(PULP CTHULHU) Session 3 – Character: SANDY TALES
SANDY TALES’ REPORT: PC-03
Another mission is complete. I must say referring to you as Grandpa or Uncle is… difficult. I am not a good liar—which I know is required for our line of work, but I try to keep things straight. I believe this time I mentioned you as my uncle. The nature of who we are—where we’re from—and our actual relationship—would confuse too many. It’s quite possible they would go mad, or more so think us mad. I understand why this is to be kept quiet. You know, I would like a message of some sort back—so that I know you’re all right. I worry about you, Gus. Especially at your age.
Please let me know of how your journey and search is going. You were going on that train, were you not? The Orient Express? Be careful.
Also… is Vashe prepared to take up our cause should one or both of us vanish? I hope you have trained him properly. His sister, Panne, is too soft to be of much use. So, he is our only backup. Unless you have more cards up your sleeve—Which you always do.
Anyway, here is my report…
About a month passed from the first trial. The business with the mutated things and the moon man. As per your request, I answered the call from the head of Strange but True. (I used to think tabloids were nothing but trash… now, I realize everything has some element of truth…)
I was asked to come in again, alongside your friend Victor von Victor and his bodyguard Dale. Carlo was nowhere to be seen. You told me to keep an eye on both of them, and I regret his dealings are a tad shaded. I would not want to come up on the wrong end of a Tommy gun.
So, at Strange but True, the boss was rushing around, overly joyous. He showed off the article I wrote, and the photos that were taken. He raved, really. I almost blushed. But you know me.
He of course had asked us there to do another job for him. This one was a bit of a stretch. Monsters in the marshes? Sure. A 100-year-old woman, who looks like she hasn’t aged in fifty or more years… that is beyond me. Unless she is one of THOSE things you told me about. You know the ones. I still find it hard to believe in such tales.
So, we were asked to go to the reading of her will, which apparently was a big deal. She was a big deal in the community—Innsmouth. Pictures were asked for again. But this time we asked him for a camera. He gave Dale, our mouthpiece, a voucher for a camera. We traveled downstairs and picked it up. Our pay for this mission was to be $10 plus $5/day for off the books work. How difficult could it be to cover a will reading?
He showed us the obituary of one Emilie Nolanne, aged 100 (approximate). She died Saturday night. Her health had been ill of late, after an assault. The attacker broke her leg. She was a pillar of the community, yada yada. And very generous. The family conducted the funeral in accordance of her wishes. The will was to be read Friday, April 21st 4pm. Members of the community wishing to pay tribute were welcome to attend. She was survived by her four children, all of Innsmouth.
From the looks of the photo provided she did appear really young. ALMOST as young as me. The picture could not be recent. Could it?
Well, we were going to head on over and find out how she looked so young for being so old.
The idea was suggested of taking the train to Ipswich—which I was hesitant to go anywhere near there again—and then we could take a bus to Innsmouth. But Victor and Dale wanted to take Mariam’s car again. (the woman from Ipswich’s inn).
When we arrived at that inn, Mariam was hesitant, but Dale used his charms to talk her into letting us use the car.
Outside of the inn, it was very quiet. Almost too quiet.
So, we took her car and I drove us for the hour drive to Innsmouth.
The closer we got to the seaside haunt, the more it reeked of fish and rot. By the time we made it into town, it was early afternoon. A LOT of the buildings were boarded up…
So we went to the Gilmen House Hotel. Something about the name had my anxiety rising. Gilmen. I couldn’t quite place it… that feeling was becoming all too familiar.
That stench of rot was almost overwhelming as we went inside.
A man was behind the counter. It didn’t look too shabby inside. Better than most of what we had seen so far.
Two rooms. $3 per night… we paid for $2 nights.
Victor asked about Emilie Nolanne.
The owner said a lot of good stuff about her. He basically gushed (yet he wouldn’t mention much on her cause of death).
Emilie was a traveler and very faithful to her church…
We also learned the town had no local newspaper.
Victor was kind and gave the man a $10 tip. Money was clearly no object to him.
For that tip, we were offered the chance to park our car in the garage. So we did.
Then Victor went and gave him one of the old gold coins from Ipswich! To my surprise, and dismay the man looked at coin and seemed very… off. I was beginning to have flashbacks of Ipswich.
Dale asked to use the phone to call good ole Ed Titcomb from Ipswich and their tabloid. No answer.
We went to our rooms… the walls were paper thin. I could hear Dale and Victor bickering. I laughed. They acted like a married couple. They heard my laughter and told me to be quiet. I laughed even harder. At least it was entertaining travelling with them.