Campaign Chronicles

Deepwater (population - just over 200) The Armadillo in overalls sidled up to the Screamin' Demon and asked, "What kin I do ya for? Just a fill-up? Check the oil and tires?" He turned and called over his shoulder, "MA! Git out here, woman!" A moment later, a second Armadillo, this one with a faded floral dress and a pair of eyeglasses perched atop her head, emerged from the store. She looked at the Trans Am and then the line of rigs pulling in behind it. "Howdy, boys! Dodge! Earl Jr! Come on out here and help your daddy! See if them drivers want anythin' besides gas!" Two half-sized Armadillos, both barefoot in raggedy denim overalls, poked their heads out of the door. Sam climbed out of the Screamin' Demon, dropped the considerable distance to the pavement, and adjusted his black cowboy hat. "Just gas, coffee. A cigar if you got one." The Armadillo nodded. "Go on in. Natalie-Joy got a pot on." The older boy got his fi...

EPISODE TWO: JOHNNY (PART ONE) Depending on your point of view, it was either late at night or early in the morning at the Waffle House. The grill still sizzled, coffee still poured, jacks still flapped. The old jukebox crackled and hissed like it was thinking about working again. Mirrie moved between tables with practiced ease, a coffee pot in each hand. An old werewolf couple were seated in one corner, sharing a slice of pie. A family of Goblins sat in a booth. Mommy Goblin, Daddy Goblin, three Goblin kids. The children were perfectly behaved. They said "please", "thank you", and referred to Mirrie as "Ma'am". Ralph, the werewolf security guard from the warehouse, sat at the bar with a mummy mechanic. Both were drinking coffee. Dragula, Xaden and Mac had already ordered and were most of the way through their meals. Drags was wearing headphones and singing along, badly, to music no one else could hear. 🎶 🎵  “Last Night I met a dancer. She came ...

Sunday Morning, 06 October 1985 The Josephson Property Fairhaven, Illinois      The sun had barely cleared the eastern horizon when Greta Whittaker pedaled her ten-speed bicycle along County Road 6.      She hadn't gotten much sleep.      Between finishing her show, helping Elliot put away the props, and thinking about Harold's mysterious telephone call, she'd finally gotten home well after midnight. But the possibility of an actual monster? That was worth getting up early for.      The morning air was chilly. Mist hung over the low fields, and the roadside ditches were filled with fallen leaves. Greta wore her usual black denim jacket over a faded T-shirt, black shorts, green fishnet stockings, and a pair of battered sneakers. Her bright green hair was tied back in a ponytail. She had a backpack containing a flashlight, a notebook, a disposable camera, and a couple of granola bars.    ...