#deadbolt mystery society

[darkness-bound-adventures]

A sneak peak of Till Death, can't wait to stream and play. #mysteryboxgames #deadboltmysterysociety #murdermysterybox #murdermystery #mysterygames #detective #whodunnit #minimystery

[moonflower85]

Just completed my first Deadbolt Mystery Society box! This one is called Museum Nocturnus, and it took me about 2.5-3 hours to complete solo and has a 6.5/10 difficulty level on the website. I'm hoping to be able to order another one soon!

[theboywithburninghands]

It’s time. The sequel to my first fic set in @rottentricks’ Murder Mystery Universe. First chapter is a go. Enjoy!

T/W: Blood and gore, mentions of suicide, mentions of drugs and alcohol, profanity

Beasts Ch. 1: Knock Knock

I am the beast that cuts the meat!

Now that they’re dead, you can sink in your teeth!

———

“Hello and good evening to all you listeners out there in Autumnvale! It is currently 7:15 PM on this dark and snowy February night, a brisk 19 degrees and 8 minutes before sundown, which means you should be home and your doors should be shut tight. I’m Matthew Laney and joining me as always is my partner in crime, Arnold Zorelli…”

The radio continued playing on the dash of a silver Jaguar S-Type, the driver a gray haired fellow with square, amber-rimmed glasses and a $350 black suit jacket. He reached for the volume control knob, but paused and looked at his passenger.

“You mind if I turn it up?” he asked.

His passenger, a beautiful brunette woman perhaps 15 years younger than he was, turned her gaze away from the treeline rushing past them. In the light of the headlamps, the trunks were dim and gray and mausoleum-like. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black in the low light.

“No, go ahead,” she answered, turning to look back out the window. The driver increased the radio’s volume a few notches.

“…coming up on the one month anniversary of the bugnuts insane Wren case. If you’ve been living under a rock, first of all, how cheap is the rent? But secondly, our town’s own shrink Dr. Cole Wren got busted for tampering with a patient’s antidepressants until he killed himself, then framed the butcher Jax Kingston when the patient took his own life, so he could take to the streets and protest against racial discrimination.” The jock, Laney, recounted.

“I don’t think Batman could have pulled off something like that,” the color commentator said.

The jock laughed. “And Wren couldn’t either! Because he got busted by a grad student on live TV!”

“Oh yeah, I remember, ‘You’re not a hero, you’re a freak!’”

“I want that on a t-shirt,” Laney said. “But we here at WVRT hopefully will have the grad student, uh, her name is Pomni Freeman, on the show for the anniversary to discuss her experience.”

“Pomni? Never heard a name like that,” Zorelli said.

“Uh, it’s Russian I think. I kinda like it, it’s elegant,” Laney replied.

“Beats what people used to name their kids in the 60’s,” Zorelli chuckled.

“Oh, what, like ‘Starlight’ or ‘Coast’ or ‘Zephyr?’”

“I knew a girl named Zephyr.”

“Man shut up, you did not!” Laney exclaimed.

“No, hand to God, there was a girl in my 4th grade class named Zephyr Tomlinson,” Zorelli declared.

The Jaguar pulled into the driveway of one of the new McMansions that had been built on the edge of town, one of three at the end of Roche St.’s cul-de-sac. An eccentric architect from another country, who had already made millions building “mansions” quickly and cheaply throughout the state, approached Mayor Caine Mason with plans to turn some of the disused housing on the edge of the woods into a high-end neighborhood. These “mansions,” built with outsourced construction crews and supplies, were considered a way for more middle class folk to break the barrier into high society.

Most in Autumnvale agreed that those who bought the McMansions were either rich already, needed more space for their families, or were incredibly insecure about their already upper-middle class status and wanted to look even more well-to-do. Even Mayor Mason, who allowed the architect to build the “mansions,” hated the way they looked. Blocky and uneven like a four year old’s Duplo building.

“Tammy, you’re doing that thing. What’s the matter?” the man asked.

“Nothing,” Tammy replied.

The man pulled his Jaguar into the garage, closing the door behind it. Tammy exited the car as soon as the engine was cut off. The man walked after her, locking the Jaguar with his key fob and unlocking the deadbolt to the back door. The door was mahogany, or at least a reasonable imitation of mahogany, with one of those ornate floral patterned oval windows of frosted glass in the middle of the door. The back door opened into the kitchen, Tammy hanging her brown lambswool peacoat on one of the clothes hooks.

“Can I make you a drink?” the man asked. He went into the kitchen, where a small bar had been set up on the island. Black Thistle, Woodford Reserve Double Oaked, The Glenlivet, Gray Goose and Rémy Martin XO, with the appropriate lowball and highball glasses, wobble snifters and shot glasses on a silver tray, next to an ice bucket and a few bottles of Schweppes Tonic Water.

“I’m fine,” Tammy said, removing her high heels and putting them on the shoe rack, rather than in the closet. “I’m just tired after all that.”

“After all what? Standing in a corner staring at your nails?” the man said, pouring some Black Thistle into a lowball.

“Amos, I don’t know anyone at those ‘mixers,’ okay? What am I supposed to talk about, anyway? I don’t know shit about international trade. All those guys look like they want to slip something in my drink, anyway…”

The man, Amos, added a few ice cubes to the gin in his glass.

“Just about all ‘those guys’ are business partners who I’ve known for decades. They’re married or gay,” he said, completing his drink with tonic water. “I took you out because I figured you would appreciate a bit of fresh air, not just sitting around the house all day watching Desperate Housewives.”

Tammy, heading up the stairs, glared down at Amos. “If you want to hang out with a girl, try dinner or a movie somewhere. Frankly, I’d rather stay home and watch tv than stand around like a bimbo while your rich friends ogle at me.”

Tammy went up the white carpeted stairs, walking by the balcony overlooking the sitting room on the ground floor. The full grain black leather couch faced a 42” plasma screen television on the brown particleboard console.

Amos looked down at his drink, tempted to throw the lowball at the wall. He instead tipped the contents into the sink, ice clanging on the bottom of the basin, rinsed the lowball glass and dried it, placing it with the rest of the set on the black granite counter. He took out a small present, wrapped in pink paper with a fuschia bow, and set it on the counter.

“Happy three month anniversary to you too. Cold bitch.”

The security lights flicked on at 7:30 on the dot.

—

Tammy entered the master bedroom, the walls a pleasant mustard yellow and the carpet creamy white. The powder room door stood shut on the left wall. Amos always got on her case for leaving it open since it blocked the bedroom door from opening. That was the fault of the stupid architect that built this place. Corners cut everywhere.

She stripped to her underwear. Black lingerie Amos got her that was worth about $400. It made her look good, but it was itchy. Designer clothes were a waste of her money, but if she wasn’t the one paying for it, she’d wear it. She unhooked her bra and tossed it into the laundry basket. She opened the walk-in closet door and took a moment to look in the mirror hanging on the opposite side. She checked the alarm clock on the nightstand. Its dim red LED lights said 7:32.

She pulled on one of her sleep shirts from the walk-in closet, a plain white T made of some sort of cotton blend that was soft on the skin. She would have checked what kind on the collar tag, but it got torn off a while ago. She itched the red impressions that her bra left behind on her skin.

The bathroom door opened, just a crack.

Tammy went to the California King Bed, its black medallion-patterned sheets and plush gray comforter neatly made. The housekeeper must have stopped by. What was her name? …She didn’t care all that much.

She laid on her side of the bed, checking the clock again. 7:34. She grabbed the stereo remote from the nightstand and pressed play. The big black machine on Amos’s dresser whirred as it spun the CD in its tray. A song by Lou Reed began to softly play over the surround sound speakers set up in each corner of the ceiling.

“Just a perfect day…

Drink sangria in the park…”

She cranked the volume up a few notches. A single wild eye watched her from the crack in the bathroom door. Amos called out from downstairs.

“Tamika! That’s a bit loud, doll!”

She rolled her eyes and didn’t touch the remote. The music continued:

“Just a perfect day…

Feed animals in the zoo…

And then later a movie too,

And then home…”

The bathroom door crashed open. A heavy black combat boot kicked it hard enough for the prong knob to dent the adjacent wall. Tammy sprung up on the bed. A hulking figure in a red hoodie and a featureless chrome mask like the back of a spoon stomped towards her, clutching something in their

right, latex gloved hand.

“Oh it’s such a perfect day!” Lou Reed sang.

“What the hell are you doing? You’re not- GET OFF! GET OFF! AMOS!”

The figure grabbed Tammy by the neck with their off hand and slammed her back onto the bed. They raised the object in their dominant hand over their head, a handaxe glinting in the lamplight.

“Tammy?!” Amos called out from the sitting room, rocketing up the stairs. Even at this dead sprint, there was no way he could reach her in time.

“I’m glad I spent it with you!” Lou Reed continued.

The figure swung their handaxe with barbaric force, Tammy raising her left arm to defend herself. The first strike cut a red and white fissure through flesh and bone, the second swapt her arm off at the elbow. The appendage tumbled off the bed with a heavy thud, the stump spouting. Tammy let out a scream more beast than human.

“Oh just a perfect day, you just keep me hangin’ on…”

Amos twisted the bedroom doorknob and barged the door with his shoulder, only to be met with a dull thunk. The bathroom door was open. The bathroom door that he had told her a million BILLION TIMES NOT TO LEAVE OPEN AND SHE WAS GETTING KILLED OH GOD-

“Hey,” came a voice behind him.

Amos turned to see a figure in a chrome mask and black hoodie behind him. They stood with a wooden baseball bat, and swung it at Amos’s head like a delinquent kid swinging at mailboxes. Amos managed to block the swing with both hands, stumbling backwards over the railing. He plummeted fifteen feet straight down into his own sitting room. He smashed into the leather couch, breaking off the front legs and snapping a spring with an almost musical TOINGGG. The chrome-faced assailant peered over the railing at him, almost childlike in their curiosity. Gee, mister, that sure was a nasty fall…

“You just keep me hangin’ on…” Lou Reed continued.

Amos, dazed but unharmed, lurched to his feet off the now cracked leather couch, making for the front door. He heard rapid footfalls on the stairs behind him, unlocking the front door and sprinting out onto the tiny lawn, leaving Prada shoe prints in the new fallen powder snow. He thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t taken his shoes or coat off. He looked over his shoulder to see the intruder watching him from the doorway, bat held in both hands. He must have known he couldn’t catch him, or else-

Something cold and heavy collided with him, knocking him to the street. His glasses skittered across the pavement and his head bounced off the cement. Before the tiny synaptic fireworks had a chance to stop flashing in his vision, a set of teeth sank into his neck, puncturing his larynx like a knife through Saran Wrap and rendering him unable to scream. He could only rasp as another set of teeth clamped down on his right leg, thrashing it about the way a dog would play tug of war.

The intruder watched the two Nightwalkers devour the man, two others emerging from the dark of the woods, eager and silent, hungry for good meat. The Nightwalker that had a hold of Amos’s leg ripped a bloody wedge of flesh free, walking a few paces away and then laying in the road, tearing at its keep like a sirloin steak. The other Nightwalkers chose their cut of meat with no hesitation, one biting into Amos’s right elbow and the other his stomach. The first Nightwalker that had a hold of his neck continued to chew, determined to sever his head.

The intruder in red came downstairs, sticky with blood and carrying their blood-soaked handaxe, their jacket pockets crammed with jewelry and wads of hundred dollar bills.

“Fuckin’ hell, did you make her into a smoothie?! Ugh.” The intruder in black said. “I told you to try not to kill her, you stupid asshole. We just needed her to get the safe open. Ugh, whatever. You got it open?”

The intruder in red nodded, patting their lumpy pockets.

“Good. Nightwalkers took care of Gramps. Let’s wrap it up before those things finish their food.” the intruder in black said, slamming the door shut.

“Just a perfect day…

You made me forget myself…” Lou Reed sang.

The two of them grabbed whatever valuables they could find, Tammy’s purse, Amos’s wallet, the anniversary gift, and a laptop from the office. They emptied their spoils into a pillowcase and tied it off.

