story Chapter 2

[Butchern]

The investigators piled back into the car and drove on into town.

 

The farmer's directions were good. It was about a mile before they started to see the buildings that created the "outskirts" of the small town of Ravenel. The first building they came to was the church. It was a small white rectangular building with a stubby steeple and a brick porch. The stained glass windows looked dingy and dark in the strained light of the cloud-covered sun. First Pentecostal Church of Ravenel was painted across the front of the church.

 

Maria turned left onto Main Street, just past the church. There were only a handful of buildings on this end of Main Street, none of them looked very inn-like. But two blocks down, on he left, stood an large old antebellum house. The house set right on the street, so there was no official parking. Three cars and a truck were parked on the grass just to the right of the house. A small sign on the door read Vacancies.

 

From in front of the old "inn" the investigators could see down the rest of Main Street. The buildings grew closer together into what must have served as the down town. A few cars were parked on the street, and they saw another turn off onto a side street.

 

"A tired little town," Maria said, but then looked to Livingston to see if she got her metaphor correct.

[matt_s]

Coupard discusses their options out of earshot of the locals.

 

Let's grab a bit to eat. What should we ask about at the inn? Basic local questions about recent happenings, the weather, points of interest, any interesting "characters" to talk to should be safe, I wager. If we push too much, we could get run out of town as unwelcome interlopers or attract undue suspicion. Our readings indicated some local cult back in the 19th century. If there is such a group, they likely have already become aware of our presence, so best to be on our toes.

 

I say we ask around the inn and town in general, then take a walk around? Thoughts?

[Sir Lazeabout]

"Possibly we might also venture a few questions about colourful local customs?" Malcolm suggests. "I doubt that anyone will tell us if they are practicing dark and heathen rites, but they might admit to some more palatable account, and that might give us something to pursue further."

[Butchern]

Maria pulled the car up in front of the inn, still on the street, to get it enough out of the road so the car behind her could pass.

 

"There is a diner just down the road," Maria said. "Two blocks on the right." She was craning her neck to try to see what else was on the street. "We could eat there. Or should I park so we can visit the inn first?"

 

 

[matt_s]

A diner. This town was far more bustling than Coupard would have expected.

 

Let's head to the diner. Grabbing a meal is always welcome to relax a bit, and its a perfect opportunity to make small talk with a few of the locals. Rambling on about nothing with bored waitstaff is an honored tradition in every small town and big city diner I have ever visited.

[Sir Lazeabout]

"Right you are!" Malcolm agrees.

[Butchern]

The diner, like the inn, didn't have a name. A painted wooden sign above the door read, "Diner." It was a free-standing brick building with a metal roof and large windows. The investigators climbed up the wooden stairs to the small porch and could see inside that the diner was about half full—a dozen patrons, give or take—of what looked to be locals, eating, talking, and drinking coffee.

 

When the investigators opened the door a little bell rang and most of the patrons looked up.

 

"Welcome to the Diner." A young blonde woman in a server's uniform stood next to a nearby table refreshing the coffee of two old men. She waved the investigators in. "Sit where you like. I'll be over in a minute."

 

The patrons eyed the new-comers for a minute and then slowly went back to their food and their conversations. There were plenty of empty tables, but the investigators could either sit in the corner table that was flanked by two large windows and not close to any of the other patrons, or they could sit at a long near the center of the diner which would put them between a few of the locals.

[matt_s]

Coupard grabs a seat in the center of the diner. He orders something from the waitstaff - a request for coffee, black if you please, and whatever sandwich the house was serving that day. Outsiders were always a tough sell, and asking for uppity city-folk food did not exactly endear you further.

 

When a suitable opportunity presents itself, Coupard says

We are from Charleston. Events the last few days have been pretty hectic - I'm sure you know how it is in the city, after all - and we came out here to see a change of scenery. Not staying long, just taking a look around the swamp and surrounding environs. Brings back old times for me, I spent a few weeks as a porter out in the Mississippi Valley hauling boxes of stuff worth more than I was back and forth in the summer heat. Miss the sights, don't miss the lifting though. I can share news of the city if you care to hear it, and if there have been any happenings here, I'd be much obliged to listen to the tale if I am not intruding.

 

Coupard neglects to mention he was a doctoral student at the time of his Mississippi adventure, looking at alluvial sediments, something that would scream "urban elite" beyond any doubt.

[Butchern]

When the investigators took a seat about half of the patrons looked up. All of them looked up when Coupard spoke to the room. A few seemed uncomfortable at his pronouncement; this wasn't typical diner behavior after all. Most of the locals, however, were quite fine chatting with strangers.

 

The waitress came back and took their food orders as the patrons chatted.

 

The two old men who sat at a small table right behind Coupard were happy to hear news out of Charleston, but they were quick to say that nothing interesting happened in Ravenel these days . . . and they liked it that way.

 

The two middle-aged women who sat at a round table between the investigators and the counter were very quick to give the investigators a verbal tour or Ravenel.

 

"You can take Live Oak—" One of the women pointed over her shoulder in a general westward direction. "It only goes one way. It will take you out to the swamp. Once it turns gravel, though, turn around. It gets pretty swampy out there. You don't want to get stuck. Also, you may want to see the church and the graveyard. You passed it on the way in."

 

"Don't send them over to the church to bother Father Vincent," one of the old men said. "It's the anniversary of his wife's death. He gets real blue this time of year."

 

"Father Vincent needs the company, and they need to see the graveyard," the other woman replied. She looked at the investigators. "It's one of the oldest graveyards preserved in the Lowcountry. There are graves there from back before the Civil War, in the 1700s even."

