so, taking Eddie with you for safety's sake, you climb the creaky stairs, enter the bedroom and from the chest retrieve what you think is the earliest volume of Uncle Grubb's journals. The first page reads only one date: "1. März, 451. Jahr der Neuen Erde."

"What's your take on this?" asks Eddie.

"I don't know," you admit. "Given the extent of Uncle Grubb's props, I wouldn't put it past him to have hidden broadcasting equipment that can plant noise on audio tapes."

Eddie's snort tells you what he thinks of that.

"All right, what do you think's going on?" you ask.

Eddie hesitates before sighing. "Fuck if I know what it is. We should gee-tee-eff out of here as soon as we can, if only because Helen might freak out on us again."

"Hey, you were scared too!"

"But I wasn't going to go run off into a spooky fog." For emphasis, he shines his flashlight out the bedroom's dark window. "I'm just saying we should keep an eye on her. , You know how she is, and she's only gotten worse since the accident. And that dumbass girlfriend of hers hasn't helped."

You give your brother an appraising look. If the contents of this house had been those of a mundane octogenarian recluse, Eddie would probably have already slipped off somewhere to guzzle cough syrup and listen to his druggie-techno. Helen would have been her usual cheery self, and though she likely would have talked you into smoking marijuana with her, she'd still by far the more reliable of the two.

But in this house of weirdness, it's almost as if their roles have reversed. Maybe Eddie just thrives under pressure.

You nod. "I'm worried about her too, but hopefully her mood will bounce back. Now, let's get back downstairs."

Back in the study, Helen and Maribel are in their sleeping bags in their tent. A sheer sheet of bug netting covers the opening, but with a pass of your flashlight you can see Maribel playing some game on the tablet while Helen has her earbuds in. You want to talk to Helen, but you think she needs some time first.

You and Eddie lay down in your own tent. Your own bag feels lumpy, but you shift until you're comfortable enough--a feat considering the revolver strapped to your hip and the red crystal and box of bullets in your pockets.

For his own reading, Eddie's chosen Visions of Y'ha-nthlei, by David Icke, a known New Age woo-meister. The copyright is 1991, and as near as you can tell, it's a 'real' book, not connected to the ringworld timeline. Eddie says he's curious whether it'll shed light on the world Uncle Grubb created.

You open the journal and by the light of a floor lamp begin to read. You have to guess at some of the words, but you can follow along.

On the inside cover you see an inked seal and a flag. The seal is the two-headed dragon of the Aesirin Republic, though this one has a crown over the twin heads. The flag is white over green with a shield in the center bearing a green sash over yellow and black stripes. Along the bottom are two green zodiac suns. You find the flag vaguely familiar.

Uncle Grubb begins with, "This is the Expeditionary Journal of Gerbern Ernestine-Wettin, Reichsgraf of New Dresden, Welt-Springer and great-great-great-grandnephew of Sigivald the First, Sarvesara-Kaiser of Greater Jaganma." Well, you're related to royalty. How about that?

He doesn't give much background information--it's almost as if he expects you to know who he is--but he mentions his younger siblings, Fulbert and Hilda (You wince at the revelation--assuming its true) as well as his fiance, Esha ku V'Janahavabor, a gifted 'runologist' and the eldest daughter of an elvish 'Makha,' which you guess is a title of nobility. Though young, Grubb says he holds a doctorate in theoretische physik as well as the rank of Korvettenkapitän in the Kaiserliche Marine, though the latter he admits he purchased rather than earned. However, this, combined with his wealth, grants him the authority to requisition airships for special assignments, which in turn allows him to indulge his fiance's passion: archaeology. At this point in the journal, Uncle Grubb engages in a bout of exposition.

Far 'Left Spinward' of the Jaganma Reich are the Vendi-Ka Wastes: nine ruined continents that a half millennium ago were the home to a number of advanced human civilizations. Not only had they harnessed the power of 'mikrorunen,' 'luftsteine' and 'herzstine' ('micro runes,' 'air stones' and 'heart stones'), but could soar above the atmosphere itself. They built 'diamond cities.' They created alchemical brains and put them inside steel men. To the elves with their swords and castles, the Vendi-Ka were like gods.

But there was a war. No one knows why, but the Vendi-Ka nations fought each other not with armies but with 'sorcerous infernos.' The few eye witness accounts describe fiery toadstools obliterating entire cities. Poisonous ash drifted across the ocean and descended upon the Jaga'han lands. Crops withered, sickness spread. The Winter Years followed, and three out of four elves perished.

A few human refugees made new homes in Jaa'hana, and though there was great resentment, their scientific knowledge and remnant machines helped launched the elves into a new age of steam and luftsteine. But as great as the Jaga'han people have risen, most of the wonders of Vendi-Ka remain lost.

With his brief history lesson out of the way, Uncle Grubb declares that he intends to do nothing less than revolutionize the empire. He won't merely scour desert ruins for broken baubles: he plans to explore Vendi-Ka's last city: D'yute, or, known among Germans as, 'der Herbststadt' (the Autumn City) or Duellona.

The legends differ, but most agree it was an experiment gone wrong that made the city what it is. Shrouded under perpetual fog, Duellona survived the Vendi-Ka War and stands to this day, forever unchanging in its 'wirbel der zeit ('vortex of time'). Explorers have entered its white clouds, but most never return. The few who did, emerged only decades later, untouched by the passing years. They told of abandoned diamond towers filled with technological treasures.

Of the original inhabitants, a few remain, but as the fog has made them effectively immortal, the long centuries have driven them mad--some violently so, others merely akin to 'gypsies and vagabonds.' Custodian automatons still patrol the smooth cobble streets, seemingly oblivious to the disaster. Some explorers report seeing 'frog men' under in city's harbor waters and three-eyed abominations lurking in its sewers (Uncle Grubb points out these latter can only be Trolls--creatures otherwise unknown to the Jaga'han Elves).

But Duellona's most peculiar characteristic is its warping of time and space. The elvish adventurer, Meero D'Merski, once likened the phenomena to a serpent eating its tail. Days repeat like reoccurring dreams. Whole neighborhoods disappear and reappear. Walk down a straight street and more often than not you'll find yourself arriving where you began. And the distortions are as fickle as the weather. 'It is an inconstant city,' Uncle Grubb writes.

Though Duellona contains marvels that could advanced the Reich by generations, most people are understandably leery about entering its domain. However, Uncle Grubb and Esha have developed a defense against the fog, named 'Spinoza's Fog' after the English scientist, Benedict Spinoza. By combining 'Platonic equations,' 'runic semantics' and his own 'Erbfaktor' ('inherited trait,' 'gene'), Grubb and Esha have been able to craft a 'gedankenform barriere' to protect both themselves and the airship during the expedition.

You skim the next few pages. Uncle Grubb 'shows his work,' but to you it's mathematical gibberish. He does say that preliminary tests with Fog from the 'Dortmund Portals' prove the runes will work but neglects to explain what these portals are, though by the offhand way he mentions them, you surmise these are well-known to the intended audience. After more physics stuff, he comments that the portals allow one to cross 'three million miles of Ring with a single step' and that perhaps even 'the Change' itself had something to do with the properties of Fog (though he admits this is conjecture).

Uncle Grubb then goes on a tangent defending his marriage to Esha. Though he's a bearer of the 'Welt Springer Erbfaktor' ('World Jumper Gene'--you get goosebumps. It never occurred to you to consider what your family name meant) and is thus expected to keep the bloodline pure, Fulbert and Hilda are already doing that. And while miscegenation is frowned upon, Grubb argues that this makes this union all the more important: by marrying Esha, he's helping bridge the gulf between two cousin races,' 'equal in both intellect and spirit . . . if not stature.'

"Und auch," Uncle Grubb writes, "ich liebe sie."

The rest of this journal entry is a nearly stream-of-consciousness spiel about how wonderful she is. She's beautiful. She's funny. She's smart--no, not just smart: brilliant. She's a prodigy. She loves mythology and poetry. She plays the harpsichord. She won the 'Purple Dragon' in women's fencing. She attended Zaila University where she studied runology, archaeology and linguistics. Recently, she received a commission of Leutnant zur Luft in the Kaiserliche Marine. Uncle Grubb's known her since they were children. She's his muse. She's the light of his world.

"Huh," Eddie says beside you.

You close the journal and roll to face him. "Hmm?"

Eddie puts down Visions of Y'ha-nthlei. Through the tent fabric, the floor lamps shine through the tent a ghostly light that can't quite illuminate his face, even though he's only inches away. He keeps his voice to a whisper. "This book's about what I expected--and more."

"You're going to have to be a little more specific," you say. "All I know about the Cthulhu Mythos is that is has to do with a trans-dimensional octopus monster."

"That's not wrong, but there's more to it than that. But anyway, a lot of this book has to do with what happened in Innsmouth."

"Oh, that," you scoff. "Let me guess: the book says it was 'Deep Ones'."

"Yeah, pretty much."

It was one of the worst industrial accidents in US history--worst than even the Texas City Disaster, depending on who you ask. In 1927, a chemical plant exploded near Innsmouth, Massachusetts, killing hundreds and contaminating the surrounding coast. The government ordered an evacuation and cordoned off the town. To this day the fenced-in area is known as the Innsmouth Exclusion Zone.

The abandoned ruins, perhaps giving a sort of Chernobyl-vibe, have captured the imagination of conspiracy nuts, much the same way they're attracted to the incidents at Roswell or Black Mesa or the so-called 'Philedelphia Experiment.' There's been a number of books and films about what 'really happened'--sometimes it's aliens, sometimes zombies or demons. A horror movie about the town came out a few years ago. You never saw it but you think it involved 'fish men.'

"Even with all the weirdness going on in this house, this seems like a dead end," you say. "You might as well read about the Chupacabra or the Loch Ness monster."

"I think it's more relevant than you think," says Eddie.

"That's cryptic. Care to elaborate?"

"Let me give you some background first. You know Lovecraft's book, The Shadow Over Innsmouth? This book says it was actually a nonfiction account, that Innsmouth really was the home of a cult called the 'Esoteric Order of Dagon.' It was founded in the 1840's by Obed Marsh, a sea captain who got the idea from some islanders in the South Pacific. Here's a picture of his grandson."

Eddie flips to a page, and you have to turn on your flashlight to see clearly. The sepia photo's caption reads: Barnabas Marsh, circa 1890's, and shows a robed man sitting in a chair, his hand resting on a stack of books to the side. He wears a strangely pointed hat. There's something about his face . . .

"You see it, right?" Eddie asks.

"His mouth's too wide," you decide. "And his eyes are off."

"The book says it's a sign of interbreeding.

You squint at your brother incredulously. "With Deep Ones?"

"Yep, members of the Order had to bump uglies with the fish folk--and also do human sacrifices. Apparently by the 1920's most of the town had what was known as the 'Innsmouth Look.'"

He turns the pages to two more black and white photographs, one of an old man in a rain slicker, the other a portrait of a woman. Their faces are . . . unsettling.

"The book says the chemical spill was a cover story," Eddie says. "Instead the government sent in the Army and 'disappeared' all the people who looked like that. Years later, a few soldiers claimed they got into shootouts with 'fish monsters with Tommy guns,' but I guess Deep Ones aren't bulletproof, since the troops won.

"After that, the Navy dropped depth charges on Devil's Reef off the town's coast. The book claims their target was the undersea city of Y'ha-nthlei, but this David Icke guy doesn't think it was destroyed. He thinks the city exists on a 'higher vibration.'"

"David Icke also thinks the President's a space lizard," you say. "A few photoshopped pictures and unverified anecdotes aren't very impressive--not compared to the rest of Uncle Grubb's hokum."

"Hold on, I'm getting to the important part. Anyway, ever since the quarantine went up, the town's been under a constant fog, and some people say they've seen weirdly shaped creatures in the distance. Of course, people say they've seen a lot of things around Innsmouth, but it turns out the Order of Dagon wasn't dead. First they resurfaced in New Orleans, then Haiti and so on. And there have been Deep Ones sightings all over the world."

"And?" you say dismissively, though the mention of the fog disturbs you.

The tent's air feels uncomfortably warm. In the dim light, you can just barely make out your brother's grin.

"You ever heard of Elfstar?" he asks.

The non-sequitur gives your brain whiplash. After a few seconds, you say, "Wasn't he a singer from the sixties?"

"Yeah, he was in Mission to Bellona. Acid rock band. Real trippy. Their songs were in multiple languages--some of them made up. The group never made it too big, though they played at Woodstock. He was also in Moby Grape, but only for like a year."

"And what does he have to do with anything?"

Eddie is flipping through the book, looking for something. "You remember what Elfstar's gimmick was, right? He'd surgically given himself elf ears--though he claimed he was born with them."

"No," you say flatly. You don't like where this is going.

But your brother continues, "He's probably best known for that Laugh In skit where he sang that 'Bilbo Baggins' song. He also played a Vulcan on a Star Trek episode. But it's in the seventies when he got weird. You see, he moved to San Francisco and started his own cult: The Temple of New Atlantians. He claimed he had magic powers and taught his members to do the same. Basically, it was Hogwarts for hippies. He also claimed we needed to prepare for a war against the Deep Ones and that there was going to be a 'New Heavens and New Earth.' What to see what he looks like?"

"I guess you're going to show me."

Eddie holds out the book, and you shine over the photo with your flashlight. You see a man in a purple blazer and black turtleneck sweater. Ancient carvings cover the wall behind him. The caption reads: Elfstar at his temple, 1984. Looking at the man's face, any doubt that he isn't your cousin immediately vanish.

He has the same blond hair that follows the Springwells from one generation to the next, and while his features are softer than Uncle Grubb's chiseled Nordic mien, the resemblance is uncanny. You guess he's about thirty, though it's hard to tell. He could be your older brother. His expression is calm, contemplative. The ear facing the camera ends at a tapered point.

"So, this is Uncle Grubb's son?" you ask.

"He has to be." Eddie then quickly adds, "And no, I don't believe any of this is real, but we can see what happened here. Uncle Grubb and Aunt Esha raised their boy totally immersed in their Larping--even going so far as to cut on his ears. He grows up thinking he's an elf from a ringworld and goes balls deep into the hippy New Age movement. As soon as I get internet access, I'm Googling him to see if he's still alive."

"We should. He is family after all. And maybe we can get some answers from him."

"By the way, what did Uncle Grubb's journal say?"

You fill Eddie in on what you've learned. Summarizing it aloud emphasizes how convoluted it all is..

"Okay," Eddie says after you're done, "So, Uncle Grubb was an aristocrat in the Aesirian Republic, except it wasn't a republic then; it was called the 'Jaga-whatever' Empire. And it was run by Germans who came through a stargate in Dusseldorf."

"Dortmund. And he said 'portals,' so there was more than one."

"And these Germans came from the same Earth that the Dwarves and Trolls book came from?"

"Yes, though I'm pretty sure that was written before the portals appeared. Or were invented. I'm not sure which, though it has to do with the Fog."

"The 'Fog,'" Eddie repeats unhappily. "And him and Aunt Esha were going to go explore some long lost city that sounds like it was stuck in a big weird Gray Boy loop."

"A what?"

"Like out of the movie Groundhog Day, except for a whole area."

"Yeah, I think it was something like that. And maybe the space is curved around too. But Uncle Grubb said they made some runes to protect them. I haven't read any farther."

You hear the click of teeth on lip rings until He finally asks, "You think the fog outside is . . . ?"

"No, " you say quickly. "It's just fog. Grubb's stories aren't real."

Eddie rolls on his back. In the darkness, lamplight glints off his eyes. "You heard that voice. I don't know what to think anymore."

You sigh. "Try to get some rest. Whatever it turns out to be, we'll deal with it together."

"Thanks," he says. "And good night."

"Good night."

You lie next your brother for a while longer and listen to his breathing over the hum of the generator. After maybe half an hour, you find the tent unbearably stuffy. You need some air.

Careful to avoid making too much noise, you lift the bug netting, crawl out and retrieve a bottle of water from the cooler and a plastic bag of toiletries from your backpack. You don't shine your flashlight into your sisters' tent, but from what you can see, Helen's sleeping snuggled against Maribel, a protective arm around her. Smiling, you tiptoe out of the study and cross the great hall on your way to the bathroom.

You brush your teeth, wash your face and do your other business. You're about to leave when on a whim you decide to draw the revolver. The flashlight beam shines brilliantly off its gold-plated surface. You're not exactly an expert on firearms or even particularly skilled at shooting, but you've grown up around them and like to consider yourself reasonably knowledgeable.

You open the revolver and spin the cylinder with your thumb. Twinkling in the light, eight empty chambers go around and around like the spaces on a tiny golden roulette wheel. You snap the gun shut, pull back the hammer and test the action. The trigger pull is very light, maybe no more than a pound.

The know you're being ridiculous--stupid even--yet still you find yourself pulling the small ammo box out of your back pocket. You reopen the cylinder and one by one slide the slender brass cartridges into the chambers. There's a lot of strange things going on, and while you still hope there's a rational explanation, the fact is you'd just feel safer with a loaded gun. And besides, there might be cougars out in that fog. If any try to break in, you'll be prepared.

As an extra precaution, you leave the hammer down on an empty chamber. That way, a sudden impact won't discharge a round. Staring at your dimly lit reflection in the mirror, you holster the weapon on your left hip. Yeah, you're a cowboy.

The knock makes you jump.

"Pookie?" you hear Helen ask.

You button down the holster's flap over the hammer, sip cool water from your bottle and open the door. She's hunched almost sheepishly, and with her flashlight aimed politely away, she's a shadowy figure in the dim, indirect light.

"Oh, I was going to . . ." She trails off.

You open the door wide and step aside. "It's all yours."

But instead she nods down the hall. She wants to talk. You follow her to the kitchen. It's especially musty in here. Cobwebs hang like gossamer drapes from the walls and cabinets. Taking up a corner of the tile floor is a round breakfast table with plastic molded chairs that seem absurdly anachronistic for this mysterious old mansion.

You and your twin plop into two of them, and sitting side by side, your laid-back, lanky postures nearly identical, you realize for the first time that both of your clothes are color coordinated: you're both wearing blue jeans, and you're both wearing blue shirts, though hers is a tie-dye and yours a button up. It reminds you of when you both were little and your parents would dress you in matching outfits.

Helen follows your gaze and practically reads your thoughts. "Hey, we both like blue," she says. "But at least we're not Raggedy Ann and Andy. Worst. Halloween. Ever."

You grin. "Maribel still thinks we should go as Jaime and Cersei."

"Uhg. Fuck that," she says.

She pulls a ziplock from her front pocket and shines her flashlight against it. Mulchy dark leaves and stems fill the baggie's bottom.

"I was going light up in the bathroom. Just a little, and I'd keep the window open. I'm not sure it'd be a good idea, though. Might go into a freakout." She snickers halfheartedly. "Remember you when you were all like, 'Oh, shit! The pizza man's on to us!'"

You chuckle. That was back when you were both sixteen, and she got you to smoke marijuana for the first time. The pizza delivery man gave you a funny look when you opened the door, and you became . . . excessively paranoid.

"Weed doesn't do that to you," you say.

"Yeah, but I usually don't smoke in a haunted house. And after hearing that voice . . ." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry I lost it back there. You said we need to be adults, and I acted like a scared little girl."

"It's okay. That . . . audio phenomena scared me too."

"But it's more than just this house. I've been acting weird since the accident, haven't I?"

"It's affected all of us, Goosie."

She pauses, and you watch as she looks down and contemplates her All Stars, swishing her flashlight beam across the white sneakers back and forth.

"I hated going to the family reunion," she says finally. "I already felt like an outsider because I was the only one who had to drive myself while everyone else got to ride that tour bus. I know mom and dad didn't want to me to go, but telling me it was at 'maximum capacity' was just bullshit."

"It really was, Goosie. We were like sardines on the trip there. It's probably why the accident was so . . ." You trail off as memories of fire, wreckage and bodies momentary surface. If you, Eddie and Maribel hadn't ridden home with Helen . . .

"That was just an excuse," she says. "They could have made room for one more, or we could have rode in the SUV. For them, it was just a petty way of leaving me out. I was almost about to give up and not go, but I wasn't going to let them shun me. So I followed the bus. But at the picnic everyone treated me like a pariah--except for you, Eddie and Maribel, of course. And Aunt Rudy. I tried to talk to mom before the bus left for home, because we hadn't really talked in weeks, and you know what she said to me? 'I have nothing to say to you.' What the fuck? I didn't think they'd be happy about me coming out, but I didn't think they'd disown me."

"They were hoping you would stop being gay," you say. "Or at least go back into the closet. They . . . they were in denial."

"And now it's like they'll always be in denial, you know?" she says, her voice hitting a brittle edge. "Like they're frozen in the past. They'll never learn to accept me, we'll never make up. I just have to accept that they're gone forever. That's what Bobbi keeps telling me. But now there's all this crazy sci-fi fantasy shit, and I think, What if ghosts are real? The unknown scares me, Pookie."

You think of the fog outside and what you've read in Uncle Grubb's journal--not to mention what Eddie told you. And there's the loaded gun strapped to your hip. But your twin doesn't need to hear about all that right now.

"We shouldn't jump to conclusions," you say, "but whatever's going on--even if it's all real, though I doubt it is--we'll face it together, as a family. We have each other's back, okay?"

"Okay," she says and after a few moments seems to calm down. "I wish we brought beer. I could really use one right now."

"There's Uncle Grubb's liquor cabinet."

She makes a yucky face. "Maybe later."

You pass her your water, and she takes a swig.

"I tell you what," you say, "after we get out of here, we'll drive on down to Galveston. We can spend a few days lounging on the beach, put this all behind us."

She perks up at that. "Yeah, and maybe Bobbi can come too."

You groan inside. "Doesn't she have to work?"

"I keep telling her she should quit her job. I mean, we're millionaires--"

"Your share's seven hundred grand."

"That's still a lot. We could live off that. Her auto work can be her hobby, and she can focus on her music."

You wince a little because you can't help but envision them squandering the inheritance on muscle cars and trips to Vegas. "Be careful," you say.

You both return to the study, and you crawl into the tent and slide into your sleeping bag. Eddie snores gently beside you. You shuck off your shoes and try to get comfortable. Soon, you begin to doze off..

You're in a dim and muddled world. A great watery space opens before you, and in a stupor you wander through titanic sunken porticos and labyrinths of weedy cyclopean walls with grotesque fishes as your companions. Then the other creatures appear, rough-hewn beings bearing the shape of men but with the unhuman trappings. They circle you and regard you with bulbous eyes. They probe at you with scaly hands, jab at you with bony spears. Their saw-toothed maws form terrible grins.

Something draws you, and you look above. In the dark, undersea sky, distant fireflies swarm like a cosmos run amok. They do not share a world with the undersea creatures, though you don't know why you know this. The creatures grab at you, but you rise up and--

You awake to the sound of anxious chatter, an argument maybe. You catch 'Impossible' and 'What are we going to do?' but you're too groggy to follow along. You open your eyes to pale light glowing dully through the tent's skin.

"Someone should wake Pookie," says Maribel's voice.

"I'm awake," you mutter. You fumble on your horn rim glasses and amble through the bug netting. Your siblings stand around you in a claustrophobic huddle. By her drawn expression, you can tell Helen's uneasy, but Eddie and Maribel stare at you with raw emotion in their wide-eyes. They look wired, and though this is a state you've seen Eddie in before--usually after he's taken something he shouldn't--seeing Maribel like this scares you. You glare at Eddie.

"Eddie, what did you do? Did you give Maribel--?"

"Did you have the dream?" Eddie demands excitably.

You pause, feeling suddenly unnerved. You did have a dream, didn't you? You know you did. But it's gone now.

"I . . . I rarely remember dreams," you say.

Helen's sigh rolls into a nervous titter. "See? He's like me. Pookie, go look outside. You'll remember then."

Eddie steps aside for you to pass. The study's window is too dirty too see out of, but it looks pretty gauzy. Without a word, you walk out into the great hall, pass the propane generator and open the front doors. You step onto the front porch.

In the blurred morning ambiance, the fog has taken a milky hue. As last night, it seems to thicken farther from the house, and you can make out the vague shape of the SUV and trailer forty feet away before the world vanishes into cloudy haze.

Eddie stands beside you. "Look up," he says.

Across the white sky above, barely perceivable through the fog, you make out a swirling sea of yellow pinpricks that jerk and dart and orbit each other playfully. Fireflies? It's surreal. You've never seen so many of them: thousands, millions. Innumerable as the stars. But then the deja vu crashes like a wave, and the dream's memory returns to you: the seabottom ruins, the creatures, the fireflies . . .

It was a dream. But now you're awake. And yet there the fireflies are. The unreality of it all threatens to overtake you. Your heart races; your throat grows parched. You stumble back.

"He remembers," Eddie says deadpan.

Helen wraps an arm across your shoulders. Her eyes are worried, but the contact is still reassuring.

"It's all right, Pookie. Just take deep breaths. Remembering freaked me out too."

You lean into your twin and breathe in the fog's wet, humid air. Slowly, you begin to calm down.

"Me and Maribel woke up with the dream still in our heads," says Eddie. "There was no way we could forget. It was crazy vivid, like salvia-n-shrooms intense."

"Realer than real," Maribel chimes in behind you.

"Yeah," agrees Eddie. "I woke up trembling and all sweaty. Maribel was crying. Of course, you were sleeping like a stone. Nothing wakes you up, Bert."

"I didn't remember the dream at all until I saw . . . " Helen gestures up at the fireflies.

"Okay," Eddie begins, "So let's get this all straight: all four of us dreamed we were in Y'ha-nthlei . . ."

"That name's stupid," says Helen. "But yeah, it was like Atlantis with fucking fish men everywhere."

"Deep Ones are scarier than I thought they'd be," Maribel says, and you realize she's holding your hand.

Along the front porch, Eddie paces like a caged animal. His blue eyes are wild. He runs a hand through his dyed black hair and gesticulates as he speaks, his voice periodically slipping into adolescent cracks.

"Yeah, they are, but now we find ourselves here, trapped in this pea soup with those weird glowing dots in the sky. What's going on? Are we dreaming? Are we tripping off hallucinogens? Is all of Uncle Grubb's shit real?"

Helen's chuckle is more like a whimper. She hugs your shoulders tighter, and for the first time you notice she holds the .38 revolver in her other hand. She watches the fog with barely restrained panic.

"Let's try to drive through it," she says frantically. "Get out of the Twilight Zone while we still can. Galveston or bust. Party on the beach. Sounds like a plan, right?"

Maribel squeezes your hand. "Are we going to die?"
---
Note: Inventory has been undated and skills in the Characters Sheets slightly ret-conned for Helen and Maribel (Helen plays the drums, Maribel plays soccer). Also, what should this reserved post be used for? I think making it a 'Notes' section could be useful, to keep straight all theories and lore and such. If so, what do you want to add to it?

What should we do?
[ ] Try to drive through the foggy woods.
-[ ] Pack up the supplies first.
--[ ] What items from the house do you want to take with you?
-[ ] No time to pack first. Leave with only the stuff you have in personal inventory and what's in the trailer.
-[ ] What precautions should you use?
-[ ] Write in.

[ ] Explore the fog on foot.
-[ ] What should you bring?
-[ ]Who should go?
-[ ] What precautions should you use? Where do you want to explore?
-[ ] Write in.

[ ] Wandering off into the spooky fog is dangerous. Go back inside.

Your siblings are trying to hold it together, but they seem on the verge of panicking--and you yourself are pretty unnerved. How should you calm them down? What do you (Pookie) think's going on here? What do you tell the others?
[ ] Write in.

If you go decide not to go into the fog, what should you do?

[ ] Stay together.
-[ ] Read something from the attic.
--[ ] The Elvish-Germanese dictionaries.
--[ ] The Elvish children's books.
--[ ] Look in the attic for something else to read. Anything specific?
-[ ] Try to translate more of Uncle Grubb's journals (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[ ] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic content. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Go back to the 'Germanese' notes Uncle Grubb made in the hieroglyphic book. (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[ ] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic conent. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Try to translate the letters found in the closet (You can only try to translate the 'Germanese' ones).
-[ ] Read a book from the library.
--[ ] The Encyclopedia Britannica.
--[ ] The World Almanacs.
--[ ] The Lost Treasure of Min'Karanda
--[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
-[ ] Read another book from the study.
--[ ] Read The Biology of Woodland Fairies.
--[ ] Read Visions of Y'ha-nthlei, see if Eddie missed anything.
--[ ] Read On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism yourself, see if you can catch anything Eddie missed.
--[ ] Look over the science books and the map. (Note: You probably lack the necessary science skills to understand this)
-[ ] Try to analyze the 'anomalous audio' from Maribel's EVP tape.
--[ ] Anything to look for specifically? Any specific methods? Write in.
-[ ] Experiment with the Ouija board and tape recorder. See if you can replicate what happened last night.
--[ ] Write in.
-[ ] Continue exploring.
--[ ] The basement.
--[ ] Go back to the attic.
---[ ] Anything specific to do in the attic? Write in.
--[ ]Try to find a way across the dangerous floorboards on the second story so you can reach the two rooms down the hall.
---[ ] How?
--[ ] Write in.

