Duncan Blood, Journal for 1911: Ghost (2)


Te Mock was beaten to death by an angry mob on the outskirts of Cross in 1911. She had fled from Boston, where people believed her to be in league with the Devil. Ms. Mock was not in league with the Devil, of course, but when has reason stopped a mob?

I found her body just over the border, and rather than being allowed to return her remains to China, the body was seized by the state and given to a Boston hospital in order to ‘better study the Asian physique.’

Cross paid for the state’s stupidity.

Ms. Mock’s ghost returned shortly after her body’s confiscation and took her anger out on members of Cross. Her rage transformed her into what was known as a ‘hungry ghost.’ She was forced to feed off the corpses of Cross’ dead. Ms. Mock had been transformed, her body elongated, her mouth wide and filled with needles for teeth. She had four sets of arms, and eight pairs of hands, all equipped with razor-sharp nails to tear flesh from bone.

On July 2, during the Ghost Festival, I fed her cooked rice and fresh meat and promised to avenge her.

It took me twelve years to hunt down her killers. The last I slew on his deathbed, smothering him with a pillow.

I keep my promises.

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

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

From Blood’s History: A Temper


I must admit, there are times when my temper gets the best of me. Often, this results in the death of an individual. Or, if I truly lose control, I have been known to put entire households to death.

Such an event occurred at 11 Berkley Street in April of 1900, when I learned of the actions of the matron of the family. I refuse to name the family, even after more than a century. They are undeserving of remembrance, and I have effectively erased them from the memory of Cross. None of their name still lives in the town, nor are there any records to indicate any of them existed. I have even stripped their bodies from the ground and cast them, grave markers and all, into the Cross River.

You may wonder why I went to extreme measures to eradicate them, and I will tell you.

They killed a friend of mine.

She was a beautiful and brilliant young woman. One who wanted to nothing more than to help others. She did so with the magic she learned and practiced in the privacy of her own home. In April, she was invited to 11 Berkley Street, and there she was put to death. Poisoned with a cup of tea.

Her murderers did not go easily, as their house might attest. I twisted their bodies as I twisted the house. I left little more than grist and bone, blood and sinew, scattered about the interior.

It was not, as far as I am concerned, enough.

If I could kill them again each night and resurrect them like Prometheus, I would.

I hate them.

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



From Blood’s History: Tragedy


In May of 1903, tragedy struck at the mouth of Cross River. The USS Reinert, a small schooner, was attacked by a large creature beneath the Atlantic’s surface. I was visiting a friend on duty at the lifesaving station when we witnessed the attack. Huge tentacles exploded from the water, snatching at sailors and attempting to pull down the masts. Sails were torn, and the bowsprit snapped clean away. The ship foundered as the unknown creature destroyed the rudder and attempted to pierce the hull.

We launched the boats and pulled hard for the Reinert, reaching her in time to attack the creature’s exposed tentacles with hand-axes and pikes. Black ichor spewed from the wounded flesh and an unholy stink accompanied it. The water boiled where the ichor struck it, and the ocean shuddered with a scream that shattered one of the boats.

After half an hour of vicious battle, we beat the creature back, but not without great loss. Fully two-thirds of the Reinert’s crew, eleven men, were either dead or missing. Six members of the lifesaving crew were dead as well.

We never learned what had attempted to destroy the Reinert, nor did we seek to find out.

We merely continue to watch for it.

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



From Blood’s History: Wolves


Upon occasion, Cross has an issue with wolves. These are not wandering packs which have somehow followed the Berkshires down into northern Massachusetts. They are, instead, lycanthropes. Werewolves.

Like so many other creatures of myth, werewolves have been painted in a delightfully pleasant light. An image which could not possibly be further from the truth.

When a person becomes a werewolf, whether, through the transference of the infection through a bite or by accident of birth, they are no longer in control of their own faculties. They are subject to the whims of the moon, and thus a werewolf is a danger to those around it.

In 1910, a Greek couple arrived in Lowell, Massachusetts and set up a tailor’s shop in that city. Once a month, they would travel to the countryside for the wife’s health, and all would agree that when she returned, both husband and wife looked remarkably refreshed.

Shortly after the turn of the new year, the couple, both of whom were werewolves, decided to hunt in Cross. To be more precise, they came onto my farm in search of easy prey.

They did not find it.

I killed them both, in wolf form, on my front steps. When death transformed them back into human shape, I dragged their carcasses to North Road and left them there, where they were found in the morning.