“Where’s the important thing?” The intruder in black said.

The intruder in red pointed up the stairs.

The duo hurried to the master bedroom, the intruder in black groaning upon seeing what was left of Tammy on the bed and the floor and the wall.

“God, you fuckin’ animal… come on.” The intruder in black scolded.

“Oh it’s such a perfect day…” Lou Reed repeated.

The pair of assailants went into the closet, the one in red pulling an ornate wooden box from the floating shelf on the back wall, tucked away inconspicuously with other shoeboxes.

“You’re sure that’s it?” the intruder in black asked.

The intruder in red opened the box and showed their partner the contents.

“Looks real enough to me. Let’s go.”

“You’re going to reap just what you sow…” Lou Reed warned.

He repeated this warning several times as the men went outside, hurrying across the cul-de-sac and tossing the pillowcase into the back seat of their nearby pickup truck. The box was set down carefully on the seat and secured with the seatbelts.

The Nightwalkers, now six in number, watched them with mild interest as they ate, having torn Amos into multiple pieces of varying size and shape. A specimen with boar-like tusks approached, clutching a fibula in its teeth with a few strings of muscle still attached. It almost looked friendly. The intruder in red knew better and took a swipe at it with their handaxe, the Nightwalker skirting backwards a ways with the bloody leg bone still in its maw. It stepped off, laying in the road and tugging the last bits of meat off the fibula.

The two intruders climbed into the truck, the one in black gunning the engine without turning on the lights. The intruder in red rolled their window down and tossed the handaxe out beside the Nightwalkers with a clatter, and the truck sped off into the night. One Nightwalker, a single, cyclopean eye on its skull, walked over, sniffed the blade of the handaxe and licked it clean.

The door to the McMansion having been left open, a Nightwalker with six legs and an elongated, aardvark-like muzzle went into the house. Lou Reed’s song had ended and another song by Great White began. Nightwalkers generally abhorred light, but Amos and Tammy had only managed to turn on a few lights before their ends, so it was tolerable for this intrepid beast. The Nightwalker sniffed, loping carefully up the staircase. It tripped and fell onto its belly a few times, having never encountered steps before in the woods. Once at the top, panting, it nosed the bedroom door open, and found a delectable feast lying unclaimed inside. It laid down by the arm on the floor and tore into it without hesitation.

“My, my, my!

Once bitten twice shy, babe!”

—

Pomni Freeman, seated in her studio apartment, added the finishing touches to a tree on her landscape. She used her smallest brush to add some shading to the leaves, leaning back to see how it looked from a distance.

“Hmm… that looks…” she said, closing one eye and chewing the end of her paintbrush. She shrugged. “It’ll work.”

She set her small brush down on her collapsible work table, picked up her larger brush and swirled it in the milky blue paint on her pallet. Her painting was almost done, about 80%, only the top right corner being blank white canvas, the rest a (if she said so herself) gorgeous mountain landscape with a river running through it. This painting was due the first of February, but due to… extenuating circumstances, she was given as long as she needed to finish it. It’s difficult to paint if you can’t raise your arm too high, after all.

Her wounds healed up well after the stitches were removed. It took a week or so, but she could eventually reach up and down without the risk of tearing anything. Then it was back to the grind as usual.

Well, no. Not quite. She did have something else new.

Jax Kingston. 22, butcher by trade. Her boyfriend. She and him had only been dating for a little less than a month now, but she was pretty certain she loved the big lug. Not only did he save her life, he was everything she wanted in a partner. Soft-spoken, funny, strong in every way… hot. Sure, he was rough around the edges. He could be kinda gross sometimes. Pomni had seen him put a claw to his nose and shoot a snot rocket into the snow, and some of his jokes were so dark they were horror stories… But he loved her, and she loved him. So, there wasn’t much to complain about.

They had gone on a few dates since she had her stitches out. Autumnvale was a small burg, so there weren’t a tremendous number of destinations to go to. They had been for walks around town, had breakfast at Ragatha’s café, they even went to the premiere of A Winter’s Tale at Gangle’s playhouse. Jax had a very difficult time understanding the elevated language, but enjoyed it regardless.

“It was kinda like watching a movie in another language. You could sorta tell what was going on just by watching their faces, you know?” he had said.

Pomni was always impressed at how clever he could be, despite him never graduating high school. She knew that was incredibly elitist of her to even think about, since plenty of people didn’t do well in school and later turned out to be geniuses. Einstein threw a chair at his teacher for God’s sake.

She had also spent a few nights over at his house. And as much as she loved Ragatha’s cooking, Jax was an artisan with meat. He made her pork chops with mint sauce one night, the pig cut just right so there was plenty of meat on the bone and cooked until perfectly thick and juicy. Another night, he slow-roasted some ribs that were so tender the meat was falling off the bone, combined with a tangy, sweet homemade barbeque sauce that his mom taught him how to make. And another night, he made her some smash burgers, the beef seasoned to perfection with just a hint of Worcestershire sauce, topped with cheddar cheese, relish, sautéed onions and sliced Beefstake tomato, all on a lightly toasted Kaiser roll.

Pomni was used to being just a little bit hungry most of the time due to mostly eating peanut butter sandwiches and Nature Valley bars rather than an actual proper meal. But she always felt like she was gonna pop after dinner with Jax, and it was such an enormous relief to not feel the gnaw of hunger for once.

They watched movies on Jax’s VCR. Jax’s collection was an odd assortment of horror or sci-fi films and older romance films. Films like Lake Placid and Tremors right next to Harold and Maude and Casablanca. Apparently his parents let him have all of their tapes since their VCR broke ages ago and they didn’t feel much need to replace it. Pomni sat in the rabbit-wolf’s lap, both of them wrapped in a thick flannel blanket, watching a movie while the bitter winter wind howled outside, rattling the window panes and slightly stirring the fire in the hearth.

It was one night, when they were watching Men in Black, that Pomni looked up in the middle of the film and looked her boyfriend in the eyes.

“Hey, you don’t have to sleep on the loveseat tonight.”

Jax looked down at her, lupine eyes inquisitive. “What do you mean? I don’t mind the couch. You’re not hogging my space or anything…”

“I didn’t say I wanted to sleep on the couch, did I?” Pomni said. In the firelight, her pale skin shined and dusted with pink.

“Oh,” Jax said, his ears sticking up straighter. “Uh. Well, sure. Yeah. We can do that.”

Jax didn’t sleep on the loveseat again. His rather bulky frame took up most of the mattress space, but Pomni hardly noticed. She spent her nights in bed with Jax nestled against his side or in the crook of his arm. Cuddling up with him was a surefire way to keep warm on those frigid nights, sometimes even too warm, as she had woken up with sweat-dampened clothes on a few occasions, but that was a minuscule price to pay if it meant being close with him.

Jax was a good bedfellow, although he had woken Pomni up a few times with some quaking snores. She could fall back asleep fairly easily, but on nights where he was particularly congested, she had prodded him awake and asked him politely to try blowing his nose. He always did, and Pomni was usually sound asleep by the time the groggy rabbit-wolf climbed back into bed.

Pomni was filling in the single blank corner of her landscape with cyan-white paint when her phone rang.

“Gaaah…” she grumbled, setting down her brush on her pallet and wiping the her hands on a washcloth while the phone rang again. Probably her parents calling for the squintillionth time. The caller ID’s robotic voice blurted out a name;

“CALL FROM— KINGSTON, K.”

Oh shit. Jax’s dad. She hurried over to the phone before it finished its final ring and picked it up.

“He-Hello?” Pomni asked.

“Hey, Pomni, it’s Jax.” replied a familiar growly voice. He always used the same phone greeting.

“Hey, babe! What’s up, are you with your dad?” Pomni asked, her tone brightening immediately.

“Uh yeah, how did-? Oh, caller ID. Right. Uh, ahem, yeah, I’m with dad. I was wondering if you wanted to come over and visit?” Jax asked.

“Now?” Pomni asked. She looked at her painting.

“Uhhhhh yeah. We’ll make you breakfast. Mom’s gonna be getting back from vacation today and I was hoping she could meet you.”

Pomni hesitated. …She couldn’t say no to breakfast.

“Okay, sounds good.” Pomni answered.

“Cool. Uh, the address is 2927 Dover St. It’s about a half mile walk from Ragatha’s place, from the main intersection? Just follow Dover St. and it’ll be on your right. You’re gonna be warm enough, right?”

“Yeah. I can be there in about… half an hour, give or take. I can’t stay too long though, since I have a painting I gotta finish, okay?”

“That’s fine. You want to come over tonight?” Jax asked.

Pomni smiled. His enthusiasm was so cute.

“We’ll see, okay? I really want to get this finished, and it might be dark out by then. But if I do, I’ll let you know. Did you get your phone set up yet?”

“Oh sh- crap… No, I haven’t, the phone people haven’t been out yet.”

“Jax, the whole reason we got you that thing is so I can call you at home. It’s getting kinda frustrating.” Pomni put a hand on her hip.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Jax apologized. “The landline people just haven’t gotten out here yet, honest. They have to dig a trench for it and everything.”

“Look, hun, if I can come over tonight, I will, but if I’m not there by sundown, just assume I had to stay behind, okay? That doesn’t hurt your feelings, does it?” Pomni asked.

“Oh, totally, I’ll dump you on the spot.” Jax drawled. “‘Course it doesn’t. I get it, you’re busy. I work for a living too. We got other nights if this one doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks for understanding… I love you, see you in a bit, okay?” Pomni said, her cheeks warming a bit.

“…I love you too. Dress warm.” Jax said, a smile in his voice.

“I will. Bye-bye.” she replied, pressing the End Call button. She put the phone back on its charging dock and stretched, popping her elbows and back, before untying the old apron she had repurposed into a smock and hanging it on her easel. She took off her pajamas, taking a moment to look down at her scars.

Two deep crescents on the right side of her belly, the taut scar tissue having turned reddish-brown over last month. They looked kinda cool, sort of like a tattoo. Two moons… Hm, that gave her an idea for a drawing. A vast, starry expanse with two moons, big and all encompassing like twin planets… Wasn’t there some crackpot theory about there being two moons at one point?

She ran the tip of her finger on one of the scars and felt an echo of that night’s numbing terror. Agonizing pain and hot, sticky blood and frigid concrete… The night she should have died. She hadn’t uncovered any damning clues, but… she did meet the person she loved. And, to credit herself a bit, she helped catch the guy who tried to frame him the very next day.

She slipped on some fresh underwear and began to dress in her new snow clothes. Her parents bought her two outfits “just in case.” In case of another Nightwalker attack? Yeah. When monkeys flew out of her ass. She wasn’t letting that happen ever again.

She put on the red outfit. Nothing against the blue one, but red was her favorite lately. It looked neat, a rose-red puffer over a black fleece and black snow pants with a red beanie. Her gray university beanie went flying off her head when she took her tumble down the steps, and it was gone when she finally made it back to her apartment. Someone might have taken or thrown it out. No big deal, it would’ve been snowed over and soaking wet anyway. She also didn’t enjoy being pegged as a “city girl” whenever she wore it.

She pulled on her black wool gloves, black scarf, and brown galoshes, double checked to make sure her radiator was on (she wasn’t about to let her painting freeze), and grabbed her purse.

She opened the door out onto the balcony, the cold February air ghosting over her as she shut her apartment door and locked it. Her keys went into her front pocket, and only her front pocket from now on. It seemed that winter still had some air left in its lungs, as it showed no signs of slowing. It had snowed another half an inch last night. She looked at the stairs.

Pomni’s mother had gotten in contact with the landlord and given him a piece of her mind for a good half an hour. She told him, in no uncertain terms, the only way to avoid litigation was to make sure the steps were ice-free every time it snowed. Period. No asterisk.

So they were ice free, sprinkled with little beads of rock salt. Even as she took them, she took care to grab the railing anyway. That was part of the reason why she fell down the stupid things in the first place.

