Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: Unknown (2)

At times, I am unable to discover the ‘why’ of an event. I, like so many others, witness only the aftermath.

Such was the case with the death of Padraic Collum.

He went down into the basement of the Wadsworth Building on the corner of Washington Street and Elm. A short time later, his coworkers heard him scream, beg, and then the left side of the building collapsed.

By the time I arrived at the Wadsworth, Padraic was still screaming. An Irishman by birth, he had reverted to Gaelic, and I am thankful no others could understand what he was saying. It is not often you hear a man beg for death, nor hear his own voice answer that death is not coming.

When we cleared the rubble an hour later, Padraic had been silent for half that time.

I alone went down into the hole and saw what had become of him. Something had made an incision in his lower back and carefully eaten every organ. His legs were like deflated bags, the skin loose around the bone. Each scrap of muscle had been devoured the bones gnawed upon.

For several hours, I searched for what could have killed Padraic in such a way. I found nothing except a small tunnel, perhaps large enough for a small child. In the end, I convinced the owner of the Wadsworth to let me fill it.

I am hopeful such an event will never occur again.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #unknown


Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: Unknown

The unknown is far worse than the known. As the saying goes, better the devil you know than the demon you don’t.

Rare are the times in which I find myself afraid. June 17 has, unfortunately, been added to that blessedly short list.

On the evening of the 16th, I found a trio of my sheep butchered. The meat was still there, as were the choicer bits. The animals had simply been killed out of hand, and brutally so. Their throats were torn, and the creatures dragged about as they bled.

They were tortured to death.

The beast which killed them left behind a trial of cloven hooves as if the thing itself walked upright like a man. Wiry gray hair, the thickness of a sewing needle, was occasionally caught upon the branches of trees, and scat left behind was littered with the bones of small animals.

Near the edge of the Hollow, a short distance from one of the stacks of hay the Broullin brothers had harvested, I saw the creature in the starlight. It had horns like a ram’s, and a snout much the same. The beast didn’t wear any clothing, and its gray fur was matted with blood and filth. When it saw me, the beast howled out a challenge and charged, straight into the barrels of both my Colts.

After it collapsed to the ground, dead, I saw the creature transform, as if some glam was removed from it. I no longer looked upon the beast but upon the form of an unknown man.

I left his body to rot in the morning sun and to feed the ravens who roost in my trees.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #wolves

Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: Werewolves (2)

I was too late to save them.

When the news came of the attack, I was deep in Gods’ Hollow, and I raced back to the Cross Hospital. All three of the Murray brothers were there, cared for by their sister, Elaine. When I questioned them about the attack, they described a large, vicious she-wolf which came at them. Sometimes it ran on all fours, at other times raced forward on two legs. Each time it attacked, the she-wolf drew blood, with Richard Murray taking the worst of the blows. As the eldest brother, he had thrown himself in front of his brothers, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered.

Finally, after ten of the most harrowing minutes of their lives, the brothers drove the she-wolf off and managed to drag themselves to safety.

It was as the brothers told their story, and Elaine sat by Richard’s side, that I saw what no others would. Knew, what no one else did.

The brothers would turn at the next rising of the full moon, and that the she-wolf would lead their pack.

I called Elaine into the hall and spoke with her, confirming the damage done to her brothers. She told me how Richard had received the brunt of it all, and his injuries needn’t have been so terrible if he had only stepped aside.

She smiled sadly at me, and I put a bullet through her forehead. I did the same for each of her brothers. It was bad enough they were infected. I did not have the heart to tell them it was Elaine who had done it.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #wolves

Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: The Panther

On June 15, I noticed the two dogs at 11 Elroy Road were missing. The younger son was out and about, calling for them, obviously distressed at their absence. Three days later, at 7 North Road, half a mile from Elroy, all four of the dogs there had vanished.

The process was repeated three more times until a total of twenty-one dogs in all were missing. As with the initial two incidents, there were three days between each. The rhythm struck a chord within me and sent me down into my library to research. When I found what I was looking for, it was already too late for a young man named Eli Watts. He had lived alone at 22 Elroy Road, and there were no more dogs in the area.

