The Call of the Hunger Games

by Minerva-Amantine

Effie Trinket gets more than she bargained for when she is summoned to work for the mysterious Theron Marks Society. She finds herself paired with veteran investigaor Haymitch Abernathy, the only survivor of an attempt to stop a horrific ritual only known as the Hunger Games. Now they must stop Snow from completing the ritual or it will be too late. Hayffie, Cthulhu Mythos AU

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not own Call of Cthulhu nor do I own any Hunger Games characters. If I did Hayffie would be canon and Chaosium would put out CoC modules faster. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated, however please be gentle as it has been at least ten years since I have written a fanfiction. J

On the day she arrived, legend-haunted Arkham was living up to its name. Clouds hung heavy in the sky making the noon of day seem more like evening. By the time the young woman had exited the bus, a drizzle had begun. The woman struggled with her bag with one hand whilst holding a newspaper above her head with the other.

"Need a hand Miss?" The bus driver peered with his oddly bulbous eyes from the bus. "I've got a few minutes before I leave for Kingsport and Innsmouth." His voice was slow, and the woman suspected some mental defect, but was far too polite to voice anything.

"No, no, I'll be fine!" the woman chirped cheerily, flashing an over-large grin at the bus driver. To prove her point, she pulled the umbrella loose from her bag and held it over her head. "However if you could tell me about where I would find this address I would be most grateful!" Brushing a few strands of dark blonde hair from her face, she handed the bus driver a card. Despite the air of manner she presented, she couldn't help but shudder slightly as the driver's cold, stubby fingers brushed against hers as the driver grasped the card and brought it close to his face.

After studying the slip of paper for a moment, the balding driver returned the paper. "I think that's over down nearish Marsh Street." He turned his eyes, which seemed to blink far less than was normal to the clock over the bus stop sign. "Best I be going. Good luck Miss Trinket."

Without waiting for a reply, the bus driver closed the door and started the bus, leaving Miss Trinket and her bags on the corner. She looked down at the pieces of paper again. It was marked simply with a strange star-looking mark, something about a Theron Marks Society, an address, and a request for the presence of one parapsychologist Miss Effie Trinket.