As she maneuvered her way down the steps, the high pitched whine of a siren rang through the air. Cops. The station wasn’t that far from her apartment (although, nothing was too far from anything in a town this small), so she heard them whenever they were called out to stop a bar fight or domestic dispute. Seemed like they were really in a rush this morning, as she soon saw two cruisers, red and blue lights flashing, turn onto the road her apartment was on. Pomni instinctively ducked under the stairs as the APD flew past her. Her opinion of the cops hadn’t improved much at all since January…

Once they were gone, she expelled a plume of steam and continued down the road into town. Autumnvale had been awake for a while, little communities like this got started around the asscrack of dawn, or, at the first sign or reliable sunlight, when the Nightwalkers fled to whatever pit they came from to avoid the sun. She waved to a farmer, a bull-man, passing by on his green and yellow tractor. He doffed his baseball cap.

“Mornin’, Nancy Drew.” he called over the engine.

“Morning,” Pomni replied. She cringed a bit at the nickname. Sure, she had helped solve a mystery, but that didn’t make her a detective. She wasn’t even much of an artist, the trade she was actually good at. Still, it was nice to see the townsfolk actually smile and wave at her now.

As she turned left onto Main Street, she saw a few unfamiliar faces looking around town for what was clearly their first time. They had to be tourists. No locals would be out right now, they had jobs to do, not to mention it was too damn cold to just putz around.

Autumnvale had seen a small spike in true crime tourism ever since the Wren case made the national news. While this was good for local businesses, Pomni hated it. Nothing against the people, but, come on. They had to have known better than to approach her while she was just trying to get home and bombard her with a million questions. Why yes, complete stranger, she did almost die a month ago. Oh of course, she would love to go into graphic detail about how a wild animal almost pulled her guts out of her belly like hot spaghetti. No issue reliving those experiences, no sir.

She pulled her scarf up over her nose and mouth and hurried over to the opposite side of the street from this crowd of strangers. If they tried to get her attention, she would just answer back in the paltry amount of Russian that her grandpa Nikolai taught her. Hopefully “Где продуктовый магазин?” would sound convincing enough to get them to back off. Luckily, they seemed preoccupied looking at the now vacant property that was once Dr. Wren’s office. The sign above the door that had previously said “Dr. Cole Wren, Licensed Practitioner” had been removed after someone threw cow shit on it, and the burgundy front door had been taken off the hinges and replaced with a plywood board after someone, possibly the previous offender, spray painted “MURDERE” across it in silver. They probably would have added the second “R” had they not been spooked by a passing car and ran off into the alleys.

Pomni found Dover St. and began to follow the sidewalk. It led past a few apartment buildings into a more suburban area on the edge of town. The houses were a good deal further apart than most suburbs one might see around the country, and the houses were cute. Usually simple little cottages big enough for two or three people at most, the occasional two story house looking as though it was built back in the eighties, yet still standing tall despite two decades going by thanks to skilled craftsmanship and a sturdy skeleton. It made her happy that all these places weren’t getting torn down and replaced by those stupid Mcmansions that were popping up in the southern outskirts of town. No charm or character to those things, just a focus-grouped blueprint that looked just like hundreds of other focused-grouped blueprint. They were ugly to boot.

Eventually she reached 2927. She checked her watch. 10:08 AM. Not too shabby for an on-foot trek. The house itself was quite cute, a simple but functional one story house that must’ve come right out of the 70’s. It had been kept clean and orderly despite its age, a relic from the past that bravely refused to go anywhere. The backyard brushed up against Lake Sausalito, the 71 square mile freshwater lake where most of the cold winter air came from. That was Pomni’s theory at least, she was no meteorologist. Apparently the lake was great for bass fishing in early summer, and if you could stomach the chilly water, a good place to cool off. But in the winter, it was a black, rippling mirror, probably frigid enough to render an active volcano extinct if you could somehow dump all that water into it.

Pomni approached the front door. She pressed the doorbell and rubbed away any wetness that had accumulated on her pink nose. There was a brief exchange of voices, and the door opened.

“Pomni, hello!” Kinger exclaimed. He had on a blue t-shirt, depicting an obese cartoon fellow sitting in a rowboat with a small pyramid of beer cans next to him, a line cast out of sight on the opposite side of the boat, reading “Gone Fishin’” in black beneath it. Without his usual bucket hat, Kinger’s little cross on the top of his head was on full display.

“Hi Mr. Kingston, thanks for inviting me over.” Pomni replied with a smile, taking off her galoshes.

She quite liked Kinger. He was the definition of a good ol’ boy, he worked his ass off and had a story for every occasion, and he got along with pretty much anybody. He and Pomni’s parents had gotten breakfast together the day before they left town, and they had nothing but good things to say on their (second) goodbye phone call. He was the perfect guy to raise someone like Jax, a poor little kid abandoned in the wilderness…

Pomni stepped into the house and was met with the warm, rich aroma of eggs with the faint zest of sausage. Her stomach immediately jumped for joy. She followed Kinger through their sitting room, a cozy, wood-paneled place reminiscent of a log cabin, complete with a brick fireplace and a deer’s head hanging on the mantle. Jax stood in the kitchen at the end of the main room, in his usual white dress shirt, suspenders and black tie. He turned from his griddle of sausages and smiled his razor-toothed smile.

“Good morning, Pomni.” he said, offering a salute with his free hand.

“Hey babe,” Pomni replied. She put a gloved hand to her mouth, the term of endearment just slipping out. She wasn’t sure if Kinger was alright with that…

“Aw, look at that! She’s already using pet names! You’re moving up in the world, aren’t you, my boy?” Kinger chortled, patting his son on the back as he opened the cabinets to get out some plates. Jax rolled his eyes but maintained a small smile.

Pomni was made to sit at the table after she took off her layers, Kinger serving her a plate of eggs with two smoked apple and turkey sausages. She went for the sausage first, and it was heavenly. The skin broke with a satisfying pop and the meat within was tender, hot and perfectly seasoned. The sweetness of the apple balanced out the savory flavor of the turkey perfectly. She finished both sausages before even touching her eggs.

“Shit, Pomni, don’t forget to breathe.” Jax snorted.

“Jax, you better clean up that mouth. Your mother will be home any minute now.” Kinger scolded, brandishing a fork at him.

Jax rumbled and put his ears down. “…Right. Sorry, dad.”

Pomni looked up from her plate. “Oh yeah, your mom! I was going to ask, Mr. Kingston, where has your wife been? You said she was on vacation, right?”

Kinger nodded. “That’s right. Every year, right before winter, Queenie goes on a week-long trip with her girlfriends to Pelican Point.”

“Pelican-?” Pomni almost choked on her mouthful of egg, swallowing it and coughing. “Pelican Point? You guys can afford that? I mean, no offense, but…”

Pelican Point was a beach resort town on the West Coast, known for being the retreat for many politicians, media moguls and trust fund babies. It was a common joke among blue collar workers that they would one day steal all the cash from their boss’s safe and run off to Pelican Point. Multiple gossip magazines told stories about the debauchery that went on there as well. A tv star had once been found wandering the beach tripping on datura, frothing at the mouth and mumbling about plastic men and cables plugged into the Earth’s core. A star tennis player was caught with a prostitute, but in his rum and cocaine-induced fervor, mistook the private detective sent to expose him for a burglar and chased him down the hall with a shower rod,

naked as the day he was born.

“That’s right! Pelican Point.” Kinger said proudly. “I covered her airline tickets and she and her friends covered the hotel fees. We’ve been saving for a good vacation somewhere sunny for a while now.”

“What about you? Don’t you want to go?” Pomni asked.

“HA! Are you kidding? Nothing for me to do but dodder around the beach and drink Mai Thais at the bar. There’s not even any good spots for ocean fishing. It’s so heavily regulated, you have to sign paperwork to blow your nose.” Kinger shook his head and had a sip of coffee.

Jax smirked. “Kinger likes to keep busy. I guess I get that from him. I’d hate it there too.”

A thought popped into Pomni’s head. Jax, all six feet three inches of him, lounging on a folding beach chair in a hibiscus-print shirt and sunglasses, sipping a tropical beverage out of a coconut shell with a crazy straw. She bit her lip to keep from giggling.

The sound of tires grumbling across snow made the three of them look towards the window, Jax’s ears pricking up. A pair of headlights winked from the window for a moment before pulling up beside Kinger’s pickup.

“Ah, that’ll be her! Let me go help her with her bags!” Kinger pulled on his red and black flannel jacket that hung over the back of the chair, grabbing his bucket-shaped fishing hat from a hook on the wall.

“Here dad, I can help,” Jax got to his feet, the table shifting outward a bit from his bulk.

“The heck you will, son. You sit and enjoy your food. Your old man may be getting a bit long in the tooth, but I can still manage heavy lifting.” Kinger said, pressing a thumb to his chest. He then opened the door and headed outside.

“…So what’s your mom like?” Pomni asked. She finished the last bites of her eggs.

“Uh…” Jax scratched behind his ears. “She’s nice? She looks out for me and… does mom stuff. I don’t know, I’m not really a great introduce-r.”

“Well, she raised you, and you’re amazing, so I’m sure she’s great.” Pomni smiled and held Jax’s paw. The rabbit-wolf squeezed it delicately, his paw large enough to completely encase her petite hand in a fist.

“Thanks… uh, did you want the rest of my food?” asked Jax, offering Pomni his plate of half-finished eggs.

The door flew open just as Pomni accepted the offer, nearly making her drop the eggs. Another chess-piece shaped person, this one a darker brown than Kinger and with a head-shape resembling a queen, stomped into the room. She had on a violet mink coat and a pair of matching earmuffs. She just about threw her keys onto the counter and balled her fists, letting out a growl that would make any pitbulls nearby tip their hats.

“Oh that fucking QUACK! If he wasn’t behind bars I’d choke the life out of him myself!”

Kinger followed behind her with a rolling suitcase, also violet.

“Jax! Oh, my baby, come here…” Queenie hurried over to Jax and threw her hands around him.

“Hi mom…” Jax hugged the chess-piece woman right back.

“Honeybunny, are you okay? You’re not hurt? I swear to God if that weasel hurt even one hair on your body I’ll burn the station down!” Queenie declared.

Kinger hurriedly stepped into an adjoining room to put her suitcase away, but Queenie called after him, still hugging Jax. “Kinger, don’t think I’m done with you! Why didn’t you call me?! I would have been on the first flight back to The East Coast if you told me what was going on.

As Kinger shouted back a muffled excuse, Queenie looked over at Pomni. She blinked and let go of her son.

“Oh. Hello. Jax, who is this young lady?” she asked.

Pomni stared with large eyes, holding up an open palm. “Hi.”

“This is Pomni Freeman, mom. She’s a grad student from the big city. She’s… my girlfriend.”

Queenie looked rapidly from Jax to Pomni for a moment.

“You… have a girlfriend?” Queenie whispered.

“…It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” Pomni said, managing a tentative smile.

Queenie held up one finger at Jax. “Alright, I know you were framed and put behind bars, so you get a pass this time. Your dumbass dad not communicating with me is another pretty good excuse. But oh my God Jax, you have a girlfriend?!”

Queenie practically squealed this last bit of her sentence, going over to Pomni and shaking her hand. Her grip was feverish but not too hard, thank goodness.

“Hi, honey! I’m Queenie Kingston, I’m Jax’s mother! Oh, give me just a second to get out of my coat and we can chat!”

She went into her and Kinger’s bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Pomni listened to the muffled arguing behind the door for just a moment before looking at Jax, a small smile on her lips with an eyebrow arched.

“You didn’t tell her anything?” she asked.

“Ehhh… it was dad’s idea, really,” Jax shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “He kept saying he wanted her to have a good time and not worry about home. Pelican Point ain’t cheap, she might not ever get an opportunity like that again, you know?”

“I’m not mad or anything, babe. Don’t sweat it.”

