Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: Home


It stands as I left it: burnt and bereft of life.

I hated those who lived in it, and when I was done killing them all, I made certain no one could live in their home.

In 1764, I swept through the home with nothing more than a warclub crafted for me by the Iroquois. With it, I brained the father and mother, and I dragged their corpses through the house for their grown son and daughter to see. I killed the son and the daughter, the servants, and the relatives living in other parts of the home.

The only living thing in the house to survive my rage was their dog, and I kept him with me for another decade before he passed.

Over the next century, whenever I would travel, I would hunt down and butcher whatever relatives of theirs I might find. All were slain with the warclub.

What, some may ask, did they do to offend me so, and why the warclub?

The father beat my sister to death when they were both seventeen. Why do I mention this now, on the 29th of June, 1911? Because some foolish prat came into town and bragged about how he was going to claim the familial estate.

It’s been close to a century since I killed any of that line. So tonight, I took my time.

It felt good to swing my warclub again.

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

Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: Undead


They came shambling out of Gods’ Hollow. Dozens of them. Vacant-eyed and voracious, they devoured everything they could fit into their mouths. Insects, animals, trees, and grass. The alarm went up quickly and soon I, along with several cousins and some of the Coffins, hurried to the North Road.

The fight was no mere slaughter. It took us some time to realize the only way to kill the beasts was to destroy their brains, and it was not without cost.

My cousin, Octavius, was visiting from Norway, and he was the first of several family members to fall. To him also went the horrific honor of being the first to rise. He joined with the beasts and fell upon Derris Coffin, infecting him before Derris blew out what was left of Octavius’ brains.

By the end of the battle, we learned that we had been fighting the undead and that the bites transferred whatever virus controlled them.

I have been called upon to commit many acts of which I am not proud. One of them was the execution of those infected by the dead. The fact that those bitten begged for release does not, as far as I am concerned, mitigate the deed, or make the act any more acceptable.

It is a terrible thing to shoot your relatives in the back of the head, especially when they are relatives whose company you enjoyed.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #undead #zombie

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

Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: The Seer


On June 11, I sat in the Cross train station, waiting for the morning train and passing the time with Daniel Starke. When she wandered in from the platform, the room went cold, and the woman stopped and looked at me with her single, blind eye.

She wore a sign labeling her as blind, and beggars permit for New York City. When she spoke, her breath was that of the grave, and her words were the only ones I have heard spoken with death in every syllable.

“Duncan Blood,” she said, “Death comes to Cross today, though it is not for you or yours. Go to your home and wait for Death’s passing.”

I knew her then for a Seer, and since I have never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I took my leave of the station, with Daniel Starke laughing at my foolishness.

The Seer followed me, moving faster and with a surer step than any seeing person could. From behind me, she called out to others, bidding them to hasten home. A few listened, though far more avoided her and refused to acknowledge her warnings.

She remained on Main Street as I went home. I made a strong pot of coffee and waited.

By mid-afternoon, there was a commotion at my door. When I answered it, I found Daniel Starke – bloodied and battered – standing on my porch. The noon train from Lowell had come in, jumped the tracks, and crashed through the Balcom Warehouse. Thirty-nine people were dead and a hundred and seventy missing.

The deathtoll rose by the end of the night.

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

Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: Hellhound


It killed three people in the dead-end alley off East Stark Street before I caught up with it.

Hellhounds are notoriously difficult to catch, though far easier to kill. I never learned who summoned the hound, nor to what purpose. If the goal was to sow fear and discord, it failed. I cannot believe that any of the victims were intended as targets, though there may have been something in the dead persons’ past.

Regardless as to the reasons why and what-for, the hellhound came to Cross on a cool June evening. I smelled the beast’s sulfurous stench when I was in the Old Cross Cemetery, paying respects to long-dead friends. There is no mistaking that odor, or what it portends. I rode my horse hard back to the farm, gathered up my Colts, and raced back to the cemetery. The tracks were easy enough to follow – great, smoldering prints of a hound.

When I reached Main Street, I could clearly hear the screams of the victims, and when the wind shifted, I smelled burning human flesh. More screams rose up, and I reached the alley in time to see the hound kill the last of its victims.

