Repose

[It's obviously a fake, they say. A good hoax, though no one can seem to figure how it was managed: Tonight, just around midnight, there were multiple viewings of something winged flying over the lake houses and the lake itself. The wings, say those who saw it, were inky black, and no one could make out what they were attached to. Some theorists claim aliens or UFOs, and some claim the creature was some sort of winged cryptid. As for damage done, the only report made involved some unspecified destruction to a local home. Though witnesses do say the winged creature seemed to terrify their pets, and residents on the lake also report the ground was glowing red and hot during the apparition, Yet no one managed to record footage of either the creature or the molten ground and burbling water, and in an age of social media that pretty much means it was all a hoax that resulted in some mass hysteria.]

[Bored and done with it, Lear undoes his... adjustments to Liam's afterlife bullshit, leaving the ghost as he had been at the start—nothing more than a shitty haunt.]

[A simple 'Help Wanted' sign is hung in the window of the gas and garage that her and Diego own. It reads: Seeking: Cashier for gas station, shop cleaner, and additional mechanics. Inquire within or call [The shop's number] for additional details.]

It's a bad night to be a bad guy in the Capital.

A certain masked and caped vigilante in purple begins making an appearance slightly after 11 at night. It starts with a john slapping around a working girl with a little too much joy; he ends up with a broken nose and a broken arm for his efforts, and happily in police custody. The girl is fine, and after insisting, is back at work after being patched up. A low level neighborhood piece of scum that likes to take money from old ladies and immigrants that can't afford it for "protection" is next and the money, or what remains of it from tonight's pinch is returned. As for him? He's left hanging from a light fixture in his stretched out, stained whitey-tighties.

As the night continues, they keep coming, from the drink druggers to the purse snatchers, and as many end up in the hands of the police as end up in local hospitals.

Shortly after 7, she seems to go back to wherever she came from and leaving questions in her wake.

[It's the pie that sets him off, rather the proverbial straw that breaks the back of the camel. And while he would not describe himself as a camel, he is entirely aggravated by the world and his universe. And Shiloh is prone to dramatic reactions, but he thinks it's completely justified when he drives up to Audrey's new home and slams the pie in front of the door, at the landing, in a glorious explosion of colorful sweetness. Because, seriously, this town is mad with entitlement, and a person is allowed to remain angry if they so desire.

As for his next move, it's a stop at the bitter man's job. Shiloh isn't much of a reader, but this town is the size of a pin's head, and he knows Ren on sight. He storms in, leans over the counter (where Ren is working), grabs the condescending prick behind the neck and yanks him forward for a kiss that is nothing more than teeth and pressure and anger. When he lets go a moment later, it's to brush the back of his own hand against his mouth. He offers no farewell or explanation or introduction. He does not remind Ren that he, Ren, is a hater asshole. He merely leaves the way he came.

Lastly, he leaves a note on Mal's fridge, one to be found later:] I have been a very bad boy, and I refuse to allow this town to guilt me into apologies. Back in a week. [And with that, he drives out of town and toward the Capital, where he intends to spend an entire week detoxing from Repose's bullshit.]

[On Monday, the arcade on Main reopens (after a brief closure). The owners have purchased the space adjacent, and the new sign declares the name to now be Neon Arcade & Mini Golf. Flyers appear near the cash registers of neighboring businesses and in shop windows throughout town, stating that all games are 2-for-1 through the end of the month, while arcade credits are doubled for that same period of time. Additionally, hours are extended for 18+ on the weekend, in the hopes of drawing in young adults from neighboring towns. Sadly, the place isn't haunted at this time... well, with the exception of that one Polybius machine.]

[One of the more modern lakeside mansions is purchased, as is. It had been commissioned by a renowned architecture firm five or six years back, before its original owner opted for somewhere less... exciting. Rumor states it was bought by the man whose sister had owned the photography studio, though little about him is known. If you seem interested or sympathetic enough, some of the chattier Reposians might even go so far as to mention the odd hours the lights are on or the constant coming and going of the Mercedes, and how that all fits into their extensive speculation.

