Category Archives: Island News

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.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Lady Selina Arkham Kyle – death by misadventure?

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Lady Selina Arkham Kyle’s death has created a bit of a conundrum. Her body was found in the street outside the library three days ago. Doc Willougby observed the body at the scene and pronounced the cause of death to be sudden migration of the womb, leading to asphyxiation. He assured us that the damage to the back of her head must have been due to the violence with which she fell when her womb went mad and attacked her lungs. “When I see a woman’s body covered in bruises, I know it’s because of her womb,” he told me.

Much as I dislike arguing with the good Doctor in public, I cannot help but think there might be a connection between her death, and a rope dangling from an upstairs library window. As though someone had tried to climb up there, and had fallen, banging their head on the pavement and dashing out their brains. But I’m just a simple journalist and not qualified to comment on medical matters.

Given Lady Selina’s tendency to ‘discover’ unusual artefacts, I had long assumed she must have a penchant for exploring abandoned houses. And what harm does it do? The risk is always to the explorer – often such houses have been abandoned for good reason, and it’s all too easy to come out with a cursed item if you aren’t highly sensitive to these things. But why the library? Granted, no one has been upstairs there for years. To the best of my knowledge, the rooms are empty and there is nothing worth exploring, or removing.

And yet, I am certain I saw a flicker of movement at the open window. Not a human face, something much more feline. The library has always had a sizeable dustcat population, so this seems the most likely explanation, but it only deepens the mystery. Did Lady Selina fall? If she was pushed, it seems hard to imagine that a dustcat would do such a thing. But then, we do not know why she was there in the first place. We do not know if she was exiting or entering the window when she fell. We do not know if she had attempted to remove something from the library – there was nothing on her body, but absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.

This may prove to be one of those mysteries that remains unanswered. But I have a feeling in my bones that this will turn out not to be the end of the matter.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Let Amanda Rieth be a warning to us all

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By Frampton Jones

 

It feels like every year now I have to write the same reminder. Most demons do not like the cold. When the temperature drops, demons seek warm places to roost. This may seem endearing when the demon looks mostly like a cat and alternates between purring and trying to eat your soul. Less so when the demon is only trying to eat your soul and has infested some part of your household.

This is your sadly regular reminder to check warm places for signs of demon activity, and be ready to flee if there are eyes where no eyes have been before.

Being new to the island, of course Amanda Reith knew nothing of this. She went ahead and moved into the shattered remains of Herr Doktor’s lab at just the moment when we were all feeling the awkwardness of not having a proper scientist of morally suspect intent at work in our community. And like several of our previous scientists, she made the fatal mistake of not allowing for demons. It’s all well and good being clever and rational, and not wanting to dabble with superstitions, but let me remind newcomers, our superstitions are exceedingly well founded.

Amanda Reith’s experiments glowed, steamed and bubbled into the night. Some of us tried to warn her. We said ‘you’ll attract demons’ but she laughed and said she was a woman of science and that she had no truck with demons.  It’s not usually the science that excites them, but the heat.  In the normal scheme of things, a lab, kitchen or workshop is unlikely to attract more than one demon at a time – they seem to be territorial. For some reason, whatever Amanda was up to, the demons found it intensely attractive. Who amongst us did not see their alarming forms peering from the windows at night?

And being used to such things, we all made the entirely sensible choice not to get further involved. Community spirit only goes so far, and it does not go into demon infested laboratories.  Of course, get that many demons into one place, and conflict is inevitable.

We could, in all fairness have been much more supportive when Amanda finally emerged, screaming with all the horror we are used to witnessing when people encounter demons. We could have been more sympathetic and less willing to go ‘I told you so’  and it probably wasn’t tactful to have a cake stall and a hot pie stand as the lab did what labs seem to do best here, and exploded behind her. I don’t know that it would have saved her life, but perhaps we should have tried. It was a horrible way to go.

 

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Ash Peterson – the end of history

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By Frampton Jones

Our resident historian Ash Peterson was found dead last night in a scene that can only be described as uncanny. Ash had been digging in the Norse burial mounds looking for insights into the lives of some of the island’s earliest inhabitants. I know technically that’s archaeology, but we’re short of written records. Ghosts associated with the mounds told me that they had discouraged this, but to no avail.

“The trouble is,” Olaf Svenson, deceased, told me, “People expect ghosts to tell them to leave, so they don’t take our warnings seriously. Often we’re only trying to help!”  There were assorted wails from other ghosts of what I can only assume were agreement. “It’s hard for us keeping up to date,” he said.  “I’ve gone to a lot of effort to keep my words  modern so that I can warn people, but no one takes me seriously! What is with you people?”

Closer inspection of the burial mound suggests that it had never been a place for the human dead, but was a prison made of metal and magical signs, covered over with stone, and grown grassy with time. This is a lot easier to tell now that it has been opened up! The metal showed signs of strange, rasping activity as though something had been trying to gnaw or cut its way out. There were similar marks on our departed historian’s body, only they were much bloodier and deeper. For reasons we may never properly understand, an array of ancient looking items were left in a careful circle around him.

