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The Woman in Red

So this was thrown together in like... I don't know. I worked this for about a week or so--it's a sample I sent to Fantasy Flight in the hopes they'd throw some freelance work my way. It didn't result in anything yet, so I'm gonna go ahead and throw it up here.

I'd never written anything remotely like horror before, but for whatever reason I decided to write something in the Arkham Horror setting. I'm mostly happy with how it turned out. Mostly. It's also the longest thing I've written (not counting the Vanquisher scripts) since I did Emi's path, which is slightly depressing. Anyway, there you go.

It was raining in Boston. Jack Stark knew it was raining not because he could look out the window (his office didn’t have one), but because of the steady leak in the ceiling which heralded any significant amount of rainfall. The rain dripped down on Jack’s head, jerking him out of yet another unpleasant dream of giant rats feasting on the corpses of his fellow soldiers, the meaty smell of the freshly disemboweled still in his nostrils. The feeling of relief at being delivered from memories of the war was replaced soon enough with anxiety as he considered the unpleasant reality of his situation. Business was dead and if he wanted to keep his tiny office he’d have to come up with a new client, and soon. As he sat contemplating his imminent eviction, there was a knock at the door. Jack sat up quickly and brushed the crumbs of the morning’s breakfast toast off of his tie, using some of the dripping water to slick back his hair into what he hoped was a reasonable approximation of professionalism. He ran through about a dozen different ways to beg for more time to produce the rent, but the woman that walked through the door bore no resemblance to his landlord. She was tall, thin, with long legs, the sort of flowing black hair that keeps shampoo commercial directors up at night, and a face that would’ve made Pygmalion drop his tools and give up on the statue making business forever. Soft brown eyes looked pleadingly at Jack as the woman, wearing a red dress that accentuated every curve, caused Jack to briefly forget his own name. “I heard that you’re good at what you do,” she said, after it became apparent that Jack was still remembering how to talk. Jack’s mind lurched into action. “That a fact? Who told you that?” The woman waved airily. “Oh, friend of a friend. Does it matter? I’m only interested in finding out whether or not that’s true.” “True enough. I’ve never had any complaints.” “My friend of a friend says you’re especially good at finding people, is that true?” Jack’s one brief moment of fame had come as a result of finding a kidnapped socialite’s daughter--it had gotten him a lot of business at one time. “Yeah, you could say I’ve got a knack for it.” The woman took out a handkerchief from her purse, wiping off the seat across from Jack’s desk before sitting down and leaning forward in a way that did not fail to draw Jack’s attention. “In that case, I need your help. My brother’s gone missing.” “Normally what I say in this case is that you should contact the police.” “He didn’t go missing in Boston, Mister Stark,” the woman replied, “He was studying at the Miskatonic University in Arkham.” “So contact the police in Arkham.” Jack had heard about Arkham before, although he couldn’t remember where--but he recalled hearing that it was an insular community. Not exactly the sort of place, he thought, that would appreciate a private eye sticking his nose into everyone’s business. A small voice in the back of his head whispered that he had no other clients and couldn’t afford to be picky. Here the woman hesitated, eyes flickering to the doorway nervously. “I don’t know if I can trust the Arkham police.” Jack raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, a little more interested than he had been a moment ago. “You’d better fill me in on the details then, Miss...” “Carter. Elizabeth Carter. I think my brother might have gotten involved with the wrong sort of people.” Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to the doorway again. “It started a few months ago. Stephen is studying anthropology at the university, and he went on a trip to South America. Studying what he said was an Aztec ruin, I think. I didn’t hear from him again until he got back last month, but there was something different about him. He seemed nervous over the phone, and hung up on me abruptly after saying that he had to meet a friend of his. Three weeks ago I got this letter.” Elizabeth withdrew a letter from her purse and passed it over to Jack, who looked it over carefully. “My dear sister, I am sorry. You always warned me about poking my nose where it did not belong, and now it seems that you have been proven correct in your prediction that it would get me into trouble. There is so much that I would like to explain to you, but time is short and I fear saying too much openly. My studies have lead me to some inescapable conclusions, but those conclusions have angered some of my colleagues at the University, as well as a few other more powerful entities. Thus I must take the only course of action left available to me and get away from this town, hopefully for good. I will meet you in Boston next week--if you do not hear from me by then, you must not come looking for me! It would be far too dangerous! Take the advice that I never heeded and stay away from this town and its secrets. -Stephen” Jack read the letter again, frowning. “I take it he never showed up.” Elizabeth nodded. “I’ve been distraught over what to do since. I wanted to go up to Arkham myself, of course, but his letter was very explicit about staying away. And then...” She trailed off, shuddering involuntarily. “Then?” There was a pause as Elizabeth composed herself. “About a week ago I noticed some men outside my apartment building. I didn’t think anything of it, but as the days went by I noticed them more and more. I think they’ve been following me.” “Why would they be following you?” “I’m not sure, but it’s got to have something to do with Stephen! I tried calling some of his colleagues when he failed to show up, but they all told me they’d not seen him since he headed for the train station.” “Hmm... any chance that his colleagues were lying to you?” “I couldn’t say. I never really met any of them, I’d just knew their names.” Jack rubbed his chin, wishing that he’d had a chance to shave. “Well, those two events certainly seem like they could be connected, especially if your brother’s worries about ‘powerful forces’ are true.” “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Elizabeth clasped her hands in front of her and looked pleadingly at Stark. “Can you help me?” Leaning back in his chair, Jack considered his options. The Carter family name was not unknown to him, being a family of reasonably high standing in the city. A high-profile case could be the shot in the arm that his flagging career needed, and the fact that Elizabeth Carter was stunning certainly didn’t hurt matters either. Who knows, the voice in the back of his head said, she might be particularly grateful for your services. Then again, he thought, if this really were the result of some powerful organization’s machinations it might not be worth it. Stark was no coward, but he knew when he’d be punching above his weight. “There’s a question of cost--I’ll have to charge you extra for travel and hotel expenses...” Elizabeth withdrew a check from her purse. “This is for $1,000. It should be enough to get you started, yes?” Then again, Jack considered, sometimes punching above your weight was necessary. ~ The trip to Arkham was cold and wet. Jack arrived with a head full of doubts which were only compounded by his getting lost on his way to the hotel almost immediately. After a few inquiries of townsfolk who proved to be far more friendly than he’d expected, he found himself at the creatively named Arkham Inn. Jack had cashed the check from Elizabeth before leaving, and paid for a week up front in the hotel’s finest suite. He considered getting started on the investigation immediately, but a long journey had worn him out. After a quick meal courtesy of the hotel’s room service, he fell asleep. His dreams were disturbing, full of blood and horror. The trenches that he’d escaped became graves, his fellow soldiers staring at him accusingly with rotting eyes, and everywhere a noise of explosions and gunfire, the sky splitting overhead, fire and the stench of death everywhere. Jack turned and ran, but the ground refused to cooperate, tripping him up, sliding him back, breaking his leg on a rock. Crippled, Jack lay on his back as the host of ruined men advanced upon him, explosions growing closer, and a whisper in his ear of a voice telling him to relax, that this was his element, his fate, his last true love. Something kissed him, a rat? a maggot? Something slithered down his throat, choking him. He woke screaming, panicked when he couldn’t recognize his surroundings, and fell in a tangle of sheets on the floor with a thud. Embarrassment crept up on him, replacing the horror he’d felt upon waking. Outside the sun had just begun to rise, but a curtain of fog obscured its shine, replacing it with a sickly grey light. Jack disentangled himself from his bed sheets and took a shower in an attempt to clear his head. After the shower, Jack felt a little better, but was still shaken by the vividness of the nightmare. He was no stranger to nightmares--the War had left its marks on everyone who survived it, some worse than others--but this had shaken him more than usual. He descended the staircase to the ground floor and stepped into the dining area to obtain a breakfast that he only partially tasted. It would be best, he thought, to head to the university first, make inquiries of Stephen’s friends or professors. By the time Jack left the Inn, the fog had lifted, leaving only a chill that caused Jack to pull his coat a little tighter around him as he walked down the street in the direction of the University. The streets were mostly deserted despite it being the early afternoon--it reminded him of French villages during the war, emptied save for the few who hadn’t been able to believe that the battle would ever reach their doorstep. The few citizens he encountered greeted him politely as they passed by, but Jack saw suspicion in their eyes. He didn’t belong there. Shivering again, Jack quickened his pace until he reached the university, where he was immediately met by a friendly looking porter. “Can I help you, sir?” Jack smiled and extended his hand, radiating what he hoped was a friendly air. “Ah yes, I’m here to see a friend of mine, Stephen Carter. I believe he’s with the archaeology department?” The porter looked confused for a moment, repeating the name to himself curiously. A look of understanding suddenly came over his face and his expression brightened. “Sorry sir, but didn’t he tell you? He left the University nearly a month ago.” “He did? Why that doesn’t make sense at all! The last time we talked he seemed certain he’d be here for at least another year!” Jack did his best to appear surprised and concerned. “Did he leave a forwarding address?” The porter gave Jack a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid he left rather suddenly. I can direct you to his room--he did say he’d be back for his things once he’d settled in. We’ve kept the room as he left it.” “Thanks, that could be helpful! I’m shocked that he would pack up and leave without telling me!” The porter shrugged. “The University can be a stressful environment--it’s not uncommon to have a student pack his bags and leave in a hurry.” “Was Stephen under a lot of pressure?” “I’m afraid I couldn’t say,” the porter said apologetically, “I didn’t know Stephen that well. Follow me, please.” The campus was well-kept and the buildings, despite being rather old, were in good repair--a result of the generosity of Miskatonic alumni, according to the porter. Jack nodded approvingly and kept up a constant patter of conversation as they walked across campus, trying to subtly pump the porter for information. The porter was only too happy to converse, admitting that the University didn’t get many visitors. Stephen’s room turned out to be at the end of the hallway on the second floor of one of the newer buildings on campus. The porter produced the key and opened the door, then bid Jack farewell. Jack thanked the porter for his assistance and entered the room. It was a small affair, barely larger than a prison cell, but Stephen seemed to have made good use of the small space. Bookshelves lined the walls, crammed full of texts, a few bits of statuary, rolled-up maps, and several notebooks that were themselves crammed full of scraps of paper and a few photographs. Jack’s eye wandered around the room, waiting for something to jump out and grab his attention. The shelves were covered in dust, and from the looks of it nobody had been in the room for quite some time. There were a grand total of two pieces of furniture in the room--a desk that had seen better days and a bed which seemed to have several large pieces of luggage stowed beneath it. The desk was very untidy, covered in papers and scattered about notebooks, including an appointment book. Jack figured that to be his best bet. On closer inspection, there was very little useful information in it beyond confirmation that Stephen had indeed been planning to catch a train to Boston. The luggage under the bed, however, suggested that he’d never gotten much further in his plans. Jack frowned and flipped back through the notebook some more. One entry from the previous month caught his eye. “Drinks with Frank at Dog and Pony, 8:00.” Flipping back through the book revealed multiple meetings with Frank, who was, if nothing else, someone who had seen Stephen shortly before his disappearance. It would be a good idea to find out just what they’d been discussing. The porter’s was only too happy to provide Jack with directions to the “best bar in town.” The bar turned out to be only a few blocks from the main entrance to the University, and Jack arrived after only a short walk. A wash of cigarette smoke billowed out of the entrance and into the street as Jack opened the door and stepped inside. It was not a large bar, but even at this early hour it seemed packed full of customers old and young. The decor was reminiscent of a seaside town--lots of fish on the walls and some paintings of ships which had probably been commissioned back at the turn of the century. Behind the bar a massive hulk of a man cleaned glasses, pausing briefly to regard the new customer. When Jack made no immediate order, the bartender grunted and went back to cleaning glasses. Jack let his eyes wander over the options for drink, while at the same time becoming increasingly aware that he was being watched by several members of the bar. A distinct tension was in the room--it wasn’t that Jack was unwelcome, it was just that they’d rather he weren’t there for too long. It was obvious that the Dog and Pony supported a rich crop of regulars, and as someone distinctly not a regular, Jack was to be regarded with suspicion. Fortunately, Jack knew the best way to get into the good graces of the staff, at least, was to spend money. He selected a local brew and tipped the bartender generously. The barman thanked Jack and, as Jack hoped, struck up a conversation. “New in town?” “Just visiting.” “Oh? Got family here?” Jack decided to stick to the story he’d told the porter at the University. “Actually, I was here to visit a friend of mine, but he seems to have skipped town without telling me.” “Well, that’s not unusual around here, especially the University folk.” the bartender said, and leaned forward conspiratorially, “Personally, I think these academic types are just too high strung.” “You know, I think high strung describes my friend pretty well. He uh,” and here Jack leaned in close to give the illusion of wanting to confide as well in an attempt to further gain this bartender’s trust, “He met a friend of his here on a pretty regular basis--maybe you know him?” This earned a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe. What’s your friend’s name?” “Stephen Carter.” The bartender leaned back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. A flicker of recognition crossed his face. “Yeah, I think I remember him. He met up with Frank just about every week--Oy, Frank!” Across the bar a lanky-looking individual with cropped blond hair looked up and over at the bartender curiously. The bartender waved him over, and he approached Jack with a curious expression. “Yeah? What d’you need?” “This fella,” the bartender said, indicating Jack, “says he’s a friend of Stephen Carter’s.” Jack stuck his hand out in as friendly a manner as he could. “Name’s Jack. I was unaware that Stephen had left Arkham for good--I was wondering if you happened to know where he got to?” Frank shook Jack’s hand and wore an expression just north of apologetic. “Afraid not. Stephen was always a pretty private guy, but...” Frank surreptitiously looked in a mirror hanging behind the bar, as if checking for something, “I’ll admit this was a little sudden, even for him.” “So you didn’t know anything about his plans to leave?” Frank shook his head. “Not to me, no. He’d mentioned that he wanted to visit his sister, but then he just vanished.” A worried expression was permitted to cross Jack’s face. “Was he in some kind of trouble?” “Not that I know of...” Frank shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, I know he was working on some big research paper, but that was it.” “You think he just got over-stressed and skipped town?” “It’s not unheard of. A lot of guys at the university wind up skipping town when the pressure gets too great.” “No idea where he might’ve gone?” “Also no. I’m not really sure what I can do to help you.” Jack frowned. “Well, if you think of anything, I’m at the hotel. Room 35.” He shook Frank’s hand one more time and exited the bar. He’d just rounded the corner when he heard someone approaching with rapid steps. Suspicious, Jack quickened his pace only to hear the footsteps do the same. He whirled about, one hand instinctively going to his hip, looking for a gun that he’d stashed elsewhere. Fortunately, it was only Frank, who looked startled by Jack’s expression. “Woah, take it easy! I’m sorry, I couldn’t speak freely in there.” “And why’s that?” Frank looked around nervously again, and pulled out a coin. “See this? It’s part of what he was studying. It’s... I don’t know, he said it was some kind of talisman or something. Part of the stuff he brought back with him. I’d wanted to ask around and see if anyone knew what it was, but he insisted that they’d be watching me.” “Who’s ‘They?’” Jack’s headache returned, and he found himself looking around the empty street for unfriendly eyes. “I don’t know, but they’re whoever was hounding Stephen. You know he planned to see his sister? But I know for a fact he never got to the train to Boston.” “How’s that?” “We’d spoken the night before he was set to go. I was to meet him outside the dormitory and walk to the station with him. He never showed up, and when I finally went in to knock on his door, it was unlocked and there was no sign of him.” “Any signs of a struggle?” “Nothing.” Frank’s eyes darted around again, nervous. He still held the coin out, seemingly having forgotten about it for the moment. “Shortly after, I started to hear things--footsteps following me home at night, that kind of thing. I figured whoever was watching Stephen was watching me to see if I’d cause any kind of trouble.” “So you didn’t ever have anyone look at the coin.” “Are you nuts? That’s just the sort of thing I’m sure would get me disappeared too! Stephen was my friend, and I’m sorry he’s gone, but I’m just one guy. There isn’t a lot I could do on my own.” Jack could see where this was going and decided to fill in the blanks himself. “But now there’s two of us, and I’m new in town so I could probably get away with asking about the coin, right?” The hopeful expression on Frank’s face said it all. Jack sighed and held out his hand. “Who should I see about this?” Frank thought about it for a moment. “Your best bet is to ask at Christ Church. The pastor there used to be an archaeologist before he became a priest. He studied South American cultures.” “Why don’t I just ask some of the professors at the University?” Frank’s eyes widened in panic. “No! Not them! They’re watching the campus, I’m sure of it!” Jack held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, fine. I’ll take your word for it.” He held his hand out again. “I promise, I’ll talk to this...” “Father McCafferty.” Frank handed over the coin with a look of relief. “Thanks for doing this. I’ve been so afraid to do anything... I hope you can find out where Stephen went.” The sound of a trash can clattering in an alleyway startled him, and he cast another worried glance around the street. “I should go before anyone sees us speaking. If you need to contact me, I’m in the Dog and Pony most nights.” He turned on his heel and walked away at a brisk pace. The coin was heavier than Jack expected, and the symbols on it were difficult to focus on. Jack slipped the coin into his pocket and headed back to the hotel to get directions to the Church. An hour later he stepped through the entryway to Christ Church. The coin jangled in his pocket, and for a moment Jack fancied it had grown heavier upon crossing the church’s threshold. His footsteps echoed disconcertingly through the apparently deserted building as he made his way to the front of the building. Nobody could be seen, but one of the doors to the sacristy stood slightly ajar. Jack approached the door, hoping to find McCafferty inside. Inside small room was a closet full of vestments, a chair, and a priest napping in a chair. Jack approached cautiously. “Hello? Sorry to disturb you...” With a start, the priest opened his eyes and looked suspiciously at Jack. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?” “Sorry, I’m looking for Father McCafferty.” “Don’t you know that laity aren’t allowed back here?” “I know, but this is important. Are you Father McCafferty?” “Aye, I am.” McCafferty gave Jack a piercing look. “You’re not from around here, are you? What brings you to Arkham--and to my Church, no less?” Jack briefly considered continuing with his cover story, but he found himself telling the truth instead. “I was hired by a woman named Elizabeth Carter to find out what happened to her brother Stephen. He was a student at the university--disappeared about a month ago.” “Never heard of him.” “That’s fine--I’m actually here because of what Stephen was studying when he disappeared.” Jack withdrew the coin from his pocket, feeling the writing writhe on it. It was definitely heavier than before. Jack, surprised by this change in the coin, dropped it on the ground. McCafferty’s eyes widened in horror and he began shouting in anger. “You fool! Why would you bring that here?” “What do you mean?” “You’ve killed us both, only you’re too stupid to realize it!” The priest’s expression changed from anger to despair. “I’m undone, all I’ve worked for has been ruined!” The hair on the back of Jack’s neck stood up, and he grabbed McCafferty by the collar. “What are you talking about? What’s so special about this coin?” “It’s not a coin, you fool! It’s a talisman! You’ve given it a foothold in here, despite all my defenses!” “Given what a foothold? What are you talking about?” McCafferty wasn’t listening. “The crawling chaos! I’d kept it at bay for so long--no agent of his could get through my wards, but you--you in your ignorance walked right through them, carrying the instrument of my downfall!” The old man was beating at Jack’s arms frantically now, an animal cornered. “That talisman carries a bit of him in it--and that’s all he needs! All he needs...” Jack felt a twisting in his gut and the whole building seemed to shake. A crack echoed through the church, and the door to the sacristy flew open. Jack looked up to see Frank standing in the doorway. “Frank! What’s he-?” There was a gunshot, and Jack felt McCafferty slump in his arms. The scent of gunpowder and blood wafted into the air, and Jack saw the corpses of his fellow soldiers before him once more. He stumbled back from the old man’s corpse and looked at Frank in horror. Frank smirked and waved his pistol at Jack. “No funny stuff, Stark. You’ve done your bit, and now your employer would like a word with you.” Jack had been in enough bad situations to know that he’d just been played, and played hard. He stayed crouched on the ground, looking up at Frank’s expressionless face angrily. “Would he, now? And if I refuse?” Frank indicated his gun. “She don’t wanna see you that bad.” “Well, when you put it that way...” In a sudden movement, Jack scooped up the coin and flipped it at Frank. Frank flinched backwards, which gave Jack the few seconds he needed to grab his gun out of his ankle holster and fire. Frank’s head snapped back and he collapsed on the floor. Jack strode out of the sacristy, and was stunned to see Elizabeth Carter lounging in a pew, applauding lazily. “Congratulations, Jack. Well done indeed. I could’ve done without you killing Frank there, but still. A fine performance. Exactly what I like to see.” “What’s all this about?” Jack had the presence of mind to keep his gun trained on Elizabeth. “Is your brother even missing?” Elizabeth laughed, mouth opening wide, almost seeming to split her face in two. “Oh no, Jack. Stephen never existed. But then again, neither did I.” “Of course you exist. The Carters are a respected family. You didn’t just make it all up.” Jack’s head started to pound. “Ah, yes. Memory can be so unreliable, can’t it? Everyone in Boston would swear there’s a Carter family right now--but tomorrow, they won’t recall a thing. The human mind is easily fooled.” Elizabeth stood and stretched luxuriously. Her joints popped and stretched unnaturally. Jack could swear she seemed slightly taller. He kept the gun trained on her, but he seemed to hear a whispering, a gentle voice telling him that it wasn’t necessary, that this was all as it should be. Jack shook his head to clear it. “Why kill the priest?” “Because there are some who are fortunate enough to see the real nature of humanity’s role in the universe. McCafferty was one such fortunate individual, but he squandered his gift, trying to change what cannot be changed. His parlor tricks safeguarded him from me and my associates, but you, Mister Stark, he never saw coming.” Elizabeth was walking toward Jack now, looking, if possible, more attractive than before. The smile on her face and the look in her eye should’ve sent Jack running for the door, but he found himself curiously relaxed. Something about her voice was familiar. Had her neck always been that long? “The talisman was all I needed to come in and do what needed to be done. This Church is built on land that was once mine. I have taken it back. You, Mister Stark, are to be commended for this.” “Why... me?” The cool voice in his ear told him to stay where he was, that he had done a great deed. On the periphery of his consciousness Jack thought he heard another voice screaming in horror, but the first voice only increased in volume, drowning the screams out. He coughed and saw blood on his hand. Had he been the one screaming? Behind Elizabeth shadows writhed, and Jack caught flashes of something behind her, directing her movements like a puppeteer. Something enormous that hurt his eyes to look at. “Because you and I met once before, Jack. I was in the chaos on the battlefield, and I saw you look down the horrors and in that moment, I found a place in your mind to live. To use, if I needed to use you. You remember, don’t you Jack?” Her voice was a seductive purr now, and Jack remembered where he’d heard it before. The dreams. Yes. Elizabeth continued to advance, growing in size, her smile now splitting her skull completely. It was going to be okay. Elizabeth flew apart, split down the seams, wrapped Jack up in an embrace as the last of his mind collapsed. Slick appendages caressed his face as he heard himself screaming in horror, in agony, but he couldn’t recall why. The stench of fresh meat. It wasn’t important anymore. The screaming cut off suddenly. A tall, dark-skinned man exited the Church, wearing a long coat that almost looked like a pharaoh’s cape. He looked at the talisman in his hand, smiled, and walked into the night.

#scraps #first efforts #nobody is surprised this didn't lead to anything #had to put SOMETHING up I guess