If you read a book or do some other solo activity, what should the others do?
-[ ] Write in.

[ ] Split up.
-[ ] Write in for who should go with who and what everyone should do.

[ ] Something you want to add? Think you should do something else? Write in.

(Note: Last time Elarasilkand Ridiculously Average Guy voted for the below options. You can add your vote to these options. Elarasilk and Ridiculously Average Guy can also change their votes then if they wish.)

[2] Look for anything that mentions the fog. If that's a Grubb-thing, we might need to know about it before we can drive out.
[2] Continue exploring.
-[2] The basement.
If you stay in the study, what should Eddie do?
-[2] Read a book.
--[2] His pick. (Note, Eddie read (most of ) Visions of Y'ha-nthlei. He can continue reading it or read something else.)
If you stay in the study, what should Maribel do?
-[2] Not sure. Anything that she's happy with and doesn't seem too risky? Ask Helen when she's calmed down a bit.

If you say in the study and can calm down Helen, what should she do?
-[2]Get her on something productive. Maybe she can figure out some stuff we want to take away, then we can all load some of it up together a bit later?

[2] Split up.
-[2] Explore the basement together, then disperse to tasks as listed above.

Voting will remain open until Sunday night.

JMHthe3rd · Nov 11, 2015

wkz said:
You know, outside of the more hardcore empire builders, that's the most intimidating Notes and References that I've seen in a quest...

Thanks, I was trying to be comprehensive, since this quest is very lore-heavy and has a lot of items to keep track of.

Anyway, here's the next chapter. Voting will remain open until Saturday night. If that's not enough time, then just let me know. And if you like this quest, please vote.

Chapter Eight

Watching the distant fireflies, you squeeze your little sister's hand and, with a confidence you don't feel, say, "No, Maribel, we're not going to die."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Eddie snorts. "Seriously? You can't prom--"

"Shut up!" you snap. "Come on, let's get inside."

You don't turn around. With Helen's arm still across your shoulders, the two of you and Maribel slowly back-step into the house. Eddie ceases his pacing and follows you inside.

From the doorway, the four of you gaze into the opaque fog which seems to swallow the world. Only the generator's hum breaks the silence. You glance into Helen's anxious eyes, and then at the revolver gripped at her side. Her thumb fidgets with the hammer's spur; her finger strokes the trigger. With those monstrous faces still creeping in your mind, you don't blame her at all.

Finally, you pull loose from your sisters and shut the doors. Though the gesture feels pointless, you turn the lock.

"So . . . no driving?" Helen asks.

"Not through that fog," you say.

"Yeah, that's what we're afraid of: fog," snarks Eddie. "Why don't we admit what we're all thinking? The Deep Ones are coming for us. They're already inside our dreams. Soon they'll be inside the house. Face it: We're in a horror movie!"

Maribel clings to you, burying her face in your shirt.

"Eddie, Stop it," you warn. But there's truth in his words.

Helen is staring at the doors. "This is real. This is really happening . . ."

You were always the levelheaded one, but right now your heart is racing and cold sweat damps your clothes. A primal hysteria threatens to overtake everyone, and it's up to you to keep things sane. But first you need to adapt your worldview.

Petting Maribel's hair, you say, "This could be some sort of elaborate trick--"

"Trick?" Eddie laughs shrilly. "Burt, we all had the same--"

"--BUT I don't think it is," you continue, bulling over his words. "You're right, Eddie. We can't rely on 'rational explanations.' We're going to have to treat this like it was real."

"What are we going to do?" Helen asks.

"Right now," you say, "we need to calm down, so everyone take slow, deep breaths . . ."

You lead them through a minute of breathing exercises, during which you all migrate to the study. It's cramped here, but the stark shine of the LED floor lamps adds a fresh crispness to the dreary morning light glowing through the room's sole window. Maribel plops in the leather armchair. They all watch you expectantly.

"All right," you begin, "first, let me tell you what we're not going to do. We're not going to run around like headless chickens; we're not going to cry, 'This can't be happening!' or 'Game over, man!' Uncle Grubb knew about the fog and the Deep Ones, and I bet he knew about those fireflies too. And he lived here for sixty years. Knowledge is power, and we're surrounded by his journals, his books, his knickknacks. So, here's what we're going to do: we're going to study them, we're going to strategize and, working together, we're going to survive. Do I make myself clear?"

Maribel nods first. Eddie and Helen follow her lead.

"Good," you say. "Now let's have some breakfast."

But even after your pep talk, no one has much of an appetite, including you. Eddie has a Starbucks frap and a half-sandwich. Helen and Maribel drink juice boxes and share a bag of chips. Your twin is jittery, her nerves frayed, but she's trying to hide it. Maribel is more visibly withdrawn and stares quietly out the study's milky window. Staying away from your usual coffee, you open a bottle of orange juice and nibble on cheese crackers.

Your brother fills in his sisters on what he learned. Helen finds the news about Innsmouth surprisingly reassuring.

"So, they can die," she says.

"The Deep Ones are supposed to be immortal," Eddie says, "but that only means they don't grow old. They're not indestructible."

"Still scary," Maribel says.

"But knowing the Army mowed them down takes away some their monster rep," Helen says. "They're just fish with arms and legs. Ugly fuckers, but nothing a bullet to the head won't fix." She pats the revolver resting beside her on the desk.

The bravado bothers you. It reminds you of Roberta.

"We don't want to underestimate them," you say. "If that dream was any indication, they have telepathy. And that voice on that tape could be their work too, which means they might have electromagnetic manipulation and maybe telekinesis."

Your siblings fall into a tense silence, and you regret bringing that up. You don't want to spook them again.

However, Helen says, "The dream was stupid of them. It warned us they were coming."

"Psychological warfare?" Eddie suggests.

"They've still lost the element of surprise," says Helen. "But anyway, what do they want? Why are they here?"

"Something in the house?" Eddie suggests. "Some magical artifact?"

"Then why didn't they break in and get it during, oh, I don't know, the seven years this house was abandoned?" asks Helen. "Why now?"

"We could be reading too much into the dream," you say. "We could have been seeing something that happened thousands of years ago. Or maybe the Deep Ones are still in their underwater city. Maybe they had a dream about us. My point is, we don't know they're in the fog."

Eddie gnaws his lip rings, his eyes seeming to watch beyond the walls. "No, they're out there. I can feel it."

Maribel sucks dry a juice box and says, "Me too."

To distract from this doom and gloom, and to perhaps give a wider perspective, you tell them what you read in the journal. Your sisters agree Uncle Grubb's proposed defense against the fog is a good lead, but the rest is what really catches their interest.

Sitting on the desk's edge, Helen wads up an empty chip bag and tosses it into the sleeping bag next to where you sit.

"I was hoping it wasn't true," she says. "It's weird we never noticed how alike they looked."

You pick up your twin's trash and stuff it with your own. "People see what they expect to see. And not many people expect their great-grandparents are brother and sister."

"It's gross," Eddie says, "but look on the bright side: we're related to the God Emperor of Elf-Prussia."

"But it doesn't make sense," Helen says. "Look, I get that our family came from some alternate medieval Germany where marrying cousins was no big deal then. But even they had to know sibling incest was really bad. Like, deformed-retard-babies bad. Why would they risk that?"

"Like I said," you say, "Uncle Grubb mentioned the family carried a 'world-jumper' gene, so he was expected to keep the bloodline 'pure'. Marrying an elf was scandalous."

"Think any of us are world-jumpers?" asks Helen.

Having perked up a bit, Maribel rocks the leather chair with her swinging feet. "I'm not related to you guys, so I guess I don't. But it'd be cool to have wizard powers."

"Elfstar has them," Eddie says. "He can levitate and do Uri Geller shit. At least that's what the book says."

"I wonder if he had any kids?" says Maribel.

"When we get out of here, we can look him up," Eddie says--you're thankful he didn't say 'if.' "He'd only be in his sixties, so he's probably still alive."

Helen taps at her smartphone. "I have some of his songs. Mission to Bellona is an obscure band, but it's good 'chill out' music."

From the tinny speaker plays an ambient beat which swells slowly into clanging cymbals and Gregorian chants. Ghostly vocals drift over the jangley tune. Some of the lines are in a fluid, singsong language. Interesting, but nothing you'd choose to listen to.

"It's like Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd," Eddie says.

"Yeah," you agree, though you're not sure who that is.

Helen puts the still-playing phone on the desk and gives you an eyebrow shrug that tells you what she's about to do. You swallow your annoyance and nod. She digs into her pocket.

"I know this isn't like the ideal time," she says, "but I haven't lit up in two days. And if I'm going to make it through this 'Attack of the Fish People' shit, I really need a puff." She tugs out the baggie along with a lighter and a small glass pipe with psychedelic patterns.

Maribel's eyes grow as wide as saucers. She jumps out of her seat. Oh, hell.

"Cool! Can I have some? Please, please, please?"

Helen's already packing the bowl. "I don't think that's a good idea, Maribel."

"Silly Munchkin, weed is for grownups," Eddie says unhelpfully.

Maribel jabs a finger in his face. "You're not a grownup and I know you smoke it! It makes your room smell like skunk-butt!"

"Why would you want to smoke a skunk's butt?" Eddie asks.

"Because I want to get high. I've never been high before." Maribel holds out her hands out to Helen. "Come on, Goosie. Just a little! I'm scared, and it'll help me calm down!"

"Or it'll make you freak out," says Helen. "I'm probably not going to freak, but if I don't take a hit now I'll go fucking nuts. I'm not going to get baked or anything. I just need something to take the edge off."

And with that she puts the pipe to her lips, sparks the bowl and sucks in. The crushed leaves crackle softly, and curling smoke floods the stagnant air with that familiar burning musk. Before Helen even exhales, you lay a hand on Maribel's shoulder and lead her out of the study into the dimness of the great hall.

She kicks at the Ouija board left abandoned from last night. "It's not fair. I'll be a teenager in November. Teenagers are old enough to smoke weed."

You've already come up with a way to deal with this. If she wants to be a grown up, you'll treat her like one. You kneel down until you're level with her dark eyes and say, "Maribel, I'm going to need you to watch out for Goosie."

"Watch out? Watch out for what?"

"Just make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. I know you look up to her--and I agree she's very cool--but she's also developed a dependency on marijuana. Do you know what that means?"

"It means she's addicted."

You shake your head. "'Addicted' is too strong a word, but yes, she gets stressed if she doesn't smoke every now and then. Usually that's not a problem, but right now we need to keep a clear head. And 'we' means me and you."

Over the generator's drone you hear Eddie coughing, followed by Helen's laughter. Maribel looks into the lamplight shining through the doorway.

"Do you think Eddie's going to robo-trip?" she asks.

You picture your brother stumbling around the mansion mumbling to himself, cherry syrup vomit streaking down his front. "I hope he has enough sense not to do that here."

"He shouldn't do that anywhere!" she says firmly. "Remember when he went to the emergency room? He made mom cry!"

That was a year ago, after Eddie ate a bunch of cough and cold tablets at school. He ended up collapsing in the hallway.

"Eddie has issues," you say, "but we can deal with that later. For now, Maribel, let me just say that if you want to smoke marijuana, that's fine--though I think you should wait a few years. But I don't want you ever doing the crap Eddie does."

"You don't have to worry about that, Pookie. Cough syrup's gross."

"Glad we agree." You stand and ruffle her hair. "Come on, let's see what the potheads are up to."

Maribel holds her nose as you reenter the study now stinking of pungent smoke. Helen's sitting cross-legged beside the computer, her pipe balanced on one knee, her baggies on the other. Eddie's lounging against the glass display case, head lightly lolling. Holding a second bag of marijuana smaller than her own, your twin sniffs its contents and sticks her tongue out in an mime of gagging.

"Okay, okay!" Eddie says. "Your weed's better, but mine's not that bad."

"Eddie, this smells like gasoline. And it's mostly seeds and stems. You got ripped off. Me and Bobbi can hook you up, free of charge. Then maybe you'll stop getting high off NyQuil and cat piss."

"Don't knock 'tussin until you try it. Dextromethorphan is a powerful--"

"Uh-huh," says Helen, unimpressed.

"Are you two done?" you ask.

Helen looks up at you, her brown eyes at half mast, her blond bangs curtaining her face. With a mellow grin she holds the pipe out to you. "Come on, Pookie, take a quick hit!"

"No," you say more curtly than you intended. But it's frustrating being the only grown-up.

Helen catches on to your impatience and she turns guiltily away. With her thumb she quickly snubs out the bowl, and then shoves the pipe into her own baggie. She then tosses your brother's bag back to him, offering the advice, "Seriously, Eddie, throw that schwag out!"

After things settle down, you decide it's time for a plan of action.

"I'm going to continue translating his journals. Hopefully, I'll find out more about the fog. Eddie, I want you to trawl the books for anything to do with those fireflies. Goosie, Maribel, look for more stuff upstairs: books, interesting trinkets, etc. I haven't seen any phones around, but if we find one, we might be able to dial out--even inactive landlines are supposed to be able to call 911. Also, see if you can find a safe way into those two rooms down the hall. Be very, very careful. I don't want you two getting a broken leg or worse. We'll meet back in four hours. Everyone clear? Good."

Though the window lets you see well enough, you all pick up your flashlights. From her suitcase, Helen rummages out a Navy Blue hiking vest. She slips it on over her tie-dye shirt. The .38 she sticks in an inside pocket. She does seem more relaxed now, and you admit her smoking was probably a good thing. Eddie, on the other hand, has a slight wobble in his steps. But then, he's not a daily pothead like your sister.

Out in the great hall, Helen calls, "Hey, Pookie, pass me the keys!"

They jangle as they land in her palm, and she disappears behind the stairway, probably into the bedroom with the robot. You're about to follow her when she reappears with a tiny cardboard box in hand.

"Extra ammo," she explains and shoves the box into a vest pouch. "And I'm going to be on the lookout for some better firepower. Those Deep Ones looked pretty meaty."

As the four of you climb the stairs, Maribel's eyes roll to the front doors as though she expects fish men to bust through any second. If that happens, you wouldn't put much faith in your little golden revolver. It's too bad you didn't bring any rifles or shotguns from home.

"I call dibs on the next gun we find," Eddie says.

Maribel takes Helen's hand. "Can I have a gun too?"

"You'll shoot your eye out, kid," Helen says.

"No I won't! I won't play with it this time! I swear!"

Passing by the runic suit of armor on the balcony, you shine your flashlight up at the halberd hanging on the wall. The shaft's about seven feet long, and the dark, spiked ax-blade projects an aura of Gothic deadliness. You might be able to get it down if you stood tip-toed on a table, though a ladder would be ideal.

You enter Uncle Grubb's bedroom while everyone else goes to the library. Freeing a cardboard box from the closet, you gather up the journal's eleven other volumes along with the shoebox filled with letters. Your eye settles on Aunt Esha's stubby little saber leaning against the wall, and you lift it up and draw it from the leather scabbard.

Not two feet long, the saber is more like a cutlass. At first you mistake the short, smooth glimmering dark blade for obsidian, but the length flexes slightly under the pressure of your fingertips--something glass would never do. Your flashlight reveals in the metal faint shimmering runes so tiny they're little more than geometric specks. The golden, lion's head grip is too 'elf-size' for your admittedly large hands, but as you awkwardly make a few practice swings the weapon takes on an unnatural balance as through a second, unseen hand were guiding your movements. You don't even bother with a rational explanation. It's a magic sword. Carefully, you sheath it and put it in the box. Perhaps you'll show it to Eddie later.

It's not until you've taken a few steps away that you notice the blood welling on your fingertip. The cut is nearly invisible and fortunately not too deep. But you barely even touched the edge. The blade must be razor sharp. Sucking your finger, you open the chest at the foot of the bed.

After a minute of rooting around, you find four small ammo boxes for the golden revolver. Two hold one hundred rounds each and contain standard blunt-nosed tips. The other two are smaller and half empty, and at a glance you can tell they are special.

The label on the first of these shows a cartoon elf in a military uniform firing what looks like a stiletto dagger from a revolver. In the upper corner, circled by Elvish text, floats the grinning gray-skinned head of a three-eyed dwarf. With his wide chin and the long pipe jutting from his lopsided mouth, he reminds you of Popeye. Inside the box are fourteen conical bullets with needled points. They seem to be made of the same 'obsidian metal' as the saber.

The second box shows a drawing of a blue-robed elf sitting on a throne of ice. A crown of icicles rests on his white head. Snowflakes fall around him. Sporting a mischievous smile, the 'Winter King' regally holds up a revolver and a carbine as though they were scepters. Once again, the happy dwarf logo sits in the corner, though here he wears a fur hat and scarf. Inside you count ten silver bullets, their surface rough with nearly microscopic etchings. Experimentally, you probe one with your finger and find it icy to the touch.

"Huh," you say aloud and place all the ammo in with the books and sword.

Carrying the box out of the bedroom, you run across Eddie leaving the library stack of books pressed between his arms and chin.

Curiously, he eyes the leaning saber hilt. "We found an old-timey phone behind the computer desk but--surprise, surprise--it's dead. I guess landlines and unchecked forest growth don't get along. Either that or Uncle Grubb's service doesn't cover inter-dimensional calls."

"It was a long shot," you admit. Footsteps thump along the ceiling above you.

"They're exploring the attic," Eddie says. "Helen has an idea for getting into those two rooms."

Passing by the narrow stairway, you call out, "You two be careful!"

"We will, Pookie!" you hear Maribel say.

Back in the study, you both lay down your loot, and you sit in the leather armchair. Eddie wavers slightly as he wipes dust from the window and gazes into the white nothingness.

"Why does it have to be Lovecraft?" he asks. "Why couldn't Iain Banks have been writing non-fiction?"

"I wouldn't put too much stock in what Lovecraft wrote," you say. "He knew about Innsmouth and that fish cult, but we don't know how much he just made up. He didn't have the bigger picture like Uncle Grubb did."

"You know Lovecraft disappeared, right?" Eddie says. "He was institutionalized in the late thirties, but then he escaped and pulled an Emilia Earhart on the world. By then his health was going: hair falling out, skin tumors. Some think it may have been a toxin or radiation poisoning, but in Shadow Over Innsmouth he says he's afraid he's descended from a Deep One. So, maybe he was 'changing.' Maybe he's still alive and living in Y'ha-nthlei."

"If we see him, you can ask for his autograph," you say. "Now, try to find out what you can about those fireflies."

Eddie sits on the stool and begins poking through his stack of books. Leaning back in your seat, you open the journal to where you left off.

Under an entry dated, 22. März, 451. Jahr der Neuen Erde, Uncle Grubb spends a few pages describing the SMS Humperdinck and the SMS Pfeil, the airships assigned for the expedition. The Humperdinck is a Achenbach-class korvette, and at 215 feet and 1,900 tons is the 'longer, fatter sister' of the 205 foot, 1,050 ton Pfeil (German for 'Arrow'), a Blitz-class aviso. Grubb gleefully lists the ships' various stats, but most of the numbers and jargon fly over your head.

The gist however is that while these ships are somewhat antiquated (The Pfeil is a veteran of the Spice Wars), they've been heavily retrofitted with the best technology money can buy. Uncle Grubb mentions vacuum-insulated luftsteine boilers, and steam turbines enhanced with the latest mechanica mikrorunen. In loving detail, he expounds on why the swept-tip propellers improve propulsion, why the turret guns have increased firepower and why the Dwarven steel hulls have the best rating. 'These ships are Wonders of the Machine Age!' he humbly declares.

Of course, for this expedition the most important components are the defensive runes developed by he and Esha. Only with these will they be able to transverse Duellona's Fog. Here Uncle Grubb has drawn a diagram. The angular, alien symbols are arrayed in a galaxy swirl of nested octagons that you find somehow disorienting. You remind yourself these are only inked shapes on paper, yet when you stare at them they seem to drift faintly, like oil over water. A dull ache grows behind your eyes. Quickly, you turn the page.

As a loan from the Thaumatological Academy of New Dortmund, Uncle Grubb will take on the journey two priceless herzsteine ('heart stones'), old relics from the Vendi-Ka Wastes. Normally, these red crystal spheres are used to determine whether one was born with a Erbfaktor and its class and level. However, the stones can also be used to augment the gedankenformen ('thoughtforms') behind 'Platonics' and 'runic semantics'--vital for transversing the Fog.

You pause and pull the red crystal ball from your pocket. The glassy surface lights up dimly at the contact with your skin, and you're almost certain now it's radiating a subtle warmth. Does this mean you have magic powers? Without instructions on how to interpret the effects of the 'heartstone,' you can only guess. You glance at Eddie, but his nose is buried in a book. You place the heartstone on the desk beside the cardboard box and then pick up the journal and keep reading.

Aside from standard crews, Uncle Grubb has hired four Elvish sorcerers: a husband-wife team of 'Gnostics' as well as two 'Elementalists.' He's also garnered the interests of a young Dwarf named Widari, who just so happens to be a member of the vastly wealthy Eirohm Family--one of the Empire's largest arms manufacturers. Eager for adventure (and patent rights on discovered tech), Widari has not only helped finance the expedition, but supplied Uncle Grubb's naval infantry platoon with the finest body armor and repeating rifles.

While reading this, you've pieced together clues sprinkled throughout Uncle Grubb's writing. From an offhand comment that the Dortmund Portals are 'unaligned,' and from the apparent lack of communication with the 'Fatherland,' you conclude these Germans are cut off from their Earth. This doesn't seem to be a new situation; it's possibly been this way for decades.

The Jaganma Reich seems to consist mainly of Elves, which suggests the stranded colony has undergone mass immigration. You gather the Germans are the ruling class, though the Elves have their own aristocracy. Uncle Grubb states that Dwarves are rare, which you guess is because so few of them were on the Jaganma-side when the portals closed. He also mentions the 'coal-faced Vendi' (the infantry captain is one) which are probably human descendants of the Vendi-Ka.

Christianity exists in Jaganma, at least in the form of the 'Zoubartic' sect. Some elves have converted (the Water/Air Elementalist is an ordained priest), though you don't think this is the norm. Both the Humperdinck and Pfeil have their own shamans, and Uncle Grubb seems slightly derisive of the Elves' 'pagan ways,' which evidently includes the faith of his fiance.

You get the impression that there's a racial division between occupations. All infantry for the expedition are human (Uncle Grubb describes the difficulty in renovating their elf-scale quarters to human proportions), which implies that's who infantry tend to be. However, most of the crew, as well as the four 'sorcerers,' are Elves.

The Empire also seems to be only a small part of a 'Jaa'hana' region or continent. Uncle Grubb name-drops a 'Confederation' and mentions wars in neighboring countries, but doesn't offer enough context to know the big picture. You really wish you could ask Uncle Grubb about this world. The journal just isn't enough.

But you push those thoughts aside. Right now you need to learn about the Fog. You return to your reading.

A dry cracking pierces the air. You only have enough time to register that it came from the great hall when you hear the crash. You jump out of your chair and run out of the study, nearly tripping over one of the tents. Eddie's behind you and almost runs into you when you stop.

A half-dozen massive hardcovers lay in a smashed heap on the checkerboard floor. You look up at the plaster ceiling twenty feet above and see a jagged hole through which a yellow flashlight beam hazily shines. Dust trickles down like fine snow.

"Oops," you hear Maribel say.

"But in the Latin alphabet, Jehovah begins with an 'I'," Eddie says.

"What the hell are you two doing?" you shout.

"Calm down, Pookie," Helen calls through the hole. "We weren't walking across the floor. We were just testing it, seeing if it was stronger than it looks.

"It's not," Maribel adds.

"We're moving to 'Plan B' now," Helen says.

You sigh. "Be careful."

Kneeling by the books, you're annoyed to find a few are volumes of the Elvish-Germanese dictionary. Fortunately, they're not so damaged that you can't read them, but the spines are broken and the covers torn. For a bibliophile such as yourself, it's a sad sight. You shake your head, and carefully, you and Eddie gather them up and return to the study.

After laying the maimed books on the desk, you sit back in the leather chair. "Found anything out?"

Reluctantly, Eddie says. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure those fireflies are . . . fairies."

You give him a look, though you suppose 'fairies' isn't crazier than any other explanation.

"At first I thought we might be 'transmigrating' to the ringworld," Eddie says, "but On God's Ring says the lights in the sky were like a bright kaleidoscope. Nothing like the those yellow glowbugs. So I kept looking. Of course, since I can't read German or Elvish or Egyptian or whatever, most books here are off limits. But it turns out the answer was in the first book we found."

He hands you the thick, hardbound book, The Biology of Woodland Fairies. You only skimmed it before, but now turning to the title page you see it's written by an Edward L. Gardner. The copyright is 1962.

"The author's a crackpot," Eddie continues, "but I guess that's par for the course. He says fairies are energy beings from the 'astral plane.' They can change appearances and sometimes even materialize into physical form--usually as 'little people.' They're the basis behind not just fairies, but gnomes and leprechauns and other fairy tale shit. Elves too, though they're not the same as the ringworld Elves. Anyway, in their natural state, they look like this."

He stands beside you and flips through the book in your hands until he comes to a black and white photograph of a foggy grove of trees speckled with hundreds of small translucent blotches. Yesterday, you would have chuckled and dismissed them as rain on a window, but you can see now that doesn't quite fit. The droplets grow cluttered in the pale overcast sky, and if they were yellow and swirling the image would match almost perfectly with the eerie scene outside.

"They're also known as 'spirit orbs' and tend to hang around cemeteries and haunted houses."

He turns to another black and white picture, this one exceedingly grainy. The image shows a bright circle hovering before a gravestone.

"Fairies and fish people," you mutter. It's not a question. It's not an accusation. It's just so absurd you have to say it aloud.

"I know, it's a crazy crossover, but the evidence fits. And why else would Uncle Grubb have this book? Anyway, I don't think the fairies and Deep Ones are connected. I can't really explain it, but in the dream, those little yellow lights up there were . . . different. They didn't belong in Y'ha-nthlei's 'sky.'"

You remember looking up at the fireflies. You remember rising up towards them. But the details are hopelessly muddled. "I'm not sure," you say.

"Trust me," Eddie says. "At the end it was like two worlds superimposed over each other."

He unrolls a paper and holds it out. It's the map you saw earlier, the one scribbled over with strange calculations. The terrain is clearly local: the green patch is labeled, Henrietta Woods, and it even has the thin gray stripe of Texas 148 running along the bottom. You recall there's a similar map folded in the last volume of the journals.

"I don't know what the equations mean, but look how these wavy graph lines intersect here." Eddie points at a black dot in the epicenter of the mathematical gibberish. "What if this house is built on a 'weak spot,' a place where other dimensions bleed through? Maybe that's what the Fog is."

You rub your chin. "This place could be like the Dortmund Portals. The journal says they had Fog too."

"I bet this is where Uncle Grubb and everyone 'landed' after they 'jumped' from the ringworld."

"It makes sense, but Goosie has a point: Why now? Why wasn't the Fog here when we arrived?"

"I'm guessing it has something to do with us," Eddie says. He hesitates before adding, "Maybe . . . we can ask them. It sounds stupid, but the book has instructions for contacting fairies. They have a reputation for being assholes sometimes, but better them than the Deep Ones."

Even with the dream half-forgotten, the fish men's malevolent leers still stick with you. You shudder. "Yeah."

"By the way, what did the journal say?"

You tell him what you learned and show him the page with the runic diagram. Looking over you shoulder, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose before stepping over to sit on the stool.

"It gave me a headache too," you say.

"There's something wrong about it," Eddie says. "'Divide-by-zero' wrong. 'Crash-to-desktop' wrong."

"It's supposed to protect against the Fog."

"How? Do we carve it into the walls? Wear it around our necks?"

You lift up the crystal ball from the desk. "I don't know, but the journal says we need this. It's called a heartstone. It strengthens spells or something. It was also used to test whether one has a magical 'trait'."

Eddie nods at the sphere's dull red glow. "Does that mean you're a wizard?"

"I don't know. The journal didn't say what it was supposed to do."