Pomni scooted forward on her chair and smooched the rabbit-wolf on the lips. He returned the kiss timidly. Pomni finished up her boyfriend’s leftover eggs, and soon Queenie exited the bedroom with Kinger. She had dressed herself in a pastel yellow concert tee for a pretty okay country-western group that was big in the nineties. She took a seat across from Pomni as Kinger strategically went to the kitchen to work on making her some breakfast.

“So, Pomni, you’re a grad student. That means you probably got that scholarship the Mayor created a few years ago, hm?” Queenie asked.

“That’s right ma’am, uh, I got selected by The Fine Arts department for my high grades…”

Pomni told Queenie just about everything. How she got her scholarship, how she met Jax, her encounter with the Nightwalker and Jax’s rescue, everything with Dr. Wren… It must have taken almost an hour to explain everything, but it flew by so quickly. So much happened in just three days.

Queenie, who was pretty much finished with her breakfast at this point, shook her head in disgust at Dr. Wren’s crimes. She swallowed her last bite of food and waggled her fork between her thumb and forefinger.

“I know Hindsight’s 20/20, but I never liked Dr. Wren. Doesn’t surprise me he’d do something so scummy. He was no help at all for Jax when he was a boy. Just slapped him with a “hyperactive” diagnosis and put him on pills that turned him into a robot. It broke my heart seeing him just sit and stare at nothing.”

“Yeah… I feel like shrinks are always quick to give a kid adderall or concerta or something…” Pomni said grimly. “It’s why I’m glad I only have to call my shrink once every three months.”

Jax huffed. “I remember how it felt. My stomach hurt so bad I wanted to puke, and I just… didn’t feel anything. It was creepy. I wanted to laugh or smile but I would, like, have to force my body to do it.”

“Oh, bless your heart, you poor thing…” Queenie cooed.

Kinger, who had been listening tacitly, finished his cup of coffee and placed it in the dishwasher. He went over to the television, sat on a sturdy wooden table painted shades of aqua and cerulean, with different colored fish whittled into the side. Purple, seafoam green, salmon pink (appropriately) and cyan. He sat himself on a brown leather recliner, turning on the boxy CRT tv, hitting the mute button so as not to interrupt the conversation in the kitchen. However, what he saw when the screen warmed up to full brightness made him break his silence.

“Ho-ly smoke!” he exclaimed, sitting up and pressing both hands onto the recliner’s armrests.

“Kinger, what’s the matter?” Queenie asked as she rinsed her plate off in the sink.

“Come look at this! The Cyclones made it to the playoffs!” Kinger unmuted the television, a deep-voiced narrator discussing an upcoming showdown.

Queenie rolled her eyes. “Since when do you care about sports?”

“If they’ve made it to the playoffs, they’re gonna start up the betting pool at the pub again! Ha!” he clapped his hands together. “If I play my cards right I can probably send you back to Pelican Point this time next year!”

“Dad, didn’t you lose like, 2K last time you tried betting on games?” Jax asked with a smirk.

“Aw, I just got greedy is all, Jax. This year I’ll be more careful, for sure.”

“Yeah, you’ll be careful, alright. You aren’t putting a damn penny in that betting pool.” Queenie said, one hand on her hip and the other pointed at Kinger. “It’s too risky! I’d like to be able to keep the gas on for the rest of the winter.”

The channel finished playing ads and played a quick screen wipe transition for ADC News. It then cut to some live footage of the police pulled up outside of the McMansions on the south side of town. The voice of Robert Watts spoke over it.

“Welcome back to ADC News, if you’re just now joining us, a grisly scene discovered just two hours ago at this Autumnvale residence. A neighbor out for an early morning walk discovered what she described as a ‘bloodbath’ on the road outside 51-year-old foreign investor Amos Halloran’s countryside home, the door wide open and snow having drifted into the house. Police arrived moments later to discover bloody animal tracks leading away from another body in the upstairs bedroom.”

Pomni leaned forward to get a better look at the screen. Queenie set aside the kitchen sponge and rapidly dried her hands on a washcloth so she could come watch as well. Jax cleaned his dagger-sharp teeth with a plastic toothpick, leaning forward ever so slightly to watch as well.

The tv cut back to the cougarman sitting in the newsroom. “Police have identified the body out front as Mr. Halloran, as well as his 32-year-old girlfriend Tamika Pryce upstairs. Both bodies show heavy signs of a Nightwalker attack, but Autumnvale’s police are now questioning whether this was a simple fatality, or something more calculated. Misty Reynolds is on the scene now with more details, Misty?”

The picture cut to the same on-site news anchor that ADC always used, that thirty-something brunette woman. Pomni always thought she was cute. She stood center frame in her trademark white parka with the hood drawn up, wearing a red scarf, about a house away from the crime scene. Her nose was slightly pink from the cold. A few cops could be seen milling around out of focus in the background, and a black van that could only belong to the coroner had arrived.

“Thanks Rob, this quiet neighborhood was shocked to find what was initially thought to be the aftermath of a fatal Nightwalker attack, but upon the police investigating the house behind me-” Misty pointed with her thumb. “-they found signs of a robbery.”

The picture cut to a police officer that Pomni faintly recognized from around town, an older guy. He always looked sort of droopy, like the years working as a cop had gradually tugged his face downward. The text scroll on the bottom identified him as Deputy Sterling Hunt.

“A personal safe was opened and emptied of its contents, and there were signs of a violent struggle in the house.” he said.

“Oh my god…” Queenie said, shaking her head.

The footage cut back to Misty.

“Police have yet to discern if these were merely opportunists looking to take advantage of an empty house, or if this was a more calculated effort. All Autumnvale residents have been implored by the mayor to be absolutely, positively certain that their houses and apartments are locked up tight.”

It cut to the mayor, Caine Mason, at his desk. Same impeccably pressed red suit, same serious as a heart attack expression on his face.

“Winter is already our most dangerous season. We can’t allow any unnecessary bloodshed for the sake of our citizens.” he said.

“No shit…” Jax mumbled. Queenie shot him a look.

“Did you know them..?” Pomni asked Queenie.

“I only met the husband a few times at church.” she said. “I never liked him. He’s… He was the type to look down on you if you didn’t have some suit-and-tie job. Didn’t mean he had to die though. No one deserves to die.”

“Not even Dr. Wren?” asked Jax with a tiny smile.

“One person deserves to die,” Queenie said without looking away from the tv.

Jax put a paw on Pomni’s shoulder.

“Y’okay?” he asked.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine I-I didn’t know them.” Pomni replied.

“I know, but…” Jax trailed off, scratching the back of his head.

“I’m a big girl, Jax,” Pomni said with a faint smirk. She motioned him closer and whispered in his ear. “If you’re worried, I’ll stay over with you tonight, okay?”

Jax smiled, but it vanished quickly. “Wh-What about your painting?” he asked.

“You’re more important than some painting, hun. I got the rest of the afternoon anyway.” Pomni whispered. “It’ll be fun.”

Pomni gave Jax another discreet kiss on his furry cheek. She then got up from the table and began putting on her layers.

“You heading out?” Jax asked.

“Yeah, I better mosey on. Thank you so much for having me over, Mr. and Mrs. Kingston.” Pomni smiled.

Queenie came over and gave Pomni a quick hug. Pomni normally would have flinched, but she had been quietly expecting a hug from this jovial woman, so she took it in stride. It wasn’t too bad, maybe a little heavy on perfume.

“You be safe now, pumpkin. You’ve got our number if you need anything, okay?” Queenie said.

“Yes ma’am. You be safe too,” Pomni said. She pulled her gloves out of her coat pockets and tugged them on, wiggling her fingers, then zipped herself up.

“Pleasure to have you over, Miss Freeman. Don’t work too hard, okay?” Kinger said with a good natured chortle.

“I’ll do my best,” giving her best laugh back.

Queenie gently but deliberately swatted Jax on the arm, who was still seated at the table.

“What are you doing? Go see your girlfriend to the door like a gentleman.” she chided.

Jax got to his feet a bit too quickly, jostling the table with his lap. He walked Pomni to the door, tied on her scarf for her as she put on her hat, then unlatched the door.

“Call when you get home, okay? I’ll still be around here, I gotta help dad with some furnace stuff…” Jax said.

“Sure thing,” Pomni said as she pulled on her boots.

Jax opened the door for her, then leaned down hesitantly. He clearly felt a bit awkward about PDA in front of his parents, especially since both of them were pretending not to watch. Pomni slung her purse over her shoulder, then stood on her tiptoes and pressed a smooch to his lips.

“I love you,” she said. “Bye.”

Queenie put a hand over her heart.

“…I love you too, see you soon.” Jax said, his ears sticking straight up and a bashful smile on his wolfish face. Pomni waved to him and stepped out onto the porch, walking carefully out onto the road. Jax watched her for a little while longer before closing the door.

Pomni took a deep breath of the cold and crinkly air before expelling it in a cloud of steam. She felt full and warm. She set out on her trek back to her apartment.

A crow croaked on a nearby branch, preening its oil-black feathers. It shook its head and watched the girl on the road, jostling a small dusting of snow from the branch it perched on.

[my-52-weeks-with-christie]

Do you need a new addiction? I'm sure you do. On the upside, this habit's less problematic than Sherlock's 7% solution. However, it isn't without cost.

What am I prattling on about, you ask?

The Deadbolt Mystery Society.

A subscription box that sends you a mystery to solve every month!

So far, I've unmasked a stalker, solved a decades-old cold case, foiled a kidnaper, resolved an art heist, and unraveled several murders in Valley Falls. (The small town where these cases are set. You work for a P.I. firm that takes on all kinds of clients.)

One of the best things about each Deadbolt Mystery Society box, beyond the variety of crimes, is the wildly different types of evidence they supply, kinds of puzzles to solve, and suspects/witnesses/victims you meet.

The puzzles of which I write are sometimes sneaky, always challenging, and require a vast array of skills to solve. One time I created a comprehensive timeline in order to cross-reference events against alibis—another time, I widdled down a massive list of addresses to locate a suspect's abode and played a board game. On top of the logic & math problems, pictograms, cryptograms...The Deadbolt Mystery Society uses such a wide assortment of puzzles across all their boxes; it keeps them from becoming predictable and your wits sharp!

If you haven't guessed - I'm a fan.

They remind me vaguely of online hidden-object games like the Enigmatis series (I loved them), Yuletide Legends (an excellent holiday-themed mystery), or Dreamwalker (another I enjoyed playing). In so far as, no matter how urgent your case, you need to solve each and every puzzle provided to move closer to the penultimate solution.

However, unlike the hidden-object games, which use short animated clips to move the story along - Deadbolt Mystery Society employs QR codes.

More often than not, these QR codes send you to password-protected web pages, which require you to input the solution from one of the aforementioned puzzles in order to obtain the next clue! Keeping the investigator honest - as you can't just guess the answers - you need to know them.

But once you surmount each hurtle, you are rewarded with a witness statement, diary entries, cryptic phone messages, eerie songs...the list goes on, and you never know what you're going to uncover next - which is great fun!

(BTW - you need either a smartphone or tablet with a camera to solve each case. Otherwise, you're dead in the water.)

Deadbolt Mystery Society says each case takes anywhere between 2-6 hours to solve, depending on your skill level and the number of people working together. I take my time and usually solve them in a week or two - depending on how much free time I can carve out (unlike books - I don't rush thru these). I would recommend these for adults or teens working in tandem with an adult, as most of the puzzles are pretty tricky (by design).

Not sure you're ready to sign up? The Deadbolt Mystery Society also sells individual boxes - if you want to try it out before committing to a subscription!

FYI: While the web pages, photos, and packets don't explicitly show any gore, the scenarios themselves can have a high body count (this last month featured a serial killer) together with the puzzle difficulty level... I'm not sure I'd be comfortable gifting a subscription to any of my nieces or nephews under fifteen or sixteen.