 

The investigators, the old men, and the old women talked some more while they ate their food which was tasty and filling. They were happy to answer any questions the investigators had about the town. Finally . . .

 

"Will there be anything else?" the waitress asked. Most of the other lunch patrons had already left. Maria and Livingston stood to ask about the restroom, and the waitress pointed them toward the back of the diner. As they were headed there, she said quietly to the ladies, "If you are going out to the swamp this afternoon, make sure the menfolk bring you back quickly. You don't want to be there after dark. It is easy to get lost. Also, my mamma lives just off Live Oak about a mile out of town, and she says strange things happen out in the swamp after dark. She says she hears people singing out there, and then there's the . . ." The waitress stopped and pointed. out the front diner window. The three cars that were parked directly outside the window were covered with large black birds. They all appeared to be looking in the window.

 

"Damn birds!" The two old men were about to exit the diner when they saw the birds too. Both men took off their hats and began yelling and waving their hats as the walked toward the bird-covered cars. At first the birds didn't budge. They certainly didn't look startled, but when the men were close enough to actually strike the birds with their flailing hats, they leisurely began to fly away.

[Sir Lazeabout]

Malcolm feels his guts turn to water as he sees the birds. Oh, they have come to the right place, that much is certain.

 

"Such... unusual specimens," he says, trying to sound casual. "I take it they are a regular nuisance in these parts?"

[matt_s]

I thank you kindly for the conversation and the advice. Give our regards to your fellow townsman that we met on the road who might be stopping by sooner or later. He was having some trouble wrangling goats, but got it all under control - little thanks to us, I am ashamed to admit, but greeted us weary travelers politely all the same. I regret that I either cannot recall or did not catch a name.

 

Coupard nods in polite acknowledgment of the dispersing crowd and reconvenes with his fellow investigators in a measure of privacy outside. The women related the waitress' advice to Coupard and Malcolm. It certainly seemed to have a more grave tenor than the usual grim advice to woman to be careful after nightfall in strange or even familiar places.

 

I say we ought to see this graveyard - maybe there is a cluster of unusual markers around the end of the 19th century? - and give our best compliments to the Father, may his beloved departed rest peacefully until day of resurrection. A polite knock, and letting him be if it is unanswered, should suffice and would be correct given what we heard. But a shepherd is always looking to swell their flock, and I doubt we will be left waiting there.

 

To Maria, Coupard asks, very quietly, Do you have a gun? God forbid we will need it, but I ask all the same.

[Butchern]

On 12/14/2022 at 2:46 PM, Sir Lazeabout said:

"I take it they are a regular nuisance in these parts?"

"Nah," one of the old men said. "These pests showed up late in the spring . . . or was it early summer. I don't remember. They came on kinda slow like, you know?"

 

"My grandpa told stories about the black birds," the other old man said. "I don't remember anything specific, just creepy stories to scare the little ones."

 

On 12/14/2022 at 5:43 PM, matt_s said:

I thank you kindly for the conversation and the advice. Give our regards to your fellow townsman that we met on the road who might be stopping by sooner or later. He was having some trouble wrangling goats, but got it all under control - little thanks to us, I am ashamed to admit, but greeted us weary travelers politely all the same. I regret that I either cannot recall or did not catch a name.

"That's be Rich Timmelson," one of the ladies said.

 

"He's an odd one," the other lady said. "Haven't seen him around here in a month. Glad to know he's okay."

 

On 12/14/2022 at 5:43 PM, matt_s said:

To Maria, Coupard asks, very quietly, Do you have a gun? God forbid we will need it, but I ask all the same.

"Si" Maria replied quietly and patted her purse.

 

~~~

The investigators piled back into the car and headed back up the road the way they came until the came to the church on the outskirts of town. It was a small white rectangular building with a stubby steeple and a brick porch. The stained glass windows looked dingy and dark in the strained light of the cloud-covered sun. First Pentecostal Church of Ravenel was painted across the front of the church.

 

As they approached the church from the other direction, they could see a small house behind the church (the parsonage most likely), and behind that house, stretching way back across a field and into the woods, a sprawling but reasonably well-kept grave yard.

 

The lights were out in the church, but there were lights on in the little house.

[matt_s]

Coupard takes in the environs of the church. Seems evident enough the parson is in his house. Let us knock and see if he is willing to talk. The questions I have are nothing outlandish, mostly news of the town, the strange happenings in the woods, and any odd history in the graveyard, but when men open their mouths, new lines of inquiry can sprout like weeds.

 

He will then walk up the drive and politely knock - tap tap tap - on the door and wait for the resident within to stir.

[Sir Lazeabout]

Malcolm nods and follows Coupard, trying to look as presentable as possible.

[Butchern]

As the investigators walked up the muddy lane to the house, they got a good look at the church. It was an old building, built in the typical style for rural South Carolina. It had been recently painted. The stained glass windows looked old; the church probably predated the Civil War. The building didn't look particularly large. It might have had seating for one hundred people, if they sat close together.

 

"This used to be an Anglican Church," Livingston said, pointing out some of the iconography in the stained glass windows.

 

"Definitely not de Pentecostés," Maria agreed.

 

The small house behind the church also had been recently painted. It also looked old, but somewhat newer than the church. The curtains were drawn on all the windows, but there was a light on inside in some of the rooms. Both the screen door and the front door were shut.

 

The wooden porch creaked as the investigators ascended. They knocked and waited. After a moment, the light in the window nearest the door brightened, and the front door opened. A middle-aged man answered the door in a white shirt and dress trousers. His shirt was untucked, and he was in his socks. His hair looked as disheveled as his shirt.

 

"May I help you?" he asked, half hiding behind the door.

Edited December 19, 2022 by Butchern (see edit history)