"Let me see it."

You pass it to him. The warm surface touches his palm. His eyes widen, and it happens.

Color drains from the room; the floor-lamps gutter. The stone darkens and shines like the brilliant halo of an eclipsed sun. Eddie's face is lunar pale. His black t-shirt and jeans are clothes-shaped voids.

There's an unseen disjunction, and it jerks the world like a nicked wire sliding across a razor edge. An abyss gapes in your mind. You shiver with cold as the light slowly returns.

The ball has fallen from your brother's grasp. He sits on the stool, chewing his lip rings. Trembling, he stares at you with madman eyes, the whites visible all around his ice-blue pupils.

"Eddie . . . " you say.

"Burt . . . I . . . I'm a wizard."

You breathe a nervous snicker. "You're telling me!"

He rocks in place. His teeth chatter. "I could see forever, Burt! I . . . I touched existence! There's something behind the curtain. Something beautiful. Something terrible. I . . . I just don't remember what it was."

You don't know how to deal with these big metaphysical issues, so you just say, "It's okay. Just calm down. Take deep breaths."

Shakily pull yourself out of your chair. Eddie looks like he's been battling the flu, his face pale and sweaty. You move to the cooler, take out two water bottles and hand one to him. He guzzles thirstily gulps, and after about a minute he sheds some of the wildness in his eyes.

"I think you've inherited the 'World-Jumper' gene," you say, sipping your own water. "This is a good thing, I guess, though it'd be nice if we had someone to tell us what it actually means. Maybe the journal goes into more detail. Or maybe there's a book we can read."

Eddie bends to pick up the heartstone. You're about to object, but when he sits up, the crystal is merely glowing brightly. Propped in hand, he examines the sphere as though it were Yorick's skull. The red light waxes and wanes.

"Eddie, stop that. It's not a toy."

"It's weird. When I hold it, it's like a part of me. I can even see through it!" He shuts his eyes and then covers his face with an arm. "Test me."

You hold two fingers to the stone.

Eddie giggles. "Peace, man!"

You raise your middle finger.

"You're flipping me the bird."

Your brother's seeing through a magic gem. The sorcery's sheer blatantness gives you vertigo. "Very weird," you agree.

A muffled pounding makes you jump. It repeats again and again, and it's coming from upstairs. You run out of the study, your hand reaching for the revolver strapped to your hip.

"Is everything all right?" you shout.

"Yes, Pookie!" Helen's voice calls back with feigned exasperation. The banging continues. It sounds like hammering.

It's only been about an hour since you and your sisters broke up. You turn to your brother. "Let's see what's going on."

Passing by the propane generator, you notice the yellow 'low-gas' light and realize it's been on since last night. You make a note to shut off the lights soon. There's seven more tanks in the trailer, and bringing in the water jugs and porta-shower would be a good idea too. Retrieving these things, however, means venturing into the fog.

You both climb the stairs, Eddie using the heartstone as a flashlight. He holds it over the railing, shining down at the thick oak door below the stairway.

"You know, we still haven't gone in the basement," he says. "Just saying."

Following the noise, you find Helen and Maribel in the library. They're both holding onto a broomstick and are having way too much fun using it as a battering ram against a hapless wall. Admittedly, Helen's doing most of the work. Their flashlights on the table make a haze of the dust.

Maribel lets go of the broom bristles and points proudly at a waist-high hole big enough to throw a football through. "Look, Pookie! We're making a door!" Drywall skunk-stripes her black hair and powders her green shirt and jeans.

You kneel and peer through the hole. The room on the other side is too dark and dusty to make anything out.

Panting, Helen wipes an arm across her face. "If we couldn't make it across the floor, I thought we could shortcut through the wall. But see?" She points at wood barriers on either side of the hole. "The studs are too close together. If we chisel high enough, Maribel might be able to squeeze through, but even I think that's a stupid idea. If we get the ax from the shed we can chop through them, but that could weaken the wall too much. We could go up into the attic and cut through the floor, but that'd be a lot more work."

"We went up the tower in the attic," Maribel says. "The room's tiny and all it has is a round table with an elf scrabble game."

"All the chips have runes on them," Helen says. "There's also a few shelves with a bunch of old elf books. Oh, and we found Uncle Grubb's address book." Helen works a small leather notebook from a pocket on her dusty vest. "There's a lot of names in here, though half of them are probably dead by now. On the inside he wrote some digits. They're too long to be a phone numbers. Maybe they're codes."

Maribel points at the heartstone in Eddie's hand. "Is that magic?"

"Yep. It tells if you're a wizard." The stone brightens, and he grins. "Turns out I am."

"You're a wizard?" Helen says. There's no skepticism, only bemused wariness.

"It's true," you say. "He probably has the World-Jumper gene."

Eddie holds out it out to her. "Want to take the Wizard Test?"

You raise your hands in warning. "Whoa! Be careful, it's--"

"It's a head trip," Eddie finishes, "So, watch out."

Helen pauses, but then takes the stone. You brace yourself, but as soon as Eddie pulls away, the glow fades until it's perhaps even dimmer than it was for you. Nothing more happens. Helen gives you a look of, And?

"Sorry," Eddie says, sounding genuinely disappointed, "looks like you and Burt are the Muggle Twins."

"Let me try! Let me try!" Maribel reaches for the stone in Helen's hand.

"You're adopted. You can't have the gene," Eddie explains.

Helen sighs and lets Maribel snatch it from her palm--

A gale wind blasts you in the face. You stumble backwards into the computer desk. A pale blue aura pulses from the heartstone cupped in Maribel's hands. Her dark eyes shimmer, and her kinky hair sways like serpents. She grins ecstatically. Is she growing taller? No, you look down and see her little sneakers levitating inches above the floorboards.

Dust and drywall particles gather around her and swirls into a miniature whirlwind. From their shelves, books jiggle free and bob in the air like half-filled helium balloons. The broom rises erect and spins on its axis.

Your heart pounds. A seashell roar fills your ears. Eddie stands beside you and watches your floating sister in wonder. Helen is backed against the wall, her eyes wide in disbelief.

"I'm a wizard!" Maribel cries with glee as she kicks her feet. With two fists she thrusts the heartstone above her head where it shines like a cyan star. "I'M A WIZAAAAAAARD!"
---
Inventory has been undated. I'll update the Notes and References later.

Eddie has evidently inherited the 'World-Jumper' gene, while Maribel is . . . something else? What do we do?
[ ] What do you do with the stone?
[ ] Write in.

You have the runic diagram that is supposed to protect from the Fog. What do you do?
[ ] Write in.

The propane generator will soon run out of gas.
[ ] Go to the trailer to retrieve more tanks.
-[ ] What precautions should you take when entering the Fog?
-[ ] What other supplies should you get?
-[ ] Write in.
[ ] Do not risk going to the trailer. Turn off the generator until nighttime.
[ ] Write in.

Helen and Maribel have rammed a hole in the library wall to gain access to one of the rooms at the end of the hall, but the studs are too close together.
[ ] Have Maribel try to squeeze through.
[ ] Chop through the studs to make the hole wider.
-[ ] Use the ax from the tool shed.
-[ ] Use something else? Or have another idea? Write in.
[ ] Go into the attic and cut through the floor.
-[ ] Get the ax from the tool shed.
-[ ] Use something else? Or have another idea? Write in.
[ ] Which of the two rooms do you want to enter first?
-[ ] The one next to the library.
-[ ] The one next to the bathroom.

If you go to the tool shed in the backyard:
[ ] What precautions should you take when entering the Fog?
[ ] What else should you get from the tool shed?
[ ] Write in.

What else should you do?
[ ] Stay together.
-[ ] Use the instructions in The Biology of Woodland Fairies to contact the fairies.
--[ ] Any specific precautions or methods you want to use?
-[ ] Investigate the tiny room in the tower with the 'elf scrabble game.'
--[ ] Anything specific you want to do or look for?
-[ ] Read something from the attic.
--[ ] The Elvish-Germanese dictionaries .
--[ ] The Elvish children's books.
--[ ] Look in the attic for something else to read. Anything specific?
-[ ] Try to translate more of Uncle Grubb's journals (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[ ] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic content. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Go back to the 'Germanese' notes Uncle Grubb made in the hieroglyphic book. (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[ ] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic conent. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Try to translate the letters found in the closet (You can only try to translate the 'Germanese' ones).
-[ ] Read a book from the library.
--[ ] The Encyclopedia Britannica.
--[ ] The World Almanacs.
--[ ] The Lost Treasure of Min'Karanda
--[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
-[ ] Read another book from the study.
--[ ] Read The Biology of Woodland Fairies and see if Eddie missed anything.
--[ ] Read Visions of Y'ha-nthlei, see if Eddie missed anything.
--[ ] Read On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism yourself, see if you can catch anything Eddie missed.
--[ ] Look over the science books and the map. (Note: You probably lack the necessary science skills to understand this)
-[ ] Try to analyze the 'anomalous audio' from Maribel's EVP tape.
--[ ] Anything to look for specifically? Any specific methods? Write in.
-[ ] Experiment with the Ouija board and tape recorder. See if you can replicate what happened last night.
--[ ] Write in.
-[ ] Continue exploring.
--[ ] The basement.
--[ ] Go back to the attic.
---[ ] Anything specific to do in the attic? Write in.
-[ ] Write in.

If you read a book or do some other solo activity, what should the others do?
-[ ] Write in.

[ ] Split up.
-[ ] Write in for who should go with who and what everyone should do.

[ ] Any new items you want to add to your inventory?

[ ] Something you want to add? Think you should do something else? Write in.

Voting will remain open until Saturday night. If more time is needed, just let me know.

JMHthe3rd · Dec 12, 2015

Sorry the chapter took so long. It wound up longer than I expected. However, as the story's tempo increases, the chapters should get shorter. Voting will remain open until Tuesday night. If you need more time, just let me know. Also, I have an extra poll at the end about what I should write next (in addition to this quest).

Chapter Nine

You squint at Maribel as she levitates in the swirling haze. She holds the heartstone above her head where its pale blue light casts a nebula glow on the dusty streams sweeping around her.

"I'm flying, Pookie! I'm flying!" Her joyous laughter echos in the wind.

You open your mouth, but words stick in your throat. You step forward but stumble, and you feel a sudden, sickening buoyancy as though the whole house is plunging from a great height.

Helen screams. She's drifting upwards, her arms flapping, her legs kicking for the floor inching away. Beside her floats the computer desk. A wayward smack of her foot sends it somersaulting past you.

Hands grip your arm and shoulder, and you turn to find Eddie clinging to you as he rises. You pull him back down, but that only bobs you up in his place. Your stomach flutters. Beside you, a massive bookcase creaks menacingly.

"Maribel! Stop this!" you shout. "Someone's going to get hurt!"

For the first time, Maribel seems to notice the chaos around her, and her glee turns to pensive concern. She lowers the heartstone, and the brightness wanes. The whirlwind disperses. She settles back to the library floor.

Your weight returns, and your shoes touch down. Helen staggers a little as she lands. The desk, broom and a dozen or so books clatter as they drop. Blown dust drizzles around you.

Maribel stares at the heartstone, its weak aquamarine light reflecting in her eyes. Carefully, you move closer and hold out your hand, and after a brief hesitation, she surrenders the sphere to you. The blue light reverts to a dull red glow. You slip the crystal ball into your pocket.

"I'm a wizard, Pookie," Maribel says with a mischievous grin.

"Welcome to the club," Eddie says next to you.

You ruffle your little sister's dust-coated hair, but say nothing more. This is a lot to process.

Helen walks on uneasy legs. There's a tentative lift to her expression, a jittery hope.

You meet her eyes and wordlessly ask, You okay? She nods.

"Two 'wizards.' We can work with that," she says with a brittle grin. "If those Deep Ones break in here, they're in for a world of hurt."

Eddie snorts. "Yeah, sure. It'll be just like Home Alone. Except with guns and magic powers."

"No, Goosie's right," you say. "This is a windfall. But first you two need to learn about your powers. I'm pretty sure you're a World-Jumper, Eddie. I don't know what you are, Maribel."

"I have psychokinesis!" Maribel declares. "I read about it in a book!"

"Hmm, I think you're right," you say, "but I meant what their term would be. Uncle Grubb mentioned 'Gnostics' and 'Elementalists.'"

"Elementalists? I bet I'm an air wizard!"

"I bet you are too," you say, "but right now we need to focus on the fog--"

"I could blow the fog away!"

"We can try that," you say, "but I doubt it'll work. The fog isn't just water vapor. The journal implies it's some sort of . . . space-time phenomena."

"So we really are in the Twilight Zone," Helen says, more annoyed than afraid.

"Probably," you say, "but I found the runes that are supposed to protect us. Eddie may have to do the copying, though. We'll have to experiment. We should also find books that might be useful and--Oh, I almost forgot! Come on, follow me."

On the way back to the great hall, Eddie fills your sisters in on what he learned about fairies. Maribel says she wants to meet one, arguing that they must be good because they're so cute.

You shut off the propane generator. The floor lamps fade out, but the gauzy morning light from the windows is enough to see by. Your siblings have migrated to the study, and through the doorway you hear a soft, metallic sliding sound.

"Cool!" squeals your little sister.

"What the fuck!" Helen cries.

"Bad Maribel! Bad!" Eddie says.

Cursing, you rush into the room to find Maribel with Aunt Esha's saber. She holds the small sword up dramatically as though it's Excalibur. Helen and Eddie stand warily on the far side of the desk.

"Put that down!" you snap. "Put it down now!"

Mesmerized, Maribel gazes up and down the sleek, obsidian blade which bobs slightly in her grip.

"It's so shiny," she says, "and it's shaped just like my Jack Sparrow sword!"

"But this one isn't a toy," you say and show her your scabbed finger. "I cut myself and didn't even notice."

Eddie turns to you. "Wasn't that upstairs, in the closet?"

"I thought it might be useful," you say, leaving the, 'for fighting fish men,' part unspoken.

"Can I keep it? It fits in my hand!" Maribel slashes the air playfully, and her eyes widen when the sword swings with an unnatural smoothness. "And it's magical!"

"You're magical," Eddie says. "You don't need a sword. Just Force-throw furniture."

Maribel lowers the saber. Her face settles into a contemplative pout, and she shakes her head. "Look."

She points at a bare spot on the desk. At first, you see nothing, but then specks of dust rise and dance gracefully around each other until they form a tiny, wispy tornado.

Maribel watches with uncharacteristic intensity. Finally, she huffs a breath and the miniature storm fades away. "That's all I can do!"

"It's more than I can do," you say encouragingly.

"But the Deep Ones won't be impressed," Helen says, cutting to the point.

"I can get better!" Maribel says eagerly. "I just need practice!"

"We don't have time for that," Eddie says. "The heartstone's like an amplifier. If the shit hits the fan, you should be holding that, not a sword."

"I agree," you say. "Hand it over, Maribel."

"Please can I keep it? Just in case? I promise not to play with it!"

"I tell you what, I'll hold onto it for now. If there's an . . . emergency, I'll give it back."

Reluctantly, Maribel lays the saber on the desk. You gingerly slide it into the leather scabbard. If things deteriorate to the point where your baby sister has to fight off fish monsters with a little sword, then you've failed as an older brother. It's up to you to make sure this 'emergency' doesn't happen.

With the sheathed weapon, you gesture at the journal on the desk. "Let's see what we can do with these runes."

You all try copying the octagonal diagram onto notebook paper. That the symbols seem to faintly wiggle like worms makes the task impossible for you. Even tracing them doesn't work as your lines swerve wrong no matter how you move your pencil. You can feel their otherworldly essence and nearly see it in your mind, yet they elude you.

A fairly accomplished doodler, Helen draws the pattern with relative ease, but the reproduction is lifeless, lacking the uncanny depth and movements of the original. Curiously, your twin finds nothing disorienting about the runes.

"They just look like a bunch of squiggles to me," she says.

Maribel's copy inflicts the subtle 'wrongness,' but not enough to give you a headache. It's Eddie's that best reproduces the eerie effect.

To experiment, you use your phone to take a picture of the diagram. The photo is as lifeless as Helen's.

Standing by the window, Eddie holds the journal with one hand, his other resting atop the page. He squints through the glass into the outside whiteness.

"At least we know the runes work," he says. "When I touch them, the Fog really does thin out. Not totally, but I can see the graveyard."

"Any zombies?" Helen asks. "That'd be just our luck, you know."

Testing the diagram, you find it works for both Maribel and yourself, though at least for you the Fog's thinning is unhelpfully weak. Like milk and water, it looks diluted, yet is still more or less opaque. With Eddie's copy, the effect is diminished but otherwise the same. Helen, however, doesn't notice a difference with either set of runes.

You pat her shoulder. "Magic doesn't like you, Goosie."

She shrugs. "Magic can go fuck itself. I'm a muggle."

"I'm a muggle too," you say, "but you're a bigger one than I am."

"'Muggles' are those who have no magic in their ancestry," Eddie explains. "Since we're from a wizard bloodline, that technically makes you two 'squibs.'"

Helen makes a face. "Sounds like something to see a gyno about. I'll stick with 'muggle.'"

"And evidently we muggles can't make runes," you say. "And since this isn't Maribel's specialty . . ."

"It's up to me: World-Jumper Eddie." Chewing his lip rings, your brother paces around the study. "I should try copying the runes while holding the heartstone. I bet that'll buff the spell or whatever. And if I boot up the computer, I can use the spreadsheet program. Of course, I'll need your help with that, since I can't read German."

You frown. "When it comes to magic, we don't even know what we don't know. We're going to have to do something about that Fog, but I want to learn more first. Let's search for books on the subject. Maybe Uncle Grubb has a big list of spells hiding somewhere."

Taking a moment, you attach the sheathed saber to the right side of your belt, and Helen remarks that you look very dashing strutting around with a sword and pistol. You chuckle, but the joke reminds you that you soon may have to draw these against the creatures from the dream. If that time comes, you hope you'll be ready.

As you all ascend the staircase, you eye the halberd high on the wall. If you were to venture into the Fog, its seven-foot shaft and heavy, brutal ax blade might keep back unfriendlies. On the other hand, it looks unwieldy.

Your lack of skill aside, you think you're strong enough to swing it if you have to, but you'd rather keep a hand free for your gun. Eddie's too much of a beanpole. Helen's the most athletic, but despite her kickboxing hobby, she isn't exactly known for her upper-body strength. And heaven help you if you give the halberd to Maribel.

However, you suspect the weapon is runic and make a note to investigate it later..

You stop by the library, which is now a mess from Maribel's wizardly awakening. In the corner, the computer desk sits in a broken heap, and books and papers lay strewn across the floor. Helen idly kicks an old rotary phone at her feet, ringing the bell inside.

You have an idea of what you're looking for. Eddie read in On God's Ring that some Elves were known to have 'psychic powers,' and while none of you are Elves, it's still a promising lead. In the Encyclopedia Britannica, you look up 'psychic research.' There's an article on Elvish 'shamans' (along with a photo of a small woman levitating above a crowd), but it's disappointingly brief.

"Burt."

Eddie hands you a jacketless hardcover. The spine reads: Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves by Hereward Carrington. The copyright is 1924. Skimming through, you see the book deals with various parapsychology experiments as well as reports of famous (and infamous) Elvish psychics in the United States.

Helen giggles, and you both turn to see her holding out her hand while a dust devil the size of a Dixie cup sashays in her palm. Maribel's eyes are fixed with concentration as she works her magic.

Eddie keeps his voice low. "Maribel's power . . . it has to be really, really rare."

"Not necessarily," you say. "Neither of you knew you had powers until you touched the heartstone. The trait could be relatively common, but only latent."

"But magic is rare in Elf-Prussia, right? Not many people set off the wizard-testers."

"The journal implies as much," you say.

Your brother nods. "On God's Ring never says anything about heartstones, so that can't be the only way of . . . 'triggering.' But anyway, Elves are far more likely to have psychic powers than humans. The book doesn't give exact figures, but it guesstimates one out of every few hundred Elves has the 'gift.' With humans it's more like one out of every few hundred thousand. So, what's more likely? Uncle Grubb talked Mom and Dad into adopting a random baby who just happens to have magic powers, or . . ."

It hits you. "Elfstar."

Eddie grins wide. "He's supposed to be able to levitate and shit. Maybe he also liked black girls."

"Or one of his kids or grand-kids," you say. "Interesting, but we don't have proof, and I'm not sure I want to lay this on Maribel now. We'll discuss it later."

The four of you head up to the attic. Even though it's morning, the windows are small and especially dingy, so everyone uses their flashlights. Maribel browses through a shelf of Elvish children's books, grabbing whatever catches her eye. She finds a slim hardcover filled with pastel-colorized photographs of what looks like a petting zoo.

"Look! She's holding a baby rabbit! And he's riding a pony! Aw! Elves are so tiny! They look like Hobbits!"

You collect a stack of hardbacks that you guess are kindergarten-level lesson books. "You want to try to learn Elvish, Maribel? The sooner we can read this stuff, the sooner we can find out what they knew about magic."

That's more than enough motivation. She excitably agrees. You pile the books into an old cardboard box along with the four remaining volumes of the Elvish-Germanese dictionary (the other three are back in the study, worse for wear after falling through the floor).

Next, you all climb a short, curving stairwell to the top of the mansion's small tower. You emerge into a dusty square room lit by a window on each wall. A round table, a chair and a bookcase and cabinet give the space a coziness that borders on claustrophobic with the four of you herded inside.

On the table, the 'Elf scrabble game' is a circular chessboard scattered with small stone counters engraved with tight, curving symbols that remind you of treble clefs. A melted candle nub sits in the board's middle.

"These are like the runes in the bedroom," you say. "They were in a little bag. They reminded me of Bananagrams."

Eddie picks up a rune. "I saw those. No, these are . . . different. Not just how they look, but how they feel. It's like if the runes on the computer are 'down,' these are 'up.' I guess it's like the difference between 'Arcane' and 'Divine' magic."

You nod at the D&D reference and take from a shelf a thick, ancient tome. After blowing off the dust, you see the front cover is a richly textured mosaic of a tree in the shape of a woman. Each corner of the image shows a different season.

Amid the pages of Elvish text you come across paintings of bizarre creatures and mythological events. In one, a seven-eyed pregnant woman floats in void, her legs splayed as she gives birth to a starry river. Another picture shows a humanoid tree with the face of a smiling young girl. Sick and elderly Elves reach desperately to touch her leafy hands, which glow with golden light. You close the book and set it aside.

Inside a cabinet, you see an ornately decorated display case containing a little gold statue of an Elvish woman. At her feet rests a small offering dish.

"Is this where Aunt Esha prayed?" Maribel asks.

"Maybe," you say.

Searching the rest of the shelves, you find more Elvish books, a strange deck of Elvish 'Tarot cards' and a wood case holding a small brass telescope (mundane, as far as you can tell).

Eddie rubs cobwebs off the window facing the rear of the house. "I can't see much, but the roof has a deck. There's even some old iron lawn furniture down there. The attic must have a pull down ladder or something."

Helen peers beside him. "Nice place to throw a party. You know, if it weren't for this 'fish men in the fog' shit."

"Let's see if we can do something about that," you say.

You all leave the attic and take the cardboard box back downstairs to the study. Maribel pulls out the children's books and begins to flip through them. You hand Helen the copy of Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves and grin when she groans and rolls her eyes. She's never been much of a reader, but she sits down and gives it a shot.

You're loathe to waste fuel, but Eddie insists knowing what the runes mean will help him copy them. You're not sure why that would be (and using the elderly computer makes you nervous) but you are curious. You switch on the generator and dial down the power load. Hopefully, you'll soon be able to bring in the other seven propane tanks--as well as the rest of your supplies.

You both sit together on a sleeping bag. Eddie turns on the computer and after waiting through its startup sequence opens the spreadsheet program. It takes less time than you would have thought for him to find each 'Anti-Fog' rune in the database, especially considering that there must be hundreds of them.

One runic sequence means, 'verfestigen boden achse' ('solidifying ground axis'). Another is 'axiomatischen pluralität annahme' ('axiomatic plurality adoption'). The rest are similar word salads.

For the last three runes, Eddie accurately calls out the meanings before looking them up. You raise your eyebrows at him.

"It's weird, but I feel like I know these already," he says, "like they've always been inside me."

"Genetic memory?" you suggest.

"I don't know. The runes, they call to me, but it's not like remembering. Their meanings are just . . . self-evident, like they're beyond language. Does that make sense?"

"Not really," you say, "but that doesn't mean you're wrong."

After spending a while exploring floppies, jotting down notes and taking pictures of the screen with his phone, Eddie shuts down the computer. You turn off the generator. Eddie sits at the desk.

"Let me see the stone, Burt."

Helen and Maribel look up from their books as you pull the heartstone from your pocket and, with some trepidation, pass it to your brother. His face tightens under the abrupt red glow which paradoxically seems to drain light from the study. He holds the stone in his right hand while he draws with his left.

At first, Eddie moves with the laid-back precision that typifies his artistry. But, gradually, he quickens, and his pencil scratches with inhuman haste, each angular symbol and octagonal pattern manifesting unerringly on the paper as though he's sketched the diagram a thousand times. By the stone's dull radiance you see his pale features are slack, his blue pupils dilated. He stares into nothing, not even glancing at the open journal beside him. You exchange concerned looks with Helen and Maribel. This is 'Stoned Eddie,' a familiar sight.

Without breaking pace, he completes the first copy, rips the sheet from the notebook and starts on the second.

You lay a hand on his shoulder. "Eddie . . . ?"

He nods quickly, shoos you away. You step back, unsure what to do.

By the time he finishes the fourth diagram, sweat beads his forehead and cheeks. He plants the stone on the stack of copies, and as soon as he pulls his hand away, the gloomy glow ceases. Closing his eyes, he slumps back in the leather chair. His breaths come heavy. You wonder if he's passed out.

Maribel steps forward and pokes him in the arm. "Are you okay, Eddie?"

"I saw . . ." he rasps. "I saw . . . I saw . . ."

"You saw what?" Helen asks.

"I saw . . . the abyss. I was me, but I was more than me. I was others. And I understood. There's gears under the world. There's eyes behind the stars. I . . . I don't remember the truth, but it was intense."

"Your magic's weird," Maribel says. "I like mine better."

"At least it's a step up from cough syrup," Helen says.

You hand Eddie a water bottle, and while he drinks it down, you pick the heartstone off the desk.

"I think we should use this sparingly," you say and slip it back into your pocket.

To your relief, Eddie nods his agreement. Wiping his lips, he gestures lazily at his papers. "Check if they work."

The diagrams appear identical to the one in the journal, though admittedly it's hard to tell for certain since examining them disorients you. You hold a sheet in your hands, look out the window and smile when you see the faint outline of tombstones.

"It works," you say. "In fact, I can see even farther than I could with the journal's copy. I'm not sure why. Maybe because of the heartstone? Or because they're 'fresher'?"

You all take turns testing the sheets. For Eddie and Maribel, the fog fades to a faint mist, and they can make out the flittering fairy lights that galaxy the woods beyond the small cemetery. Even Helen can see farther, though for her it's still largely opaque.

"They seems to work as long as we're touching them," you say. "We can wear them under our shirts. And it might not do anything, but we can also tape copies to the doors and windows."

Eddie shakes his head. "Not now. Drawing those four was like running a marathon."

"All right," you say. "We can do that later. Now, let's talk about how we're going to get our supplies from the trailer to the house. First, we all go as a group--"

"Pookie," Helen says. "We aren't trapped anymore. If Eddie can see in the fog, he can drive us out of here."

"What about the Deep Ones?" Eddie asks.

Helen smirks confidently. You see right through it.

"Me and Pookie have guns," she says. "Maribel has her psychokinesis, and you can run them over."

"Run them over? Like they'll just shamble in front of the SUV?" Eddie laughs. "They're a race of immortals from a civilization that predates homo sapiens. They're not fish-zombies!"

"Then what should we do?" Helen demands angrily. "Just hide in this fucking house? Your runes give you fog-sight, but do they protect us from them? I don't want to die here. We have a chance to get out. Let's take it!"

Standing between them, Maribel turns her puppy-dog eyes back and forth as though she's watching a ping-pong match.

"Everyone calm down," you say. "We don't actually know the Deep Ones are out there."

"They are. I feel it." Eddie says.

"Me too," Maribel says.

"I believe you," you say. "But does this feeling tell you where they are? Does it tell you how many? Does it tell you what they want?"

"No," Eddie admits, "but I've had it since the dream."

"I bet they're coming from the cave in the bottom of that lake," Maribel says. She turns to Helen. "Isn't that what Uncle Grubb told you?"