My assumption is that some ancient evil, some unspeakable eldritch horror imprisoned successfully by our Norse ancestors, has now been released onto the island. We can no doubt expect more carnage.  I was unable to get a comment from occult expert Durosimi O’Stoat, but he did go so far as to laugh unpleasantly at me when I was leaving the scene. It is not an optimistic interpretation of these events.

This morning, Doc Willoughby entered the circle of objects to examine the body. While his scalp fizzed somewhat, there were no other discernible effects. He ascribes the death to food poisoning, most likely from ill advised mushroom foraging. He then started humming and swaying in a manner I found most peculiar.

This may well be the end of History on the island. It’s always been a problematic subject, but clearly the risks are higher than anyone suspected. The past is a dangerous place, and anyone hopeful for a future should probably try and avoid it.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

The rise and fall of Ssieth Anabuki

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By Frampton Jones

I do not think Ssieth Anabuki ever intended to fly with those wings. They were, I thought, a rather charming creation – an act of colourful whimsy in defiance of this grey and doleful world. Seeing the wings flutter by whenever she passed me in the street always brightened my day a little.

I have not found any witnesses who know how the situation arose. The first any of us knew that strangeness was afoot, Sseith was already airborne. I assumed it was deliberate – and more likely some act of uncanny magic than of science, for there was nothing mechanical in the wings to suggest they might carry a person into the skies.

I have, over the years, watched many people try to leave the island. There have been many deliberate attempts at flying machines and wings. The best of them have barely managed a few feet in altitude or more than a few yards in distance. I feel that I have something of an eye for these things, and I say those wings were only ever ornamental and that something else occurred. Perhaps Ssieth invoked something, or attracted something, or had quietly taken up experimental occultism. If a boat can be persuaded to take to the skies, then why not such wings as these? Who can say what arcane rules govern the possibilities?

She flew, and for a while, it was glorious to behold. Surely, just for once in this miserable place we might be allowed a moment of beauty without disaster following close upon its heels? But no. As she rose, she disappeared into the clouds, and for an uneasy moment, it almost looked as though the fog had wrapped itself around her, forming into an impossible hand. It seemed, to my eye at least, as though she was thrown from the sky. I have been told that I have an over-active imagination and read too much into the shapes of clouds, but there it is. As a witness, this is my evidence.

Perspicacity Jones told me, by way of contrast “She went up, and then she went down. Like someone doing a really big jump.” So there’s a more prosaic take on the tragedy.

Reverend Davies said: “This is why I counsel people against the use of sorcery. It never ends well.” Which I’m sure will be a comfort to us all.

After viewing the remains, Doc Willoughby told me, “It appears that her appendix burst.” In fairness, it probably had.

We made a cairn where she fell. It seemed more dignified than the available alternatives.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Amanda Gardham’s Cheese Festival may last forever

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By Frampton Jones

Amanda Gardham’s annual Cheese Festival has been a great addition to island life. So long as you never, ever ask what the cheese was made from. Or think about it too much. Or lie awake at night clutching your cheese-gorged stomach imagining that you can hear the voices of all the things that were squeezed or milked in order to achieve such richness.

Under her guidance we’ve become a more confident people in the arts of fermenting, straining, cheddering in caves, and keeping caves secure from things that wish to invade the cheese making process for their own dark purposes. We’ve had cheese from cows’ milk of course, sheep, goat and donkey cheese have all proved successful. But every year, the cheese festival has featured cheeses of unspeakable origins, and every year I have been a bit more afraid of where this may take us.

There are things a cheese should not do. I have seen Amanda’s unspeakable cheese rise up from the table and exit into the night. I have heard it cry and whimper from the bowls and cages wherein it lay. I have watched cheeses that ate other cheeses.

Sometimes, people go out into the night from the Cheese Festival and are never seen again. I grant you there’s always a statistical probability that anyone going out into the night will be lost to us forever, but I feel the Cheese Festival has increased the danger.

This year’s Cheese Festival was bigger and more dramatic than any before it. We have learned that just because it is technically possibly to milk a spoonwalker, it isn’t a good idea. That flavour may haunt me for the rest of my days. I fear that one of the new flavours may have been catmilk. Arnold Chevin’s maggot cheese is something I hope never to see again so long as I live.

What was that final cheese made of? The cheese that undulated in its barrel, yet looked like the most perfect and creamy of traditional cheeses. The cheese that filled the room with the most perfect, sharp, tangy cheese smell. The cheese that then leapt from the plate and smothered Amanda Gardham’s face, and bit anyone who tried to remove it. Where were the teeth? I have hideous thoughts about milk teeth. I am unable to sleep for thinking about it, or for remembering the way the rest of the cheese emerged from the barrel to cover her prone body, embalming her entirely. No one dares go near it, and to the best of my knowledge, she remains where she fell, beneath the Cheese Festival banner.

 

Amanda died on Hopeless as a direct consequence of supporting our recent kickstarter!

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Edrie Edrie – the music endures

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By Frampton Jones

Few are the people on Hopeless Maine who could get a tune out of Testimony Albatross’s famous organ. It languished in a state of disrepair for many years until restored to glory by Balthazar Lemon. For a while, Mrs Sophie Davies played it regularly, drawing out tunes that were both sweet and deeply uneasy. Most of us have never been able to elicit more than an ominous kind of flatulence from the great machine.

