Chapter 3

Ghost Hunting

The southwest side of Bright Harbor is by far the most impoverished area, but also connected to the roots of original industry and the foundations of the city as a modern empire. As such, getting there is as quick and simple as following the main roads, and they all lead to the tracks.

It's a familiar sight for Mae, surrounded by both colorful and rusted cargo cars, abandoned and awaiting use that may never come. Gravel crunching underfoot feels like a piece of home sticking in the treads of her boots.

Also familiar are some of the crusties up ahead. Lupine ears perk as Mae approaches, and Jenna waves her over. "What brings ya to the tracks, rock star?"

Mae waves her off. "Can't a girl just wanna catch up with a few familiar faces?"

"They can, but you're not. Ya look as stressed as ya did during that cult business."

She huffs and slouches a bit. "Ok, a bit, yeah. Any of you seen Germ lately?"

The much older cat, Skamz, scratches his beard and runs a finger over one of his tattoos. "Think I just saw him late last month. Around now, chances are he's over in Iron Hollow. Should sweep back this way within a week or so."

"Good, good." She sighs in relief. "If any of you see him sooner, send him our way ASAP. He should know where our apartment is."

They two crusties look to one another for a moment, then back to Mae. "This, uh… have anything to do with his… powers?"

"Oh, cool, you guys know." Some of the tension in Mae's shoulders melts off. "Yeah, we could really use 'em right about now. You guys heard anything about people going missing around here, or weird supernatural shit?"

"Margaret…" Skamz narrows his eyes at her. "That's a deep rabbit hole in these parts. Lot of stories, lot of rules. Don't go into the southwest woods alone, Groups of three at least are best. If the wildlife is quiet, leave. Got the same rules at a few other places, but the disappearances seem kinda… cyclical. Different places, different times, but always the same rules around there among us, and always a good few years apart." He huffs. "O'course, us crusties don't matter to the law, so when we go missing, nuthin's done. We're easy targets. But somethin's been takin us for a long, long time. Even before the rails."

Mae shivers as that all sinks in. "Oooookay, that's… yeah, I'll be sure to tell everyone that. You guys keep safe, I'm pretty sure whatever it is… it's here. Now."

Jenna nods. "You got it. We'll tell all the crusties to steer clear. Shouldn't be a problem."

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Angus pauses his research as he gets a text from Mae with everything she got at the station. He nods and uses that to narrow down his research, trying to find anything about disappearances in those woods.

Sadly, nothing about disappearances is found. Occasionally, there's reports of an odd body or two, stabbed and decayed, abandoned there for months already by the time it was found. None of them had ID or were reported missing, identified as homeless with few or no next of kin to report to. Occasionally, an organ or bone would be missing, or only part of a body would be found.

Those missing parts were never found, and the conditions of the body made it clear it couldn't have been organ trafficking.

Angus grumbles and dives down that rabbit hole, searching "supernatural uses of organs".

That brings up a plethora of results, myths and legends world-wide about mythological figures that used organs in rituals or simply ate them. And then there's the number of gods and monsters spawned by a severed organ gaining it's own life, but those are just too odd to bother looking further into.

The one thing that stands out most is cases of witchcraft that rely on organs. There's been reports of a few cults using organs in ritual sacrifice, but of course, no evidence of these rituals ever actually doing anything.

Angus closes his tabs and sits back to consider the things he's just learned, and what it could all mean.

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Bea sits across from Jason Myers with a latte in hand. "You really didn't need to get this, Jason."

"Oh, I did. You kept my son safe here overnight, and gave him somethin to run away to when that town got to be too much. This is the least I could do." He sips his own, keeping one arm around Law. "Speaking of running away…" He peeks down to Law, who's cowering a bit. "We've got a lot to talk about.. But first and foremost, I already did some research, and I found a couple places I wanna look at here today before we go home."

Law's eyes widen as his back straightens. "R-Really? We're gonna move here now?"

He nods and sighs. "I saw the school security footage of what those little assholes said to you. What they tried to do. No way in hell I'm keeping you there after that. So, you'll be doing your classes from home for a few weeks until we can move up here and get you transferred."

Law leaps up and throws his arms around him, almost spilling both of their drinks. "T-Thank you!"

Bea smiles tenderly as they hold each other, overjoyed to see such a functional family. Finally, she sets her drink down and clears her throat. "Well, we should have a full reunion here soon enough. Mae's looking into getting Germ back here soon."

Jason nods as they separate. "Been a while since we've seen him. What's the occasion?"

Law grumbles. "More of Mae's weird dreams. Stuff about the demigods."

Jason pauses, almost speaking, but takes a moment to think. "Actually… James disappeared from Possum Springs a few weeks ago. Something must have pulled him away."

