July 10, 1920


Claire Genest was a chemist. A brilliant young woman with a knack for weights, measurements, and the knowledge of how to combine common chemicals to produce an explosive. She was the one who had designed the bomb, assembled it, and taught the others how to install it. Claire was, by all reports, a woman worthy of both fear and respect.

Unfortunately, she suffered from a tremendous amount of confidence.

I spent the majority of the night of the ninth into the morning of the tenth traveling to New Hampshire and searching out where I might find Claire. She moved about frequently within the confines of the town of Hudson, New Hampshire, and its neighboring city, Nashua.

Early in the morning, I found her in Nashua and spent a productive morning following her and deciding where it would be best to intercept the young woman and begin a rather vigorous round of questioning.

Around noon, I stopped at a small diner up the street from her place of employment, and I watched while I ate and had a bottle of beer.

At exactly 12:13, according to my watch, Claire Genest made a mistake. A mistake which cost her not only her own life but that of three co-workers and two patrons. In addition to this, it destroyed the small apartment she lived in behind her workplace.

While I was not particularly saddened to see the death of the bomb-maker, I was slightly put out at having to find a different source of information for the next in the chain of command.

While going over information previously gathered, I discovered there was a man by the name of Ian Toll in Nashua.

In the morning, barring any further explosions, I would be able to speak with Mr. Toll and see where the next step might lie.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #killer

July 9, 1920


Middletown, Connecticut, is not a place I would have picked as the home of a revolutionary group. Though, in all honesty, perhaps it wasn’t home so much as a waystation.

I found the Raiders, as they called themselves, on a large farm on the western border of the city. When I came upon them, I discovered the group kitted out in Army gear and going through maneuvers and tactics. The group was impressive for a collection of idiots who had never served a day in their lives, or who had ever been fired upon in anger.

I changed that for them.

As one of their number set a smoke-pot alight, I killed the man, loaded live ammunition into a Lewis machine gun they had somehow acquired, and I began to murder them.

And murder is exactly what it was.

There was nowhere for them to hide. No trenches dug. No embankments to get behind. Nothing. Not a single, solitary place for them to seek refuge.

I used all the ammunition I could find, and when I had expended it all, I destroyed the Lewis gun with several well-placed shots from my Colts.

Then, I strolled out onto their ‘field of honor’ and looked for any survivors. I found five of them among a group of twenty. I killed two of the survivors immediately, to let the other three know I wasn’t in the mood for any nonsense. The next two believed they were brave.

I taught them how wrong they were. It’s amazing how high a man can scream when you’re pushing a knife into an open wound.

When I moved on to the last survivor, he told me what I wanted to know. I killed him quickly.

The other two, I dragged to a log, wired them to it, and then set them on fire.

I had worked entirely too much for a single name and place.

Claire Genest in Hudson, New Hampshire.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #killer

July 8, 1920


Shawn Stanton, I learned, worked as a pharmacist in Norwich, Connecticut. I also learned he had no idea as to why his sister had killed herself in the middle of the street.

The man was not especially distraught to learn of his sister’s passing. I found him at work, ordered a compound from him, and enjoyed a bite to eat at a local restaurant while he finished his shift. He was not a particularly perceptive man, which made it easy for me to follow him to the small house he owned off Washington Street.

I wondered what made him useful to the organization, and when I broke into the house and had him trussed up, I learned why. The man was hoarding medical supplies. Bandages, medicines, even prosthetics. He even had a surgeon’s kit for field work, and I discovered he had served as a medical man in the local sanitary train during the war in Europe.

Since I was rather tired from the extensive amount of hunting and killing, as well as traveling and recuperating, I looked for an alternative to the usual butchery I relied upon. In the man’s well-stocked medicine cabinets, I found my relief.

There are a great many compounds which can cause pain, and I enjoyed my experimentation on the man. By the time midnight came around, I knew all I could want about the organization, and about everything Mr. Stanton had ever done wrong in his life.

In the end, I fed him as much poison as I could, untied him, and watched him vomit his stomach lining out onto the floor of his bathroom. It was a vile smell, but well worth the experience.

I had a plethora of information, a new respect for chemicals, and the opportunity for a good night’s rest.