I put twelve rounds into the beast’s head and chest, then I reloaded and added another six shots for good measure. When I was done, several members of the Cross Historical Society – those few who know of my age and other, darker things – helped me to drag the hound’s body to the river, where we tumbled it in. For well over a week the water was warmer than normal, but I’ll take a hot river over dead children every time.

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

Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: Shifters


I was fortunate to find him before anyone else did.

It was more a stroke of luck than any great planning or skill upon my part. I merely happened to be traveling along North Road when he came racing out of Gods’ Hollow. His initial form was that of a wolf, then of a bear, and when those did not cause me to falter or flee, he shifted to a man. Armed with rifle and sword, a decorated soldier of the Russian Empire, this Cossack fell upon me and gave me a terrible fight.

Most people believe fights to be long, drawn-out affairs where the combatants are noble individuals.

This is, as far as I am concerned, a romantic and fetid idea.

There is nothing noble about a fight for one’s life. Nor is there anything fair or just in the way it is fought.

He broke two of my fingers when I took hold of his arm, and I gouged out his right eye with my left thumb. It was this, more than anything else, which gave me the advantage. His howls, far more animal than human, echoed off the trees as he let go of me. It was then that I drove my knife first up into the soft underside of his chin, then into his heart. For good measure, I severed his head.

His corpse, I left it rotting in the tree-line. I carried his head a fair distance into Gods’ Hollow and mounted it on a branch to serve as a warning for any more of his kind.

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

Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: A Giant


In August of 1911, several young men and women visiting from Boston vanished in Gods’ Hollow. Considering Gods’ Hollow, and the violence and strangeness associated with it, the disappearances of these strangers was not surprising.

Unfortunately, since they were from Boston, the state took an active interest in attempting to find their remains. The bodies were discovered close to my land, each corpse having been crushed and mangled. Only through the clothes and personal effects, as well as several distinguishing marks, were the dead identified. No one understood how the dead came to be in that particular condition, and while the scene was thoroughly investigated, no satisfactory conclusion was ever made.

Once the police were finished, I made an inquest of my own and found a small bridge, a half-mile from my farm. Near it, in a rough shelter built of fallen trees and large stones, was a giant. When I approached the structure, the creature came out, ready to do me harm.

I, however, was not ready to fight him. I was there, I told him, to investigate the deaths.

The giant, known solely by the name of Evers, informed me of how his dinner had been interrupted by the strangers, and how they had assaulted him as he attempted to retreat to the safety of his home. I saw the bruises and cuts on his thick skin and saw the pistols near Evers’ firepit.

Who can blame him for defending himself? I could not.

I was merely impressed that he didn’t eat them or use their bones for his bread.

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

Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: Gremlins


When the Boston & Maine southbound train crashed into some of the cars on a side-rail at the train station, I assumed it was an accident. The next morning, Desmond Hollis showed me the photograph he had taken, and he was confused as to the blurred images. He informed me that the children had held perfectly still during the entire time, so he had no explanation for the poor quality of the image.

I did.

It is rare to photograph a gremlin. Never, however, can one be clearly seen on film. The fact that there were three of them was disheartening. Alone, they are a challenge to kill. In groups, it is a near impossibility to execute them all.

I began my hunt at the railyard, following the curious, glass-like scat the creatures leave behind. From the yard, I tracked them to an old mill, one which had burned down a few years earlier. There, among the iron debris and crumbled masonry, I found them.

They had shed their false skins and lounged about their warren, feasting on bodies pilfered from nearby cemeteries. In the fight which followed, I killed seven of them and wounded a trio more.

When I entered the warren on my hands and knees, I found birthing chambers, where I slew females and cubs alike.

Later, before the sunset, I returned with kerosene and oil. I emptied the contents into the warren’s main opening and put a match to it.

The stench of their flesh, both living and roasted, is foul, and I had to burn the clothes I wore. Before I left the burning warren, I removed the heads of the gremlins I had killed and mounted them on stakes around the building.

It is a reminder for them to stay out of Cross, and for over a century they have listened.

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