[centraltitta]

Deadbolt mystery society files

Deadbolt mystery society files download#

Then, just a few hours later, her body is found. To sum up: an old friend who just got hired at Saturn Hills Asylum reaches out to Benjamin and tells him he’s the only one she trusts. I have learned that these memo pages from Benjamin really give insight into the case I will be working on. This card goes on to explain a little about Warael which could be resourceful to the game. My box also came with this collector’s card of Warael, a fictional fantasy world in a game that is mentioned in this box. Lastly, it tells you what any good detective tells you: follow your instincts.

Deadbolt mystery society files download#

It also explains that there are QR codes in most of the boxes, so I made sure to download a QR scanner on my phone before starting the mystery. It also has a link to the hint files (which is very resourceful). It starts off with a link to a checklist to ensure we have everything in the box to solve the mystery, instructs us to read everything, look for things that connect to each other and complete all the puzzles in order to solve the mystery. The first item in my box was an introduction page that gave a general explanation of the contents in the box. Ships to: the US for $4.99, Canada for $16.99, and Worldwide (excluding the UK) for $24.99 Deadbolt Mystery Society “ Sanitarium” Review The Products: Clues and puzzles to help solve a murder mystery Save with longer subscriptions.ĪCTIVE DEAL: Save 20% off your first box! The Subscription Box: Deadbolt Mystery Society (Check out the review process post to learn more about how we review boxes.) This box was sent to us at no cost for review. Imagine yourself as a detective consulting on specific cases. Deadbolt Mystery Society is a monthly subscription box for lovers of mystery and suspense.Įach box is a standalone mystery with puzzles written and designed by escape room creators with immersive scenarios, intriguing characters and original, compelling stories.

[genemains]

Deadbolt mystery society files

Members of an archeological team set out to the jungles of Mexico in search of an ancient Mayan artifact known only in legends. FlashbackĬan you Flashback to an era of slap bracelets, Furbies, and floppy disks and find out which of your '90s celebrity friends is really a cold-blooded murderer on a '90s themed cruise? Unearthed Pull back the curtain and examine the dark heart that beats beneath this sleepy, seaside town. You reconsider your position on the matter when you arrive at the festival and see an all too familiar site at the end of a row of tents - police tape. You've read a lot of interesting stories about the Founder’s Festival in Cape Anna and think it would be a shame to miss this opportunity. Vacations are rare for the Will Street Detective Agency staff. I wish they would come out with more in a. I’ve been so desperate waiting for new ones to come out I have started to go back and redo the older ones again. I have a dedicated notebook where I keep track of all the ones I’ve done. Love the mix of puzzles that gets your mind going. Then I tried others but honestly I never buy them again because they can’t compare. I was so frustrated I didn’t even know what to do. I purchased a MBC which was a heck of a lot of money and let me tell you never even bothered to do it. Problem is they don’t make them fast enough!!! I tried some other boxes to keep me busy, even boxes that are 5-8x the price. Once I get the Sleight of Hand I will have every single box they created. I now own all but one stinking box which I am hoping the DB fairy would send me one day. At first they sat for a bit since I was let down he didn’t want to participate but when my sister came to visit, that’s when the obsession began. It was originally supposed to be for me and my husband as a date night thing but he didn’t seems interested. I came across Deadbolt on Cratejoy and it was my very first purchase.

[mainsasia]

Deadbolt mystery society files

#Deadbolt mystery society files series

They’re the perfect gift for anyone who loves true crime shows, police procedurals, or, naturally, well-crafted mysteries. These immersive mystery story boxes are tons of fun and a great way to shake up date night or family get-togethers from the comfort of your living room. They’re also crystal clear about content warnings, in case they contain subject matter that may not be appropriate for younger kids (like murder). Most of the companies that make these boxes do a good job of stating upfront how many players they’re designed for, how long they’ll take to play, and what the basic plot is.

#Deadbolt mystery society files series

Some offer standalone monthly stories while others offer longer series that take multiple months to work through. Each month, you and a group of friends can work together to solve riddles, puzzles, and codes, all in a bid to escape. Like most other subscription boxes, these arrive once a month. Best Self Contained One Hit: Escape The Crate (30 every 2 months) Not all mystery subscription boxes have a bloodthirsty murderous theme to them. Guest Cards (Phoebe Williams, James King, Lauren Bello, Harrison Clark, Ashley Schutz, Samuel Robinson) 6. There is the option to buy single box games for those wanting to test out the company before committing. Each box centers around solving a murder using both puzzles and deduction to narrow down the suspects provided. If you’re good at deciphering clues and love all things whodunit, these clever mystery story and escape room subscription boxes are the adventures you need. Staff Cards (Kona Prasad, Malosi Tuigamela, Thomas Cheu, Jack Davis, Crystal Wilson, Chanelle Smith) 5. Deadbolt Mystery Society is well known mystery puzzle subscription that provides monthly mystery puzzle boxes. The Deadbolt Mystery Society is a monthly subscription box service that sends a new case file. 21,784 likes 356 talking about this 20 were here. It’s another thing entirely to be immersed in a mystery and be the one who gets to play detective. The Deadbolt Mystery Society, Tupelo, Mississippi. It’s one thing to read a mystery novel or watch a mystery unfold in a movie.

[cuinnamonbun]

Since Satan loves murder mysteries and is an absolute nerd about it, imagine how thrilled he would be if the MC introduces him to human world ARGS like Cicada or Perplex City or giving him puzzles like Hunt A Killer or The Deadbolt Mystery Society

Imagine him in the iconic deerstalker hat and pipe and just brainstorming about all the possible theories and excitedly telling them all to MC. Imagine the proud smile he would get when he finally connects the dots and solves the mysteries together with MC🥺🥺

As an ARG maniac and avid true crime junkie, this would be so cute omg 😭

[thehouseofoctober]

Skinwalker Ranch

Uintah County, Northeast Utah

“These are not things that need or should be discussed by outsiders. At all. I’m sorry if that seems ‘unfair,’ but that’s how our cultures survive.” – Dr. Adrienne Keene, Native American academic, writer, and activist.

---

In 1864, while the Civil War raged in the eastern United States, a lesser known but nonetheless atrocious event was taking place in the newly-forged West.  In January of that year, approximately 8,500 Navajo men, women, and children were evicted from their native homeland and forced to march 300 miles to eastern New Mexico, where they were imprisoned in internment camps.  An estimated 200 Navajo died of starvation and exposure on the way, and when they were at last granted permission to return to their home four years later, it was only a minor fraction of what it once was.  This transgression against the Navajo people would not be forgotten, and as retribution, a powerful curse was placed on a 500 acre stretch of land located in Uintah County in Northeast Utah.  Today, that area is infamously called the Path of the Skinwalker, or Skinwalker Ranch.

In Navajo mysticism, witchcraft is part of their spirituality and way of life.  It is important to note, that using the word “witchcraft” to describe the latter practice is not an accurate representation of what it means in Navajo culture, as it bears little - if any - resemblance to the western definition and practice.  The Navajo believe that there are places of power throughout the land where the forces of good and evil exist together, and people have the choice of harnessing that power for either means.  Medicine men use the power to heal people and help their community, while witches use it to inflict harm above others.

There are four basic “ways” of Navajo witchcraft: Witchery, Sorcery, Wizardry, and Frenzy.  The witches who become skinwalkers are known for using the Witchery path, which focuses on using corpses to carry out their evil deeds. The knowledge of turning from a witch to a skinwalker is passed down through generations by the elders in secret societies that meets in isolated places such as caves and deep canyons.  The culmination of their transformation ends in a final, evil deed that bestows the witch with the supernatural powers of a true skinwalker: the murder of a close family relation.  Though the legend of the Skinwalker - or yee naaldooshi, “he who walks on all fours” - varies between the Navajo, Hopi, and Ute people, at least two beliefs remain constant: that their name is derived from their ability to transform into any animal simply by donning their pelts, and that they are evil incarnate.  Skinwalkers not spoken of aloud, even among members of the tribe, and to speak of them to outsiders is strictly forbidden.  Skinwalkers are blamed for all manner of malice and misfortune, including polluted resources, failed crops, disease, and death, and to invoke their name brings their wrath down on the poor soul who did so and their families.  They are the embodiment of all the most wicked human emotions and vices, and are believed to practice incest and fornicate with the dead.  They are even believed to have the ability to take control of someone’s mind and body simply by locking eyes with their victim.  Knowing all this, it makes sense that unleashing an infestation of the creatures was the worst punishment the Navajo could inflict on those who wronged them.  Even now, 150 years after the Navajo Long Walk to New Mexico, the Ute people, whose reservation shares a border with the property which is now infamously known as the Skinwalker Ranch, will not set foot on the accursed land.

In the mid 20th century, the Skinwalker Ranch began to accumulate more and more public attention, but not for the reason of its namesake.  In the 1950s the area saw a boom of UFO sightings and other mysterious events of extraterrestrial origin, including flying disk- and triangular-shared objects and clusters of erratically moving bright lights.  Ownership of the property changed hands several times over the decades, but the Ranch did not land on the supernatural radar until 1994 when it was purchased by the Sherman family.

Right from the start the Shermans knew there was something off about their new home.  For starters, all the doors and windows had deadbolts installed on them - both inside and out - and heavy chains of the like to tether large animals were found in the vicinity of the barn. It was not long after that the Sharman family was plagued by all manners of terrifying, paranormal events.  A huge, black, wolf-like creature was frequently seen stalking their herds of cattle, but was impervious to the bullets fired at it to drive it away.  Their cattle lay mutilated in the fields.  Disembodied voices were heard whispering in the corners of their home and inanimate objects were thrown around in flurry of poltergeist activity.  They regularly saw UFOs, orbs of light, and found crop circles scattered across their property.  There were even claims of inter-dimensional portals opening in mid-air to unimaginable destinations before closing again.  Finally, after a grueling two years, the Sherman family called it quits, abandoning the ranch in 1996.

As the saying goes, one man’s haunted house nightmare is another man’s UFO research dream.   In the same year the Shermans vacated the property, it was purchased by billionaire and extraterrestrial enthusiast Robert Bigelow.  From 1996 until 2016, Bigelow ran a research organization known as the National Institute for the Discovery of Space (later renamed the Bigelow Aerospace Advanced Space Studies).  Then, in 2016, Bogelow sold the entire property for $4.5 million to a company known only as Adamantium Holdings.  Shortly after the sale was complete, all roads leading to the Ranch were made off-limits to the public, with heavy warnings at the gates to deter curious trespassers.  To further deepen the mystery, there is virtually no information online to what kind of company Adamantium Holdings is, or who it may be a front for.  It’s almost as if they’re hiding something.  But the question is… what?

Author’s note: If I made an error on any part of this entry regarding Navajo history, culture, or spiritualism, or if I have written anything that needs to be presented another way, please feel free to correct me and I will make sure the changes are made immediately.

[thatwritingho]

Momento Mori

Chapter 2

Setting up a meeting with Olive Axworthy was proving to be much more of a challenge than Charles had expected. She had rejected all of his phone calls by the third ring, and was ignoring any letters sent by mail. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was throwing them out unopened. No one in their right mind would willing turn down working for Dethklok, especially in such close proximity to the members as she would be, so she must not have listened to his voicemails or read any of the invitations for an interview at all.

Her evasion had put a wrench in his plans, any other credible doctor he could have hired and had on the job a week ago.

Charles sighed as another attempted phone call went to voicemail. That settles it then. He’d just have to go in person.

.

It had been a long, hard day for Olive. The coworker scheduled to come in as her replacement had called in, something about his kid having the flu, and there had been a rather large pileup on the interstate leaving quite a few dead, so what should have been a typical 8 hour shift in the morgue had turned into a 14 hour shift as she was the only one there.

To top it off, she had been getting calls from an unidentified phone number at least twice a day for the past week, leaving her voicemails she hadn’t got around to listening to, and she was pretty sure the same one responsible for the calls was the one sending her a letter in the mail from an undisclosed address every single day.

And now, she was being followed.

A large, beefy man in all black had been tailing her for the past two days everywhere she went, and it was really starting to piss her off. Couldn’t these fuckers get the hint that she wasnt interested in whatever they wanted to use her for?