"I didn't think he was serious!"

You raise a hand. "My point is we don't know much, and so we shouldn't make rash decisions. We want to drive out of here? That's not a bad idea, but let's weigh the dangers: there's unlikely to be an army of Deep Ones out there, because if there was, why haven't they attacked? On the other hand, even if their are no Deep Ones, what about the fairies? Eddie, you said they have a reputation for being 'assholes.' Do we really want Tinkerbells dive-bombing our SUV?"

"If they're hostile, why aren't they coming through the roof right now?" Eddie asks.

"I don't know. Maybe the house is fairy proof?" you say. "We might want to consider contacting them, if we can."

Wanting to change the subject, you ask your sisters, "Learn anything in those books?"

Maribel shows you a worn copy of Shubba und Wolff's Illustriertes Deutsche-Jahag Wörterbuch ('Shubba and Wolff's Illustrated German-Jahag Dictionary'). It's surprisingly thick, perhaps five hundred pages or so, though at least half of this is in comic book form. Published by the 'Bildungsministerium' ('Ministry of Education'), the dictionary seems intended to teach young Elvish children how to read German.

"It goes right to left like manga," Maribel explains. "And look, everything's labelled! Like these are fire men--'feuerwehr'. That's German, right? That means the wiggly letters below must must be Elf. And here, they're riding a yellow old-timey fire truck--or 'feuerwagen,' and now they have a hose--a 'schlauch' to spray water--'wasser' . . ."

Maribel walks you through a few of the short picture stories which offer a child's eye glimpse into this other world. In one, the (mostly human) police find a 'cookie burglar' through the thought-bubble visions of an Elvish detective (called a 'hellseherisch gnostic' in the text). Another comic educates the reader on the Reich's government structure. Apparently humans and Elves have separate Reichstags (Parliaments). Presiding over both is an ancient, white-bearded human sitting regally on a throne. The caption below reads: 'Kaiser Sigivald I.'

The vocabulary and grammar is elementry level, but for cracking Elvish, this book is a Rosetta stone. You'll take a closer look later.

"What about you, Goosie?" you ask.

"I didn't read much," Helen half-mumbles as she flips through Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves. "It's really long and . . . well . . ."

"Book report fail'," Eddie says.

"Whatever! As if I could read with you in your crystal ball trance!"

Sitting beside Helen on the floor, Maribel leans closer for a better look. "Are there any pictures?"

"Yeah, there are . . . Here, check these out."

A dozen or so pages are dedicated to black and white photos. One shows a gypsy-dressed Elf woman levitating while basketball-sized globes of water circle around her. By the crowded stadium seats behind her, you guess she's a circus performer.

In another, this one somewhat blurred as if snapped on the run, six little men in suits and fedoras are rushing out of a building. Some hold canvas sacks, others small pistols, but what really stands out are the dozen or so shiny metal disks hovering above them. One disk is swerving towards the camera.

The caption reads: 'The Dicers Six Gang during a 1921 bank robbery in Sacramento, California. All members had powers, but the most infamous was Zurain immigrant 'Rough Cut' Zarzola. A ferro-specialized psychokinetic, his weapons of choice were levitating circular saw blades which he used to grizzly effect. Journalist Dorothea Lang was decapitated moments after taking this photograph.'

"Psychic Elf gangsters," Helen says. "Nice name for a band."

"Yep," says Eddie. "It's not surprising. They came here for a better life, and all they got was ghettos and sweatshops. A few had the 'gift,' and they basically said, 'Fuck it, let's be supervillains.'"

"I'll put this in my 'to read' pile," you say. "But right now I want to know what's out there."

The four of you stay together as Eddie and Maribel hold rune-sheets and look out each first-story window. They don't see any Deep Ones leering back, which is always reassuring. But with the surroundings woods so thick, that doesn't mean there's not something out there. You all fold the sheets and stick them in your pockets, just in case.

"Are we ever going to go into the basement?" Maribel asks. She's by the staircase, staring at the oak door. "Come on, Pookie! Basements always have lots of cool stuff!"

"Why haven't we?" Eddie asks. "We've been about everywhere else in the house."

You'd rather discuss what to do about the fairies (if you remember correctly, fire and certain herbs are supposed to ward them off), but you suppose you should check down there. You might find something useful, and if the basement's secure, you all could sleep there during the night.

"All right," you say. "But just a quick peek."

You find the right key and open the door. The long unused hinges protest with a low whine. Your flashlights reveal a steep wooden stairway leading into a black abyss.

"Everyone be careful," you say.

You meant this along the lines of, 'watch out for rusty nails,' but Helen pulls her .38 from her vest pocket.

"If there were Deep Ones down there, we'd be dead by now," Eddie says.

Helen aims into the dark, the flashlight in her other hand lighting the way. "It's better to have a gun and not need it than to need a gun and not have it."

It's more of her dramatic 'tough girl' talk, but you feel you should back your twin up. Grinning, you draw your own revolver.

Side by side, you and Helen descend the stairway while Eddie and Maribel follow behind. Dust hangs in the air like a persistent ghost, and you catch whiffs of a deep, earthy smell that reminds you of wet clay. Your pale yellow flashlight beams cast smoky shadows against the vinelike cobwebs dangling from the rafters. They catch in your hair and tickle your cheeks. Cursing, Helen swats a few down and rubs clean her blonde bangs. The creak of the wooden steps unnerves you more than it should, and a chill spreads along your arms. You keep your finger away from your gun's trigger, but your thumb prods the hammer's golden spur, ready to pull back in an instant.

You're near the bottom of the stairs when Eddie says, "You guys feel it too." It's not a question.

"Yeah," Maribel says quietly.

"I do," you agree.

"I got the heebie-jeebies," Helen says, "but why wouldn't I? I mean, look at this place."

"No, there's something here," Eddie says. "But I don't think it's Deep Ones,"

You're about to ask whether they want to turn back when you spot ahead a shimmer like smoldering coal. Your shine your flashlight across the darkness to find a wide round table about twenty feet away. It's tiered with three plateaus, each smaller than the one below, giving the impression of a squat ziggurat. From the table's center rises a silver pole, and on its tip rests a heartstone glowing dimly like a feeble red sun.

You step off the stairs and sweep your surroundings with your light. To your left, along a brick wall, are a bookcase and workbench. To your right hangs a blackboard chalked with calculations. On the room's far side, away from you, loom a set of gray, formidable-looking metal doors. They're reinforced by four heavy crossbars, and a barred gate, like one you'd see outside a bank vault, is closed across them and secured with a massive padlock. For about a yard around the doors, the wood floor has been stripped away, exposing soil etched with runes.

The doors ooze a subtle foreboding that sets you on edge. The dirt runes in jiggle in your sight, making your head ache. You touch the paper in your pocket as though it's a talisman.

Helen stands beside you and looks around warily . She's still holding her gun but keeps it pointed at the floor.

"What is this place?" she asks. "Uncle Grubb's Magic Lab?"

"I'm going to go with, 'Sure, why not?'" Eddie says. He waves his flashlight at the metal doors. "Where do you think these lead? I'm getting a creepy vibe off them."

"They're scary," Maribel says. She gazes at the doors, the poor lighting making the whites of her eyes stand out against her brown face. You holster your revolver and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Let's stay away from those," you say. "And no one touch the runes on the ground."

Helen steps towards the table. "This looks like the Tardis control console . . . if it was built by a schizophrenic carpenter."

You snicker because it's sort of true. Under the dust, the table's wood plateaus are carved with arcane symbols, geometric shapes and spooky little doll faces that under your flashlight seem worryingly lifelike. Certain areas of the table are smeared with a dark, dried substance that you're afraid to identify. Others are marked off with hexagon grids and cluttered with small runic counters similar to the ones on the board in the attic tower. The heartstone is attached to the pole by a three-clawed mechanical vice.

You hear the mechanical clack of a breach opening and look up to see Eddie by the workbench with a shotgun. He flicks his wrist and snaps it shut.

"Groovy," he says.

That stirs Maribel out of her funk. "An Ash gun! That is so cool! Can I hold it? Please? And look! It has three barrels!"

Eddie passes you the weapon. "You ever see anything like this?"

"Huh," you say, turning it over in your hands. The triple-barrels are bound in a triangular pattern, with the sights on the topmost one. The gun's a little over three feet long and has a solid weight. The wood stock is engraved with an arrowhead logo with an archer crouched inside. Shining your flashlight along one of the barrels, you read the inscription: 'Eirohm Unternehmen von Schusswaffen'

You open the breach and finger the three empty chambers. The bore is bigger than a 12ga. You check the workbench and discover a cabinet crammed with ammunition. Most boxes contain 9mm Parabellum, but the the larger ones hold shells. You pull a few of these out and lay them on the bench counter top. According to their Elvish/German labels, the caliber is '7.57 Ln,' whatever that means. The shells are brass cased and an intimidating four inches in length. Some are shot, others slugs. Three boxes have the 'Happy Dwarf' logo, suggesting they're magical like the golden revolver's 'ice' and 'stiletto' bullets. You'll take a closer look later.

Half joking, you hold out the shotgun to Eddie. "You called dibs on the next gun."

Eddie raises his hands in refusal. "I've only shot pistols. And remember Dad's Super Blackhawk? It nearly whacked me in the face. You or Goosie keep it. You're the ones who went on that stupid duck hunt."

"Uhg," Helen says. "Uncle Stewart spent the whole trip drinking beer and bitching about Obama."

"You want it?" you ask her. "You bagged more than me."

"Poor little duckies . . ." Maribel mutters to herself.

"That was with a twenty gauge," Helen says. "I can handle a twelve, but these long-ass Elf shells look like something you'd load in an elephant gun. Like, 'nine-hundred nitro magnum express.' It looks badass, but I don't want to break my shoulder."

"Even I don't want to shoot it," Maribel says. "I just want to spin it on my finger."

"Yeah . . . no," Eddie says.

Admiringly, you hold up the shotgun with one hand. "I guess it's mine. And I have a feeling the Deep Ones aren't going to like getting hit with this."

For now, however, you lay the firearm on the counter and resolve to be careful should you ever need to fire it.

You search the rest of the workbench. Aside from a couple of claw hammers, screwdrivers and other hardware odds and ends, you find a ring of keys and a small crate half filled with about fifty road flares. Above, mounted along the top of the brick wall, long dead halogen lamps aim their dusty funnels across the basement at the barricaded metal doors .

Eddie examines the flares and the lamps, and for a long time stares pensively at the doors. He says nothing, but you catch his meaning well enough: We should tread carefully.

On the bookcase, the majority of the volumes are in either Elvish or the hieroglyphic language, but you note a number of old, thick, Germanese books:

Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie (Klostermann's Theoretical Runeology)
Das Neue Platonismus (The New Platonism)
Eine Abhandlung über Panpsychismus (A Treatise on Panpsychism)
Void , Substanz und das Träumen Gott (Void, Substance and the Dreaming God)
Das Welt und das Abyss (The World and the Abyss)

You begin to peruse these but are soon distracted by Maribel. She's crouched and shining her flashlight on the floor in front of her, her face set in a brooding scowl. As you watch, a swirling, dinner plate-sized whirlwind gradually materializes and rises to ankle-height. The tiny storm sweeps slowly across the floorboards, churning dust and billowing it across the room.

A thin cloud overtakes you. You hold your breath but still end up sneezing. Helen coughs and fans at the dust.

"Christ, Maribel, this place is already filthy enough!" she says.

"But I'm practicing!"

"You can practice somewhere else," you say. "The things in this lab might be dangerous. I don't want to mess anything up."

Holding his sleeve over his mouth, Eddie points his flashlight at the corner of the basement on the far side of the metal doors. "There's a hallway over there," he says.

The 'hallway' is an alcove no bigger than a closet. A half-rotted armchair sits against one wall with a very cluttered and dusty nightstand and lamp squat beside it. Crowded around a stack of books and magazines, you see an empty whisky bottle, a lowball glass, a pair of spectacles and a framed photograph of Aunt Esha that, by the oriental-esque cut of her dress, looks as though it was taken during her life in Jaganma.

The reading material is bizarrely ordinary. Half of the stack is decades old issues of Archaeology and National Geographic, while the rest is taken up by an ancient German Bible, a door-stopper edition of Goethe's Faust and several yellowed paperbacks. Between thumb and forefinger, Helen picks up a mottled copy of The Return of the King that probably dates to the seventies. A bookmark of a kitten in a wizard hat falls out. Maribel wiggles her fingers at it, and the bookmark flutters before standing on its end and spinning slowly in place.

"Uncle Grubb had this whole mansion to himself," Helen says, "and his favorite reading spot was a cramped little nook in a dingy old basement."

Eddie shines his flashlight up and down the brick wall at the rear of the alcove. "The bricks are uneven. And they're a different shade than the others.""

You rub your fingers along the cold, gritty mortar. It's smeared in places, and the bricks are stacked in an almost slipshod manner that contrasts with the professional work of the adjacent walls.

"This used to be a doorway," Eddie says, "until it was bricked in."

Maribel reaches out a fist and knocks on the solid masonry. "I wonder what's on the other side?"

A half dozen theories run though your mind, but you voice none of them, and no one else speaks.

Finally, Helen says, "So . . . now what?"

---

Inventory has been updated. I'll update the Notes and References section later. Voting will remain open until Tuesday night. And if you enjoy the story, please vote.

Note: Below I've marked in red the winning/accepted votes that this chapter didn't fulfill. You can add your vote to these options or elaborate. If you're the one who voted for them last chapter, you can change your vote, clarify something or elaborate.

Is there anything you want to do in the basement?
[ ] Write in.

Should we try to open the big metal doors in the basement?
[ ] Yes, let's see what's on the other side.
-[ ] What precautions should you take?
-[ ] What should be done about the runes in the dirt surrounding the doors?
[ ] No, it's too dangerous. Bad vibes.

The brick wall in the alcove seems to have once been a doorway. What do you want to do?
[ ] Write in.

Is there anything you want to do in the attic tower?
[ ] Write in.

Any strategies concerning Eddie and Maribel's powers?
[ ] Write in.

What about Helen's idea of Eddie using his runic 'fog sight' to drive out of the fog?
[ ] Yes, we should have Eddie drive us out of here.
[ ] No, it's too dangerous.
[ ] Write in.

What to do about the runes
[6] Find a way to paint or mark it at every entry point in the house, starting with the front door.
[ ] Write in.

The propane generator will soon run out of gas.
[8] Go to the trailer to retrieve more tanks.
-[7] Turn off the generator until nighttime. Strict rationing.
-What precautions should you take when entering the Fog?
--[1] Runic diagram first.
--[7] Bring EVERYONE
--[6] everyone has a piece of paper with the runic diagram drawn on it. (Accepted)
--[1] Prepare torches and soak them in gasoline. Flashlights are fine, but real fire will probably ward off the fairies better.(Accepted)
--[1] Raid the spice cabinets. Salt, Thyme, Pepper, Garlic, Ginger, Rosemary... anything we can get our hands on. Wrap it up in a paper towel, and throw it any nasties. It may not work like it does in the movies, but it also might. And if nothing else, it should make them sneeze, buying valuable time for us to escape/shoot them in the head.
-What other supplies should you get?
--[9] Carry in every other essentials we can in one trip. Food, water, medication, the works.
---[X] As much as we can carry. We've got a trolley or something, IIRC. Fog or no fog, we are going as a group when we go. No getting lost, no getting separated.
---[X] Get all possible supplies, water jugs, porta-shower, and more (jumper cables, tire irons, etc) and move them into the house. We do not want to have to go into the fog again.
-[6] Move the SUV and trailer as close to the house as possible. Preferably right outside the front door.
-[1] Go onto the porch if you need to.
-[1] If the fog lifts later, we can always cart them back when we leave... and also we don't want to lose anything when the trailer/the house (and us) disappears into another world now, do we?
[ ] Do not risk going to the trailer. Turn off the generator until nighttime.
[ ] Write in.

Helen and Maribel have rammed a hole in the library wall to gain access to one of the rooms at the end of the hall, but the studs are too close together.
[ ] Have Maribel try to squeeze through.
[ ] Chop through the studs to make the hole wider.
-[ ] Use the ax from the tool shed.
-[ ] Use something else? Or have another idea? Write in.
[7] Go into the attic and cut through the floor.
-[1] If we have time after everything else,
-[8] Get the ax from the tool shed.
--[1] After we've dealt with the fog.
-[6] Preserve the wood cut out from the floor and use it to try and close off the broken windows. Perhaps combined with some plastic sheets?
[ ] Maribel should levitate across the floor.

Which of the two rooms do you want to enter first?
-[8] The one next to the library.
-[ ] The one next to the bathroom.

If you go to the tool shed in the backyard:
What precautions should you take when entering the Fog?
-[1] Make the trip to the Trailer and Toolshed one and the same (aka: stick together!)
-[1] Arm up to the teeth... except maybe for Maribel. Definitely don't want to give Maribel a gun.
-[1] Have Maribel hold the book with the runic diagram, secured opened to said diagram's page.
-[4] We all go to the tool shed together, and everyone has a piece of paper with the runic diagram drawn on it.
What else should you get from the tool shed?
-[9] Take the trolley, IIRC that we have one and it's practical to get it there. Assess what's in the toolshed, take any tools that look useful. (Sledgehammer? Saws? Axe? Any power tools? This shit might come in handy.)
--[X] Anything that looks like it might be useful, or a potential weapon. Any materials to help block off windows. (Accepted)
--[X] Shovels, anything that can help break down walls and floors. (Accepted)
--[X] Search for any other useful tools in the tool shed and move them inside the house. (Accepted)
[ ] Write in.

What else should you do?
[7] Stay together.
-[1] At least until we've dealt with the Fog, we should probably go easy on splitting up.
-[ ] Use the instructions in The Biology of Woodland Fairies to contact the fairies.
--[ ] Read it first. Are the fairies going to know anything about the runic diagram? Maaaaybe? If so, we want to ask them about it.
-[ ] Read something from the attic.
--[ ] The Elvish-Germanese dictionaries .
--[ ] The Elvish children's books.
---[ ] Shubba und Wolff's Illustriertes Deutsche-Jahag Wörterbuch (Illustrated dictionary)
---[ ] Write in
--[ ] Look in the attic for something else to read. Anything specific?
-[6] Try to translate more of Uncle Grubb's journals (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[1] We should definitely keep doing this, but it's not a priority right now.
--[1] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic content. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Go back to the 'Germanese' notes Uncle Grubb made in the hieroglyphic book. (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[ ] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic conent. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Try to translate the letters found in the closet (You can only try to translate the 'Germanese' ones).
-[ ] Read a book from the library.
--[ ] The Encyclopedia Britannica.
--[ ] The World Almanacs.
--[ ] The Lost Treasure of Min'Karanda
--[ ] Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves . Helen barely even skimmed this.
--[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
-[ ] Read another book from the study.
--[ ] Read The Biology of Woodland Fairies and see if Eddie missed anything.
--[ ] Read Visions of Y'ha-nthlei, see if Eddie missed anything.
--[ ] Read On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism yourself, see if you can catch anything Eddie missed.
--[ ] Look over the science books and the map. (Note: You probably lack the necessary science skills to understand this)
-[ ] Read the Elvish religious book (?) found in the attic tower (Note: You don't know Elvish. Even with the children's dictionary, this will take a long time to translate).
-[ ] Read a book in the basement.
--[ ] Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie (Klostermann's Theoretical Runeology)
--[ ] Das Neue Platonismus (The New Platonism)
--[ ] Eine Abhandlung über Panpsychismus (A Treatise on Panpsychism)
--[ ] Void , Substanz und das Träumen Gott (Void, Substance and the Dreaming God)
--[ ] Das Welt und das Abyss (The World and the Abyss)
--[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
-[ ] Try to analyze the 'anomalous audio' from Maribel's EVP tape.
--[ ] Anything to look for specifically? Any specific methods? Write in.
-[ ] Experiment with the Ouija board and tape recorder. See if you can replicate what happened last night.
--[ ] Write in.
-[ ] Continue exploring
--[ ] The roof deck. Try to find a way up there.
--[ ] Explore somewhere else? Write in.
-[ ] Write in.

If you read a book or do some other solo activity, what should the others do?
-[ ] Write in.

[ ] Split up.
-[ ] Write in for who should go with who and what everyone should do.

Any new items you want to add to your inventory? How do you want to distribute items/weapons?
[ ] Write in.

Priorities:
[1] Fog first, fog first, fog first. I think if we can make progress with one problem, we'll all feel a lot better about our chances here.
[4] I think we need to focus on getting information, particularly learning Elvish.
[4] Priority is to conserve our current modern resources. Figure out more about the fog and world jumping. Also, DO NOT SPLIT THE PARTY when dealing with the fog.
[1] Survival utility (gas, food, tools, knowledge of terrain) should be most important right now.
[1] If the basement turns out to be safe it may make more sense to bunker down there for the night, and trust the big heavy door.
[ ] Write in.

Additional Vote: What Should I Update Next.

I'll probably post Chapter Nine of Tales of a Power Armor Apocalypse in the next few days, and I've decided to put what I'll write next up for a vote. I'll still be consistently writing this quest. This vote is for my side project.

You're allowed to vote for two. One for 2 points, the other for 1 point.

[ ] Story A
[1] Story B
[ ] Story C
[2] Story D
[ ] Story E

So, in addition to this quest, which story should I update next?

[ ] Ascension Core: A Cyberpunk Story [Original]
[ ] Fallout: Project Osiris [Fallout]
[ ] Faraday [Worm AU]
[ ] Tales of a Power Armor Apocalypse [Original]
[ ] The Toadstool War [Original]
[ ] Weaver and Jinx [Worm AU]

JMHthe3rd · Jan 24, 2016

Chapter Ten

"Now, we go out to the trailer and bring in our supplies," you answer. "Food, water, fuel. I don't know about you, but I don't want to be sitting in the dark when night falls."

Eddie scratches at the mortar between the clumsily laid bricks. "And there's that tool shed in the backyard. It has a sledgehammer, right?"

"Yeah," Maribel says. "It was old and covered in spiderwebs."

Eddie snorts. "You just described everything in this house."

"I still think you should drive us out of here," Helen says. "Your Fog-sight hasn't seen any Deep Ones, and I doubt the fairies are going to attack. I mean, they're fairies."

"Fairies are cute," Maribel says. "I bet they'll be our friends."

"You two need to brush-up on your folklore," Eddie says. "Fairies weren't invented by Disney."

Idly, you probe your palm against the wall. Though amateurly built, it's solid. "We'll keep 'drive away' as a backup plan. It might be dangerous out there, and I'd rather be trapped in this mansion than trapped in an SUV that's been run off the road."

"But we're still stepping outside," Helen says. "Isn't that dangerous too?"

"Maybe," you say, "but we'll prepare the best we can."

You inspect the shotgun and learn it's a single-action semiautomatic: you have to click back the hammer, but after that each trigger pull fires a barrel. Maribel says it'd be cooler if you could shoot all three at once, but doing so would probably rip your shoulder off.

In the cabinets you find seven dusty boxes of '7.57 Ln.' Each displays the warning, 'Hohe Rückstoß! Nicht für Elfen gedacht!' ('High Recoil! Not intended for Elves!') and is stamped with, 'Eigentum von der Kaiserliche Marine,' (Property of the Imperial Navy). Four hold 'normal' shells, and in those you count ninety-three shot and eighty-seven slugs. The three smaller boxes sport the 'Happy Dwarf' logo.

On the first of these, the label shows a faded cartoon of a soldier in fatigues blasting a shotgun into a man in plate-mail. The spreading pellets penetrate through the enemy's cuirass and exit gorily out his back. The text describes the shells as Schwarze Stilettos, or 'Black Stilettos,' and boasts of the Eirohm Firearm Company's patented armor-penetrating micro-runes. The box is over half full, containing thirteen shiny black shot shells.

The next box has the soldier firing at a dark-skinned man wearing a vaguely 18th century uniform. The man looks alarmed as his entrails splatter from his belly. These are 'Donnerfauste' ('Thunderfists') and the description brags of the 'rune-activated chemical reaction' engineered to explode inside the target. Nine brass-colored slugs remain in the box.

The last box is the smallest, and plastered on its side is the image of an orange, demonic-looking skull surrounded with wavy yellow lines. The cartoon shows the soldier grinning with his shotgun, smoke rising from the barrel. In the background burns the melted wreckage of what looks like a World War One tank on steroids. These shells are called, 'Atomar Zorn'--'Atomic Wrath.' 'Dwarven science has harnessed the power of the atom!' the text proudly declares. Below, you read a list of warnings:

Handle with care.
Avoid prolonged exposure.
Keep away from reproductive organs.
Pregnant women should avoid contact.
Do not use at ranges less than fifteen elles.
Do not breach the shells' protective lead casings.

You lift the lid. The inside is lined with some sort of foil. Your flashlight beam glints off five gray cylindrical shells. You open the box wider, but Helen grabs your hand.

"No touchy!" she snaps. "I can't read this Nazi shit, but that scary-ass skull and the word 'atom' tells me we shouldn't fuck with it."

"And they're old," Eddie says. "They might be 'leaking.'"

You use the shotgun to push the box to the far side of the countertop. "Good call. Let's stay away from these. I mean it, Maribel."

"I will! I don't want my hair to fall out!"

"It looks like they'd be cool to shoot, though," Eddie says. "And I'm getting a serious 'Vault Boy' vibe from that little army guy."

You load the shotgun with standard shot and fill your shirt pockets with extra shells. Helen stuffs several in her many-pouched vest--including three each of the Black Stilettos and Thunderfists. You also hand her a few road flares because, if you remember correctly, fairies are supposed to be susceptible to flame.

The golden revolver you pass to Eddie. He fastens the holster to his belt and spends a minute familiarizing himself with the weapon. He opens the breach, ejects the bullets and carefully reinserts them into the cylinder. Finger off the trigger, he looks down the sights as he practice aims at a wall.

Maribel groans. "Now everyone has a gun except for me! If we see any fish people, you better give me the crystal ball! Then I can Jedi their butts!"

"If it comes to that, I will," you say, hoping it doesn't.

You search the workbench one last time. Among the hundreds of rounds of 9mm Parabellum, you uncover a single box of bullets called, '.440 Zol.' There's fifty inside, and you estimate their caliber to be about eight or nine millimeters. The casings are rimless, suggesting they belong in an auto-loading firearm.

You also discover a long leather 'scabbard' that allows you to carry the shotgun on your back. As you fasten its straps across your chest, Maribel points out that this makes you look very much like Ash from Army of Darkness.

"You're even wearing a blue shirt!"

You sheath the triple-barreled gun behind your shoulders. "Hail to the king, baby!"

Eddie groans at the cheese, but Maribel and Helen laugh.

At the stairway, you sweep your flashlight back at the runic table, the heavy metal doors and the bookcase full of otherworldly lore. You feel this basement is the house's heart, a place for answers. But you'll come back to it later. You and the others climb the stairs.

According to Eddie, The Biology of Woodland Fairies lists a number of means of protecting against fairies and/or evil spirits, though who can say how accurate these methods are? Along with fire, iron is supposed to be a good ward, but it's not clear whether this has to be pure iron or can be mixed in an alloy. If the latter, your shotgun alone has you covered. Helen and Eddie have their revolvers, and Maribel's house keys and phone probably have some iron. But just to be safe, you go into the kitchen and distribute stainless steel utensils.

Helen smirks as you offer her a spoon.

"It's better to have a spoon and not need it . . ." you begin.

"Oh, shut up!" She drops it into one of her pockets.

There's a spice rack in the pantry. You discover dusty jars of cloves, garlic, ginger, sage, parsley, rosemary and thyme (You start whistling 'Scarborough Fair'). Eddie says all of these are mentioned in the book, though it makes no guarantees to their effectiveness.

You tear loose four paper towels and drop pinches of herbs into each, blending the ingredients with the hope that at least one will work. You even add salt and pepper, because why not? After wadding the sheets into little balls, you pass them out.

Helen raises hers between her thumb and forefinger. "So, do we throw this at the fairies or what?"

"If they get too close," you say, as though you know what you're talking about.

"We don't even know they're bad guys," Maribel says. "Doesn't the fairy book tell you how to talk to them? We should do that. We can use the Ouija board!"

"We'll talk about it when we get back." You turn to your brother. "You up for more diagrams? Their power might be cumulative--the more the merrier."

Eddie gives you a pained grin. "I'm pretty fried right now, but I can do one more."