"If we see him here, then we know we're in for something serious." Bea hums into her drink. "You don't need a healer around unless someone's going to get hurt."

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At the local park, Selma sits in a gazeebo, surrounded by several other poets from various tracks of life. A couple goths of various types from lolita to pastel, a metalhead or two, someone all rigged up for a ren faire later that day, just to name a few. Everyone got either a printed poem or a phone to read it off of, save for the ren faire bard who carries a lute and clearly memorized his work already.

Selma seems to be the center of attention as the finishes a fresh poem about her own formerly drug-addled mind, written to intentionally confuse and confound, but constantly border on either suffering or euphoria at all times, before ending with the dullest and most exhausting terms she could find.

This earns her a round of claps, followed by a phone alarm going off, as the crocodile bard checks his pockets. "Ah, damn, I gotta get going. I've got an act at three today, and it's looking to be a full house."

"Break a leg, Terrence." Selma raises a hand for a fistbump, and he gladly returns it. As everyone begins to pack, she turns to some of the goths. "Hey, Stacy. You hold any odd seances lately?"

The white feline hums and fiddles with her silver pendant. "Yes, actually. A few very troubling ones. How's you guess?"

"My band's got it's own history with that."

She hums and nods. "Right, the cult mess. Any particular figures involved?"

"The pieces of the forest god."

Her eyes narrow, and she bites her lip. "... I did have… one, recently. An older couple that lived by the western edge of town, by the woods. They wanted some closure about a daughter that went missing decades ago. When I tried to get some grasp on her, it just… It was like she was in pieces. Not her body. Her soul. Just like the splitting of a god. Whatever got to her, it was… savage, and she can't move on. She's stuck here, until something or someone manages to put her back together."

A few people present shiver at the mere thought, including Selma. "... That… I'll keep that in mind. I think I know a guy who can fix it, but stopping it, not so much."

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Late that night, Gregg stands behind the bar, washing a glass across from two regulars. The late crowd at The Sailing Sparrow is always more reserved, the older gays that're tired and just enjoying the solace of a place that accepts them and lets them drink their worries away.

These two in particular are some of the oldest and wisest regulars, and always reserve this corner for themselves, with space to lend an ear to younger patrons in need. Every community has them, and gays bars are no acception.

"Ya ever hear from that boy from Vegas again, Freddy?"

"Jamie? Nah, not a word. Pretty sure he got caught up in the war after. Or he was usin a fake name, you know we all did that shit those days."

Sammy snorts. "Damn right we did. I think I had six different names I cycled through every time I left town for a fling. Safer that way."

"'til your first protest. How many times you get arrested, again?"

"Five, almost lost my eye the third time."

"You're still a bit wall-eyed."

"Fuck you, Freddy."

"Buy me a few more drinks first."

"Hey, uh, guys…" Gregg cuts in as he sidles to that side of the mostly empty bar. Weeknights tend to be slow by this hour. "You've been around the block a lot, know a lot of people, most corners of this city…" He leans against the bar as he finishes cleaning a glass. "You hear about anything… odd going on around here lately?"

Sammy huffs. "Odd like you and your crew dealt with back home, ya mean?"

Gregg blanches. "W-Well, uh…"

Freddy waves them both off. "Cool it, boys. Yeah, we both been around enough to know that kinda shit's as real as we are. Ain't seen too much myself, not very tied into that crowd, but uh…" He hums as he peeks about, finding the bar suitably empty of people who'd give a damn. "Ya see, I got an old friend, dame from back in the day, real heavy-duty protestor, who happens to be a Wiccan as well. She's still practicing, has a nice little coven that meets all over the place, but as she gets older, more of their meetings are at her place. Her name's Layla, and if ya come with an open mind, she's more than willing to take on some extra ears and help people with spiritual problems. If there's some cult shit goin on in this city, she'll have a few ears to the ground and third eyes on the sky in no-time."

Gregg sighs in relief. "Oh, thank Rubello. Ok, how should I contact her, then?"

Sammy pulls out his phone. "I'll send your contact info to her, she'll get back to ya sometime tomorrow if she's up for bringin ya in."

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States over, deep in another forest and off a short ways from an old railroad, Germ scrambles as he searches the woods for the most precious of supplies. A delicate white flower soon graces his bag, alongside a perfectly ripened peach, a piece of unpolished jade, a wooden bowl, and several stalks of raw spices, bound in waxy twine.

"You're running out of time, kid."

He grumbles as he picks another ingredient and makes his way back to the rails, barely sparing a glance at James as he passes. "I have enough."

A few meters ahead, James is suddenly behind another tree he passes. "She's going to strike soon, and when she does…"

"I know, pops, lay off it. I've got this."

He hums and watches as Germ leaps up and onto an open cargo door as a train passes, leading him southeast. "... I certainly hope so. See ya there, kid."