The next phone call she received, she would answer and give them a piece of her mind.

Organizations, societies, various private interest groups, and wealthy assholes all with questionable agendas frequently sought her out, seeing her as an easy acquisition what with her current employer. They expected her to pounce at the opportunity to work for somewhere “more esteemed” as they liked to put it.

But time and again, she had shot down all offers. Didn’t they realize that if she wanted to work for someone like that, she would use the connections she already had?

Idiots, all of them.

They hadn’t all taken ‘no’ as an answer, but none had been quite so persistent as this current pursuer.

With one last glance over her shoulder, she quickly unlocked the door to her building, nearly running face first into her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Baker.

“Whoah there, honey, keep your eyes forward when you walk!”

Olive placed a hand over her racing heart, giving the widow an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, sorry. Just had a long day, thought I saw someone I knew out there,” she glanced behind her one more time, but the mysterious stalker was no where to be seen, “Did you remember your key this time, Mrs. Baker?”

The old womans face fell, and she gave Olive a sheepish smile.

“Oh dear…”

This was a daily occurrence with Mrs. Baker, who’s memory wasn’t the best.

“Its ok, I’ll buzz you in when you get back. How long will you be?”

“Oh, I can’t imagine being gone more than a half hour, just running to the store!” The old woman put a wrinkled hand on Olive’s shoulder. “Thank you, dearie.”

“It"s no problem. Be careful, there’s creeps out tonight!”

Mrs. Baker’s face crinkled as she scrunched her nose, “When is there not?”

They both laughed and parted ways, Olive’s boots making the old staircase creak in protest as she tromped her way up the three flights. Yelling and music could be heard coming from her various neighbors as she ascended, as well as the smell of both cigarettes and weed despite the building being No Smoking. It was a typical, lively Friday night, but all she wanted was a fat joint, a frozen pizza, a shower, and to crawl into bed and be dead to the world for the next few hours.

Her body ached, her head was pounding, and she was so hangry she was ready to punch a hole in the wall.

After fighting the lock on her front door(her landlord still hadn’t gotten around to getting that replaced), Olive slammed the old wood behind her, clicking all 5 deadbolts into place, as well as the chain lock. She turned the knob on the old oven to preheat for her pizza, and stripped out of her nasty, smelly work clothes on her way to the bathroom for a well needed scrub.

.

The shiny, brand new rental car stuck out like a sore thumb in front of the dingey Brooklyn apartment building, and many passerby were staring at the man in a suit standing next to it. Charles had to double and triple check the adress, as this was not where he had expected someone of her talent and access to wealth to be living. Alas, it was correct, and he turned to the Klokateer who had driven him.

“Stay here, this won’t take long.”

“Yes, sir.”

Charles approached the listing and buzzer system on the outside of the brick building, scanning over the names until he found her, pressing her button and hoping she would answer. He knew she was home, he had had her followed to be sure, of course, but with the way she had avoided contact so far, he was skeptical that she would let him in.

The sound of a buzz and the door unlocking after only a few moments wait startled him, and he straightened his tie as he pushed open the squeaky door, making sure it shut fully behind him before making his way up the creaky stairs to the 3rd floor.

.

Olive had just barely had time to shower, change into an oversized Cattle Decapitation tshirt and a pair of yoga shorts, and throw her pizza in the oven when the buzzer ran.

“Oh, Mrs. Baker, what’re you going to do when I’m not here anymore?”

With a sigh, she pressed the button to open the front door without a second thought, plopping down on her couch and grabbing her tray from the coffee table, skillfully rolling herself a joint of indica to hopefully help her sleep. She had been having trouble getting a decent night’s rest as of late, mind plagued by nightmares she couldn’t remember upon waking.

It’s probably a good idea to run some diagnostics…

The curt knock at her front door made her jump in alarm, nearly knocking the rolling tray off her lap as she shot up to a standing position, eyeing the door warily. She had not been expecting company.

Shit. The stalker.

Damn, why didn’t I use the intercom to check to see if it was really Mrs. Baker?

Socked feet tiptoed silently over to the door, hearing enhanced for any slight sound that could alert her to the person’s identify. After all, it could just be Mrs. Baker after all, coming up to ask her something or another, or bring her cookies, or thank her for letting her in.

Yeah, I’m being too paranoid. I’m sure it’s just Mrs. Baker...

Despite her attempts to reassure herself, her heart continued to pound as she leaned in to check the peephole.

Thankfully, it wasn’t the stalker, at least, but it was no Mrs. Baker, either. Before her door stood a brunette man sporting glasses, a briefcase, and what she could tell was an Armani suit even through the shitty lens.

Oh, great… Better go ahead and get this over with.

.

Charles was a bit surprised at the sound of multiple locks undoing, he hadn’t even heard her footsteps approach the door, which seemed impossible with such old, squeaky hardwood flooring. He barely had time to push up his glasses and straighten his tie once more before the door cracked open just enough to allow for a tan face and mass of pink hair to be seen, chain lock still in place.

“Can I help you?”

“Olive Axworthy, yes?”

Dark eyes narrowed, pouty lips turning down into a scowl. “What do you want?”

Charles cleared his throat. This was going to be more difficult than he anticipated.

“My name is Charles Foster Offdensen, CFO and manager of Dethklok. May I come in?”

Her face morphed into one of confusion, but she took his offered business card, he didn’t miss the spark of curiosity flash across her eyes, and she closed the door without a word, opening it fully a moment later after removing the chain.

.

“This is a, ah, lovely place you got here.”

The man, Charles Foster Offdensen, eyed her apartment with well hidden disdain, despite his attempt at a compliment.

“Sure. So, what exactly are you doing here? Unannounced, at that.”

He fixed his eyes on the petite woman before him, even given his own short stature, he still towered over her five-foot-nothing figure.

“Well, I wouldn’t have had to come unannounced, if you had answered any of my calls or responded to my invitations. Did you even listen to any of the voicemail I left?”

“No, sorry.” Olive’s eyes held no remorse despite her words.

The man sighed, “I thought not. This is by no means how I had wanted to conduct your interview, but it will do I suppose.”

Her face melted into once of quiet rage and disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

“I, ah, have an offer for you. An employment offer. To be the members of Dethklok’s personal physician.”

A few moments passed of utter silence as she stared at him in bewilderment.

“Um, sorry, but what? Did I hear you properly? You do know I’m a mortician, right?”

Charles seemed unfazed, happy that the bristly woman hadn’t kicked him out of her apartment yet.

“Yes, well, I’ve looked through your history, and in spite of your current position, I find you to be a perfect candidate for this role. The, ah, only candidate, in fact.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m sure there’s plenty of people more qualified than I am.”

At this Charles shook his head, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Sorry to say, but coming here’s been a waste of your time. I’m obviously not who you need, and I’m not even looking for a new job,” She turned around at the sound of an oven ding, waving a hand over her shoulder in dismissal.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, buddy.”

Charles was undeterred, standing his ground and making no move for the door.

“I would make it worth your while. The yearly salary would be in the triple digits.”

A scoff was his only reply as she grabbed an oven mitt, removing her dinner from the oven as if he wasn’t even there.

“At least let me inform you of what the position entails.”

She turned back toward him with a roll of her eyes, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms, leveling him with an dull expression.

“Ok, I’ll humor you, man. Go ahead and tell me all about how wonderful an opportunity it is, how it’s going to change my life and grow my crops and clear my skin and make all my problems evaporate into thin air. But do finish before my pizza gets cold, yeah?”

The man cleared his throat, “Well, I can’t promise all of that, but if you’re having skin issues, we do employ a wonderful dermatologist who would be at your disposal should you so choose.”

Dark eyes widened, blinking owlishly at him as her face morphed into a small smirk.

“You’re funny, dude. But I don’t have all night.”

“Right. Like I said, the position is for a personal physician to Dethklok’s members. But this is a bit more advanced than just being an on-call doctor. You would be required to be present at all events, concerts, appearances, as well as living at Mordhaus, free of charge, of course, and stay in close proximity to the band at all times to provide both preventative care and as insurance in case the unexpected were to happen, along with your typical check ups and tests. This includes being present for all band meetings, recording sessions, and any general, ah, excursions the boys might partake in. While living at Mordhaus, you would have access to all amenities there, within reason, of course. And as I said, you would be well compensated for your efforts.”

Charles finished his schpiel confidently, staring down the shocked woman who’s mouth was agape, body more relaxed and less guarded as she processed the information.

Dethklok. This guy really hand selected her to work with Dethklok. And so closely with them, too! She had to stop her inner fangirl from getting too excited at the prospect, and she hooped it didn’t show through to her expression.

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying you want me to be, like, a body guard, but, like, against health conditions instead of attackers? Did I hear that right?”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”

“And this is a serious offer? Like, do they really want this?” Olive was understandably in disbelief, after all…

What kind of rich asshats need an ever-present doctor at their disposal?

It was an utterly ridiculous request.

“Well, I wouldn’t say the band wants this, per say, but it is in their best interest and they have agreed to give it a shot. Which is what I’m asking of you. Just a two week trial, to see if you’re a good fit for the boy’s needs.”

Charles walked into the kitchenette, setting his Maxwell Scott briefcase down on the counter and popping open the latch, pulling out a stack of paperwork and a gold and black Montblanc pen.

“I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a contract for your trial run, give it a read over and sleep on it. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

He handed the papers to the stunned girl, then gathered up his belongings and headed for the door, stopping halfway to turn back to her.

“And do make sure to answer my call this time. I’d rather not have to make another special trip.”

With that, he was gone, leaving as quickly and unexpectedly as he had arrived. Olive glanced to the contract in her hands, skimming over the first page. This seemed legit. What the fuck. This was insane. Absolutely, utterly, comically insane.

But not as insane as the fact that she was seriously considering it.

With a heavy, long suffering groan, she carefully placed the papers on the counter, she needed to eat before she could deal with reading business jargon. Turning back to her untouched pizza, she nearly cried in frustration to find it was cold.

God damn it, what an asshole.

.

Charles, now comfortably back in his office the following day, was pleasantly surprised when Olive answered the phone, and after only two rings at that. Before he had the chance to greet her, he was interrupted, and a smile of satisfaction stole across his face at her words.

“Alright, man, as much as I wish I could turn you down to wipe that shit eating grin off your face that I’m sure you’re gonna have after this, I can’t. Good job, man, you convinced me. When do I start?”

.

Alright, chapter two! I actually finished it when I said I would, too! Fucking unbelievable, I stg. Let’s see if I can keep this up and post chapter 3 tomorrow! Olive will be introduced to the band!

[bucklesomeswashswan]

Once Upon a December (6/10)

Summary: Emma doesn’t remember much of her past, all she knows is she needs to get out of Misthaven. The mysterious group called the Industrialists continues to gain power and control since they overthrew the royal family over a decade ago. Out of options, Emma joins forces with a conman Killian and his partner Ruby in their plot to pass her off as the lost princess of Misthaven. But as they travel together and Killian and Ruby try to teach her how to be a princess, Emma begins to uncover hidden pieces of her past. When threats start closing in around them will she choose to escape to safety or risk everything to find her family and reveal a dangerous secret that could change history forever?

Rating:  M

Story content warning: some descriptions of violence, slow burn

Part of @captainswanbigbang 2018. Updates every Saturday!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 also read it on AO3

The art for this story is from the very sweet and very talented @prongsie! Take a look at these awesome illustrations for chapter 2 and 5! Thank you to my beta reader @csobsessed-21!

I want to give a huge thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting and liking the story! It is the best feeling to have people react to your story. Thank you so very much!

Chapter 6 :  Glowing Dim as an Ember

Killian moved restlessly about the small windowless room. Over the last few hours he had learned that it was twenty-three paces around the square room, that each wall had 162 stones, and that the ceiling was approximately eight feet high. The room was lit with three sconces each with two gas fixtures. Twice he had heard footsteps above him, and taking the slightly musty air into account it was reasonable to assume he was in some sort of basement.