Edrie of course has been the great exception, able to draw sounds and music from the device that sometimes defy explanation. Having observed her playing, I am fairly confident that the organ itself was designed for an octopus or other cephalopod – there are so many pedals, levers, stops, buttons and keys available. Somehow, while having no more discernible limbs than anyone else, Edrie tamed the machine and brought forth sounds unlike anything we have known before.

This of course led to tensions when it became obvious that people were coming to the church for the music, not the sermons of Reverend Davies. As the congregation swelled, our longstanding preacher grew ever more uneasy about the effect of the music upon the listeners, and sermons focused increasingly on the risks of debauchery and fornication. The music and many islanders were clearly aligned in feelings of debauchery, and as services grew ever more lively, Reverend Davies tried to have Edrie removed from the church to halt her, as he called them, ‘seductive, outlandish performances.’

Edrie declined to leave. When a selection of people immune to the seductive music tried to force a removal, they found that they could not. It seems unreasonable to suggest that a mechanical device could have grown organically to include a person, but the evidence is hard to refute. There was no parting Edrie from the organ.  And there she remains, as far as anyone can tell. No one has been able to communicate directly with her for more than a week now, and it is difficult to explain what, exactly has happened.

Organ music can most reliably be heard around sunset, but can happen at other times. Reverend Davies is now holding his sermons and prayer meetings first thing in the morning, when Edrie and the organ are less active. The compromise has allowed a form of peace to return, although whether this is the end of the matter is hard to say.

Find out more about the organ here – https://hopelessvendetta.wordpress.com/2010/07/16/345/

Edrie Edrie is one of The Army of Broken Toys – find them here https://www.armyoftoys.com/

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

When exactly is Steve Tanner?

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By Frampton Jones

Like many people who find themselves unexpectedly shipwrecked onto our island, Steve Tanner was sure he could leave.  It invariably leads to trouble, and frequently to death, which is of itself no guarantee of leaving, as our many ghosts can testify.

Steve Tanner is effectively dead. Some weeks ago, he took a boat out with the intention of trying to catch up with a ship just visible on the horizon. I personally do not think those ships are always real. I think many of them are illusions created for the express purpose of adding to our collective misery. Anything that gets close to us but does not break up on the rocks should not be trusted, in my opinion.

It was the sort of day when taking a small boat out did not seem wholly reckless. Again, this is something to treat with suspicion. If the waters are gentle, it is only ever to lure us into a false sense of security. As is usually the way of it, a small party of onlookers gathered to spectate and place bets. Steve rowed manfully towards the distant ship. Not a single tentacle came up to try and dissuade him – it was as if they knew. I expect they knew.

He was still in plain sight when the boat stopped dead in the waters. He did not sink. He did not progress, nor yet was he flung back towards the land. There he remains. Stuck. A few intrepid fishermen have been out for a look and tell me that the boat cannot be touched. However close you get, it remains forever out of arm’s reach and things thrown at it simply miss. Time seems to be operating differently in the boat – it may be day or night there, and Steve has apparently grown a beard. How he continues to live, what he eats, how he sources fresh water – none can say. Whether he truly lives at all, or has become some strange unliving thing I do not know.

Certainly, he serves as a warning to us all.

Although Steve is now amongst the ranks of the uncertain, it doesn’t feel quite right to shout his name at the sea.

Births, Deaths, Marriages, Island News

Cat Strauss lost to a dire plot of some sort

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By Frampton Jones

Here is a mystery of considerable proportions. Herr Doktor is dead. Cat Straus is dead. Doc Willoughby has been terribly injured and is covered in bandages. No one saw anything, apart from Doc Willoughby. He tells me that he found Herr Doktor in the process of kidnapping Cat Strauss. He bravely attempted to rescue the victim, who tragically died when Herr Doktor chose to blow himself up rather than deal with his nemesis.

However, there are a great many witnesses to a kerfuffle earlier in the day in which Cat Strauss accosted Doc Willoughby in the street and called him, amongst other things a fraud, a Fog Cultist, and a liar.

And there are also a great many witnesses who saw Cat Strauss and Herr Doktor taking tea together yesterday afternoon at The Crow. And also plenty of witnesses who can attest that Herr Doktor normally just asks people if they’d like to go back to his lab and that charm, not force is his usual method of doing whatever it is that he does. Which all makes the kidnapping story seem a bit… unlikely. Given that the deceased left The Crow at twilight, and were seen to do so together, it is hard to imagine how, just a few streets later, this might have turned into a violent kidnapping scenario.

I am also inclined to recall that incident last year when, armed with a rolling pin and a frying pan, Cat Strauss undertook a very successful demon exorcism.

I am furthermore reminded that Herr Doktor suffered a break in only recently, and that explosives may have been stolen.

Happy to say that despite being almost entirely covered in bandages, Doc Willougby himself is in good spirits, and very much up and about. Whatever terrible injuries he suffered don’t seem to be slowing him down even slightly. And I’m sure we can all agree that this is the best possible news and in no way sinister at all.