You hand him the heartstone and journal and follow him to the study. Sitting at the desk, it doesn't take him long to fall into his trance and, under the stone's red light, sketch out the copy. By the time he's done, sweat runs down his face. You touch the sheet along with your own copy and look out the window, but the Fog's no thinner than it was with one. The others try, but still no luck.

Reclining in the leather chair, Eddie guzzles a Starbucks frap and wipes his mouth. "Runes don't stack, I guess."

"But it's good to have a backup." You pass him the new diagram. He gives you back the heartstone which you return to your pants pocket.

"Anyway," you continue, "I think we're ready. Eddie and Maribel, you two are our eyes. Don't let anything sneak up on us. Helen, you hold a flare. Maribel, you take the dollie. Eddie, we'll follow you to the SUV, and you'll drive it as close as you can to the front steps. We'll then grab what we need and bring it inside. After that, we'll go to the backyard and gather tools from the shed. And make sure your diagram's always touching your skin. You don't want it falling loose and suddenly being blind in the Fog. And also: stay together. I'm serious! No one leaves each other's sight. Does everyone understand?"

They all do. Even Maribel looks appropriately solemn, though that may be more because your words frightened rather than inspired her. You give her shoulder a reassuring pat.

After everyone secures their diagrams (you shove yours down your sock), you all crowd into the vestibule. The front doors' glass panes glow palely from the Fog. Monsters might be out there. You may be leading your family to their doom. You swallow and do your best to ignore the clammy sweat damping your shirt. Hell, at least after this is over, you can take a much needed porta-shower.

Helen slips her blue snapback on backwards and takes out her .38. Eddie draws the golden revolver. You slide your shotgun free. By some big-sibling instinct, the three of you form a triangle around Maribel. She grips the dolly by its rubber handle.

"Let's do this," Eddie says.

He opens a door. The four of you step onto the porch. The rush of humidity hits you.

Your runes make the Fog clearer, but even now it obscures the SUV to a gossamer outline. You can make out the beginning of the dirt road that leads to the woods, but the woods themselves are only a hazy white. You judge you can see about sixty feet.

"See anyone?" you ask.

"Nope," Eddie says.

Maribel points at the sky swarming with fireflies. "Except them."

Helen twists off a flare's cap and strikes the tip against the cap's sandpaper surface. The flare sparks to life, and she brandishes the blazing light upwards. "You fairies better not fuck with us!"

"Show them your spoon," Eddie says.

"Come on, children," you say.

You all descend the stone steps towards the gravel driveway. The Fog is silent. The only sounds are the crackling of the flame and the clank of the dollie's wheels. Eddie and Helen hold their revolvers as they scan the milky soup. You brace your shotgun to your shoulder.

Your heart pounds more now from excitement than fear, and your thoughts flitter back to that misty morning three years ago when you bagged your first duck. You remember the river's slimy musk and how the nippy breeze flexed the autumn grass so that the rolling wetlands resembled the bristling fur hide of a great mud beast. You flinched at the gunshot and would have sworn you missed. But the bird plopped like a stone into the riverbank, and Uncle Stewart was slapping you on the back. You later claimed you found the sport barbaric, but a part of you thrilled in the kill.

This moment taps that same energy, only now the rush is consecrate. You're not blasting ducks; you're defending your loved ones. Should wicked creatures come your way, you'll show no mercy.

Yet there is more to this Fog than monsters. Its secret presses against your skin, drowns you like an invisible ocean. The death is subtle. All at once the house and landscape and all the world become a stage, and you are but a carbon actor made living through insight and chemistry. You gaze up to the fairy galaxy and know you are watched.

"Burt. Hey, Burt."

Eddie is leaning against the SUV. He eyes you expectantly. You've already left the steps and crossed the gravel driveway. Helen blinks and shakes her head, seemingly dazed. Maribel looks up at you both with concern. Weren't you just thinking something?

"Um, you have the keys, Burt."

"Oh." You fumble them out and press the fob. Nothing. You try again and then again, and then you tap the button repeatedly. The doors stay locked.

"You think the Fog blocks electronics?" Eddie checks his phone. "No, still works."

"Maybe it's just radio signals." You toss him the keys.

He manually opens the driver's side door and climbs inside. The Dodge roars to life.

The three of you follow beside the large blue vehicle as Eddie drives the thirty feet to the steps' base. He parks and exits, and Helen hands him the flare. You sheath your shotgun and open the trailer's rear door.

"Eddie, Maribel, you two keep lookout." You motion for them to go to the small stone terrace halfway up the steps. It's like a second porch below the first and isn't more than ten feet away. "We'll work fast," you add.

You and Helen have to squeeze past the two dirt bikes clamped to the floor to reach the stacked water jugs and propane tanks. Each weighs about forty pounds, and there're fifteen of them. It'd be more trouble than it's worth to manhandle a fully loaded dolly up the steps, and while you could roll it around to the back door as Helen did with the generator, that would mean extra Fog-travel--something you'd rather avoid.

But you're fairly strong, and your twin's not weak. On the dolly the two of you strap down a single five-gallon water jug, the shovel, the folded porta-shower tent, a single-burner stove and a cardboard box full of snacks, canned food, medicine, a first aid kit and a pair of jumper cables. Helen pushes this while you heft a propane tank in each hand. Neither of you have much difficultly ferrying your burdens to the front doors, though Helen has to lean forward as she hauls hers up each step.

The two of you place these on the vestibule's checkered floor and head back for more.

"Nothing yet," Eddie says on your second trip. He holds the sputtering flare up and away from himself and Maribel.

Carrying pressurized propane, you stay back. "The fairies are still minding their own business. Maybe we should contact them, just to say 'hi.'"

You expect Maribel to reply, but as you pass she only stares into the Fog, her little brown hands clutching the terrace's stone balustrade. You're not sure if she's aware, but a baby dust devil sashays figure-eights between her sneakers. She glances at the trailer, and you're sure her eyes settle on the two kayaks mounted on its roof. It seems absurd that only yesterday she and Helen planned to row those out onto the lake--the lake with a cave where Deep Ones live.

But Helen was right when she asked, 'Why now?' Where were the fish men during all those family get-togethers? Where was the Fog then?

But even if the weirdness stayed hidden, these woods always bore for you an uncanny unease. You think back to that strange Christmas seven years ago when you and Helen went swimming in the lake. She and your cousins, Jeff and Desiree, had to convince you to come along. You were sitting on Uncle Grubb's front porch, perusing the new biography your grandfather had given you, but Helen said you could read about George Washington anytime.

You pointed at the cover. "That's not George Washington. That's Frederick the Great."

"Whatever," Helen said. "He looks boring. Let's go!"

"But we don't have swimsuits."

"Just go in your underwear, dude," Jeff said.

That sounded very uncomfortable. "But what if one of us gets hurt? We should get a grownup to come with us."

Jeff's head shake and horsey snigger reminded you of Uncle Stewart when he was being a dick. Desiree turned up her nose and muttered, "Oh-Em-Gee!" Your cheeks burned.

Helen tugged at your arm, her brown eyes pleading. "Pookie, don't do this! I told them you were cool!"

You sighed. "We better not get in trouble."

The four of you set out on an overgrown trail which creeped through the woods like a dirt whisper. Gnarled, leafless oaks loomed on either side, and though it was a clear afternoon, the arching branches sieved the sunlight to a twilight drizzle. The crunching of your footsteps echoed from the shadows.

You wished you'd stayed at the house. After reading some of your book, you could have watched Holiday cartoons with Maribel or played that Dragonball game with Eddie and Shane. You could have even mingled with the adults, though by now most of them--your parents included--were at least tipsy.

But if you'd stayed, you'd have spent the day fretting about Helen. And if something had happened to her, it'd be your fault for not being there to protect her. Sometimes you resented her for guilting you like this. Why couldn't she be more like you, and not an outdoorsy tomboy always dragging you into adventures?

She was certainly dressed the part with a Texas Rangers cap over her dirty blond hair and her green army jacket two sizes too big (she thought it looked badass the way it swished around her like a cloak). You walked together side by side, your long-legged gaits nearly matching. You were still about the same height, and people still pegged you right away as twins. It wouldn't be until high school when the growth spurts towered you over her.

Your cousins followed the same 'lanky Aryan' template that characterized your family. Jeff was a tall, scrawny boy your age, while Desiree was a pretty strawberry redhead a couple of years older. She had . . . filled out since you saw her last. It was weird. You tried not to notice.

Desiree lit a long, skinny cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke.

Jeff held out his hand. "Can you hook me up?"

"No, I have to sneak these from my mom; I only have three left. But you can have a puff . . ."

Jeff tried his best, but seconds later was coughing up a lung.

"Ew! You got spit all over it!" Desiree flicked the cigarette into the mud.

"You shouldn't smoke anyway," you said. "Look what it's done to Uncle Grubb."

"Pshaw!" said Desiree. "He's like a hundred. Who wants to live that long anyway?"

"Who wants to die of cancer?" Helen asked. "And for tobacco? Screw that. If I'm sucking fumes into my lungs, they better do something that's worth it, like get me high."

Jeff finished hacking and said, "If you want that, just take Uncle Grubb's pain pills. What was he going on about? Fish demons or something?"

"He said 'Deep Ones' live under the lake," Helen said. "They're like fish men, and they worship an outer space octopus."

Desiree sneered. "Is this why we're going there? To see if they're real?"

"No, he was just telling a story," Helen said. "Swimming in the lake is all Jeff's idea."

"It'll be fun!" Jeff said. "We pond dip all the time back home."

"I'm more worried about real creatures," you said. "Like what if there's alligators?"

Jeff chuckled. "Gators don't live in these parts, dude. And besides, it's like fifty-something degrees. They get all dopey when it's this cold."

"What about snakes?" you asked. "Or spiders?"

"Oh Pookie!" Helen threw an arm around you. "Everything will be fine!"

The path veered alongside a burbling creek, and as you all drudged deeper into the woods the feeble light dimmed further to ashen gray. A foreboding hung in the brisk air, as if an unseen boulder teetered on a precipice. You turned to your sister. She wore her easy smirk, but she sensed it too.

The four of you passed between a pair of withered willow trees, and there beyond lay the lake.

The last time you were here you were five or six and hiking with your parents. That memory now was only a faint imagining, and so when you walked to the bank's steep edge and peered across the dark waters, you felt as though you trod upon an abandoned dream.

It was a spooky scene, but a nice place to read your book.

A fog drifted amid the oaks on the far shore, its sickly luminescence silhouetting the trunks and bare branches. You spotted an old iron lamppost and the vestiges of a small dock. You wondered when they were last used.

The water grew inky farther out, but by your feet you saw the pebbles and grit of the lakebed. Among them, a black stone square caught your eye. It was a foot or so wide, and you could just distinguish the etched white cross. You squatted closer and noted the symbol was comprised of hundreds of overlapping spirals. Through the lake's ripples and depth, the thin lines jiggled unnaturally. Your head began to ache . . .

"Watchoutdon'tfall!"

Hands shoved you from behind. You cried out and flailed before splashing into the lake. It was warmer than you expected, and a dizzy gravity seemed to draw you forward as you sank. You kicked against the mucky bottom, and your head broke the surface. You spat and blinked stinging eyes. Above, on the bank, Jeff and Helen were bent at the waist giggling.

"That was hilarious!" your twin shrieked. "You were all like, 'wh-wh-wh-whaoooo!'" She flapped her arms.

You scowled at her, but then noticed your hands were empty. Your book. You twisted in the water until you saw it beside you, floating like a corpse. When you picked up the soggy mess, Helen's laughter ceased.

"Oh shit! I'm sorry, Pookie! I forgot you had it. I was just . . ."

She knelt to help you up the shore, but you swatted her away as you climbed the slippery incline. Your drenched clothes stuck to you. The pages of your book dripped into the mud.

She flinched from your glare. "We can dry it, Pookie . . ."

"No! It's ruined! It's going to be warped and smeared and smell funny! Why couldn't you just leave me alone?"

"It . . . it was just a joke! You were so quiet, and I . . . Here--" She snatched off her Ranger's hat and flung it into the lake.

You gaped as the blue hat spun into the water. You were there when she won it at the fair last year. She wore it every day.

"You didn't have to do that," you said.

"I'm not going to leave it out there," she said, "but by the time I get it, it'll be warped and smeared and smell funny too--and you can wear my coat on the way back." She put a hand on your wet shoulder and met your eyes. You okay?

You were still angry, but you nodded.

Jeff was already in his underwear. He looked freakishly gangly. "Better hurry if you want that hat back. It'll be hard to find if it sinks to the bottom. Hey, how's the water, Burt?"

"Like a Jacuzzi," you said. "The lake must be under a hot spring."

"All the better," he said. "Let's hop in."

"No." Desiree stood back from the shore and was hugging the sleeves of her cardigan. Her usual disdainful expression had caved to a withdrawn wariness. "I . . . I've changed my mind. I'm not jumping in a lake in my bra and panties. That's a stupid hick thing to do."

"Aww!" Jeff said, sounding a little too disappointed. "Come on! We're all doing it!"

Desiree eyed him shrewdly. "Um, gross. But anyhow, this place gives me goosebumps. My mom always tells me to follow my gut, and I'm going with her on this one."

"Heebie-jeebies or not, I got to get my hat." Helen shucked her sneakers, passed you her coat and was about to lift up her softball jersey, but she glanced at Jeff and stopped herself. "We'll both be drenched," she told you before leaping into the water.

Jeff huffed and shook his head and hopped in too.

You were already wet, so you might as well join them. You stripped to your briefs and laid your Christmas sweater and pants on the bank so they could dry while you swam. You shivered in the chill.

Desiree lit another cigarette. "You feel it too, don't you? This might be an Indian burial ground. Or maybe someone was murdered. My mom says there's crazy crap in our family. She tells me to be on the lookout for bad juju."

You didn't put much stock into Aunt Rudy's drunken ramblings. "I don't believe in 'juju'," you said.

She blew out smoke. "Whatev. Go jump in a lake."

You did. Kicking and paddling after your twin, you found the heated water a strange, primal comfort, as though you both had returned to the womb. You relaxed. You submerged. Darkness scrutinized you. An abyss waited below.

It was only when your lungs ached that you knew you were drowning. You thrashed in weightless panic as you somersaulted and flipped, striving for wherever 'up' lay. Your chest burned with agony. You scrabbled and prayed.

Finally, you gasped the cool air.

"There you are!" Helen said nearby. "I didn't see you, and I was beginning to think . . ."

"I . . . I'm going to get out. I don't feel so well . . ." You trailed off, examining your arm. At first you assumed it was an old leaf or piece of mud stuck to your wrist. But the glistening black pinkie pulsated, and you felt the needling bite as it suckled your skin. Another clung to your chest and another on your shoulder.

"L . . . L . . . LEECHES!" you cried. "LEECHES! LEEEECHESSS!"

"AHH! GET'EMOFFGET'EMOFFGET'EMOFF!"

"FUCK THIS LAKE! EVERYBODY OUT!"

"Burt! Burt! Goosie! Come on, wake up you two!"

"Goosie! Pookie! Please wake up! Please? Please?"

"Shit, they're like zombies!"

"Hold it closer, Eddie! Closer!"

"It's touching his forehead! I don't know what else--Wait . . . it's working!"

You open your eyes to a flooding red radiance which lowers to reveal a very worried Eddie and Maribel. You're standing in the vestibule, the front doors open to the Fog. Helen is leaning against a wall, upright but with her eyes shut and jaw slack. She's sweaty and looks exhausted.

"You okay, Burt?" Eddie asks, the heartstone shining in his hand.

"Wh . . . what's going on?" you ask through a cotton tongue.

Eddie sags with relief. Maribel hugs you. You return the embrace and realize your arms are sore.

"F . . . fuuu . . . king . . . leee . . ." Helen mutters.

"Do it to Goosie now!" Maribel says.

Eddie presses the heartstone to Helen's head while he focuses on the diagram sheet in his other hand. Helen groans groggily at the glow, and her lids flicker open.

"Wha . . . ?" She wobbles on her feet as if shoved. "Wh . . . what happened?"

Eddie steadies her. "You tell me. You two got quiet while you were carrying all that stuff, and then it was like you were both sleepwalking. We shouted at you, but you both were just shambling around like you were on Dramamine. We had to herd you inside."

"We were scared you wouldn't wake up!" Maribel clings to Helen now.

You shake your head, trying to clear the wool from your brain. Six propane tanks, four water jugs and other supplies are piled in a corner of the room. They're more than you recall you and your sister picking up. Just through the open doors you see a tank lying on the porch. Down a few steps through the Fog, the flare left on the stone terrace gutters like a dying star.

"Leeches . . ." Helen says.

And it all comes back. The memories crystallize as though they occurred only moments ago--which in a way, they did.

Helen grins at you weakly. "I never did get my hat back. Maybe a Deep One's wearing it."

Together you tell them about the flashback. It's a bittersweet experience. None of you were very close to Jeff or Desiree, but revisiting the story reminds you that they're gone. They're all gone. You have too much family to grieve.

"So, you weren't Peggy Suing?" Eddie asks. "Not mental time travel?"

"No, it was just a memory," you say.

"But it was like we were there," Helen says.

"We should have expected something like this would happen," Eddie says. "The runes don't give you Fog-Sight as clear as us. Apparently they don't protect you as well either. And it might be only a matter of time before me and Maribel start head-tripping too. And this could be just the first stages. How long before we wind up like those people in that city, stuck forever in a time loop?"

Maribel squeezes Helen tighter. Both stare anxiously into the Fog.

"No," you say. "We're going to get out of this."

"Not saying we're not. But I think I should hang on to this." Eddie raises the heartstone, its dull light casting a smoldering sheen over his pale face. "I can feel it buff the runes--especially when I'm looking at them. And it woke you guys up. If we go out again, this stone might keep the crazy away."

You gesture at the supplies on the floor. "Do we need to go out there now?"

Eddie goes onto the porch and retrieves the seventh propane tank. He places it with the others. "It's not an emergency. There's just some water left in the trailer. You guys don't have to come. The SUV's about twenty feet away. Me and Maribel could get them while you stay here and be our muggle backup. Same for the tool shed. It's not far from the backdoor. You can watch us the whole time."

You frown. "I don't know if we'd make good cavalry. What if we start daydreaming in the middle of our rescue?"

"What if we all start daydreaming?" Helen asks. "We'll be fish food, that's what. We should get outta Dodge while Eddie can still drive."

Eddie thoughtfully gnaws his lip rings. "It's a stupid idea, but it's growing on me. I could tape the runes to the corner of the windshield and hold the stone in my hand. We've got three guns, and I bet Burt's boomstick can one-shot Deep Ones. And so far the fairies are ignoring us."

"If they were evil, they would've already done something," Maribel says.

"Unless the flare and spoons scared them away," Eddie says.

Maribel looks through doorway at the yellow pinpricks. "We should still talk to them. We can ask them what's going on."

"We could ask them about the runes," Eddie says. "And I want to go back to the basement. Those books could tell us a lot. Of course, you'll have to translate them, Burt. Also, I want to see if we can lookup that rune you remember from the lake."

So many options. What should you do next?

---
Inventory has been updated. I'll update the Notes and References section later. Voting will remain open one week, until the evening of the 31st. In the meantime, I'm going to start on Chapter Nine of Weaver and Jinx, though of course I'll be working on this as well.

Author's Notes: This was an odd chapter and a little difficult to write. I ended up overhauling a huge swath of it (The flashback, mainly). Several pages didn't make the cut, though I might cannibalize them for later. I think this is the first time I've read (much less written) an extended flashback in a second person narrative. Since the quest is in present tense, I used simple past tense for the flashback, which seems intuitive. Part of me wanted to keep it all in present tense, though.

I tried to keep with the spirit of the votes, though in some instances logistics forced me to compromise. For example: I was going to have Burt make torches, but I figured the flares would serve the same purpose. Another compromise was where the votes indicated that gathering supplies from the SUV and the tool shed in the backyard should be done in one trip as to avoid having enter the Fog twice. If the purpose of this precaution is to avoid unnecessary 'Fog travel,' then if makes more sense to just cut through the house and leave through the back door rather than circle around the house.

Also, the house's front steps and the combined weight of seven propane tanks and eight water jugs (all told, ~600lbs!) made the dollie less useful than it could have been. Hence the need to multiple trips. Eddie and Maribel keeping watch on the little terrace may have violated the 'keep together' vote, but having someone in the party carrying a flare while another's lugging around propane tanks seems . . . unwise. Anyway, they were always in sight of each other, so I think it kept to the spirit of the vote.

For the next Notes and Reference update, I think I'm going to add a map of the house and surrounding area.

Additional Note: Below I've marked in red the winning/accepted votes that this chapter didn't fulfill. You can add your vote to these options or elaborate. If you're the one who voted for them last chapter, you can change your vote, clarify something or elaborate.

Four 5-gallon water jugs are left in the trailer.
[ ] Everyone go out together and get then.
[ ] Eddie and Maribel go out and get them while you and Helen watch from the front doors.
[ ] Leave the water in the trailer for now.
[ ] Write in.

How should you retrieve the tools from the garage and tool shed?
[ ] Everyone go out together and get then.
[ ] Eddie and Maribel go out and get them while you and Helen watch from the back door.
[ ] Don't get them right now.
[ ] Write in.

Should Eddie hold the heartstone while he's out in the Fog?
[ ] Yes
[ ] No
[ ] Write in.

What other precautions should he take?
[ ] Write in.

If you all go into the Fog, what additional precautions should you take?
[ ] Write in.

Helen thinks Eddie should drive us out of the Fog.
[ ] Yes, we should have Eddie drive us out of here.
-[X] We might not still be on Earth with the Fog being what it is...should check.
[6] No, it's too dangerous.
[ ] The runes let us see in the fog, rather than driving the fog back (look at how each of us can see a different distance, based on how attuned we are to magic). I think right now we should aim to leave about when we originally planned - after staying three days. (Conditionally Accepted, may be discussed later)
[ ] Write in.

Maribel wants to contact the fairies. (Instructions in The Biology of Woodland Fairies)
[ ] Yes
[ ] No
[ ] Write in.

Eddie wants to go back in the basement and study the runes and books.
[ ] Yes, let's do that.
[ ] No, not right now.
[ ] Write in.

If you go into the basement, anything in particular you want to focus on?
[ ] Write in.

Should Eddie do anything with the runes. (Note: It may take a long time to copy a sheet for every window)
[ ] Write in.

The brick wall in the alcove seems to have once been a doorway. What do you want to do?
[4] Not urgent, but I want to smash this down and see what's behind it.
-[X] I don't think this is likely to be dangerous like the metal doors, but it could be pretty time-consuming. Test a brick or two; if they seem supremely easy to move then let's go ahead and check behind there, otherwise let's do it later. (I agree there's a good chance it's Esha's grave...)
-[X] After retrieving supplies from outside, see if you can knock down the bricks. A secret passageway, perhaps?
[ ] Leave it be. We'll worry about it once we know more about magic.
[ ] Write in.

Any strategies concerning Eddie and Maribel's powers?
[5] Maribel seems to be happy practicing with her powers on her own; Eddie's seem to be more draining. We should be making an ongoing effort to find texts for them to learn from, safe-seeming artifacts for them to practice with, etc. These powers are likely to be vital at some stage.
-[X] Have them continue to use them for the sake of practice, to gain greater familiarity with their powers.
-[X] Eddie should read the books from the basement. They seem like they would help him.
--[ ] Which books should he read? (You will translate)
-[X] Encourage them to experiment in areas without important books and where they won't do a lot of damage otherwise. Let them decide for themselves how to best go about it.

Helen and Maribel have rammed a hole in the library wall to gain access to one of the rooms at the end of the hall, but the studs are too close together.
[ ] Have Maribel try to squeeze through.
[ ] Chop through the studs to make the hole wider.
-[ ] Use the ax from the tool shed.
-[ ] Use something else? Or have another idea? Write in.
[6] Go into the attic and cut through the floor.
-[1] If we have time after everything else,
-[7] Get the ax from the tool shed.
--[1] After we've dealt with the fog.
-[5] Preserve the wood cut out from the floor and use it to try and close off the broken windows. Perhaps combined with some plastic sheets?
[1] Maribel should levitate across the floor.
-[X] After we've dealt with the fog.

Which of the two rooms do you want to enter first?
-[8] The one next to the library.
-[ ] The one next to the bathroom.

If you go to the tool shed in the backyard:
What precautions should you take when entering the Fog?
-[4] We all go to the tool shed together, and everyone has a piece of paper with the runic diagram drawn on it. (Accepted)
-[ ] Eddie and Maribel go to the tool shed while you and Helen watch from the back door.
What else should you get from the tool shed?
-[9] Take the trolley, IIRC that we have one and it's practical to get it there. Assess what's in the toolshed, take any tools that look useful. (Sledgehammer? Saws? Axe? Any power tools? This shit might come in handy.)
--[X] Anything that looks like it might be useful, or a potential weapon. Any materials to help block off windows.
--[X] Shovels, anything that can help break down walls and floors.
--[X] Search for any other useful tools in the tool shed and move them inside the house.
[ ] Write in.

What else should you do?
[8] Stay together.
-[1] At least until we've dealt with the Fog, we should probably go easy on splitting up.(Accepted)
-[ ] Use the instructions in The Biology of Woodland Fairies to contact the fairies.
--[ ] Read it first. Are the fairies going to know anything about the runic diagram? Maaaaybe? If so, we want to ask them about it.
-[ ] Read something from the attic.
--[ ] The Elvish-Germanese dictionaries .
--[ ] The Elvish children's books.
---[ ] Shubba und Wolff's Illustriertes Deutsche-Jahag Wörterbuch (Illustrated dictionary)
---[ ] Write in
--[ ] Look in the attic for something else to read. Anything specific?
-[4] Try to translate more of Uncle Grubb's journals (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[1] We should definitely keep doing this, but it's not a priority right now.
--[1] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic content. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Go back to the 'Germanese' notes Uncle Grubb made in the hieroglyphic book. (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[ ] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic conent. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Try to translate the letters found in the closet (You can only try to translate the 'Germanese' ones).
-[ ] Read a book from the library.
--[ ] The Encyclopedia Britannica.
--[ ] The World Almanacs.
--[ ] The Lost Treasure of Min'Karanda
--[ ] Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves .Helen barely even skimmed this.
--[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
-[ ] Read another book from the study.
--[ ] Read The Biology of Woodland Fairiesand see if Eddie missed anything.
--[ ] Read Visions of Y'ha-nthlei, see if Eddie missed anything.
--[ ] Read On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism yourself, see if you can catch anything Eddie missed.
--[ ] Look over the science books and the map. (Note: You probably lack the necessary science skills to understand this)
-[ ] Read the Elvish religious book (?) found in the attic tower (Note: You don't know Elvish. Even with the children's dictionary, this will take a long time to translate).
-[ ] Read a book in the basement.
--[1] after the trailer
--[1] Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie(Klostermann's Theoretical Runeology)
--[ ] Das Neue Platonismus (The New Platonism)
--[ ] Eine Abhandlung über Panpsychismus (A Treatise on Panpsychism)
--[ ] Void , Substanz und das Träumen Gott(Void, Substance and the Dreaming God)
--[ ] Das Welt und das Abyss (The World and the Abyss)
--[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
-[ ] Try to analyze the 'anomalous audio' from Maribel's EVP tape.
--[ ] Anything to look for specifically? Any specific methods? Write in.
-[ ] Experiment with the Ouija board and tape recorder. See if you can replicate what happened last night.
--[ ] Write in.
-[ ] Continue exploring
--[ ] The roof deck. Try to find a way up there.
--[ ] Explore somewhere else? Write in.
-[ ] Write in.

If you read a book or do some other solo activity, what should the others do?
-[1] This is lower priority than the trailer, but -- we have a lot of books we need to absorb information from. I would like to distribute the task of book-reading and information-collection.
--[X] In particular, Maribel seems to have an interest in the Elvish/German illustrated dictionary. Also, there seems to be a good chance that she has elf blood, and the concept of genetic memory may not be pure woo in this world. Maybe she'll have an easier time learning Elvish than us? Let's try to push this a little farther, see if, say, using the illustrated dictionary as a reference, she can make out the meaning of the Elvish children's books. Maybe this is the thing that the stone-experimentation is the carrot for.

Any new items you want to add to your inventory? How do you want to distribute items/weapons? Any actions you want to take concerning ammunition?
[ ] Write in.