But for all that he had knew about the room he still had no idea what had happened to Ruby or Emma since they were separated. He didn’t know if they were nearby, possibly locked into similar rooms, or if they were even still in the mansion. No one had entered the room since he had been shoved inside and he hated that he didn’t know what they were planning to do with him or any of them.

He growled in frustration pounding a fist into the thick metal door. The sound echoed dully and faded into silence. No answer. No change.

Trapped. He was trapped. He should have seen this coming. Maybe if they had been more vigilant. It had been a weak moment, a small pleasure he hadn’t been able to deny, to stay with Emma last night. He should have set watches, they should never have let themselves think they were safe. Now because of his mistakes they were all caught in Gold’s cruel grip.

He had been distracted for days. Seeing Emma’s magic had thrown him, an unbelievable display that had shocked him and left him feeling like he’d missed a step. A lurch in his stomach like he was falling with no end, nothing anchoring him to solid ground.

He’d only seen one other person do magic like that before. And everything since the attack on the train had only made it harder to ignore what was right in front of him. The dreams she described, her magic, the ease with which she picked up what they taught her, the way she had described the amulet from her nightmare.

It was too much of a coincidence. There was only one explanation. His mind railed against the impossible thought even as he knew it was true: Emma actually was the lost Princess of Misthaven.

Killian blew out a sigh. The absurdity of it almost made him want to laugh. For over a week he had been in the company of royalty. The heir to the throne of his homeland. A ghost from a time long ago. And then, when she needed it, he had failed to protect her, again.

He rubbed his hand over his face. They were in such deep shit. Not only had they fallen into Gold’s trap, but they had delivered the Princess right to him, the target of his crusade for over a decade, the symbol of everything he had worked to crush.

Their only hope for Emma to survive this was that Gold never find out who she really was, no matter what.

~*~

Emma was in some kind of laboratory, elaborate machines lined the workbenches around her. Scattered about were piles of gears, scrap metal, and spectacles with multiple lens that could be lowered presumably for magnification. Perhaps this was a place Gold had spent hours creating his inventions, or even more likely where he had others do it for him. She wondered what he might have threatened talented craftsmen with to get them to work for him. What dark secrets had been traded for favors within these walls.

Emma glared at the man seated across the table from her. One of Gold’s men. He wasn’t a blackguard, or at least he wasn’t wearing the dark uniform, but that didn’t make him less menacing. He seemed to match the worn and industrial feel of the room, his features were sharp and grizzled. And his scowl carved deep lines across his forehead as though it was the expression he wore the most often, and now it was chiseled permanently onto his face.

“I’m not sure you realize the trouble you are in, Miss,” he said gruffly.  Emma didn’t reply, her jaw clenching as she watched his thumb drum on the table. A ring flashed in the light where it sat against his knuckle. Something about the twisted band seemed familiar but she couldn’t place it before he spoke again.

“Our world is governed by laws, and those laws were put in place to keep everyone safe.” Again he paused, perhaps waiting from some response from her. After a moment he continued, “When those laws are broken it represents a danger to everyone. It weakens our society and perpetuates fear.”

Emma wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, especially not from the people that had toppled their society and continued to perpetuate fear.

“I’m not sure what this has to do with me,” she told him bluntly.

A flicker of emotion flashed in his eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was anger, frustration, or disbelief. He straightened in his chair leaning a little closer to her.

“You were found in the company of known criminals,” he told her. “That makes you complicit.”

This wasn’t going the way Emma had hoped. This wasn’t an overworked provincial country deputy who could be easily persuaded to turn a blind eye. She ran quickly through her options, trying to predict where each possible lie would lead the interrogation.

“I just met them,” she said with a shrug that was more nonchalant than she felt. “I had no idea who they were.”

He didn’t look convinced. “You’re telling me that you didn’t think, for even a second, that the people who smuggled you illegally over the border, who broke into a private home, might be criminals?”

Emma blew out a breath. “They told me they could help me travel out of Misthaven, I didn’t know they meant illegally.”

“It didn’t seem strange that you had to chase down a train and jump on board? Most people board trains at stations, they have tickets, travel papers.”

His patronizing tone made Emma’s fist clench, she pushed down the desire to punch him. She wondered vaguely what would happen if she reached over and grabbed the telescope sitting on the table beside her and decked him with it.

“Like I said, I didn’t know how they were planning to cross the border,” she said.

“How did you learn about the train? The route? The schedule?” he asked, the questions coming in rapid succession.

“The schedules of the trains aren’t a secret,” Emma said. “Any merchant knows when trains leave the city.”

He seemed to pounce on that. “So a merchant helped you? Give me a name.”

Emma frowned. “There was no merchant. I don’t have a name to give you because there isn’t one to give. I’m just trying to say that there are people who know the schedules. And if anyone knows the schedules then you can bet that information gets sold to criminals.”

A grin spread over his lips before she even realized her mistake. “So now you’re admitting they are criminals?”

Emma fought to keep her expression impassive as she struggled for an answer that wouldn’t incriminate them all. “I’m saying I don’t know how they learned about the train, but it wouldn’t be impossible for anyone to find out.”

Again there was that flicker behind his eyes, this time it was more ruthless. It seemed he was getting tired of this conversation too. But before he could say anything else the door to the room opened again, the wide deadbolts sliding back, and Gold walked in.

Emma swallowed as he came to a stop. His gaze seared over her and she shivered. The intensity made her feel as if he were looking straight through her, as if he were reading her thoughts. It sent fear prickling up her arms and tickling at the back of her neck.

His lips pulled up into a twisted grin. “So,” he said his voice between a rasp and a hiss, “if you aren’t partners with Mr. Jones and Miss Lucas then who exactly are you?”

~*~

Ruby hated prison cells. She had spent numerous nights behind bars over the years. Small run-ins with the authorities. It never stuck for long. She had friends in strategic places, a knowledge of what bribes would open which locks. Killian was always there waiting for her. He was always the first face she saw when she released. He used to joke she was his very own bad penny, but time and again he kept coming back for her.

She sighed leaning back in the plush armchair in the cozy study. This might have been the most luxurious place she had been locked up in, but it was still a prison. No antique furniture, crackling fire in the gate, or steaming cup of tea could hide that fact. She wasn’t so easily bought.

In hindsight there was an irony to their situation. What were the odds that the house they had chosen to break into would belong to Gold? It strained probability. Of all the mistakes she’d made over the years, those momentary lapses in concentration that landed her in tight spots, this had to be the dumbest. And still there wasn’t any way they could have known.

She wondered where the others were. Killian and Emma. She hoped they were together, wherever they were. This solitary confinement thing was starting to make her fidget. She hated just staring at the walls waiting for something to happen. And she had been waiting too long.

Why had no one come to talk to her yet? Where was Gold? What was he planning to do with them? Too many questions and no way to get answers. She hated uncertainty.

In Misthaven it had been fairly simple. There were still laws and procedures that had to be followed. Charges and sentencing. It was a corrupt system, sure, but it was predictable. But they weren’t in Misthaven anymore. Here they were off the edge of the map. Locked in Gold’s private home, there was no oversight, no system to govern his judgement. He could do anything to them and no one would ever know. No one would ever even know to miss them. They would simply disappear, like so many others.

The thought sent a chill through her.

They were completely at his mercy. There was nothing stopping Gold from locking them away, or worse, a thorn in his side finally vanquished. They had no way to save themselves. They had nothing to bargain with, nothing that he wanted.

~*~

“Well, perhaps I’ll tell you what I know about you, Emma,” Gold continued lingering on her name. “I know you fell in with some bad company.”

Emma remained still, not trusting herself not to betray all of them under his scrutinizing gaze. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but outwardly she tried to keep her breaths slow and even.

“People like Jones and Lucas, they are easy to be enchanted by. They are deceptive by nature and they profit on others falling for their smiles and charms. But it is only that, an illusion.”

Emma knew this tactic was a simple manipulation, and yet Gold had crafted it to perfectly prod at all her insecurities, apply pressure on old wounds, and she couldn’t help the shadow of doubt that slithered into her thoughts at his double edged words. She had known the kind of people Killian and Ruby were, she had known they were dangerous and still she had allowed herself to be pulled in by them, into their plan, like gravity. But maybe that was all it was: carefully timed smiles, well chosen kind words, magnetic personalities and a lonely girl so desperate to be wanted that she had almost fooled herself into believing their scam. If she was completely honest, there had been moments she had almost believed she could actually be the princess.

But wouldn’t it make more sense if it had all been a trick? Just a way for them to score a huge sum of money. What did they care if they crushed a random girl in the end. Just concentrate on the reasons you’re doing this, those had been Killian’s words. The ends justify the means. And if he was concentrating on an enormous payout would he willing to sacrifice her on the way?

“I’ve known of Killian Jones for years,” Gold said. “He’s a cunning lad. Always some plot, some gamble, some adventure. That’s what drives him, the thrill of the game. He doesn’t care about the collateral damage: the people’s lives he ruins with his actions, the people who are left behind. He has cycled through many partners, discarding them as soon as they were no more use to him.”

Her thoughts went to Robin and his men, abandoned at the border. A stepping stone in his plan, used and then left behind.

“He knows nothing of loyalty,” Gold finished.

Emma frowned. The words echoed dully in her mind, slowly losing their meaning as they repeated over and over. But unlike the rest these didn’t ring quite true, a crack in an elegant argument. She didn’t need her uncanny ability of sensing lies to know it. Gold might have known Killian for years, but she had known him long enough. He had shown himself to be courageous, smart, selfless. And beyond anything she knew he was loyal. All the stories Ruby had told her of the way they had grown up never giving up on each other, the way they continued to protect each other. The way he had found a family with Ruby. It was the most striking thing about him.

“You don’t know them. They are not bad people,” Emma said quietly.

Gold’s eyes narrowed as he stared down at her. “What?”

“They have been helping others for years,” Emma said more confidently. “They were only trying to help me find my family.”

“Trying to help you?” Gold sneered picking up one of the twisted pieces of metal from a workbench and turning it over in his hands. “You mean by attempting to pass you off as the Princess of Misthaven?”

Emma blanched. This wasn’t some probing guess, she could tell Gold knew the truth, the entire truth. Only the three of them had known their plan. A sense of dread spread through her. If Gold knew then it meant one of the other two must have told him.

“Who told you about that?” she asked.

“I have my sources. I like to be well informed” Gold said cryptically.

But there wasn’t anyone else. The only logical answer was it had to have been Killian or Ruby. She didn’t know what would have made them give up that secret, but could Emma truly blame them if they had done what they had to in order to survive?

They were all in a perilous situation, captured, Killian and Ruby at the whim of a man who hated them. What would she have given to protect any family she had?

She leaned back in her chair. “So you know about our plan,” she said. “We slipped out of Misthaven in an attempt to get the reward money.”

Gold eyed her curiously. “And that’s all it was? Just a way to steal money?”

“There aren’t many ways to earn money in Misthaven anymore,” Emma said icily. Fury flashed through Gold’s expression. She knew she shouldn’t provoke him but it had been too tempting.

“You didn’t care that you’d be swindling the royals?” he asked her.

Her brows pulled down. “We’re not loyalists of the royal family if that’s what you’re asking.”

Gold tilted his head a little. “That’s interesting,” he said and it seemed like he meant it, though he didn’t elaborate.

Emma didn’t know or care why he might find that interesting. If Gold knew their plan and any hope of pulling it off was gone, then she at least wanted to see the others.

“Where are Killian and Ruby?” she asked him.

He seemed a little surprised at her question.

“I’d have thought you wouldn’t be so worried about them after learning they had betrayed you,” he said.

Emma stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. “They haven’t betrayed me. If cooperating with your interrogation was what they needed to do to survive, that isn’t a betrayal to me.”

Gold was staring at her with an unreadable expression, unreadable but not blank. She could see him forming a plan.

“You seem quite fond of them,” he observed.

She could sense the trap in his words. She worked to keep her expression neutral.

“I want to see them now,” she said.

