#coolsvillestarter

[kindaspooky-blog1]

While Fred Jones no longer needed a wheelchair or crutches, there was a slight limb to his walk, and it would have been seen if he wasn’t sitting on the bar stool closest to the door of Lou’s, flipping through the paper, black pen circling the names of articles he’d like to read later, including one that included the names: Whittaker and Long, and with Fred’s admiration of the previous and late mayor, he looked upon the names with a questionable expression. 

“Do you know when they hold the voting?”

[vclmadinkley-blog]

“W-What?” She can’t hear the person who’s speaking to her, their words reverberating as intelligible vibrations she is desperate to decipher. If there’s anything Velma can’t grapple with, it’s an ability to understand — and, amidst this chaos, a lack of understanding is the last thing she needs.

But after the newness of the confusion washes away, geez, she realizes her head hurts, throbs unforgivingly. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Velma isn’t built to swear, but she thinks in a string of curse words for once in her life, and she wonders if it’s because she’s unable to conjure up anything else.

Her ears are clearing out slowly, but not without more painful thrums. This is what a concussion must feel like, she realizes, as she surveys the broken glass and twisted chaos the hurricane has left in its wake. “We need to get to the hospital...” She says slowly, brokenly, and she tries to sob — but it makes everything hurt so much more, and so she doesn’t fully get it out, the sound of it stuck in her throat.

[kindaspooky-blog1]

It was a strange transition, transforming from the tallest man in the room, to one that now had to look up to those he was speaking to as he was temporarily bound to the wheelchair the nurse gave him after the doctors repaired his leg ( which did grow worse by the trip he and Daphne had to take just to get to the hospital ). ( And despite the pain medication, he liked to believe he was acting as he usually was. )

However, now that he was mobile, Fred’s behaviors were back again, just now, on wheels and dressed in a patient’s gown and right leg propped up. And this was seen as he rolling down the halls ( something he wasn’t meant to do, and he knew this well ), avoiding wheeling past doorways in case a nurse made their way through. He wasn’t trying to leave the hospital, but he couldn’t stay in his room, not with a mind such as his. It was only when he saw the hints of a nurse’s uniform that he turned the other way, back down a different hallway, only to pause when he about came into contact with another.

[pippajblackthorn-blog]

There’s blood on her lips, it’s only the second thing that Pippa notices.

Her head is too busy whirring, an angry sound echoing through her brain. She remembers the lightening and the tree, but other than that? Her head is an angry whirlpool as though there are thousands of bees rolling around it it, as though they were trying to sting her to death.

Her head was all messed up, she couldn’t think or move or anything. So Pippa just sat there at the side of the road, a dazed expression on her face as her head whirred in and out of infinity.

[kindaspooky-blog1]

Fred was a strange sight to see on the rooftop of diner with a canopy of several umbrellas set in place above a plastic patio chair and a telescope positioned towards the sky, a blanket covering his journals and cell phone and plate of fries as he sat at the end of the chair, writing on a piece of scrap paper any changes to the weather ( and also causes ). 

It wasn’t his wish to be there alone, wishing for the gang, still trying to call them from time to time, trying to call Chandler to confirm suspicions. The hardest part of the day was receiving the calls, those speaking of the things seen in the rain, for the first time of many situations he remind them that he could do nothing now, even his own home was flooded, he ran out with his journals at four in the morning ( the umbrellas he borrowed from other displaced citizens inside Lou’s, the lawn chair was already on the roof ). Beyond the gang, he expected a call from the mayor by now, but the phone was silent from those he wished to hear from, and the pencil he held barely broke through the damp page.

In the moment he begins writing down known clues, suspicions of the town folk who already contacted him, a shout sounds below him, on the sidewalk, however, the words are drowned by the rain, and Fred can only interpret what he can, but he figures it is the same as all the others who work to call him. 

“I’m figuring out what I can, I promise,” he calls back, leaning outside of his umbrella shield, his eyes squinting to see. His tone is questionable, perhaps, but calm, it was in times like these, he was almost at his best.

[kindaspooky-blog1]

Perhaps it speaks greatly of the nature of a mind lost to what should belong in dreams the way Fred knew just where to climb the fence that cut across the lawn like a scar, a fading burn almost overshadowed where greens fought against wire. The cold of the night hasn't yet touched the air, but Fred knew it would arrive by the time he reached the home. The house was more graveyard than brick, nowhere stacked upon a patch of grass, a place smelling of rot and the river, though it wasn't near the water. To be inside such a structure was to hold hands with a ghost, and that was why Fred was returning. 

He had seen it once months before with the gang, solved what they had to, though all the while leaving inquires lost inside of his own mind, questions left even as the mystery was closed, for they still could not explain the way the chairs turned or the shifting walls in the night. As there’s no villain to uncover, he doesn’t call the others, Fred just wishing to feed a curiosity that lasted for so long.

However, he doesn’t make it far, for as he still sits atop the fence, about to make his way to the other side, a crack sounds behind him and Fred doesn’t yet turn.

[risingandfallingtides-blog]

Vivianne had been wandering the town and surrounding areas since she’d arrived. It was the spookier aspects that had drawn her and the other Hex Girls to town. So it was only natural that the abandoned houses, for which there were plenty, were like Venus Flytraps to the young woman. The particular one that caught her attention that day was located close to the equally creepy swamp, and she wasn’t even sure how she’d wound up there. One minute she was just walking around in a daze, as she was often prone to, and the next she found herself standing at the start of a long driveway leading up to an old plantation.

She spent an hour or so just exploring outside the house. Just as the sun began its descent from high noon, Vivianne made her way toward the house’s back door. The front had been securely boarded up, proving no possibly entry, at least not without any tools. But the back had no such securities. She’d just reached out to grab the knob when the door blew open revealing a figure in the threshold. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” She exclaimed in shock as she jumped away, her heart pounding. 

[kindaspooky-blog1]

"You can only call me ‘Freddie’ if we’re dating or your name is Shaggy,” he called out behind him, a joking manner, though it may not have appeared as such.