Priorities:
[1] Fog first, fog first, fog first. I think if we can make progress with one problem, we'll all feel a lot better about our chances here.
[4] I think we need to focus on getting information, particularly learning Elvish.
[4] Priority is to conserve our current modern resources. Figure out more about the fog and world jumping. Also, DO NOT SPLIT THE PARTY when dealing with the fog.
[1] Survival utility (gas, food, tools, knowledge of terrain) should be most important right now.
[1] If the basement turns out to be safe it may make more sense to bunker down there for the night, and trust the big heavy door.
[1] We've made progress with the fog. Next priority, IMO, is survival utility. Food, fuel, tools - it's time for a supply run to the vehicle.
Then we should be going for more information.

JMHthe3rd · Mar 6, 2016

Chapter Eleven

Saturday, August 8th, 2015
9:45 AM

You rub your chin. "We can do all that, but first, let's gather supplies from the tool shed. We'll leave the water for now."

"Are you and Goosie staying here?" Eddie asks.

"No," you say, "splitting up's a bad idea, and we can carry more together. We should be safe as long as we take precautions. So, Eddie, you hold the heartstone and keep an eye on Helen. Maribel, you do the same for me. If either of us drift off, Eddie, you touch us with the stone."

Helen stares warily out the open doorway. "The freaky thing was I didn't see the daydream coming. I was just looking at the kayaks, and then I remembered . . . And there I was."

"Same here," you say.

"Uhg, I bet the Deep Ones were watching us under the water. Maybe they sicced the leeches on us."

"Why didn't they attack?" Eddie asks.

"Maybe they can only come out in Fog," you say.

"There was Fog across the lake," Helen says.

"But not much," you say. "And it's weird, but I forgot all about that stone rune. I never gave it another thought."

"Maybe your subconscious was trying to remind you," Eddie says.

"Or the fairies were," Maribel adds. "They could be using telepathy to give you hints."

"I guess that would make them friendly," you say. "If it's true. Does anyone remember seeing the Fog at any other time? Any forgotten memories we might use?"

"What about real-life examples?" Eddie says. "We know Innsmouth's been under Fog for like ninety years. And that lost city was trapped that way for centuries. Whatever's going on, I don't think we can wait it out."

"So let's leave," Helen says. "Fifteen minutes from now, we can be out of this Fog and back on the highway. We can hit Vegas. With Maribel along, we can't lose at roulette!"

"But I'm not old enough to gamble!"

"None of us are," Helen says. "Roberta'll lay the bets. You just make sure the little ball lands in the right slot."

"Okay, but only if I get money too!"

You sigh. "We're only driving through that if we really have to. But you're right, Eddie: we have to be proactive. Uncle Grubb had a way of keeping the Fog clear, and we need to find out what that was."

"At least the house is protected." Eddie gestures at the front porch. "Look how the Fog thins out before it reaches the doors. There might be runes in the walls."

"We'll learn more when we read those books," you say.

You all move the propane and water from the vestibule to the great hall. Your muscles ache, and Helen complains she's sore.

"I'm not surprised," Eddie says. "You were hauling those tanks like a robot, one in each hand."

After a short break where you and Helen each drink a bottle of water (daydreaming is thirsty work, apparently), the four of you crowd by the rear entryway. You and your twin draw your guns. Maribel has the dollie.

Eddie grips the glowing heartstone in one hand and a diagram sheet in the other. He opens the door. The humidity enfolds you as you step onto the patio.

Wrought-iron chairs and a table sit on the rust-stained flagstones. To the left lie the garage and tool shed. Ahead, in the center of the yard, the three bronze nymphs pose on tiptoes in their petrified dance, their arms splayed like wings, their upturned, puckered lips squirting nonexistent water into the granite basin at their feet.

"See anything?" you ask.

Eddie nods at the fireflies. "Just them."

Helen strikes a flare and lays it on a stone tile. She lights another and raises the flame high. You move as one, crossing lank, knee-high weeds and passing Uncle Grubb's old sundial, tilted now in the ground. Maribel's dollie squeaks and crunches over the remains of a gravel path.

Beyond the ruined picket fence, the Fog curdles to opaque white, and you feel as though you peer upon the world's blurred boundary. The milky void beckons you, but you return your gaze to the fountain.

The statues fascinated you when you were little, and you and Helen used to splash in the round pool as their never-ending spit trickled on your heads. They seemed like wondrous relics from a fairy tale age. Now they stand forsaken.

Under the flare's bright flicker you can't help but think the nude figures squirm on their pedestal. Their sad metal eyes follow you across the lawn.

Maribel points at the garage. "There's a lot of stuff in here."

Eddie stops at the side door. "How are you two doing?"

"I'm good," Helen says, though she's looking at the nymphs. You're almost certain you were too, a moment ago.

"Heartstone us," you say. "Just in case."

"Protect from evil! . . . Protect from evil!" Eddie mock-casts as he touches the red orb to each of your foreheads. The contact warms the mist from your brain, and you blink as the Fog recedes around you.

Eddie opens the door, and Helen puts the flare down on a concrete slab by the entrance. You step inside.

A stink of must and grime creeps in the air. Cobwebs drape from every corner. Unlike the house, the garage isn't Fog-proof; the light from the two windows is a Vaseline haze.

Old cardboard boxes are crammed along the walls. Wooden crates and paint cans clutter the shelves. An ancient lawnmower squats in the corner like a great motorized toad.

Most of the space is taken up by two dust-shrouded vehicles: a boxy seventies-era station wagon you vaguely recollect, and a sixties Chevy pickup you're sure you've never seen before. The tires are flat and tattered.

Helen rubs clean one of the truck's sleek red fenders. "Isn't it a beauty? It's stupid it was left here to rot."

You sheath your shotgun. "You could restore it."

"And step foot in these woods again? No thanks. 'Return to Uncle Grubb's Mansion' is a sequel I won't be starring in."

"I'm coming back," Eddie says, "after I learn how to control the Fog. If I want to know what it means to be a World-Jumper, this is the place to be."

Helen shakes her head. "Eddie, drawing those diagrams had you talking about black abysses and eyes in the stars. I don't know, but maybe that's shit we're not supposed to know. Maybe we should just get out of here and never look back."

Eddie snorts. "If everyone thought like you, we'd still be living in trees."

"We can discuss this later," you say.

You and Eddie unhook a 12 foot telescoping ladder from the wall while Helen and Maribel pack a crate with a shovel, a hoe, rope, twine, a pair of hedge clippers and a dozen or so wood planks. Periodically, Eddie and Maribel watch out the windows.

The station wagon contains nothing of interest except a tire iron, but in the truck you find an amulet hanging from the rear view mirror. The palm-size disc is made from a light-shade wood that emanates a faint, creamy scent. A symbol is inked on each side. The first is of a winged serpent issuing alien letters from its mouth. The second is of the constellation Orion with an open hand in the pentagon of the hunter's body. As far as Eddie can tell, they're not runic.

You search the glove compartment. The vehicle registration lists 'Elfstar Jones' as the owner. It has a San Francisco address and expired in 1999.

Crinkled leather wheezes as Helen sits in the passenger's seat. She rifles through paperwork, tossing aside a crumpled cigarette pack. It all seems mundane.

"We should go see Elfstar," Maribel says. "Doesn't he run a Hogwarts school? He can give us wizard training!"

You eye the amulet as your mind conjures images of chanting hippies in candlelit chambers. You slip the necklace in your pocket. "His 'Hogwarts' is a cult, and from that David Icke book, it sounds like they're in a secret war with the Deep Ones. Do we really want to get involved in that?"

"Nope!" Helen says.

"That book was written twenty-five years ago," Eddie says. "The 'New Atlantians' could have broken up or pulled a Heaven's Gate. And since Cousin Elfstar's left his ride here for longer than I've been alive, I'm guessing he's dead or in Shangri-La or whatever. Still, he's worth a trip if we can find him."

After Eddie and Maribel check the Fog, you exit through the garage's rear door. Your twin has the dollie; you struggle with the ladder. While not particularly heavy, it's unwieldy, and you're already tired from earlier.

Fortunately, the tool shed is only a few feet away. It's a slumping addendum to the garage. Anaconda-thick roots have undermined its concrete foundation, leaving its plank walls with a ramshackle slant. You look up at the gnarled oak responsible; the tree's as familiar as a bygone adversary. Fireflies orbit its top branches like lazy planets.

Helen lights another flare and leaves it in a stone birdbath. Eddie opens the shed's crude door. You dump your ladder in the grass before following them inside.

It's much like the garage only smaller and darker, and suffocatingly claustrophobic with the four of you herded between the dusty workbench and shelves. The sole window tints the Fog a sickly yellow. Helen flinches from a dangling dead light bulb that taps her hat.

Everyone fills the crate with tools: a couple of hammers and screwdrivers, a sledgehammer, an ax, a hatchet, a hacksaw, a drill, a machete, and a box of nails and screws.

Maribel hefts a rusty chainsaw. "It's sushi time! Brum-brum-brum-brrrrrrr!"

Helen snatches it from her hands. "Yeah . . . we won't be using that."

"Come on! That's no fun!"

"Look at it," Helen says. "I doubt it even works. And even if it did, the gas can's back in the trailer."

"And this isn't a zombie movie," Eddie says. "Chainsaws make stupid melee weapons."

You pat the small saber at your belt. "I tell you what, Maribel, when we get back, we'll test this sword. And the halberd too. Then we can see what runic blades can do."

You finish by loading wrenches, pliers and a tacklebox filled with string and fish hooks. At Maribel's insistence, the chainsaw ends up in the crate too on the off chance it'll be useful. Helen has some difficulty wheeling the loaded dollie out the door, but it's not as cumbersome as it was with the tanks and jugs.

Outside, you lift the ladder from the ground, your arms and back protesting, and as it towers above you, its aluminum length stretching like train tracks into the white sky, you realize you've seen this ladder before. You once descended its rungs.

It was a frosty Christmas with thin, slushy snow. You were six years old. Jeff and Desiree were in the front yard with Richie. Eddie and Shane were inside with everyone else. You weren't sure where Helen was.

Your new baby sister had gotten most of the attention today, with the grownups cooing about how adorable she was, but it didn't bother you. You didn't have much to say to Mama Hilda and Papa Fulbert. And Uncle Grubb was weird. And Uncle Stewart had a scary laugh. And Aunt Rudy smelled funny.

Your cheeks nipped. Your breath fogged. The air tasted crisp and woody. You'd tugged off your mittens so you could play with your starfighters, and now with chilly hands you soared the ships in a dogfight while your mouth supplied the engine and blaster sounds. You ran through the snow to make them go faster and circled the fountain with the three naked ladies.

"Boosh!" you cried as you flipped the Delta-7 into the icy fountain. Slave I victory-rolled, but little did Jango Fett know that Anakin was wearing a jet pack . . .

"Pookie!"

You looked around. "Goosie?"

"Pookie!"

It was coming from the far side of the yard, by the shack. You pocketed your toys and wandered closer. "Goosie?" She wasn't around the garage's corner. Was she behind that big ugly tree?

The snowball smacked your wool beanie.

"Up here!"

You raised your head. Her dark blue coat gave her good camouflage, so it took you a while to spot her little face peeking from the mass of shadowy, snow-speckled branches. Your twin had crawled far out on a high limb which she now clutched tight, her bare fingers clawing into the bark. A snot-trail ran from her nose. Her eyes were red and puffy.

"Goosie! What're you doing up there?"

"I wanted to see if I could climb the tree!"

"Okay, you did. Now come down!"

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"I . . . I'm . . . My hands are cold!"

She inched backwards, but her movement swayed the branch, salting snow. Her blue poof-ball hat slipped and fluttered to your feet.

Your heart caught in your throat. "D-don't move, Goosie! I'll get help!"

"No! Don't tell them!"

"But--"

"Daddy'll spank me!"

"But--"

"No spankings!"

"Burt! Burt!"

"Wake up, Goosie!"

"Ground control to Major Burt!"

The red heartstone pulls away. You're standing outside the tool shed, your biceps burning from holding the ladder. Helen's beside you, staring slack-jawed at the oak tree. Eddie touches her with the stone.

She groans. "Tell me we didn't . . . ?"

"Went to La-la-land," Maribel says.

"Totally bluescreened," Eddie agrees.

"Sneaky-ass Fog!" Helen cries.

You scrape your tongue across dry gums. "Let's get inside before it happens again."

You drag the bulky ladder over your shoulder. Eddie lights a flare while Helen pushes the burdened dollie over the lawn. Maribel carries the tacklebox and a fistful of small tools. Even through the Fog, you can make out the now-sputtering flares by the garage and back door.

You pass the fountain and the sundial, and then you're on the patio and through the back door and out of the Fog. You drop the ladder on the great hall's floor and let yourself collapse against a wall. Helen abandons the dollie and plops cross-legged beside you. You're both sweaty, and with a sniff you become distinctly aware that neither of you have bathed in over a day. Eddie returns from the study and hands you each a cool water bottle. You chug yours down.

Soon, Eddie and Maribel are sitting around as Helen regales them of your latest mutual flashback--along with the embarrassment that followed.

". . . and then Pookie climbs the tree to rescue me. But then he gets scared too, and so we're both hugging the same branch and crying because the ground's like fifty feet down."

"It was more like fifteen," you say dryly.

"Whatever. It was at least twenty. Anyway, they had to use that ladder to get us down. Jeff kept calling us, 'the scaredy-cat twins,' and Desiree was singing, 'Pookie and Goosie, sitting in a tree . . .' And we were all like, 'Shut up! We weren't kissing!'"

Eddie and Maribel laugh even though your parents have told them this misadventure a hundred times.

"I wonder if the flashback was sent by the fairies," Maribel says. "Did you see any clues?"

"Like the rune from the lake?" you ask. "I don't remember anything like that."

But Helen frowns. "No, not during the flashback. But when we were in the tree there was a fog in the woods past the fence, and we thought we heard wolves. It freaked us out."

The rejuvenated memory comes to you readily, and you recall the ghostly vapor slinking between the trees. Later, Uncle Grubb dismissed the howling as wind, but the air had been still.

"That's about where the Fog first appeared yesterday," you say. "I would've assumed the lake was the source, but that's a half mile that way." You point northwest, the opposite direction of the backyard.

"I think this whole area is a 'weak spot' in space-time," Eddie says. "So maybe the Fog spawns where it wants. Those geography maps might tell us more once we know how to read them."

After you and Helen recuperate, you pull the white dust cover off the great hall's coffee table and slowly draw Aunt Esha's saber. You can only wrap three fingers around the tiny golden hilt, but the sword's superior balance somewhat ameliorates this awkwardness. You raise the obsidian blade and give the furniture a whack.

Your wrist jars at the sinking impact. The result amazes you. With one slash, you've chopped halfway through a three inch-thick, two foot-wide tabletop. Firmly gripping the saber, you saw through the wood with no more difficulty than if it were stale bread. The table collapses down the middle.

You hold the blade up to your eye: the edge is unblunted.

"Not so random or clumsy as a chainsaw . . ." Eddie says.

"Can I please have it?" Maribel asks.

You chuckle. "No."

"I don't even have to touch it. I can just Jedi it through the fishies. Like a razor boomerang!"

"That'd be pretty badass," says Helen.

"Let's save that for an emergency," you say.

You move the ladder midway up the stairs to the small landing and brace it against the wall beside the suit of armor. Helen and Eddie secure the ladder while you ascend the rungs to the halberd and ease it from its brackets. The shafted weapon has a solid weight, but is lighter than it looks.

You take it down. The ax is concave and has three cross-shaped holes stamped through the charcoal-black blade. A pick curves on the opposite side, and the broad spearhead top protrudes a good foot. Squinting close, you detect all but invisible runes jiggling across the metal like oil over water. The shaft is ribbed with dark, hair-thin wires.

You take it down the stairs and choose one of the sheet-covered armchairs.

"Everyone stay back." You arc the halberd above you and, feeling a little reckless, swing down.

Wind blasts your face. Thunder claps your eardrums. You wipe your eyes and sneeze.

Upset dust drizzles around you. The armchair is gone. Scraps of fabric and wood lie scattered across the checkerboard floor. Careful to point the halberd away, you turn to your siblings.

"Anyone hurt?" you ask over the mild ringing.

"That was so cool!" Maribel cries. "Do it again! Do it again!"

Helen rubs a pinkie in her ear. "What does it have, 'grenade runes'?"

The halberd doesn't seem damaged. There wasn't even a 'recoil' when you struck the chair. "They might be 'concussive' runes. Maybe some form of air magic like Maribel's?"

"I bet I can explode things too if I practice enough." Maribel aims an open palm at a second chair. Its dusty white cover flaps as if in a gentle breeze.

"You have some leveling to do," Eddie says.

You gingerly lay the weapon on the floor by a wall. "I don't think this was meant to be used indoors. No one touch it--especially not you, Maribel. Now come on, I want to look some stuff up."

You lead them upstairs to the library. The Encyclopedia Britannica has no entry under 'Deep Ones,' but you find one under, 'Fish Men.'

The article briefly delves into their role in ancient mythology (they're the basis of mermen legends), but they didn't capture the public's imagination until after the Great Transmigration. Since then, there have been Fish Men sightings along the New England coast, as well as around Cornwall and the Stockholm archipelago.

A Masonic chapter based in Innsmouth, Massachusetts has long been rumored to have dealings with these creatures, but an investigation ordered by Governor Jedidiah Marsh found these claims groundless. Radio personality Father Coughlin blamed the 'fish stories' on Elvish sorcery, an accusation which prompted the 1925 'Easter Witch Hunt,' where an angry mob lynched three Elvish women. One was the youngest daughter of Shaman Bakala-Doom, who in retaliation inflicted 'a plague of rats' on the town of Rowley, killing thirty-six and forcing an evacuation.

The article ends with speculation that Fish Men may exist, but so far the evidence is inconclusive.

You close the volume, disappointed that you've learned nothing useful. But that Earth wasn't as familiar with otherworldly things as Jaganma or Uncle Grubb's Earth. The children's German-Elvish dictionary might have something, but first you head up the narrow stairway to the attic.

Feeble light seeps through the dingy windows. You and the others switch on your flashlights and bat away vinelike cobwebs. There's more books here in Elvish than German, and the German ones are older. As you scan the titles, the others idly browse whatever catches their eye.

"Maribel," you say, "try to read something in Elvish. See if you can understand it."

"But how can I? I barely even read the dictionary."

"Give it a try," you say.

Maribel opens a paperback, but unsurprisingly can't make sense of the slanted, calligraphic text. "See? I don't even know the alphabet."

"Just checking," you say.

Eddie takes you aside. "Genetic memory?"

"I thought she might have it," you say. "After all, you 'sort of' understand the runes."

"It was worth a shot," he says, "but I'm pretty sure Elvish--or 'Jahag'--is just another language. The runes are . . . more than that."

You continue to peruse the shelves until you come across two relevant works. The first is, Ein Elfen Odyssee: Kapitän Meero D'Mirsky die Reise in die Venda-Ka Abfall. ('An Elvish Odyssey: Captain Meero D'Mirsky's Voyage to the Venda-Ka Wastes'). The cover art is a ridiculous drawing of a 'balloon ship' that's closer to clockpunk than steampunk.

Published in '350. Jahr der Neuen Erde' the book is a German translation of an Elvish captain's account of his extraordinary travels. According to the dust jacket, Meero and his crew sailed to D'yute where they were 'lost in time' for decades. Glancing over the table of contents, you note such chapter titles as "In the Caverns of the Triclopses," "The Automatons Attack!" and (most intriguingly) "Escape from the Sea Devil Kingdom."

The second book is Die Magie der Welt-Springen ('The Magic of World Jumping') and seems to be a laymen's overview of this 'special human magic.' A significant portion of the text deals with the Ernestine-Wettins, the only World-Jumper family of noble lineage. The publication date is, '330. Jahr der Neuen Erde

You set these books on a nearby table--you'll read them later--and navigate the aisles until you arrive at a spot right above the inaccessible room beside the library. There's not much space between the bookcases, but you draw the saber, crouch and trace the tip along the floor.

"Carving a door?" Eddie asks.

You sink the glassy black blade into the wood. "It's easier than using an ax. You and Goosie go get the ladder and rope. This shouldn't take long."

"Don't slice anything off," Helen says as they leave.

The floorboards put up a sterner fight than the coffee table, though it's still no harder than cutting balsa wood. Maribel sits beside you and amuses herself by turning a book's pages with her psychokinesis.

"Am I related to Elfstar?" she asks.

You saw through one plank and begin on the next. "Why do you say that?"

"He has powers. I have powers. And Uncle Grubb got Mom and Dad to adopt me. It fits. That means we're cousins, right?"

"Probably," you admit, "but you'll always be my baby sister."

"Aw! And you'll always be my Pookie brudder! But . . . what do I do when we go home? I mean, I want someone to teach me about my powers, and I want to meet Elfstar and find out if he's my dad or granddad, and maybe find my mom. But I don't know if I want to join a cult. What if they're like the Manson Family?"

You pry up a severed board. "Hopefully they're not, but we'll research them first."

"But what should I do with my powers? I should keep them a secret, but can I tell Emily? And do you think I can be a superhero? I want a light blue costume, and I'll call myself 'Aetheria,' because 'Aether' is 'air' in Greek. Or maybe Latin."

"Both, actually. And superhero work is way too dangerous. "

"I can also be a paranormal investigator. My powers'll be an ace up my sleeve if I run into any vampires or zombies."

"We'll talk about that when the time comes."

Helen and Eddie return just as you whittle free a fourth plank and pile it with the others. With Maribel's unasked assistance, manhandling the 12-foot ladder through the labyrinthine attic quickly devolves into a Three Stooges skit. They knock over books, break a vase and tear a gouge in an oil landscape before finally laying the ladder beside the rectangular hole.

You hack away the last board and look into the dimness below. Curtained window light spills across a largish room. You see a piano, a secretary desk, a sofa, and a set of shelves along a wall. Helen dumps an armful of hefty tomes down the hole. The books crash in a poof of dust, but the wood floor stays firm.

Which still doesn't mean it's strong enough. Helen agrees to go down first. You lower the ladder while she ties the rope around her waist. You and the others then hold the rope while your twin descends the rungs.

After a bit of creaking around, she stomps her feet. "The floor's safe. Come on down!"

You do. As you step off the ladder you wrinkle your nose at a faded mildewy funk. Maribel yanks aside the curtains to let in more light, and you look over the room.

The piano is of an elegant style with pastoral scenes painted along its wood panels. It has a high bench, as if for a child, and two rows of ivory keys. Maribel walks her fingers across a few, but the strings are hopelessly out of tune. The instrument might be a harpsichord, but you wouldn't know the difference.

On the pool table, a few balls lie on the dusty green. Maribel waves her hands and magics the dust into little devils. A cue ball wiggles like a loose tooth.

Old photographs hang on the walls. In one, a bare-chested Uncle Grubb mows the lawn while a toddler Elfstar follows in a cowboy hat. In another, a smiling Aunt Esha is literally dwarfed by the robot looming next to her in the kitchen. The blank-faced machine is dressed as a butler and gripping a tray of drinks in its spindly arms.

There's only three color photos, all of Elfstar. In the latest, he's a teenager with blond Ringo hair and stands with his father in front of an old Model T car. Your cousin (who's short for a Springwell) scowls while Uncle Grubb sports a fake grin that can't hide the distracted vacancy in his eyes. It was a gloom he bore for as long as you can remember.

An antique turntable/radio set takes up the center shelf, with boxes of record albums on either side. There's also a 16mm film projector as well as a wind-up phonograph with a tulip-shaped speaker-funnel and Elvish gold leaf on the wood case. The records are all classical works, mostly from the Baroque and Classical Eras, and nothing from the 20th century. Behind the phonograph is a box of black cylinders with Elvish labels. You wonder what their music sounds like.

The bottom shelf has an encyclopedia set, though infuriatingly it's in Elvish. The first volume, however, does list the publishing information in German: 'Albertine und Ab'haja Bibliothek, Neu Dresden, 446. Jahr der Neuen Erde / 3. Alter, 7:10.' You flip through glossy pages and look at pictures.

One's a black and white photograph of a portly dwarf in a white button-up smock. His meaty, six-digit hand holds a curved pipe to his cleft-lip mouth as he regards the camera with three beady black eyes. A mirrored visor clings atop his wrinkly gray scalp. Behind him, a mammoth artillery gun lounges on railroad tracks, its long phallic barrel craned erect. Maribel calls the dwarf a, "steampunk space alien." Below, among the text, are schematics for firearms and an image of the 'Happy Dwarf' logo.

The next few pages show Gothic paintings of an ice age apocalypse. A walled city lies in snowy ruin beneath a charcoal sky. Feral, tumorous Elves toss body parts into a boiling cauldron. Desperate pikemen fight to the last against hordes of . . . werewolves? These pictures are accompanied by confusing maps of either battlefields or mass migrations.

Eddie looks over your shoulder. "Winter is coming."

"Yeah," you say, "I think this is their 'Winter Years.' Like our Black Death, except a lot worse."

You slide the volume back in place, frustrated you can't read any of this. But you notice three books at the end with thicker, rougher binding. Their German title reads, 'Zyklopädie der Neuen Welt' ('Cyclopedia of the New World'). They were published in '343. Jahr der Neuen Erde.' From the introduction, it appears the trilogy is intended as a compendium guide for Germans emigrating through the Dortmund Portals (evidently this was written when they were still active). Curiously, New Dortmund is referred to only as a colony. There's mention of the 'Fatherland,' but no 'Jaganma Reich.'

These books are a century older and not as comprehensive as the Elvish encyclopedia, but at least you can read them.

In the secretary desk you discover letters bundled in rotted rubber bands. In the first, dated 1966, Uncle Grubb lambastes his son for 'consorting with degenerates.' 'Your mother would not approve,' he writes. He also expresses annoyance at Elfstar stealing the 'Dortmund Stone' and books from his grimoire. 'Though you wound me, I still love you.'

Elfstar's reply is equally critical. 'You're an imperialist fossil, father. You don't belong in this world, and neither do I. So don't tell me what to do.' He then goes on a ramble about how he will use his power to 'overthrow the old and evil' and usher in a New Age when the 'change' happens. There's some cryptic comments about an upcoming war, but no details. 'Attune your energy to a higher vibration,' he advises. 'Your Prodigal Son, Sloka.'

There's forty of so letters, the last one dated 1982. You put them away for now.

Searching the drawers, you come up with two more books. One you think is a diary, but it's written in Elvish. The other is thicker and printed in the hieroglyphic language. Many of its pages display blueprints for what looks like a lantern.

You kneel down and root through the closet. A shoebox contains several 3-inch 16mm film reels. Inside a sturdy wood chest you find practice foils, padded armor, wire-mesh masks and a number of ribbons and medals. One is a gold pendant of a two headed dragon with purple silk pinned along the wings.

Digging deeper, you uncover a framed photograph of a teenage Aunt Esha posing proudly in her fencing gear. Others show sparring matches between petite female figures, though the face-plates make it impossible to tell which one is her. A few show her in skintight leotards, leaping and back-flipping over gymnasium bars.

"She's so pretty," Maribel says.

"I feel bad for Uncle Grubb," Helen says. "His wife died, I think, and his son ran off to be a rock star wizard. And he never moved on. He spent the rest of his life a lonely old hermit."

"Nothing we can do about it now," Eddie says.

In the back of the closet rests a long mahogany case. You pop the clasps and raise the lid to reveal a curved sword in a silver scabbard. A plaque reads in German:

'For his services to the Kingdom of Westphalia against the Trollish Intrusion at Bochum in the Year of Our Lord, 1759, Frederick Johann Ernestine-Wettin, Count of Arnsberg, is presented this saber crafted by the Dwarven Peoples of Aimar City.'

You lift the weapon from the velvet indentations and wrap your fingers around the leather and gold grip. Carefully, you draw the blade, which seems to almost radiate in the dim room.

"It's a scimitar!" Maribel says.

"No, it's a cavalry saber." Though you can see the Middle Eastern influence in its sweeping design. You stand up and roll your wrist; the sword moves like an extension of your arm.

"It's probably magical!" Maribel says. "Test it and see what it does!"

"Everyone keep back." You swipe at the air.

The sharp edge flares orange-red, and you smell the foul burning of dust particles. Somehow, you feel no heat through the grip, though goosebumps ripple through you.

"I knew it!" Maribel says.

Helen nods approvingly. "Nice. A lightsaber."

"More like a 'branding-iron' saber,'" Eddie says.

You grin at its sizzling. "I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of this. And it fits right in my hand too."

You examine the hot metal and see granular runes dazzling like star clusters. Along the blade's fuller reads the blazing word, 'Trollfluch.' The other side is inscribed with a phrase in Greek.