I found his remains, and those of all the dogs, in the root cellar of a home last used in 1824. There were two living occupants in the cellar, a cat and a young woman I had recently seen about town. She had gone in and had her portrait done with her cat. A strange thing, to be sure, but Cross is well familiar with the strange and the odd.

The lore I had read told me what she was and why she was dangerous. She was a Panther, and she would sleep for three days, awaken, and call out for her food to come to her.

It always did.

I killed her and her cat, and I locked the door behind me. There was no reason to bring Eli’s half-eaten body home.

The root cellar was as good a grave as any.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #cats

Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: Joro-Gumo

I had heard of them, of course. The Joro-Gumo of Japan were fearsome creatures. They disguised themselves as beautiful women who loitered on darkened paths and in lonely places. Each sought the company of a man, luring him with promises of sex and decadence, preying upon the weak-willed. Once the creature had her prey at home, she reverted to her natural form, a gigantic spider, which readily feasted upon the men.

While I had heard of them in Japan, I had yet to encounter any in the United States, let alone Cross. But, considering the less than desirable aspects of Gods’ Hollow, I should have known it was only a matter of time before one of them arrived.

I was surprised, however, that a pair of them reached Cross.

They hunted together, and it took me three months – and two missing men – before I found them in their lair.

It required my Colts and fire to put an end to the pair of Joro-Gumo, and I was lucky to find their lair when I did. Among the remains of the missing men and others from out of town, I discovered hundreds of eggs ready to hatch. Some of the spiderlings were strong enough to break free and attack me, inflicting painful bites as I set fire to their home and their mothers’ carcasses.

I killed them all, of course, and to this day, I have an aversion to spiders.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #Japan

Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: Anansi

It is always difficult to deal with a God. Especially one the likes of Anansi.

He arrived on a warm day, wearing a large coat and smoking a pipe. While he kept a mild smile on his face, there was a glimmer of wickedness and stupendous intelligence in his eyes, which bade me keep my distance.

I was on the front steps of the Cross Historical Society, smoking my own pipe and waiting for a cousin to arrive when Anansi came down the street. He had a baker’s dozen worth of children following him, calling out and squealing at the silly faces and magnificent jokes he told them. A few parents tagged along as well, and it seemed to me that he paid special attention to them.

It wasn’t until he was abreast of the Society that I heard him speak, and knew him for who – and what – he was. When the knowledge crossed my mind, he turned and winked at me, a subtle sign that I would do well not to interfere.

As I said, it is always difficult to deal with a God.

I kept my peace, and I watched and waited as he tempted the parents closer, whispering to the children and eliciting gales of laughter from the young throats. Finally, the parents – none of whom I recognized – stepped into the circle. Anansi let out a cry of triumph and he vanished.

The children clapped and cheered at his magic, and it took them all several minutes to realize the parents were gone.

Why he took them, or where he took them to, is unknown. When he returns to Cross, I’ll have a word with Anansi about the incident, God or not.

I ended up caring for a trio of siblings for the better part of a decade, and I’d like to know if the joke was meant for me or someone else.

Either way, it sure as hell wasn’t funny.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #Anansi

Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: The Clurachan

There are times when the world of the Fey has interjected itself painfully into our own. Deaths have occurred, firstborn sons have been snatched, and death has run rampant.

June 12 was not one of those occasions.

A Clurachan arrived in Cross sometime shortly after midnight, though I am not really certain as to how or why. Perhaps it heard of the shipment of whiskey. Maybe it was truly a lucky creature.

Regardless as to the how or why, the Clurachan discovered the large shipment of whiskey, and – true to all its kind – fell upon the liquor with great alacrity.

Within the space of six hours, the damned thing drank over $150,000 dollars-worth of whiskey. No mean feat for any creature, let alone one the size of a toddler.

While the shipping company complained greatly about the damage to their reputation – and bars and hotels around the Boston area were distraught – I have to say it was not done without a sense of humor by the Clurachan.

He left behind a note, written in beautiful Gaelic, about the fine aftertaste of the whiskey and the generally pleasant atmosphere of Cross.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #whiskey