In the morning, I would travel to Middletown, Connecticut to meet a group known as the Raiders.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #Norwich

July 7, 1920


I was not healing nearly quickly enough, and so I was forced to stop and see an old friend of mine, Doctor Arthur Cook of New London, Connecticut. Arthur and I had served together during the War of the Rebellion, known now as the Civil War.

His utter shock at how little I had aged over the past five decades was replaced by one of amazement when he realized I was walking around with five large-caliber wounds still healing.

I spent an extremely uncomfortable evening in my old friend’s home, stretched out on his dining table as he drank bourbon, complained about politics and dug the bullets out of my chest.

In the end, he recovered all of them, as well as nearly a dozen more which had stubbornly refused to vacate my body of the past two centuries.

When he asked how I had acquired so much lead, I informed him and spent the better part of the night reliving many of my battles. As dawn broke over the horizon and the first of the sea birds could be heard shouting out their calls, my old friend merely shook his head at me.

“I always knew you were stubborn, Duncan,” Arthur told me. “I didn’t realize you were too stubborn to die.”

Which I suppose, is the truest statement I’ve ever heard about myself.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #Norwich

July 6, 1920


I regret to say that Elizabeth Stanton of Brooklyn was the first I could not question directly.

Somehow, she learned of the deaths of her colleagues and was in the middle of taking steps to avoid the same fate when I found her leaving her workplace. She was employed as a truck driver, an occupation she had held since the conclusion of the Great War.

I called out to her, and when she turned around, she put five rounds into my chest. When I drew my pistol, her face paled, and she blew her own brains out in the street.

It took me hours to recuperate, then another two hours to discover where she had lived. I broke into her apartment and searched it diligently. When her two roommates returned home, I had not yet discovered the information I sought. Her roommates, Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Shilsler, were members of the same organization. Specifically, they, like the late Elizabeth Stanton, were part of the logistical team which had moved the explosives.

The women of the organization, I discovered, were made of stronger stuff than the men.

Mrs. Shilsler didn’t utter a single word during the entire time I interrogated her. She died, in fact, without speaking to me, despite the horrific methods I used.

Mr. Shilsler, on the other hand, wept like a babe the instant the knife broke the skin of his forearm. He told me where to find the information I needed, and who the next link in the chain was.

After forcing Mr. Shilsler to write a long and mournful suicide note, one which explained the reason why he tortured and murdered his beloved wife, I assisted him with his own hanging.

With two bodies in the apartment, I took my leave of the place and planned the next steps to get to Norwich, Connecticut, as quickly as possible.

I needed to speak with Shawn Stanton, Elizabeth’s older brother.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #Norwich

July 5, 1920


I found Eugene Lacey walking through his estate on the edge of Yonkers, New York. He was quicker and sharper than I imagined he would be, and he took a good chunk of my right forearm when he shot at me with his bird gun.

The wound did not leave me in the best of moods.

I didn’t kill him, but only because I knew I needed information. So, with both barrels of his shotgun empty, I put a single slug into his stomach. He was a strong bastard, though, and he had almost reloaded the weapon by the time I reached him.

Getting him to talk would be difficult, and it would require work on my part.

I bound him to a tree and did my best to make sure he wouldn’t die right away. Then, I bandaged my arm and decided on how to force him to speak.

Mr. Lacey’s eyes were pits of hatred and fire, and the words which came out of his mouth were far from pleasant. Which suited me fine.

His wound was bad but not as large as I needed it to be. So, I widened it with my knife, just enough. Again, the man impressed me. He didn’t faint, although his torrent of verbal abuse did lessen for a moment.

When I was done with the incision, his volume and creativity increased, and so did mine.

I rested my hand on his stomach and informed him that I was going to be slipping my fingers into his wound and finding a good bit of intestine to work on if he didn’t tell me who was next. Mr. Lacey didn’t believe me, and he told me as much, but with far more colorful vocabulary.

After I dragged a few feet of innards out and coiled them steaming around his neck, he believed me, and he whispered a single name.

Elizabeth Stanton of Brooklyn, NYC.

I finished loading his shotgun for him, handed it over, and walked away. A blast rang out a minute later, and a glance back showed Mr. Lacey’s head was significantly smaller than before.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #Brooklyn

July 4, 1920


Derrick Wright was the money man.

I found him off Newbury Street, working diligently while the nation celebrated its birthday. Being older than the nation, I had no issue with conducting my own business in Mr. Wright’s rather secluded office.