You hold the saber still and the heat dissipates. The writing vanishes. You tap the blade; it's cool. You surmise the runes are 'swing activated.'

You slide it back in its sheath. "All right, I'm going to search that German encyclopedia for things like, 'Fog,' 'Deep Ones' and 'World-Jumping.' Maribel, read that book on contacting fairies. Goosie, you can read the book on psychic elves. Really read it this time. And Eddie, try to learn what you can from the books in the basement."

"You'll need to translate them for me," he says. "And right now, grokking the rune stuff is more important."

Helen puts a foot on the ladder. "Shouldn't we explore the other room? It'll only take a few minutes. I can cut the hole this time."

"I don't know," Eddie says. "We really should--"

"Hey, guys," Maribel says, "is it getting dark?"

She's facing the window, her little hands on the sill. Now that she's mentioned it, the previously pale Fog has dulled to a twilight gray. The fireflies above twinkle brighter than before.

Eddie leans towards the glass. He squints left, then right. "There's light to the west. I think the sun's setting."

"Bullshit!" Helen fishes out her phone. "It's still morning!"

Eddie looks off in thought. He gnaws his lip rings. "Time dilation?"

"Well, fuck," Helen says flippantly, but you feel the little tremor.

"Are we in the future?" Maribel asks.

"Only a few hours," Eddie says. The, 'I hope,' is left unspoken.

Helen tightens her slender shoulders. With catlike fixation, she watches the foggy driveway below. "Okay . . . what do we do now?"

***

Chapter End Time:
Saturday, August 8th, 2015
10:45 AM

***

Inventory has been updated. I'll update the Notes and References section later. Voting will remain open a full week and will close on the evening of Sunday the 13th. In the meantime, I'm going to continue working on Chapter Nine of Weaver and Jinx.

Also, if you like this quest, please vote.

Author's Notes:
'The twins get stuck in a tree' flashback was originally part of Ch.10's outline but didn't make the cut. Here, the Heartstone Treatment keeps it a brief snippet, which works better for the pacing.

When I was originally outlining the chapter, I intended to include Bert reading the five or six cyclopedia entries as well as Bert and Eddie studying Klostermann's Theoretical Runeology (while Helen and Maribel read up on psychic Elves and fairies), but I decided exploring the rec room opens enough options that it's a logical fork for the story. Plus, Ch.11 was already at ~6k words, and 9 or 10k would be too much for one chapter.

Additional Notes:
Additional options below. New options are in blue. I've marked in red the winning/accepted votes that this chapter didn't fulfill (or are currently 'in play'). You can add your vote to these options or elaborate. If you're the one who voted for them last chapter, you can change your vote, clarify something or elaborate.

These are what actions are 'queued up' so far, though of course you can vote to do other things or change the order/priorities.

Read entries in the German encyclopedia relating to:
1. Deep Ones, D'yute, Elves, Fairies, Heartstones, World-Jumping
You and Eddie read the a book in the basement (Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie) while Helen reads Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves and Maribel reads The Biology of Woodland Fairies.

The Fog is darkening, and Eddie thinks the sun is setting. What is your reaction?
[ ] Write in.

Should you read the entries in the Zyklopädie der Neuen Welt?
[ ] Yes, now.
[ ] No, later. we have greater priorities.
[ ] Write in.

If you do want to read the Zyklopädie, what articles do you want to look up?
[ ] Deep Ones, D'yute, Elves, Fairies, Heartstones, World-Jumping
[ ] Anything else? Write in.

Do you want to explore the other room across the hall?
[ ] Yes, now.
-[ ] Use Aunt Esha's sword to cut a hole in the attic floor.
-[ ] Write in.
[ ] No, later.

Four 5-gallon water jugs are left in the trailer.
[ ] Everyone go out together and get then.
[ ] Eddie and Maribel go out and get them while you and Helen watch from the front doors.
[6] Leave the water in the trailer for now.
-[X] We have four 5-gallon water jugs, that's about 80 litres. If we're careful about consumption that will last us for quite a while; making food, washing and staying hydrated can be done on a scale of ~2 litres a person a day in a temperate climate, so we've got almost three weeks' supply already if we're careful.
[ ] Write in.

If you all go into the Fog, what additional precautions should you take?
[X] The car has a radio, right? Check whether it is still working. This could tell us if the fog really blocks radio waves. If not, we will also know whether we are still on Earth.

Helen thinks Eddie should drive us out of the Fog.
[ ] Yes, we should have Eddie drive us out of here.
-[X] We might not still be on Earth with the Fog being what it is...should check.
[12] No, it's too dangerous.
-[X] We have found a lot of helpful things in the house so far. We should look for more before leaving.
-[X] The way out feels less safe now than it did before we went out into the fog; Eddie driving us out using the hearthstone is a plan of desperation, not least due to the risk of us idly stepping out of the vehicle as it's moving or something...
[ ] The runes let us see in the fog, rather than driving the fog back (look at how each of us can see a different distance, based on how attuned we are to magic). I think right now we should aim to leave about when we originally planned - after staying three days. (Conditionally Accepted, may be discussed later)

Maribel wants to contact the fairies. (Instructions in The Biology of Woodland Fairies)
[5] Yes
-[X] But try to find out more about them first.
-[X] Eddie should keep an eye on her, but should not interfere unless there is a dire need.
-[X] Let her try and talk to the faeries, after discussing the plan with you and the others. Eddie should stay near her, so he can drag her back if she decides to do something stupid, like enter the woods. If you have found rope, tie a rope to her for extra safety.
[ ] No, not now

Eddie wants to go back in the basement and study the runes and books.
[3] Yes, let's do that.
-[X] Yes, but he should bring the book with him to whatever room we choose for our study. (since we chose not to separate, and also so that we could cross-reference our findings. Included as an option below)
[ ] No, not right now.
[ ] Write in.

The brick wall in the alcove seems to have once been a doorway. What do you want to do?
[5] Not urgent, but I want to smash this down and see what's behind it.
-[X] I don't think this is likely to be dangerous like the metal doors, but it could be pretty time-consuming. Test a brick or two; if they seem supremely easy to move then let's go ahead and check behind there, otherwise let's do it later. (I agree there's a good chance it's Esha's grave...)
-[X] After retrieving supplies from outside, see if you can knock down the bricks. A secret passageway, perhaps?
[ ] Leave it be. We'll worry about it once we know more about magic.
[ ] Write in.

Any strategies concerning Eddie and Maribel's powers?
[8] Maribel seems to be happy practicing with her powers on her own; Eddie's seem to be more draining. We should be making an ongoing effort to find texts for them to learn from, safe-seeming artifacts for them to practice with, etc. These powers are likely to be vital at some stage.
-[X] Have them continue to use them for the sake of practice, to gain greater familiarity with their powers.
-[X] Eddie should read the books from the basement. They seem like they would help him.
--[2]Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie(Klostermann's Theoretical Runeology) (Accepted)
-[X] Helen or Burt should read the books about elves, see what Maribel should be capable of and how to best develop her. There are some books on phenomenas among elves. (Helen will readPsychical Phenomena Among the Elves)
-[X] Encourage them to experiment in areas without important books and where they won't do a lot of damage otherwise. Let them decide for themselves how to best go about it.

-[5] Preserve the wood cut out from the floor and use it to try and close off the broken windows. Perhaps combined with some plastic sheets?

[X] Try to use Aunt Esha's sword on the bricked over section in the basement.
-[X] And the safe.
-[X] Proceed with caution - they may be closed for a reason, and we don't want to damage anything inside.

What else should you do?
[10] Stay together.
-[2] At least until we've dealt with the Fog, we should probably go easy on splitting up.(Accepted)
-[2] Use the instructions in The Biology of Woodland Fairies to contact the fairies.
--[1] Read it first. Are the fairies going to know anything about the runic diagram? Maaaaybe? If so, we want to ask them about it.
-[ ] Read something from the attic.
--[ ] The Elvish-Germanese dictionaries .
--[ ] The Elvish children's books.
---[ ] Shubba und Wolff's Illustriertes Deutsche-Jahag Wörterbuch (Illustrated dictionary)
---[ ] Write in
--[ ] Ein Elfen Odyssee: Kapitän Meero D'Mirsky die Reise in die Venda-Ka Abfall. ('An Elvish Odyssey')
--[ ] Die Magie der Welt-Springen. ('The Magic of World Jumping')
--[ ] Look in the attic for something else to read. Anything specific?
-[6] Try to translate more of Uncle Grubb's journals (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[X] We should definitely keep doing this, but it's not a priority right now. (Accepted, Eddie's reading takes priority)
--[X] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic content. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Go back to the 'Germanese' notes Uncle Grubb made in the hieroglyphic book. (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[ ] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic conent. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Try to translate the letters found in the closet (You can only try to translate the 'Germanese' ones).
-[ ] Read a book from the library.
--[ ] The Encyclopedia Britannica.
---[X] Locate the entries on fairies
--[1] Have Helen read Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves .Helen barely even skimmed this. (for information on Maribel's powers) (Accepted)
--[ ] The World Almanacs.
--[ ] The Lost Treasure of Min'Karanda
--[ ] Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves .Helen barely even skimmed this.
--[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
-[ ] Read another book from the study.
--[ ] Read The Biology of Woodland Fairiesand see if Eddie missed anything.
--[ ] Read Visions of Y'ha-nthlei, see if Eddie missed anything.
--[ ] Read On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism yourself, see if you can catch anything Eddie missed.
--[ ] Look over the science books and the map. (Note: You probably lack the necessary science skills to understand this)
-[ ] Read the Elvish religious book (?) found in the attic tower (Note: You don't know Elvish. Even with the children's dictionary, this will take a long time to translate).
-[1] Read a book in the basement.
--[1] after the trailer
--[1] Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie(Klostermann's Theoretical Runeology) (Accepted, will help Eddie translate.)
--[ ] Das Neue Platonismus (The New Platonism)
--[ ] Eine Abhandlung über Panpsychismus (A Treatise on Panpsychism)
--[ ] Void , Substanz und das Träumen Gott(Void, Substance and the Dreaming God)
--[ ] Das Welt und das Abyss (The World and the Abyss)
--[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
-[ ] Read something in the rec room.
--[ ] 'Zyklopädie der Neuen Welt' ('Cyclopedia of the New World')
--[ ] Try to translate the Elvish encyclopedia.
--[ ] Try to translate the Elvish diary.
--[ ] Examine the hieroglyphic book with the strange blueprints.
--[ ] Read Uncle Grubb and Elfstar's correspondence.
-[ ] Try to analyze the 'anomalous audio' from Maribel's EVP tape.
--[ ] Anything to look for specifically? Any specific methods? Write in.
-[ ] Experiment with the Ouija board and tape recorder. See if you can replicate what happened last night.
--[ ] Write in.
-[ ] Continue exploring
--[ ] The roof deck. Try to find a way up there.
--[ ] Explore somewhere else? Write in.
-[ ] Try to connect the rec room's antique stereo and test the radio.
-[ ] Try to connect the rec room's 16mm projector and play reels of film.
-[ ] Play music from the rec room's Elvish photograph.
-[1] Look for specialized literature on the following subjects: elves, Heartstone, Spinoza's Fog (or Spinozas Nebel), Welt-Springer (it's a dynasty, what are they known for?), D'yute (or the Autumn city), and any of related entries that can help us determine what we are currently dealing with. What books might be of interest to us? That should narrow down our immediate reading list that has grown completely out of proportions. (Accepted)
--[2] See whether Shubba und Wolff's Illustriertes Deutsche-Jahag Wörterbuch mentions something like Fischmenschen or Tiefe Wesen. (Accepted)
-[1] Start rationing food and water. Don't use the shower. (Accepted)
-[2] Get started on translating a Germanese text. An introductory, practical text on rune magic, if one is available. If not, then Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie. (Accepted)
-[ ] Write in.

If you read a book or do some other solo activity, what should the others do?
-[3] This is lower priority than the trailer, but -- we have a lot of books we need to absorb information from. I would like to distribute the task of book-reading and information-collection.
--[3] In particular, Maribel seems to have an interest in the Elvish/German illustrated dictionary. Also, there seems to be a good chance that she has elf blood, and the concept of genetic memory may not be pure woo in this world. Maybe she'll have an easier time learning Elvish than us? Let's try to push this a little farther, see if, say, using the illustrated dictionary as a reference, she can make out the meaning of the Elvish children's books. Maybe this is the thing that the stone-experimentation is the carrot for. (Attempted, didn't work. May try again later?)
---[X] If this turns out to be a complete dead-end, Maribel can instead read The Biology of Woodland Fairies. (Accepted)
---[X] Have Maribel read something from the attic.
----[X] The Elvish children's books. (for teaching Maribel Elvish) (Accepted, bur reading about fairies takes priority)
--[2] Have Eddie read a book from the basement.
---[2] Whatever Eddie thinks useful. (for information on Eddie's powers)
---[3] Meanwhile, have Eddie or Helen read Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves. It may help understand Maribel's magic. (Accepted, Helen will read)
----[X] Don't force the issue. If they want to do something else that makes sense, let them.

Any new items you want to add to your inventory? How do you want to distribute items/weapons? Any actions you want to take concerning ammunition?
[ ] Write in.

Priorities:
[2] Fog first, fog first, fog first. I think if we can make progress with one problem, we'll all feel a lot better about our chances here.
[8] I think we need to focus on getting information, particularly learning Elvish.
[6] Priority is to conserve our current modern resources. Figure out more about the fog and world jumping. Also, DO NOT SPLIT THE PARTY when dealing with the fog.
[5] Survival utility (gas, food, tools, knowledge of terrain) should be most important right now.
[2] If the basement turns out to be safe it may make more sense to bunker down there for the night, and trust the big heavy door.

Voting will remain open until the evening of March 13th. If you enjoy this quest, please vote.

JMHthe3rd · Apr 23, 2016

Chapter Twelve

Saturday, August 8th, 2015
Your Phone: 10:45AM

You switch on your flashlight. "Let's not jump to conclusions."

"'Jump to conclusions'?" Eddie sneers. "It's morning--and the sun's setting! You see it too, right Maribel?"

Maribel presses her hands and face against the window. "It's blurry, but it's there, right above the treetops."

"The journal says the Fog can curve space and time," Eddie says. "Weren't there people who went into that lost city, and when they left, it was years later?"

"I found a book about them," you say, but you're watching Helen.

She stares through the hazy twilight as though into an abyss. "If we get out of here and everyone we know is old or dead . . . I don't think I could take that."

You share your twin's concern, but everyone you care about is in this room. You give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Like Eddie said, even if this is a time warp, we've only lost a few hours."

"You don't know that," Helen says.

"No, we don't," Eddie says. "We could be in the twenty-fifth century. We could be in the Jurassic Age. We could be on Middle Earth. But we have no reason to think so."

He paces the room and combs fingers through his greasy bangs. "We know about two different 'Fog Zones': the lost city and Innsmouth. The lost city had temporal fruit loops, but it doesn't sound like it traveled through time like a giant Tardis. Same for Innsmouth: people have seen lots of weird shit there, but the town's never disappeared.

"So, I'm pretty sure we haven't gone anywhere. We're just in the Slow Lane, but it's not that slow. The sun's moving fast, but the sky isn't flickering like a strobe light. Even if it takes me a few days to turn off the Fog, we won't miss more than a couple of weeks."

"Everyone will be worrying about us," Maribel says.

"But they won't be in nursing homes," Eddie says.

Helen nibbles the inside of her cheek; her gaze darts about the floor as if searching for a trapdoor. Eddie's reasoning relies on many assumptions, but your twin clutches the straws.

She exhales. "Okay. I'm not going to freak out. I promise."

You meet her eyes. She smiles weakly and nods: I'll be fine.

She will. You trust her. You pat her arm and change the subject.

"All right, do we still want to explore the other room?"

"It's worth a look," Eddie says. "Maybe we'll find a copy of World-Jumping for Dummies."

The boxy record player/radio is what passed as 'portable' in the 1950s, so the system isn't too difficult to carry up the ladder. Hopefully, you can plug it into the generator and maybe pick up a signal. You also take Uncle Grubb's correspondences and the three volumes of Zyklopädie der Neuen Welt.

In the attic, you unfasten Aunt Esha's saber and replace it with the heavier Trollfluch cavalry sword. Its presence at your hip heartens you, and you imagine your ancestors wielding the red hot blade through the generations. How many battles has it seen? How many trolls has it slain?

The smaller weapon you pass to Helen. "You and Eddie can search the room yourselves. While you're doing that, I'm going to skim the encyclopedia for some context. Maribel, you can read up on contacting fairies."

"That book's back in the study," Eddie says.

"I'll get it!" Maribel heads towards the stairs.

"Um, hold on! I'll go with you," you say. Better safe than sorry.

Eddie navigates between two bookcases and waves his flashlight at a spot on the floor. Helen kneels and draws the short saber. The Elvish grip is too small for even her thin hand, but at least she can fit all her fingers through the guard. She presses the obsidian tip into the floorboards and saws.

"Like cutting Parmesan cheese," she says.

"Be careful," you say before you and Maribel leave the attic.

The cavalry saber sways against your leg as you walk down the curving staircase to the great hall. It's not so dark that you need flashlights, but the untimely evening unnerves you. Only minutes ago, this room was well lit; now, it's a gloomy cave.

In the study, Maribel runs to the window. The outside murk is so thick the tombstones are only black monoliths in a charcoal world. The fairies above glow a dingy yellow like bioluminescent fish in a polluted aquarium.

"The sun's already behind the woods. It's sinking. See?" Maribel pokes the glass.

That half of the window is a slightly lighter shade of gray, but if it's sunlight, you may as well be on the bottom of the sea. "My poor muggle eyes are useless."

"It's only going a little fast now, but what if it speeds up? Like what Eddie said, a strobe light. Woowoowoowoowoo!" Maribel swings her arm in a circle to mime the sun streaking across the sky. "If that happens, you know Goosie's going to scream and cry. I'll cry too, because all my friends will be growing old and dying. But it'll be worse for Goosie. She loves Roberta! They've even been talking about getting married!"

You sigh. Roberta's always been nice to you, and she's tried to be your friend. But you never liked her. Her swaggering 'bad boy' attitude strikes you as ridiculous, and she brings out the worst in Helen. But despite that, she's a part of your twin's life, and they've only grown closer since the accident. Losing her would be devastating.

"Let's hope that doesn't happen," you say.

"But what if it does?"

"Then we'll just have to be there for her."

Maribel takes The Biology of Woodland Fairies, and you both return to the attic. Helen is halfway done carving the hole. Eddie is bent through a square window, his torso out in the Fog.

"Time?" he calls back.

Helen glances from her sword to her smartphone on the floor beside her. "Forty-two seconds. You?"

"Same." Eddie pulls back inside, his own phone in hand. "I guess my arm's not long enough."

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Running an experiment," Eddie says. "If the Fog's causing the time dilation, then maybe the deeper you go, the faster time moves."

"Like clocks falling into black holes or something," Helen says. "I saw that in a Youtube video."

"Later, we can check my laptop's time," Eddie says. "I have an idea."

"We'll be right here if you need us," you say as you and Maribel sit against some cardboard boxes.

With your flashlight held in the crook of your neck, you open a volume of the Zyklopädie and turn through the aged pages. The entry on 'Elfen' is long and more detailed than you need, so you quickly browse the text.

Elves are a race of pygmy humans notable for their pointed ears and affinity for magic. They are slight of build and rarely reach five feet in height (though the tallest recorded Elf was a M'refi tribesmen who stood 6'7"). Though they are agile and swift, they lack strength and endurance and thus tire easily under strenuous labor. They possess keen hearing and eyesight. They have slender jaws and lack wisdom teeth. They cannot grow beards.

Though actual sorcerers are rare among Elves (approximately one in four hundred are born with a 'trait'), all have a vestigial 'Gnostic' ability. This mental communication is usually limited to emergencies and only between close family and friends (or fellow soldiers in the case of Jaganma's Special Airborne). More powerful Gnostics are used to send messages across hundreds of miles, which is why, despite their advanced technology, Jaa'hanan Elves never developed the telegraph.

Elves are part of panhumanity and therefore can procreate with humans. While such marriages are recognized by the Zoubartic Church, they are outlawed within the German Reich.

There are two known Elvish 'breeds': the 'arboreal savages' of the Eddland Archipelagos (located across the 'Southern Sea' beyond Africa's tip) and the 'civilized people' of the Jaa'hana continent. You skip the paragraphs on the island natives, though the gist is English colonists have 'significantly culled their numbers.'

Jaa'hanan Elves are physiologically similar to their Eddland cousins, except their internal anatomy is situs inversus, with the heart on the right side, the liver and gall bladder on the left, etc (bizarrely, this abnormality includes all animals native to the Jaa'hana region). They are also afflicted with an unusually high cancer rate, with as many as one in eight Elves succumbing before their fiftieth year. Doctors theorize this 'blood taint' was brought on by the poisonous ash that fell across the continent during the Winter Years (59 - 54 vor dem Wechsel (A.D. 1453-1458)).

Helen cuts away the fourth board and dumps it with the others. She and Eddie lean close and shine their flashlights through the rectangular opening.

She fans her nose and gags. "What's down there, a dead body?"

"I think it's just mildew," Eddie says, grimacing. He points. "That branch's been letting rain in for years."

You crouch with them by the edge and hold your breath at the musty black odor. With your flashlight you glimpse a water-damaged bureau, a moldering mattress and a bookcase full of old paperbacks. A sturdy tree limb intrudes through a mottled wall like a tentacle petrified mid-attack.

Helen groans. "I'll go down first."

"I don't think that's a good idea," you say.

"I'll be fine. I could really use a gas mask, though."

"I mean it could be dangerous," you say. "With all that concentrated fungi, there's probably mycotoxins in the air."

"I have some incense in my backpack," Helen says.

"That . . . wouldn't help."

"What if we wrap rags around our mouths?" Eddie asks.

"Let me try something," Maribel says. Standing by the rectangle, she raises her arms, wiggles her fingers and says, "Stinkious Be-Goneius!"

Warm air breezes from the square window behind you and tugs at your shirt and jeans as it flows through the opening at your feet. Below, the bedroom's dust stirs and sparkles under the flashlight beams as it shapes into a horizontal funnel, like a miniature tornado on its side. It swirls over the breach in the wall.

She's ventilating the room, blowing in new air while jettisoning the old. After about half a minute, the downdraft dies away.

Helen lowers her head through the hole a takes a sniff. "It's not fresh baked cookies, but at least I'm not going to vomit." She hugs Maribel. "You are the cutest little air freshener ever!"

"That was very impressive," you say, ruffling her hair.

"It's cool having an aeromancer in the family," Eddie says.

Maribel beams, her chin held high. A wispy whirlwind sways her hair like a sea anemone. "'Aeromancer' . . . I like that!"

You and Eddie retrieve the ladder and ease it down the hole until its feet touch the floorboards, which creak at the weight. Helen ties the rope around her waist, and you all hold on tight while she descends into the room and tests the floor with hard stomps.

Finally, she says, "It's rotted out by the wall, but the rest is okay. I think this is Elfstar's room. There's a bunch of sci-fi toys . . . a flying saucer, a retro-robot and a NASA rocketship too. Come on down, Eddie. You like this shit!"

After Eddie joins her, you and Maribel go back to your reading.

You look up, 'herzsteine.' There's a section on the history of heartstones and the laws regarding their use, but you concentrate on what's relevant.

Heartstones are rare, magical artifacts from the Vendi-Ka continents. They are translucent, red-tinted spheres made of an (almost) indestructible material. Before the war that destroyed their civilization, the Vendi used them as energy sources for their machines as well as instruments for their Elvish sorcerers. Because Vendi technology is still so puzzling, Jaa'hanans today employ only the latter use.

It's well known that quartz and gemstones can detect and augment sorcery, but with heartstones this effect is amplified a hundredfold. A top-tier Earth Elementalist can collapse a building. With a heartstone, he can flatten city blocks.

To prevent them from falling into the wrong hands, their access is restricted by international treaty to government militaries and thaumatological institutions. There are four hundred thirty-three known heartstones in the Jaa'hana continent, eighty-one of which are among the Jaganma Kingdom. Three have been loaned to the German Reich in accordance to the Jaga-West Trade Alliance.

"We found another gun!" Eddie calls out. "It's a Winchester sniper rifle!" Metal clicks drift up through the hole.

"No, it's not Winchester," Helen says. "It's Elf. But it's lever-action. Nice balance, too. It has a weird feed system, like a 'revolver magazine.' There's a button on the side of the scope . . . Check this out, Eddie! Night vision!"

"Huh, it's as bright as day. It can't see through the Fog, though."

You squat by the rectangle and shine down your flashlight. Helen hands you up the rifle. "Here you go, Pookie."

It's a spindly carbine a little over three feet long, with a short fore-end and a butt curved like a crescent moon. The grip and lever are cleverly contoured to accommodate both Elvish and human hands. A trapdoor on the right swings out to reveal a detachable cylinder with nine empty chambers. Bracing the weapon, you find it bears the same unnatural steadiness of the two sabers. You peek through the long, black scope: the attic is illuminated perfectly, if not desaturated. You aim out the window, but the Fog is an opaque white wall.

Maribel rubs the gray barrel. "A steampunk cowboy gun! Pew! Pew!"

"We found like two hundred and fifty of these." Helen tosses up a skinny bullet, and you catch it midair. It's the big sibling of the golden revolver's cartridges, though it's still no more than a varmint round.

"Thirty-six are those black-tip 'Stilettos,'" she adds. "You know, the AP rounds."

"There's spent casings by the window," Eddie says. "Was there a shootout?"

"Maybe Uncle Grubb was 'fishing.'" Helen snickers. "Anyway, this gun's mine. I'm the best shot with a rifle."

It's true. She's pretty good with your family's Marlin 1894. You pass the carbine back down to her. "Don't shoot your eye out."

Helen grins. "It even has a rifle bag, though it's kind of moldy."

While she and Eddie continue to search the room, you and Maribel return to your books.

You look up 'Spinozas Nebel.' Since the Fog is your most immediate obstacle, you read this entry closely.

Though anomalous fogs have appeared throughout history, it wasn't until after the Change that the phenomena became more prevalent, infesting numerous remote woods, wetlands and other wildernesses. The English scientist Benedict Spinoza (123-186 Neuen Erde (A.D. 1630-1693)) was the first to prove that some fogs are more than mere water vapor. Through his investigations on the Isle of Man, he categorized Fog's otherworldly properties.

Entering Fog can result in 'reverie,' a state in which one loses sense of the world and relives the past. This symptom grows ever more prominent and repetitious until one is locked in perpetual reminiscing. For many, the relived memories are highly traumatic.

Stronger Fogs may violate the laws of space and time. Landscapes circle back on themselves as though contained on a small globe. Individuals awake to the same day again and again.

Time inside Fog may fluctuate, progressing faster or slower. Two famous examples illustrating this effect are those of Spinoza and the Confederate Captain Meero D'Mirsky (180-243 N.E. (A.D. 1687-1750)).

While taking barometric measurements on Snaefell Mountain, Spinoza became separated from his entourage and disappeared. Three days later he was discovered naked in a nearby village. Wild-eyed and raving, he looked at least a decade older, with new lines on his face and gray in his beard. He claimed to have been abducted by winged 'bat-men' and had spent years in the realm of the Celtic god Nodens. His colleagues assumed the Fog had warped his body and mind, and he spent most of his remaining life in Bedlam Hospital.

Meero's account is less ambiguous. Despite his reputation for embellishments, it's well documented that the Elvish captain and his crew were missing in the D'yute Fog for twenty-one years, while by their own reckoning (and supported by their unchanged appearance), only nine months had passed.

There are other, less understood elements associated with Fog, such as lycanthropy, vampirism, fairies and so-called 'fish folk,' but these subjects have their own entries.

The article's last section deals with Fog's relation to World-Jumping. In the early third century (N.E.), Dwarven runologist, Mulnak zun Aimar (61-338 N.E. (A.D. 1568-1845)) noticed that when certain humans enter 'nebel anfällig' (Fog-prone) areas, Fog will gradually manifest and thicken, generating by their very presence. After years of experimentation, he discovered that these humans bear a previously unknown magic that makes them sensitive to Fog.

You're no physicist, but the following paragraphs summarize scientific theories that read like retellings of relativity and quantum mechanics mixed with gobbledygook about 'panpsychism' and the 'Platonic realm'. You suspect the author doesn't understand any of this either. However, the brilliant Mulnak used these principals to construct massive, torus-shaped 'Resonance Keys' in the Fog-prone Ardey Hills outside Dortmund.