In separate news, there is a small craft advisory for the lake, as the weather whips the waters in a lather lasting a few days. It is recommended residents steer clear of the shores and stay off of the water until the advisory is cancelled.]

[(TIME FUZZ. So it happens whenever it's convenient for you.)

The contents of the first apartment of the music store, whose only occupant is currently the white cat Mimi, has been lately altered. The changes are subtle and take a moment to notice, but anyone who goes in there often enough might figure out what is different about this picture, if they weren't distracted by more monumental events.

The furniture is unaltered, the great bed with its missing canopy still a king of white duvet and fluffy pillows, the stout bookshelves still crammed with old books forced in at all angles. Daniel's various odds and ends are still largely housed in wood crates the size of steamer trunks stacked somewhat haphazardly against one wall. Blue tea towels still hang from the oven door. The reading lamp is still plugged in over the big armchair, and the chipped mugs and silver tea set are all still in place, if a bit dusty. Mimi's toys are still scattered about, and her litterbox is in the otherwise untouched bathroom.

However, the microwave is gone. So is the phone charger, which used to be by the bed. The record player is gone, and the radio too. There's a straight razor hidden in a drawer instead of an electric one charging on the bathroom sink. Rather than the old brick of a laptop computer, there's now a manual typewriter in astonishingly good condition with a strange linen-paper sheet set onto the roller. The sheet is blank. The typewriter doesn't have a plug, but it clicks every now and then, as if waiting.

All the modern newspapers that used to stack up by the door are gone. So are the magazines. And the paperback novels--and in fact, anything published after Queen Victoria's death is MIA. The place feels kind of spacious... and anticipatory.]

[Near 9PM, a miniature explosion rocks the trailer park and scars the night sky with an angry sear of red. A single-wide, near the front of the park, goes up in flames. The lone occupant makes it out safe, if shaken and slightly scorched. She's taken downtown and given space in the station as first responders attempt to decipher the cause of the fire. No one else is harmed and no other trailer is so much as singed.]

[On Monday, the puddles appeared.

Throughout town, puddles of water began to appear with no rhyme or reason to their source. Large, dirty puddles, stinking of lake water, soaking into carpet and spreading out over tile. Not everywhere is so lucky to be assaulted by the spread of the water, though. No, it seems limited to certain locales. The Bed & Breakfast. The library. Vade Mecum. Several of the mansions that border the lake. The carnival.

Wet, cold, and seemingly impossible to mop up. No sooner is the water cleared that it appears again.

It lasts through the week, and by Saturday, the puddles seem to dry up for good.]

[Flyers show up in windows and such on the night before New Year's Eve, all saying drinks will be 2-for-1 New Year's Eve at the Mean-Eyed Cat, and that everyone inside the bar at midnight will get a drink for just a dollar. There's even promise of different music for the evening, no offense to Johnny, with music requests welcome all night long.]

[Just prior to this and this, all archived posts/comments by Damian Wainright and Misha Bellamy are gone from the forums. Existing conversations show a gap where their responses should appear.]

[Methane trapped beneath the surface, is one theory about the lake. The second is geothermal. A third, seismic. Others posit its another effect of climate change. A smaller contingent point to the supernatural as the obvious culprit. But, whatever it is, for the moment, it has make the lake impassable (to most). The surface of the normally tranquil body of water is choppy and rough. Waves break high on the privately owned docks, battering boathouses. Boats that dare brave its waters are quickly swamped. There are times, hours even, where it seems calmer, but, blame the undertow or something like it, even skimming along near the shore has taken on new dangers.

No signs are placed to dissuade those who wish to try their luck. But, such foolhardiness is strongly ill-advised.]

[A window-repair fund is set up through town hall, thanks to an anonymous donor. As long as one is a Repose resident, they can fill out a simple form and have the cost of repair covered for any windows lost in the recent... anomaly. Per that, the local authorities are assuring residents it was caused by some strangeness in air pressure. It's unlikely to reoccur. However, just in case, a variety of window repair/weatherproofing kits are available to those who ask.]