1911 was a difficult year. I would spend a great deal of it killing creatures of myth. Creatures who should have known better than to hunt in Cross.

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

Along the Cross River


From Blood’s History: Along the Cross River


She appeared in the summer of 1911, a fetching young woman often seen reclining on the sandy portions of the Cross River. I would have ignored her had she not begun to hunt the citizens of Cross and taken my youngest cousin.

Mermaids are far from pleasant creatures, regardless of what you may have seen upon the television. They are foul and hungry creatures, with little regard for the sentient beings they hunt.

And so, I have no pity for them when they make themselves known in Cross.

She, like all her kind, suffered from the belief that humans are still enthralled with the stories written about the beauty and gentleness of the merfolk. While this is true for many, it is not – nor has it ever been – true for me.

Well before dawn on August 12th, I traveled to the portion of the river she favored, and I waited. When the sun broke the horizon, the mermaid broke the surface of the river. She waded out of the water, clad in the most fashionable of swimsuits. When she saw me, she smiled, waved, and took two steps toward me.

I blew her brains out with one of my revolvers, strapped her corpse to a large stone, and pushed her body into the water, a warning to others of her kind.

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

Cousins (Part 3)


From, Blood’s History: Cousins (Part 3)


In the late 1890s, I traveled to Copenhagen in Denmark at the request of my cousin, Magdalena Blod. No one had heard from the Danish line since the early 1750s, and while there was a subdued air about the letter, her name was signed and underlined, an old and subtle message of distress.

The voyage from Cross to Denmark was arduous, undertaken during the worst of the Atlantic storms. Several passengers died along the way, one by my blade before I threw him overboard for lacking a civil tongue.

In Denmark, I found my cousin at the University of Copenhagen, a prisoner to a professor who had discovered her longevity. He had overseen the writing of the letter, making certain there was nothing remotely close to a cry for help within her beautifully crafted sentences.

Magdalena welcomed me in and introduced the professor as a man of foresight and power, both of which were keywords. Only King Richard of England had once been referred to as such, and that was after he had put our great-grandfather to death.

I smiled, nodded, and drove my knife up into his heart.

Magdalena and I spent a pleasant evening in the man’s rooms, enjoying dinner while destroying all evidence he had gathered about our family.

#CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #blood #library #scary #Denmark #mcscribbles

Cousins (Part 2)


From, Blood’s History: Cousins (Part 2)


Thayer Blood was the ultimate athlete. Regardless of the sport, Thayer excelled at it. His favorite, however, was American football. Only in football, according to my cousin, was he able to unleash his pent-up frustrations, to exact a sort of revenge against the world.

He likened it to gladiatorial combat, where he and his teammates were performing for the benefit of a Caeser and Rome’s finest citizens.

Soon, though, my cousin took this comparison too far.

The violence of football no longer quenched the bloodlust raging within him.

In 1915, eager to sate his need, Thayer joined the Canadian Army and was shipped to the Western Front in Europe.

But there was not enough of the war for him. Too much time, he wrote me, spent doing nothing. He began to raid at night, on his own, questing not only into the German lines but into the defenses of other units on either side of his.

In May of 1916, he vanished completely into the wasteland between the lines, and a letter was sent to me, asking for help in locating Thayer.

I agreed, and with permission from my own officers, I sought my cousin out.

I found him, ecstatic with bloodlust as he reigned supreme between the lines, killing anyone who stumbled upon him, or upon whom he stumbled.

He attempted to collect my head, so I was forced to mail his home to his mother.

#CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #blood #library #scary



From, Blood’s History: Cousins


She was dangerous and half mad. The product of a father poisoned by lead, and a mother to whom the fey spoke.

Her name was Patience Blood, and she was a woman I loved dearly. She was my cousin, the elder by ten years, and the universe revolved around her as far as I was concerned. Patience taught me how to move through the woods, how to speak with the fey, and how to listen to the damned as they marched from one place in Hell to another.

I last saw her in 1930, when she walked out of the depths of Gods’ Hollow. There was a strangeness to her then. The way she spoke was frightening, almost devoid of emotion as she related her tales. Her smile was true, though, and when she asked me to walk with her to the family burial ground, I felt an old and almost forgotten thrill.

At the graves of our ancestors, I helped open a small crypt half-buried in a hill. Once there, she gave me a kiss goodbye and a lock of her hair. She disappeared into the crypt’s darkness without a word. I sealed the door closed behind her the same way.

Late at night, as I lay in my bed, I can hear her walking with the damned.

#CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #blood #library #scary