With the aid of humans with the magical trait, Mulnak's machines harnessed the Fog and opened a number of 'portals' to a location three million miles 'down the Ring'--a public park in rural Jaganma. On April 2nd, 273 N.E. (A.D. 1780), a small expeditionary force led by the Dwarf made first contact with a group of terrified picnic-goers and a surprisingly cool-headed policeman. No shots were fired, officials on both sides met and history was made.

The article neglects to detail what happens next (doubtless the intended audience would already know), but it does explain that the portals have for the past seventy years been dutifully maintained by 'Welt-Springen' humans. Mulnak's Resonance Keys were soon made obsolete by the adoption of Jaa'hanan 'Witchboards'--rune-carved, gem-powered tables used to control magical effects or apparatuses. The ones used for portals are fitted with heartstones.

"Nothing else here," Eddie says. "Just models and science fiction books. He's got a box of old Analogs, but water's gotten to them."

"Let's get out of here," Helen says. "It's smelling up again."

They climb back up, Helen with a filthy olive-green bag over her shoulder and the carbine in her hand. Digging ammo from the bag's zippered pouch, she loads the firearm and its two extra cylinders, which she shoves into her vest.

Eddie wags his flashlight at Maribel's book. "You learn how to contact fairies?"

"Not yet. But there's instructions on going into a trance. That way the fairies can talk through me."

"Talk through you? Like, possess you?" Helen asks.

"They'll only do that if they're evil," Maribel says. "And there's spells to keep bad fairies away. And I'll also have these to protect me." She pulls out her spoon and paper ball of herbs.

The rest of you exchange doubtful looks.

"I can heartstone her if she goes Evil Dead on us," Eddie says. "If it works on Fog-tripping, it might work on fairies too. And assuming they're not assholes, we can ask them about the Fog. By the way, what did the encyclopedia have to say?"

You hesitate but decide to just tell him. "Well, from what I've read, this Fog is maybe . . . sort of . . . your fault."

You summarize the article, including the story of Mulnak's experiments. Eddie chews his lip rings as he listens. He shines his flashlight out the attic window. The inky Fog swallows the beam.

"So I caused this," he says, "just by being here."

You nod. "Like you said, these woods are a 'weak spot' in the world. But the Fog's not out all the time. It only appeared now because it was responding to your World-Jumper power."

"Thanks, Eddie!" Helen says with false cheer.

"Whatever! How was I supposed to know I have dimension wizard genes?"

"It might be my fault too," Maribel says. "I can make the Fog-runes too. They're just not as good as Eddie's."

You raise a hand. "'Fault' maybe the wrong word. No one's blaming anyone, but if the World-Jumper power got us into this . . ."

" . . . then it's up to a World-Jumper to get us out," Eddie finishes. In the poor lighting he appears paler, thinner.

Helen slaps him on the back. "Come on, it can't be that hard. Uncle Grubb did it for sixty years. You just need to find the magic diagrams he used and redraw them, right?"

Mouth closed, Eddie runs his tongue across his teeth. He pulls the heartstone from his pocket and ponders its dim blood radiance. "Right."

Helen and Eddie carry the antique radio down the stairs while Maribel holds the other two volumes of the Zyklopädie. As you follow, you look over the articles on 'feen' and 'fischmenschen.'

Neither are particularly informative. The overall consensus is that fairies and fish-men are real, but their nature is debatable. For fairies (or spirits in general), the competing theories are that they are 1) entities from another realm, 2) deceased souls or 3) 'thought forms.' Current evidence both supports and contradicts each of these, though the first and second are the most popular.

Spirits are found in isolated, Fog-prone locales, usually woodlands. Their dispositions run the gamut between congenial tricksters to violent demons. The Zoubartic Church views them with suspicion, though among the polytheistic faiths of the Jaa'hanans, spirits are revered as angels or minor deities.

As for fish-men, while unseen in modern times (Captain Meero's encounters over a century ago mark their last credible appearance), their sightings are frequent enough throughout history that their existence is undisputed. They are thought to live in aquatic cities, either under the sea or in other-dimensional 'water realms.' They usually interact with panhumanity in remote fishing villages, and their aims involve breeding to create hybrid abominations (though to what end is anyone's guess). Fish men are associated with 'Mother Hydra' and 'Father Dagon,' demonic Jaa'hana deities with illegal cults along rural coastal communities.

In the dark great hall, Helen connects a fresh propane tank to the generator. In the study, Eddie opens his laptop. He checks his phone.

"My phone's one minute ahead. They had the same time before."

Maribel turns on her tablet and compares it to her phone. "Mine's a minute fast too."

"We were outside for how long, ten, fifteen minutes?" Eddie asks. "That's like a ten percent increase."

Though eerie, this revelation is hardly noteworthy, considering everything else. The generator gently thrums to life, washing the great hall with lamplight.

"Let me see your saber, Goosie," you say. "I want to try something in the basement."

Helen tugs the sword from her belt and feigns throwing it. She chuckles when you flinch and instead hands it to you sheathed and hilt-first.

"Want to see if it cuts brick?" she asks.

"Something like that," you say.

Maribel points at the halberd lying by the back door. "Use the magic ax!"

"No, I like my eardrums," you say.

Sitting cross-legged on the checkerboard floor, Helen plugs in the radio and fiddles until the yellow station display lights up and the machine hums. She twists the dials, scanning, but only a faint crackle emanates from the worn cloth speakers.

"These old sets take a while to warm up," you say. "We'll be right back."

You and Eddie descend the wooden stairs to the basement. The great hall was dark, but here the blackness clings to the air like a gelatinous mass. Your flashlights, dimming from drained batteries, emit only sickly swaths through the dust and cobwebs.

After you translate for him the different titles on the shelves, he decides that Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie is the best place to begin. So he'll have a reference while you help him read, Eddie takes pictures of the runic table (or 'Witchboard'), capturing every marking and carving around the central heartstone. Meanwhile, you test Aunt Esha's saber against the alcove's red bricks.

Unlike the wood floor, you have to work some muscle for the black blade to sink in. You chisel a thin vertical canyon. Brick flakes salt your hair and shirt. The dry smell of masonry fills your nostrils. Behind you, the flashes of Eddie's phone flickers your shadow on the wall.

"You know," he says, "if I'm spawning the Fog, then driving out of here isn't a bad idea. As soon as we pass the 'border,' then the Fog should go back to sleep."

"And what if Goosie and I start daydreaming in the backseat?" you ask.

"Maribel can bonk you with the heartstone. It'll only take a few minutes to reach the highway."

Assuming the highway's still there. "Even with your Fog Sight, driving through this at night isn't safe."

Eddie snaps photos of the dirt runes in front of the metal doors. He keeps his distance. "Then we wait until morning. The way the sun's flying, that won't be long."

"We'll discuss it then," you say.

You've carved a yard long scar into the brick wall, but it's only a centimeter or so deep. While the saber remains unblunted, you'd make better progress with the sledgehammer. You sheath the sword. You'll come back later.

You head upstairs. Eddie says he needs to take a dump. While he's in the bathroom, you enter the bedroom behind the stairway. The dresser's drawer is still open, and you gather up the remaining dollar bills. Aside from the twenties with Roosevelt's portrait, the tens celebrate the American Bison, and the fifties show a mustached man named, 'Clark Savage.' The rugged, lantern-jawed face is familiar but not the one you know. He must be the father of the famous 1930's millionaire. The single one hundred you find features Abe Lincoln.

Including what's already in your pocket, you count up the tidy sum of $560.

You're leaving the room and are about to put the money away when Eddie steps into the hall.

"I didn't hear you flush," you say.

"Shitty plumbing. Don't go in there." He shines his flashlight at your hands and laughs. "Are those Teddy-bucks? Where do you think you're going to spend those?"

You stuff them in your wallet. "Just in case."

"Burt, I don't know what's going on outside this Fog, but if the sun's rising and setting, we're not on the Ringworld."

"Not yet."

He snorts. "Touche."

An electronic gargling plays through the great hall. Your sisters are hunched over the radio, and as Helen tunes the receiver, the noise oscillates between highs and lows, sounding too much like moaning. Tongue peeping out the corner of her mouth, your twin looks more irritated than afraid, though the carbine by her side doubtless bolsters her courage. In contrast, Maribel is timidly mousy. At least this time there's no demonic voices.

"I didn't think it would work," Eddie says.

"Stupid ghost radio," Helen mutters before switching off the set.

In the study, the generator's lamps light a cozy haven in the premature night. Everyone sits on their sleeping bags. Maribel continues with The Biology of Woodland Fairies while Helen starts on Uncle Grubb and Elfstar's letters. Eddie boots up the old computer and loads the spreadsheet program. Together with his phone and your translation, he learns about runology.

Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie is a thaumatological textbook published in 352 N.E. (or, A.D. 1859). The contents cover the advanced grammar and interactions between the five primary runic 'schools.' Three of these are associated with different Elvish faiths, one is solely the domain of the Dwarves and the last is the creation of the Zoubartic Church.

Runes are used to augment, propagate or defend against magical effects. That much you already know, but the book delves into the metaphysical 'why.' There's a lot on Plato and Aristotle, as well as the sixteenth century alchemists, Paracelsus and Cardano. The explanations about 'eternal objects' and 'irreducible semantics' fly over your head, but Eddie more or less follows along. As before, he semi-recognizes some of the runes.

One page shows the etched cross symbol you remember from the stone block in the lakebed. The inked, spiraled pattern twitches like a dying spider.

Eddie taps it. "This, it protects from 'bad vibes.'"

You read its description; sure enough, it wards off Gnostic, or mental, attacks. "You can tell just by looking at it?"

"Like I said before, it's self-evident. You might as well ask me, 'How do you know a circle's round?'

He searches for runes in the spreadsheet program and tinkers with various plugins. The algorithms are complex enough that it'd take years to comprehend the subject, but as you read the chapter on 'sequencing,' you have reason to believe that dispelling the Fog might not be as difficult as you feared.

Some runes, such as most used for weapons, are 'passive' and only come into effect when used. Others, such as those used in protective wards, are 'active,' in that they're always 'on.' Active runes decay faster than passive ones, requiring periodic recopying, and while the textbook doesn't specify where 'Fog control' runes lie on this dichotomy, Eddie is convinced they must be active.

He swipes through a few images on his phone. You lean closer, rubbing your arms against a sudden chill. The photos of the Witchboard fail to capture the eerie unreality of its carved runes (though the doll faces still creep you out) but Eddie can almost divine their purpose.

He nods at Helen, who's uncharacteristically focused on her reading. "Goosie's right: I have to redo the right runes. But that might take a while. I can 'feel' what each of them mean, but they're layered and have subtext. I'm like a five year old trying to read Hamlet. Anyway, I want to go back to the basement and study the Witchboard."

"Uncle Grubb talks about the Witchboard," Helen says. "He used it to 'align' to that other Earth, the 1920's one with psychic elf gangsters."

"Does he say anything about controlling the Fog?" Eddie asks.

"I don't know," Helen says. "I haven't read them all. He tells Elfstar it's getting harder to go through the 'portal.' The 'bypass' through 'Troll land' is growing longer, and it's going to get worse because of 'cosmic drift.' He says Aunt Esha would have known how to fix it."

"When was that letter written?" Eddie asks.

Helen ruffles through the pages in her lap. "That one, 1979. Elfstar says he wants to leave his Atlantis cult and move to the other Earth. He says ours is going to 'transmigrate' soon, and when it does someone's going to panic and push the red button. And then the Deep Ones will take over what's left. At least the other Earth has a future. He wants to help the Elves there rise up against the humans.

"Uncle Grubb doesn't like that. He tells Elfstar those Elves aren't 'his people.' They're 'degenerate savages' that his mother's people, the Jaga-whatever, ruled over in their colonies. Uncle Grubb then says some bullshit about skull-shapes and brain pans. And then in the next letter, Elfstar calls him a Nazi."

"Wow," Eddie says. "Uncle Grubb's racist."

You don't like it either, but you try to be fair. "He was a product of his time. Winston Churchill said some pretty nasty things."

"Doesn't make it right," Helen says.

"No, it doesn't," you say. "But he was a German aristocrat in a nineteenth century-ish world. What did you expect?"

"Good point," Helen says. She wraps an arm across Maribel's shoulders. "And he got mom and dad to adopt you, so he must have mellowed out."

"Is there any more on Deep Ones?" you ask "Or about the Fog?"

"Yeah, there is . . ."

Helen shuffles through the letters one-handed while her other arm remains around Maribel. But your baby sister doesn't seem to notice. Is she upset by what Helen's read? No, her slack expression looks more bewildered than disturbed. Her eyes gravitate towards the window. The lamps and night make a smoky mirror of the glass, but something about the dark outside sends prickles down your spine.

Helen runs her finger down a sheet. "Elfstar had a lot of money on the other Earth, so he bought the land around Black Mesa, New Mexico."

"The government lab?" Eddie asks. He too is staring out the window.

"This was 1920," Helen says. "Back then it was just canyons. But Elfstar says it's 'Foggy,' so he wants to use it to make a portal to another world that he hopes will be 'the promised land.' But he's not a World-Jumper, so he's trying to get Uncle Grubb or Mama or Papa to help him. But Uncle Grubb's all like--"

"Hold on," Eddie says. He stands up. His wide blue eyes seem to bore through the walls. "Something's wrong."

"I think I feel it too," you say.

You and Helen climb to your feet. She cocks her carbine's lever; you pull the triple-barreled shotgun from your back. Its weight gives you comfort.

Helen is in the great hall. She stalks in a circle on the checkerboard floor, glaring at each window and door. She keeps her rifle pointed down, but it's held ready.

You and Eddie herd around her, Maribel trailing haltingly behind. An icy presence seeps through the walls and dulls the lamplight to a watery gray. A fathomless dread embraces you.

"The fishies are here," Maribel whispers.

You shiver. Your teeth chatter. A mad impulse urges you to throw open the front doors and flee into the Fog. You cannot win. All is lost.

You swallow these craven impulses, but the defeatism rakes in your mind's depths.

Helen's wild eyes tell you she shares your fear, but there's strength in her snarl. Eddie holds his golden revolver with a trembling hand, his other clutching the heartstone to his chest. Its smoldering glow highlights his pale, sweating features. In the middle of you all, Maribel hugs her arms and whimpers.

By the back door sit the crate full of tools and wood planks. "We should board up the windows," you say.

"There's no time," Eddie says. With the gun, he gestures around him. "They're right outside. I can feel them. Let's lock ourselves in the basement. If I have access to the Witchboard, I might be able to turn off the Fog."

"How long will that take, hours?" Helen says. Her voice is wound up; she's nearly panting. She tilts her head at the curving stairs. "No, we throw some tables and chairs up there, make a barricade. When the fishes break in, we'll have the high ground. We'll shoot the fuck out of them!"

"I think we should ask the fairies for help," Maribel says. She toes the Ouija board left abandoned on the floor. "I can do it with that."

"Uncle Grubb calls them 'Woodlands' in the letters," Helen says. Her giggle is high, ragged. "It doesn't sound like he liked them, but he liked the Deep Ones even less."

Your heart hammers. They might smash through at any moment. What do you do?

***

Chapter End Time
Saturday, August 8th, 2015
(Your phone) 11:55 AM

***

Next, I'll update inventory, the maps and the Notes and Reference. Voting will remain open until the evening of next Saturday, April 30th.

If you like this quest, please vote. I've streamlined the voting options, and of course, given this chapter's ending, more of the options aren't immediately relevant.

Author's Notes:
This was a hard one to write. As @Nevill put it before, it was 'a bit on the checkbox side,' especially when it came to writing the ~~wiki articles~~ 'Burt reads a book' parts. The challenge with those is to be as concise as possible while still keeping the contents both 1) informative and 2) entertaining. A lot of it (especially background on both E-1507 Germany and Jaganma) I had to cut because it wasn't relevant to the articles. And this chapter has a high enough word count as it is.

Also, I commissioned character portraits for an ad banner I plan on making, since I can't very well use pictures of celebrities and stuff ripped from tumblr. I'm happy with how they turned out. Anyway, they were done by 89dery. She was surprisingly cheap, though I notice she's just raised her prices.

New options are in blue. I've marked in red the winning/accepted votes that this chapter didn't fulfill (or are currently 'in play'). You can add your vote to these options or elaborate. If you're the one who voted for them last chapter, you can change your vote, clarify something or elaborate.

Bear in mind, most of the queued votes aren't immediately relevant now, so feel free to ignore them if you want.

The four of you sense an evil presence. Eddie and Maribel feel the Deep Ones are just outside.
[ ] Try to board up the windows.
[ ] Retreat to the basement, lock the door.
[ ] Use furniture to make a barricade on the landing midway up the stairs.
[ ] It's probably just our imagination. Let's get back to reading.
[ ] Have another idea? Write in.

Should Maribel try to contact the fairies?
[ ] Yes
[ ] No
[ ] Write in.

If you try to board up the windows, is there anything you would like to add?
[ ] Write in.

If you retreat into the basement, is there anything you would like to add?
[ ] Write in.

If you use furniture to make a barricade on the stairs' landing, is there anything you would like to add?
[ ] Write in.

Are there any items you would like to make sure you have? Or is there anything you would like to do concerning weapons, inventory, ammunition, etc?
[ ] Write in.

If combat occurs, is there any tactical ideas you have in mind?
[ ] Write in.

Below are the votes yet to be played and 'in play' right now. Feel free to change your vote or elaborate. Or you can just ignore this section.

Four 5-gallon water jugs are left in the trailer.
[ ] Everyone go out together and get then.
[ ] Eddie and Maribel go out and get them while you and Helen watch from the front doors.
[6] Leave the water in the trailer for now.
-[X] We have four 5-gallon water jugs, that's about 80 litres. If we're careful about consumption that will last us for quite a while; making food, washing and staying hydrated can be done on a scale of ~2 litres a person a day in a temperate climate, so we've got almost three weeks' supply already if we're careful.
[ ] Write in.

Helen thinks Eddie should drive us out of the Fog.
[ ] Yes, we should have Eddie drive us out of here.
-[X] We might not still be on Earth with the Fog being what it is...should check.
[12] No, it's too dangerous.
-[X] We have found a lot of helpful things in the house so far. We should look for more before leaving.
-[X] The way out feels less safe now than it did before we went out into the fog; Eddie driving us out using the hearthstone is a plan of desperation, not least due to the risk of us idly stepping out of the vehicle as it's moving or something...
-[X] Given the effect it has on the two H's, we realistically cannot leave the house until we've done *something* about the Fog.
[X] The runes let us see in the fog, rather than driving the fog back (look at how each of us can see a different distance, based on how attuned we are to magic). I think right now we should aim to leave about when we originally planned - after staying three days. (Conditionally Accepted, may be discussed later)

Maribel wants to contact the fairies. (Instructions in The Biology of Woodland Fairies)
[5] Yes
-[X] But try to find out more about them first.
-[X] Eddie should keep an eye on her, but should not interfere unless there is a dire need.
-[X] Let her try and talk to the faeries, after discussing the plan with you and the others. Eddie should stay near her, so he can drag her back if she decides to do something stupid, like enter the woods. If you have found rope, tie a rope to her for extra safety.
[ ] No, not now

The brick wall in the alcove seems to have once been a doorway. What do you want to do?
[5] Not urgent, but I want to smash this down and see what's behind it.
-[X] I don't think this is likely to be dangerous like the metal doors, but it could be pretty time-consuming. Test a brick or two; if they seem supremely easy to move then let's go ahead and check behind there, otherwise let's do it later. (I agree there's a good chance it's Esha's grave...)
-[X] After retrieving supplies from outside, see if you can knock down the bricks. A secret passageway, perhaps?
[ ] Leave it be. We'll worry about it once we know more about magic.
[ ] Write in.

Any strategies concerning Eddie and Maribel's powers?
[8] Maribel seems to be happy practicing with her powers on her own; Eddie's seem to be more draining. We should be making an ongoing effort to find texts for them to learn from, safe-seeming artifacts for them to practice with, etc. These powers are likely to be vital at some stage.
-[X] Have them continue to use them for the sake of practice, to gain greater familiarity with their powers.
-[X] Eddie should read the books from the basement. They seem like they would help him.
--[2]Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie(Klostermann's Theoretical Runeology) (Accepted)
-[X] Helen or Burt should read the books about elves, see what Maribel should be capable of and how to best develop her. There are some books on phenomenas among elves. (Helen will readPsychical Phenomena Among the Elves)
-[X] Encourage them to experiment in areas without important books and where they won't do a lot of damage otherwise. Let them decide for themselves how to best go about it.

-[5] Preserve the wood cut out from the floor and use it to try and close off the broken windows. Perhaps combined with some plastic sheets?

[X] Try to use Aunt Esha's sword on the bricked over section in the basement. (You did, it might be easier to just use the sledgehammer.)
-[X] And the safe.
-[X] Proceed with caution - they may be closed for a reason, and we don't want to damage anything inside.
-[X] Try to use the halberd if the sword does not work well on the bricks. (Compromise: It will be discussed. Using an explosive weapon in an enclosed space may be unwise.)

What else should you do?
[10] Stay together.
-[2] At least until we've dealt with the Fog, we should probably go easy on splitting up.(Accepted)
-[2] Use the instructions in The Biology of Woodland Fairies to contact the fairies. (Accepted, after Maribel reads up on them)
--[1] Read it first. Are the fairies going to know anything about the runic diagram? Maaaaybe? If so, we want to ask them about it.
-[ ] Read something from the attic.
--[ ] The Elvish-Germanese dictionaries .
--[ ] The Elvish children's books.
---[ ] Shubba und Wolff's Illustriertes Deutsche-Jahag Wörterbuch (Illustrated dictionary)
---[ ] Write in
--[ ] Ein Elfen Odyssee: Kapitän Meero D'Mirsky die Reise in die Venda-Ka Abfall. ('An Elvish Odyssey')
--[3] Die Magie der Welt-Springen. ('The Magic of World Jumping') (Accepted)
---[3] Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie(Klostermann's Theoretical Runeology) still takes priority, though.
--[ ] Look in the attic for something else to read. Anything specific?
-[5] Try to translate more of Uncle Grubb's journals (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[3] We should read Die Magie der Welt-Springen instead. (Accepted)
--[X] We should definitely keep doing this, but it's not a priority right now. (Accepted, Eddie's reading takes priority)
--[X] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic content. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Go back to the 'Germanese' notes Uncle Grubb made in the hieroglyphic book. (Note: Your skills with Latin will help).
--[ ] Use the old spreadsheet program to try to decipher some of the runic conent. (Note: The glossary in Die Welt der Zwerge und Trolle may also help)
-[ ] Try to translate the letters found in the closet (You can only try to translate the 'Germanese' ones).
-[ ] Read a book from the library.
--[ ] The Encyclopedia Britannica.
--[1] Have Helen read Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves .Helen barely even skimmed this. (for information on Maribel's powers) (Accepted, but reading the correspondence takes priority)
--[ ] The World Almanacs.
--[ ] The Lost Treasure of Min'Karanda
--[ ] Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves .Helen barely even skimmed this.
--[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
-[ ] Read another book from the study.
--[ ] Read The Biology of Woodland Fairiesand see if Eddie missed anything.
--[ ] Read Visions of Y'ha-nthlei, see if Eddie missed anything.
--[ ] Read On God's Ring: The Great Transmigration and the New Age of Colonialism yourself, see if you can catch anything Eddie missed.
--[ ] Look over the science books and the map. (Note: You probably lack the necessary science skills to understand this)
-[ ] Read the Elvish religious book (?) found in the attic tower (Note: You don't know Elvish. Even with the children's dictionary, this will take a long time to translate).
-[1] Read a book in the basement.
--[1] Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie(Klostermann's Theoretical Runeology) (Accepted, will help Eddie translate.)
--[ ] Das Neue Platonismus (The New Platonism)
--[ ] Eine Abhandlung über Panpsychismus (A Treatise on Panpsychism)
--[ ] Void , Substanz und das Träumen Gott(Void, Substance and the Dreaming God)
--[ ] Das Welt und das Abyss (The World and the Abyss)
--[ ] Or something else? What are you looking for?
-[ ] Read something in the rec room.
--[ ] 'Zyklopädie der Neuen Welt' ('Cyclopedia of the New World')
--[ ] Try to translate the Elvish encyclopedia.
--[ ] Try to translate the Elvish diary.
--[ ] Examine the hieroglyphic book with the strange blueprints.
--[ ] Read Uncle Grubb and Elfstar's correspondence.
---[2] Have Helen read Uncle Grubb and Elfstar's correspondence. (Accepted)
-[ ] Try to analyze the 'anomalous audio' from Maribel's EVP tape.
--[ ] Anything to look for specifically? Any specific methods? Write in.
-[ ] Experiment with the Ouija board and tape recorder. See if you can replicate what happened last night.
--[ ] Write in.
-[ ] Continue exploring
--[ ] The roof deck. Try to find a way up there.
--[ ] Explore somewhere else? Write in.
-[ ] Try to connect the rec room's 16mm projector and play reels of film.
-[ ] Play music from the rec room's Elvish photograph.
-[1] Look for specialized literature on the following subjects: elves, Heartstone, Spinoza's Fog (or Spinozas Nebel), Welt-Springer (it's a dynasty, what are they known for?), D'yute (or the Autumn city), and any of related entries that can help us determine what we are currently dealing with. What books might be of interest to us? That should narrow down our immediate reading list that has grown completely out of proportions. (Accepted)
-[1] Start rationing food and water. Don't use the shower. (Accepted)
-[2] Get started on translating a Germanese text. An introductory, practical text on rune magic, if one is available. If not, then Klostermanns Theoretisch Runelogie. (Accepted)
[X] When you pass by the bedroom behind the stairway, grab the rest of the Teddy Roosevelt dollars. You might end up in Earth 1901, in which case local currency would be helpful.
-[ ] Write in.

If you read a book or do some other solo activity, what should the others do?
-[3] This is lower priority than the trailer, but -- we have a lot of books we need to absorb information from. I would like to distribute the task of book-reading and information-collection.
--[3] In particular, Maribel seems to have an interest in the Elvish/German illustrated dictionary. Also, there seems to be a good chance that she has elf blood, and the concept of genetic memory may not be pure woo in this world. Maybe she'll have an easier time learning Elvish than us? Let's try to push this a little farther, see if, say, using the illustrated dictionary as a reference, she can make out the meaning of the Elvish children's books. Maybe this is the thing that the stone-experimentation is the carrot for. (Attempted, didn't work. May try again later?)
---[X] If this turns out to be a complete dead-end, Maribel can instead read The Biology of Woodland Fairies. (Accepted)
---[X] Have Maribel read something from the attic.
----[X] The Elvish children's books. (for teaching Maribel Elvish) (Accepted, bur reading about fairies takes priority)
--[2] Have Eddie read a book from the basement.
---[2] Whatever Eddie thinks useful. (for information on Eddie's powers)
---[2] Meanwhile, have Eddie or Helen read Psychical Phenomena Among the Elves. It may help understand Maribel's magic. (Accepted, Helen will read)
---[2] Have Helen read Uncle Grubb and Elfstar's correspondence.
----[X] Don't force the issue. If they want to do something else that makes sense, let them.

Priorities:
[2] Fog first, fog first, fog first. I think if we can make progress with one problem, we'll all feel a lot better about our chances here.
-[X] I guess some reading is a worthwhile approach there - trying to find a later part of Grubb's journals? Using the Encyclopedia? Or more exploration of the rune program?
--[X] Additionally this might be sorta cheating, but asking our sibs for ideas might be a good idea. Keep them involved.
[8] I think we need to focus on getting information, particularly learning Elvish.
[1] If we're short of other ideas, trying to contact the Fairies might be worth a try, they do live here after all. Hell, they might even remember what Grubb used to do about the Fog...
[6] Priority is to conserve our current modern resources. Figure out more about the fog and world jumping. Also, DO NOT SPLIT THE PARTY when dealing with the fog.
[5] Survival utility (gas, food, tools, knowledge of terrain) should be most important right now.
[2] If the basement turns out to be safe it may make more sense to bunker down there for the night, and trust the big heavy door.
[1] Let's get back to exploring the areas of the house we haven't seen yet, especially given that the time dilation effect may potentially be triggered by or affecting things inside the house with us and that the fog doesn't appear to be an immediate threat to us while we're holed up inside.
[1] Reading is important, but exploring everything (except what is behind that dangerous door in the basement) is more urgent. There could be very important things in those places.

Uncle Grubb's Mysterious Mansion [Quest, Original Setting]

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