Cross, Massachusetts, does not hold sole proprietorship over the strange and unusual in these United States. Granted, we have more than our fair share at times, and Gods’ Hollow is without a doubt a great contributor to this.
When the War of the Rebellion began in 1861, with the southern states seceding from the Union, I enlisted with the Federal army. Not because I felt particularly compelled to preserve the Union – though it did play a small factor – but because I had seen the better part of two centuries at that point, and I was in dire need of diversion.
Killing, I confess, is occasionally a chore I enjoy.
When I joined for the duration of the war, which no one believed would be long, I anticipated a fair amount of marching and a touch of killing when called on. What I did not expect were the damned monsters that cropped up along the way.
In one sense, they broke up the monotony of Army life. I knew how to fight them and what they were. What was unnecessary as far I was concerned was the sheer number of monsters that I came into contact with.
More often than not, I found them after a battle, which led me to volunteer for late-night missions to look for the wounded. It did not take my officers long to understand that something was hunting our men, and they quickly utilized my talents.
I have hunted a great many beasts, both natural and supernatural, in my time. Those drunk on the blood and flesh of Union and Secesh alike were dangerous, risking exposure in order to feast.
In the following pages, I will record some of the more entertaining and illuminating incidents. Mainly because this winter is longer than I would like it to be, and I struggle with the desire to rid Cross of several annoying citizens.
Duncan Blood, March 1st, 1934
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