????, 1928 Two Cultists dead. The partygoers felt a sense of…relief? Calm? Perhaps before the storm, anybody would feel a sense of relief. Was it earned? Would they ever find out how to get back to Earth? Would the Grim overtake them? For now, it was growing late in the evening, and some were getting fatigued. Britta returned to her room, hoping to catch a nap, and no sooner did she close her eyes than a knife drew across her throat. She flew up, grasping at the artery, the spray cascading over the carpets and the walls, a Pollack of … Continue reading Werewolf 39 -The Pnakotic Party – Day 6

????, 1928 The cultists found it all too easy to grab him. Flustered at being thought of as suspicious, Owen retreated to a bathroom, combing his hair out of nervous habit, quivering at the death he’d seen that night. He was still but a lad, and this would be too much for most adults. He had just gone to the party out of want for some hooch not surreptitiously grabbed out of his father’s cabinet, and now he found himself in this…other place, this place where time and geography and life had no meaning. He focused on the mirror, his … Continue reading Werewolf 39 – The Pnakotic Party – Day 3

????, 1928 The shock had set in: they’d murdered an innocent man. How could a body just…burst like that? Some WWI veterans murmured about their fallen comrades in the trenches, about how men could just…disappear in rouge-tinged puffs, but nobody could claim to have seen this done without high explosives. To just…be gone…spontaneous combustion? What force could have caused this? And what of the eerie proclamation that rang out? What were the Yith? After some hasty taping of makeshift paneling over the window, some calm came over them. The smell of the world outside had faded away, and there was … Continue reading Werewolf 39 – The Pnakotic Party – Day 2

New York City, 1928. It could have been so beautiful. The night air was crisp, refreshing, a slight gentle caress against your nape as you walked down the street. A little wave creeping across the tree branches and rustling the first fell leaves of autumn. It could have been so wonderful. A gathering, one with booze and merriment, one where high-fashion rubbed with hoi-polloi, bourgeois and beggarly enjoying the co-mingling conviviality. But elsewhere… Far beyond the reaches of our minds, sitting just over the horizon of our consciousness, there lay the Grim. The Grim had perhaps always been there, but … Continue reading Werewolf 39 – The Pnakotic Party – Day 1