I didn’t mince words with Mr. Wright. Quite plainly, I informed him as to my purpose in the city – specifically, my reason for visiting him.

He was an interesting man, this Mr. Wright. Initially, he attempted to pull out a revolver and threaten me. I broke all the fingers on his right hand and for his effort. His next step was to offer to pay me for my troubles. This cost him the fingers on his left hand. Finally, he said he would be more than happy to inform me as to the next person I should speak with regarding the deaths of my friends.

He directed me to a small notebook he kept in his desk, and I confiscated it without looking at the information. It would either be correct, or it would not.

According to him, I should speak with Eugene Lacey, of Yonkers, New York. Then, believing he had satisfied his commitment to me, Mr. Wright bid me farewell, but I told him that we were not quite finished yet. I wanted to see what Boston harbor looked like from the roof of his fine establishment.

The man readily obliged.

He led the way up to the roof, and though it pained him greatly, he managed to open the doors for me. Once we were there, standing beneath a beautiful night sky, I threw him off the roof. He landed on his head and died far quicker than I would have liked.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #Boston

July 3, 1920


At a little past midnight, I took a canoe out to King George’s Island, the largest of my islands in the lake. When I reached a small cove, I tucked the canoe away, slipped my pistols into their holsters, and made my way further inland. I sat and waited until dawn broke over the horizon, and then I hunted my prey.

I found him encamped on the lee side of the island, where the old fence remained from when the Bloods and the Coffins kept our sheep during hard summers long before the colonies rebelled.

He had radio equipment and a tent, and I found him busy at his work. The stranger moved as if nothing in the world could touch him, and I was pleased to correct this error in his thinking.

I hobbled him with a single shot through his left ankle, then sealed his fate with a second shot to his right. For a short time, he held his tongue.

For a short time.

By mid-morning, once I’d amputated both feet and was slowly roasting them over his fire along with a pot of his coffee, he spoke. He told me of an organization, a group of soldiers and sailors inspired by the recent revolutions in Germany and Russia. The bombing of the Boston to Cross train had been a test run for more ambitious goals.

I asked him the name of the man who was his contact, and at first, the stranger refused. After I force fed him his toes, he told me he spoke with a man named Derrick Wright, in Boston.

Armed with the information I needed, I undid the tourniquets on his ankles and drank my coffee while he bled out.

I would celebrate the fourth in Boston, looking for Mister Derrick Wright.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #Boston

July 2, 1920


Warren Ellis raised the finest bloodhounds east of the Mississippi, and he owed me more favors than he cared to admit.

At sunrise on July 2, I was at his door, banging on it hard enough to set the dogs to howling, which was always a, sure enough, way to get Warren to the door. It did, of course, and I wasn’t surprised or bothered when the door swung open, and Warren was there in his nightshirt, with a sawed-off twelve-gauge aimed at my belly.

Inside the house, we drank a good deal of coffee laced with whiskey and set about deciding which dog to take with us. Her name was Queen, and she was the finest bloodhound I’d ever set my eyes on. With the dog on a lead, Warren and I rode into town in his buckboard. At the train station, the Cross Police distracted the Federal agents long enough for Queen to get a scent.

She tracked for nearly two miles before coming the long way to the North Road. Once there, she moved back toward Gods’ Hollow, then she led us down a cut to where the land met with Blood Lake. It was there she lost the scent, but the three of us looked out across the water for a long time. Finally, Warren said, “I suspect they’re on one of your islands, Duncan.”

I agreed with him, and I added they were most likely going to die on one of them as well.


#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood

July 1, 1920


I returned home on the morning train from Boston. Several friends with whom I had served in the British Army accompanied me to Cross, where they would take the next train down to Worcester. Unfortunately for all concerned, someone blew up the train.

I was injured, as were two of my friends. Three more were slain. As I lay on the siding, with a member of the Red Cross tending to me, I listened to my friend Charles breathe his last. He had survived nearly four years of combat, and he had been killed in my town, visiting me.

Inspectors from as far away as Washington, DC would travel to go over the damage and to question the survivors.

Beneath the blankets though, as the cool morning transformed into the first day of July, my body healed as only it could. Bones knitted themselves and sinew stitched. Blood sealed holes and skin crept back into place. By evening, I was bloody and battered, but ready to do what was necessary.

Over the course of July, I would hunt down those who had killed my friends, and I would exact no small measure of vengeance.


#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood