All posts by Nimue Brown

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Lizz-Ayn Shaarawi will not return from the forest

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By Frampton Jones

Most years we lose someone to the trees. Or to what lurks among the trees. Most of us do not venture further than the edges of the woods and rightly so – the heart of this island is a heart of wooded darkness and those who go seldom return.

Lizz-Ayn Shaarawi was, depending on who you ask, either a remarkable pioneer or a total idiot. The Hopeless Maine Scientific Society described her as ‘a tireless seeker of truth, an absolute stalwart whose work has greatly enhanced our understanding of the woods.’ Having survived for nine years as a member of that notorious society, Lizz-Ayn bucked the trend for rapid demise in the name of science. Ignorance may not be bliss, but knowledge so often proves fatal.

For the past three years, Lizz-Ayn had been studying evidence for strange, humanoid life forms living in our woods. She made many forays into the trees, coming back with stories that were troubling, entertaining, wonderful or terrible, depending on who you ask about it. On her last foray, two gentlemen of the Hopeless Maine Scientific Society accompanied her – Jethro Necropolis and Newtonian Jones (previously Godfearing Jones). Only Newtonian survived.

Newtonian Jones told me, “We were attacked. Jethro Necropolis tried to defend us with a new weapon he’d been developing, which blew up and killed him outright. Lizz-Ayn was saved from the blast by a massive, hairy creature that swung in and carried her off. I expect by now it will have eaten her.” He could not absolutely confirm her death, but it seems a fair inference as it took Newtonian a week to make it back to the town and there has been no sign of her in that time.

The Hopeless Maine Scientific Society calculates that a person who goes missing for a day has a fifty percent chance of reappearing. For every day that passes, the odds of survival radically diminish, and after seven days, there is a one in six hundred chance of not being dead. This is the second time Newtonian has managed those one in six hundred odds, and it will be Lizz-Ayn’s third time beating the probabilities if she does return.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Kim Lakin-Smith has finally run out of time

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According to my best mathematical efforts, Kim Lakin-Smith lived to be one hundred and three years old. She confusingly first appeared on the island seven years ago, while her second appearance reputedly pre-dates that of the Founding Families. Her third appearance, and the one for which she is best known, occurred twenty years ago and for most of us, she has continued as a resident since that time.

Despite her best efforts, Kim was unable to persuade her time travelling machine to take her anywhere other than here. Prior to entering our uncanny environs, she had been able to wander at will through space and time. Hopeless however thwarted her, as it has thwarted so many people over the years. Technologies we are assured worked just fine when they were built develop strange quirks when they come here. I blame the demons.

Through Kim we have learned that our little island home might have a slightly odd relationship with time. It is hard to tell from those who shipwreck where they have come from, and ‘when?’ is such an awkward question when we have so little to compare our local calendars with. However, as a confident and experienced traveller in the realms of time, Kim was certain that something here isn’t as it should be.

There is nothing any of us can do about this, but it suggests that attempts at building our own time travel devices will likely prove futile. This may be as well, because while Kim was able to handle the risk of paradox rather well and had the restraint not to meet herself when visits one and three collided, many of us do not have the good sense for this sort of thing. I dread to think what the young folk of today would do if they had the means to go poking about in either the past or the future!

As an extra precaution, Kim is to be buried in her time travel device, and has expressed an intention to haunt it so that no one can do anything foolish. These arrangements were carefully laid out in her will, assuming, as she commented there, that she cannot finally get out by having deceased.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Heike Harding is dead, but who should we blame?

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By Frampton Jones

Heike Harding will be well known to anyone who has spent time around the docks of Hopeless Maine. She has fed the feral cats there for many years, and taken in cats rescued from shipwrecks. Anyone wanting a regular cat who can prevent small, antisocial entities from infesting home or workplace, will have appreciated her good work.

It is a mystery then, why this well-liked islander has suffered a sudden and violent death.

Doc Willoughby told me: “She most likely had a little turn and fell in the water. No one lasts long in that water.” When I asked him about the shocking neck wound, he said, “Sea monsters, I expect. They come right into the dock you know, especially at night after the pub has closed.”

A number of citizens who wished to remain anonymous expressed to me their opinions that someone from our unnatural community is to blame. Several anonymous vampires have told me that it was far too violent to be a vampire bite, and looked far more like the sort of thing a were-person would do.  One gentleman self-identifying as a werewolf told me that a werewolf just wouldn’t waste food like that and it must have been a vampire.

On the day after her death, all of Heike’s cats made a slow and solemn march from the docks, to the Hopeless Home for Uncanny Cats. I feel they know something we do not.

Since the recent deaths of Crysta, and Erekiel, The Hopeless Home for Uncanny Cats has been an unsafe place for human visitors. The cats are angry. Cats have congregated from across the island as far as I can tell. I had no idea we had so many dustcats and shadowcats.

I advise extreme caution, if you own a cat, are owned by a cat, see a cat, or find someone breaking into your home after dark.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Tragically, Craig died trying to protect us all

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By Frampton Jones

Beachcombers out scouring the shore after last night’s storm were greeted with a truly horrible sight this morning. It is a terrible irony that Craig had come to the beach to put up a warning sign about the hazards of mermaids, prompted by the ghastly recent death of his friend, Kit Cox.

Like all wise citizens, Craig had stuffed his ears and worn a very large hat, and was carefully not looking at the sea where three or four mermaids were floating about making obscene suggestions. He should have been fine. He would have been fine, had it not been for the enormous black dog who appeared from somewhere in the cliffs and hurtled towards him. It was, by all accounts, a vast and ominous beast with a slavering mouth, and just the sort to presage an approaching death.

Craig, being a sensible chap and wise in the ways of dogs, did not simply run away. Unlike many of the witnesses, by all accounts. Even so, the hellish hound was not distracted by fleeing forms and remained focused on its intended victim. I am told that it leapt for Craig, bounding around him, putting its massive paws on his shoulders, licking his face and herding him back towards the water. There was nowhere else to go.

The mermaids, being canny creatures, had seen their opportunity and took it. The incoming tide carried them towards the Kit Cox memorial sign, and for a while Craig clung to the warning he had erected for others, but to no avail. Between the dire chill of the water and the determination of the dog, he was easy prey for the mermaids.

Jed Grimes told me, “It makes a change to hear someone screaming and trying to escape from the mermaids. I think it’s more dignified than what usually happens.”

After Craig had been dragged to his doom, the monstrous dog apparently stayed on the beach, wagging its tail and chewing bits of driftwood. Whether it is a corporeal menace or a supernatural omen remains to be seen. On the whole, best to consider these philosophical issues from a considerable distance!

 

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

EP Eriksson and the enraged blue cheese

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Perhaps it escaped from the Cheese Festival that killed Amanda Gardham. Perhaps it fermented alone in some forgotten bucket, infested with agents of change, or night potato extract. Given how eerily it glowed blue in the dark, perhaps it was a haunted cheese, full of a raging hunger for retribution. Over what, it is hard to say. EP Eriksson was a quiet, and thoughtful sort, unlikely to attract the rage of a ghost infested cheese, you might assume.

The blue cheese appeared to have attacked from above, smothering its victim and leaving EP Eriksson barely identifiable. Only the yapping of ghost-hound Roku alerted passers-by to the incident. They were unable to help. Or perhaps reluctant – the cheese gave off a terrible stench by all accounts, and seemed poised to strike again. After what happened to Amanda, cheese mistrust is at an all time high on the island.

Anyone who has met EP Eriksson will be used to the sight of ghost-hound Roku following along behind with one ear up and one ear down. They shipwrecked together – an unusual occurrence as we don’t normally get ghosts from off the island itself. Clearly a strong bond in life had continued beyond the grave.

Witnesses at the scene tell me they saw EP Eriksson depart in ghostly form, accompanied by Roku, leaving the body and the ominous cheese behind them. With the death process complete, the cheese relinquished its victim and oozed towards those nearest to it. It is my understanding that people simply screamed and ran away. Consequently, no one knows where the blue cheese is now, or whether it will strike again.

If you must go out at night, be alert to unusual smells and wear a hat to protect your head and face from attack. On no account should anyone risk eating a feral cheese, there is simply no knowing what it might do to you. Unless of course it attacks you and you are obliged to eat it in self defence of course. Whether this might work, remains to be seen.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Further Carnage at the Home for Uncanny Cats

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By Frampton Jones

There were scenes of carnage last night at the Hopeless Home for Uncanny Cats. After the death of founder Crysta earlier this week, the cats have been uneasy. You’ve probably heard them. However, the yowling last night achieved new levels of volume and unease, drawing many of us out into the streets where we huddled together nervously. It’s never easy to tell whether one should face the horror, or hide under the bedclothes and pray for an easy death.

A bold few of us ventured towards the source of the sound. The cat’s home was covered in cats – far more than I think could have been living there. They covered the roof and surrounding garden, and the dim that they made was almost unbearable. It was clear from some distance that windows had been smashed, and the door broken down. Whoever attacked the establishment felt no need to be subtle about it.

Erekiel Morningstar Vaehne took over running the Home for Uncanny Cats only this week, after the sudden and still unexplained death of Crysta. There can be little doubt that whoever killed her must also have been responsible for this breaking, entering and murdering. Even Doc Willoughby, who is always reticent about blaming anyone for anyone’s death, had to agree that a man with a large, ornate knife sticking out of his chest probably hadn’t died of natural causes. Doc Willoughby concedes that while it could be suicide, it would seem odd to back violently through several items of furniture while trying to end yourself.

What did this violent intruder want? What was in the Home for Uncanny Cats that both Crysta and Erekiel were willing to protect at such costs? Should other cat owners now fear for their lives? Clearly, there is some horrific cat-related plot afoot, and it is one the perpetrator considers it worth killing for, and so dastardly is this plot that there has been no effort to disguise it. Who among us would do such a thing?

Erekiel has been left where he fell, on the understanding that resident dustcats would probably want to eat him. There have been suggestions muttered in the pub about whether the dustcats themselves may have turned psychotic, driven by a hunger for human flesh to start killing the people around them. It is my understanding that dustcats only eat the bodies of those they love, but even this long established truth now seems questionable.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

He died for science

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A report from the Hopeless Maine Scientific Society

For much of this year, Benjamin has been trying to establish that the reason boats sometimes appear in the sky over Hopeless, is that physics works differently here. It’s an interesting theory, and one that many of us have disagreed with. However, it’s been entertaining watching the various experiments as Benjamin has tried to prove that anyone can make a ship fly.

Having observed a number of these experiments, I can attest that Benjamin had for some time been confident that the main problem would be one of getting the boat into the air in the first place. As the least scientifically minded amongst us have observed, boats generally don’t float in the air when left to their own devices.

Back in the summer, Benjamin suffered significant injuries after trying to get a boat airborne from the roof of his workshop. His conclusion was that greater height must be required. It was an unfortunate conclusion.

So great was the concern about his studies that experimental occultist Salamandra O’Stoat took him up in her boat and did her best to explain to him about magic. Tragically, Benjamin remained unconvinced by this experience, and became ever more determined to get his own boat into the air.

The catapult method he finally settled on was entirely successful on its own terms. He launched a small dory into the sky at considerable speed. At reaching the highest point of its arc, the dory simply got on with doing exactly what all objects thrown into the sky like to do at this point – and headed down. Proof that our laws of physics are just as good as anyone else’s.

While Benjamin’s body has not been discovered, the scientifically minded of Hopeless are in agreement that no one could survive that sort of fall and that there might in fact be very little solid matter remaining to recover. We applaud his courageous efforts, but encourage residents not to follow in his footsteps.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Sadly we may have to throw Dan into the sea

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By Frampton Jones

Many of the people who wash ashore on our less than gentle coast bring odd customs with them. Whether we are bemused, or amused, we longstanding residents tend to leave them to get on with it. Dan was no exception in this regard. He shipwrecked here some years ago with a pocket full of peculiar dice and has ever since devoted himself to the collecting and making of such oddities.

Other folk who were not born here have told me that it is normal for dice to be evenly weighted and to merely show a number when they land, and that this sort of dice need not be banned in the way that traditional island dice are, and that Dan didn’t know any of these things.

It has long been the responsibility of the library to keep the Book of Summoning safely under lock and key. No one has ever felt confident about trying to destroy it, but every time someone tries to read it, predictably terrible things happen.

I now find myself wondering whether Lady Selina Arkham Kyle managed to extract the ominous tome from the library before falling to her death. Certainly, it is not there now.

Dan shows all the signs of having tried to make a version of Endbert Fhtagen Jones’s Dice of Absolute Power. The name should have been a giveaway that this would not be a risk-free undertaking. One of the oldest Mrs Jones – Commemorative Jones – remembers when Endbert was on the island and told me that the unspeakable portal to a place of unnameable horror that is apparent on Dan’s forehead, is a sure sign he was trying to make the dice.

Legend has it that the person who can both make and control the dice will have the power to walk between worlds. The dice has an irrational number of sides and to successfully make one is apparently to break the physical laws of existence. So on the whole, I think we must rejoice in his failure, even though he was a nice chap and we’re all going to miss his cookies.

At this time, the unspeakable portal to a place of unnameable horror does not seem to have expanded. Whether we will have to throw Dan into the sea when the tide is going out, remains to be seen.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Our second mysterious cat death!

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Crysta, founder of the Hopeless Maine Home for Uncanny Cats, was found dead outside her establishment this morning. Her body was surrounded by cats – the apparently regular ones, the half-demon shadow cats, and a selection of dustcats. I arrived at the scene while the cats were still protecting her body. It was an eerie sight, and when they broke into wails of obvious lament, it was an eerie sound, too.

When Doc Willoughby arrived at the scene to assess the body, he was unable to approach it – the cats became hostile. Viewing from a distance, he said “I expect it was her fault, one way or another.”

I suggested that she might have tripped over a cat and endured a fatal blow to the head as a consequence, or that she may have choked to death being caught in a dustcat sneeze, or that perhaps a demon cat had been involved. He agreed with my assessment. That the ground around her seemed curiously singed was not mentioned, but then, burned ground is not a medical condition.

I may be seeing a pattern here where none exists, but I think this is our second cat related death of late – Lady Selina Arkham Kyle died in most peculiar circumstances outside the library, with possible dustcat involvement. Aside from the cat connection, I can think of little that might link the two deaths.

Only when Erekiel Morningstar Vaehne turn up to the scene did the cats let anyone through. Erekiel being a longstanding volunteer at the home, they clearly recognised him. At this point, the damage to the back of the victim’s head became visible. It did not look accidental to me.

The Hopeless Maine Home for Uncanny Cats will continue to do its good work, I am told. Crysta will not be buried – apparently dustcats like to eat the bodies of those they truly love.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Edward L Moore’s death is more troubling than we are used to

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By Frampton Jones

When Edward L Moore Jr came to the island, he spoke of service to the Lord. That was about six months ago, and for some of us, myself most assuredly included, this gradually raised questions.

It was rapidly clear that Reverend Davies did not like it when Edward spoke about serving the Lord. It seemed like professional resentment. The post of Reverend to Hopeless Maine has been handed down carefully over the years, with each man who passes picking the man who will follow on from him and handing over whatever secrets are intrinsic to the job. I know that there are secrets, that much has been alluded to, but no more, or it would largely defeat the object.

It became apparent that Edward L Moore Jr had a rather low opinion of our resident Reverend. This first appeared in the traditional way – loud arguments with the Reverend outside his church. Matters of theology, interpretation and tradition that were largely lost on those of us in earshot, but the intensity of the exchange could not be mistaken. In following weeks I became aware of a single, crucial fact – that the two gentlemen profess allegiance to two wholly different entities, both being addressed as ‘The Lord’ and both being deeply troubled by the other as a consequence.

And while survival is often the only measure of winning we have on this island, I am not sure it is fair to say that Reverend Davies has won, even though he has survived.

Last Sunday morning, many of us were gathered in the church as is usually the way of it. Most of us attend from habit rather than any particular belief, and because it is entertaining to discover what Reverend Davies is angry about this time. Some of us go along in the hopes of catching a few tunes from Edrie and the organ – although Reverend Davies tries to discourage this.

Edward entered the church, shouting at Reverend Davies that he serves evil and should choose a different path. Reverend Davies shouted back that it was unacceptable to come shouting thus into the house of the Lord, and that he was the only person entitled to shout angry things in this building, which he then proceeded to do – to the great entertainment of his congregation. It might have been a delightful morning, had things not taken a grisly turn.

A cluster of tentacles descended swiftly from the gloom of the church rafters, wrapped themselves around Edward L Moore’s form, and carried him away. It was a sudden, silent horror, and we sat frozen in the awe and awfulness of it all. He is gone. He may in fact have won his argument at the expense of his own life.

It is not the first time we have had cause to wonder who or what we reverence if we sit in Reverend Davies’ church. The Lord, he tells us, is dead and dreaming.  The material world is cursed and evil. Only the spirit can prevail. Are there always tentacles in the roof, waiting for those who disagree too enthusiastically? Perhaps there is good reason that traditionally we argue with Reverend Davies outside.