[When it happens, it comes without warning. It's midday. A little after. Cloudy outside. Dreary. Normal. Until, as if struck by a blast wave, windows around town shatter and car alarms go off. There's no epicenter to the apparent detonation. It just happens. Sudden seismic activity is the theory, and, in fact, seismograms a few hundred miles away show the evidence in waving arms of ink. The problem is this: no one felt so much as a tremor. It's just the windows. The car alarms. Dogs barking. Startled babies crying.

In separate news, two of the elderly guests who call the B&B home died overnight, seemingly within hours of each other. It's not uncommon, given the B&B's status as impromptu nursing home for Repose's aging population. But, two in a night is unusual. Both seem to have passed naturally.]

[It seems a strange time of year for a revamp of the carnival in the woods. It also seems a strange place to sink so much money into, but someone does just that. During the carnival's dark week, huge trucks and work crews can be seen coming in and out of Repose for days on end. They clear more space in the woods, and they take out the existing structures and replace them with prettier ones, all in red and gold. They add heaters that somehow keep the immediate area temperate, and they clear out a large space for parking, as if they expect a large amount of traffic to this time carnival in the woods.

The trailers of the performers come next, to shelter alongside the trailers of existing performers. Mermaids and fortune tellers, levitating girls and trapeze artists that seem to truly fly, the carnival becomes more performance wonder than small-town fair, with oddities and marvels walking the midway and performing in the three tents on the property. There are still rides, games, and food, but all of it is a little magical, a little better than should be available in a small town like Repose.

It only awaits to be seen whether all the money is somehow worth it for the investors, who remain nameless for the time being.]

[Merge Books, the non-magical imprint of Theodore's wizarding publisher, issues a press release to the Sunday trades and various publishing websites regarding the release of his first two books. Additionally, they announce a short publicity tour schedule, featuring signings and readings, to span the week of October 22nd through the 29th:

The Capital: October 22
New York: October 23
Chicago: October 24
Seattle: October 26
Portland: October 27
Denver: October 28
Houston: October 29]

[While the Shadow's activity in the Capital had been sporadic over the last handful of years, it had been consistently there. As of earlier this week, however, it ceases. There is some speculation among the small cadre of fans/haters, but the police, if they know anything, say they don't. But, no proper conspiracy theorist would believe that.

Separately, around 2AM on Thursday morning, there's an explosion by the Capital docks. After first responders clear the scene, it's determined the detonation happened remotely, sending an old shipping container up in smoke, and there's nothing likely salvagable. There are no bodies, as far as authorities can tell. At this time, they do not think there is a link to any terrorist activity, and cite what is likely some manner of gang tussle. That is all.]

[A bright white light illuminates the Repose sky on Tuesday evening. For those in the know, the light is a holy light, and it shrouds the town for a full minute, coating the entire sky in a pure and unbroken light that shines in windows and makes the entire town fog-white for the duration. For those without religious or supernatural abilities, it's just a blinding light, and the Next Door app is flooded with comments about UFOs, aliens, and the local military base. Videos are uploaded, and storm hunters and supernatural enthusiasts will likely flood the town for a few days after seeking a point of origin. The only noticeable thing that happens during the light is that the two boys that live on the lake are nowhere to be seen afterwards, but they spend a lot of time out of town, and so it's not that disconcerting.]

[The news cycle is constantly refreshing itself, and even the big stories usually fade to the background of public consciousness after a few days. Last summer, one such story was that of the I-35 Killer, James Walker Simms, convicted of the kidnap, rape, and murder of nine different teenage boys along a stretch of Interstate Highway 35 in Iowa. Viewers were briefly fascinated by the story of how he'd been apprehended by two of his would-be victims, but following a brief open-and-shut-case trial, the public, as usual, forgot.

The story briefly resurfaces this weekend, getting a couple minutes' airtime, every couple hours on the cable news networks, for a couple days, accompanied by stories on their websites: Simms' appeal of his conviction has been denied. It's a non-story to most: old news, nothing to see here folks. He's not getting out of prison. He won't be stalking the highways and byways of the Upper Midwest to snatch your boys away anytime soon. One station has a 30-second, where-are-they-now type sound bite from one of the boys who helped capture the killer.

The one who can be reached, that is.]

warning: story contains mentions of sexual assault