“That isn’t how this works. They are in the official custody of the Industrialists now.”

“What does that mean?” she asked him.

“They will be dealt with accordingly for their crimes,” he told her mildly. His tone immediately belied by the way he grabbed a pair of pliers from the bench and gripped an edge of the piece of metal in his hand. He pulled back, wrenching off a chunk, the metal groaning loudly as it tore free.

His implication was clear. Emma’s fingers clenched into a fist hard enough her nails dug into her palms.

Gold seemed to notice her expression. “It won’t be anything they don’t deserve.”

“They haven’t done anything wrong,” Emma said firmly.

Gold set the ruined twist of metal down impassively and sat opposite her. “That isn’t for you to decide.”

“Who does decide? You?” she asked him. “You’re the leader of the Industrialists.”

Gold studied her with his dark gaze. She felt again as if he were staring into her, dissecting her piece by piece, able to see the hidden inner workings of her mind as if she were nothing more than the clockwork machines around them.

“I am,” he agreed. “And as such it is my job to protect the interests of the Industrial Guild.”

His exact wording caught her attention. This wasn’t about justice or crime and punishment. This was about Gold getting what he wanted.

“The Industrial Guild is that interested in Killian and Ruby?” she asked. “Seems to me like a waste of resources to have tracked them so far from Misthaven. There must be something you want more than them.”

A crooked smile pulled slowly at his lips, a hungry glint in his eyes. “Indeed.”

“Then let them go,” Emma said seizing on his admission. “You don’t need them.”

Gold looked at her for a long moment. She had the unnerving sense that despite everything, despite the fact she almost felt like she was winning, she had ended up exactly where he wanted her. Cat and mouse, and he was closing in.

“All favors come with a price,” Gold told her at last, “If I do this for you, you’ll need to do something for me in return.”

Emma met his eyes. “What do you want from me?”

His smirk widened, his expression victorious. It made her wary of what kind of deal he would propose.

“The reappearance of the royals has been a growing irritation for me,” he said.

Emma marveled at his word choice: irritation. As if Kings and Queens were just a mild nuisance to him, nothing more than an itch in a hard to reach spot, a fly buzzing in his ear, or sunlight shining into his eyes. It made her aware again of just who this man before her was, that he had toppled dynasties and he had bent and twisted countless people to his will.

“Rumors have reached Misthaven about the King and Queen, unsettling whispers that are upsetting the people. It’s destabilizing what we have worked for,” he continued.

“An unstable Misthaven,” Emma said sardonically, unable to stop herself, “goodness, what must that be like?”

Gold straightened in his chair his cold eyes piercing her. “I was under the impression you wanted my help,” he said icily.

Emma clenched her jaw biting down any response. He was right, she needed him. She needed to help Killian and Ruby.

“Good girl,” he said. The words made her skin crawl. Condescending and patronizing. It took everything in her to stay still and quiet. He watched her reaction carefully as if the words had been a test of her compliance. Emma wondered if his every word and action was a test, always gauging everyone in the room. She was beginning to understand how he had come to power so quickly.

“There is a ball being held tomorrow night for the royal family and their exiled supporters. Their disillusioned and misguided aim is to garner support from within Glowerhaven. They profess a goal of returning Misthaven to a monarchy and regaining control, but what they are really doing is trying to get Misthaven to regress. They plan to disrupt trade between Misthaven and the other kingdoms, to cut off resources needed for manufacturing. If that happens many workers and their families will suffer. I can’t allow our people to be attacked in this way. After over a decade hiding from their responsibilities and guilt, freeloading off the people of foreign lands these out of touch royals presume to know what is best for Misthaven, the country they abandoned. We are a proud and strong people who do not need an outdated monarchy staging a coup and ripping the power of democratic voice from us.”

He spoke to her as if they were both of the working class of Misthaven. As if they both would be personally affected by whatever sanctions or political maneuvers Glowerhaven or the royal family made. As if they weren’t sitting in his opulent mansion in a foreign country, as if he wasn’t the one who had ripped the power and voice from the people, as if he wasn’t the one who had attacked Misthaven and everything it had held dear. Every word he spoke was gilded exploitation.

“What is it you want me to do?” she asked bluntly.

“I need you to take the royal family out of the equation before they cause any more damage,” he said.

Emma blinked.

“I’m sorry,” she said holding up a hand as she tried make sense of what he said. “Are you asking me to kill them?”

Gold leaned in closer. “Think of it as a life for a life. You asked me to release two convicted criminals. My offer is a stay of execution for each of them. Buy their freedom with the lives of the King and Queen.”

“So I murder the King and Queen,” Emma clarified, “and you will let Killian and Ruby go? No strings attached? You won’t hunt them down, or press any charges?”

“That is my deal,” Gold said his eyes watching her closely.

Emma ran a hand over her face. It was insane. She was actually contemplating murder. Her thoughts running furiously as she tried wrap her mind around it. But with no leverage and no other options she met his gaze.

“I accept.”

Gold nodded, like he had always known that would be the outcome. As if she were predictable, a foregone conclusion in his design. He seemed to be already enjoying the idea of having her be his puppet.

“So how does this work?” Emma asked him. “I just stand outside the entrance of this ball until the King and Queen show up and then I kill them?”

Gold shook his head. “No, I’ll get you inside the ball.”

He gestured to the guard in the corner of the room who passed him a small case. Gold set the case on the table and opened it. He pulled out an embossed invitation listing the information for the ball, and then slid the box closer to Emma. She peered inside and there, sitting in a bed of satin padding, was a shining dagger with jagged blade.

He lifted the blade and laid it on the table with soft thud. “What exactly you do once inside is up to you.”

Emma eyed the blade warily.

“And what about Killian and Ruby? How do I know you’ll keep your word?” she asked.

Gold shrugged. “Keep them with you. They’ll accompany you to the ball. If you hold up your part of the bargain they go free. If you fail, well, I suggest you don’t fail.”

Emma glared at him picking up the dagger and sliding into the inside pocket of her jacket. “I want to see them now.”

Gold stood and waved her to the door. “Be my guest.”

~*~

Ruby looked up at a sudden noise coming from beyond the door. A scrape and the sound of a key in the lock. She stood quickly glancing around for anything that might be used as a weapon: the cooling tea in the pot, the iron lamp on the side table. She tensed, readying for a fight.

The door creaked open and one of the blackguards waved Killian inside before shutting and locking the door once again. Ruby sighed in relief.

“Killian,” she breathed.

He looked around the room, eyes skimming over the plush furniture and paneled walls. “Where’s Emma?”

Ruby frowned. “I thought she might be with you.”

Killian shook his head. “I was alone. If she isn’t with you then we need to get out of here and find her.”

“No use,” Ruby said. “I’ve been thorough while I waited. There’s no way out of here unless you can climb through fire and up a hot chimney.”

Killian glanced at the fireplace as if seriously considering it for a moment. In the end he walked over to the door and jostled the handle studying the lock. He carefully pulled out two of the lock picks hidden within his mechanical hand and slid them into the lock.

Ruby pursed her lips. She had never seen a lock like the one in the door, and she knew Killian hadn’t either. She had a feeling it was useless, but she bit back the words because hope was a terrible thing to crush, and she knew he would need to exhaust every possibility before he gave up.

Watching him work was what she imagined it might have been like to watch Michelangelo or one of the great sculptors at work. The way his hands moved in small, precise movements, the clink of the tumblers within the lock. But instead of a masterpiece whittled from marble, she watched as with each minute a little more of Killian’s patience and confidence was chipped away until he threw down the picks with a curse and laid his forehead against the door in defeat.

“Well, if you’re done wasting time with that,” Ruby said gesturing to the door.

Killian scowled over his shoulder at her.

Ruby picked up the teapot with a smile. “Want some tea while we wait?”

Killian scoffed rolling his eyes. “I prefer coffee.”

Ruby shrugged. “Prisoners can’t be choosers.”

The word prisoners sobered Killian. His worried gaze meeting Ruby’s, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.  She could see the same fear in his eyes she had been trying to push down herself. Fear that at any moment the blackguards or Gold might reappear, something that would definitely end badly for them. At least he was here with her again, they’d face whatever came next together.

The lock clicked behind them, the door handle turning. Killian stood quickly placing himself a half step between Ruby and the door. Ruby tightened her grip on the teapot. They waited as the door opened a second time.

A slim figure was pushed into the room, stumbling and falling to the floor, her blond hair spilling around her.

“Stay here,” the blackguard in the hall ordered before slamming the door shut.

Emma gingerly pushed herself up. She looked at each of them carefully as she stood.

“Are you okay?” she asked them. “Gold didn’t hurt you?”

“Hurt?” Ruby repeated. “No, I’m fine. They locked me in this room and offered me tea. Bored maybe, but not hurt.”

“They didn’t interrogate you?” Emma asked looking surprised.

Ruby shook her head. “No one’s even come to talk to me, not until you two showed up.”

They both looked at Killian. “I was alone,” he said.

Emma’s eyes lingered on each or them for a long moment before a vaguely sick expression slowly settled over her features as she backed away from them and sank heavily into a nearby chair. Her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

“Emma?” Killian asked. “What’s going on?”

Emma didn’t respond but her face was pale in the flickering light of the fire and she looked close to passing out.

“Did they do something to you?” Ruby said sitting in the chair beside Emma.

“Was it the blackguards?” Killian asked kneeling down in front of Emma.

Emma blinked at them before swallowing thickly. “It was Gold,” she said quietly.

“Gold?” Killian repeated the word a low growl. “What did he do?”

She stared down at her hands in her lap for a long moment before she responded. “We made a deal.”

Ruby’s heart dropped into her stomach. Gold had a reputation for making deals that always seemed to benefit him and leave the other party worse off than before.

“What deal did he force you to make?” Killian asked placing a gentle hand on Emma’s knee.

“He knew,” she told them still not quite meeting their eyes. “He knew about our plan. Impersonating the princess, finding the King and Queen in Glowerhaven. I thought one of you had told him.”

Killian shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. No one questioned us.”

Emma frowned. “He knew things, things about each of us.”

Killian swallowed, his expression worried.

“What did he know about you?” he asked Emma.

She shook her head. “It felt like he knew all my insecurities. He knew everything we were planning.”

Ruby frowned looking at Killian. “But if none of us told him then how did he know? No one else knew.”

Killian sat back on his heels.

“Robin,” Killian said softly breaking the silence. Ruby looked up at him.

“What?”

“Robin told Gold,” Killian said. “If it wasn’t us, it had to be him.”

Ruby shook her head. “He didn’t know what we were planning.”

Killian gave her a skeptical look. “He’s smart enough to have worked it out. And he’s smart enough to know what that information might be worth to Gold.”

“No,” Ruby said firmly. “Robin wouldn’t do that. Not to us.”

Killian didn’t look convinced. Ruby knew the arguments he’d make: that they didn’t know if Robin had been arrested, or worse. They didn’t know what he might have had to do to escape the blackguards at the border. What wouldn’t he do if they threatened Roland. But she had known Robin longer than Killian had and she knew he wouldn’t betray them.

“It wasn’t Robin, though I think he did manage to work out most of our plan,” Emma said. “I think it was that member of his crew, Will. He heard Robin and I talking that night we camped in the woods. He had a ring, at the time I didn’t think anything of it. But then tonight one of Gold’s men had the same ring, I couldn’t figure out why the ring had seemed familiar until you just mentioned Robin.”

“Will would definitely sell us out to save his own his skin,” Killian said darkly. “Son of a bitch.”

It made sense. Will had always been a bit of weasel. Since he joined Robin and the Merry Men he had been more interested in lining his own pockets and helping himself than helping the cause. If he had leaked information to Gold about their plan, about their location at the border, she wondered what he other intel he might have leaked about the Merry Men and the supply underground in Misthaven.

“If Gold knows our plan, then he knows about the reward money,” Ruby said thinking through the ramifications. If Gold had convinced Emma to cut him in on any or all of the reward money it would supply money straight to the Industrialists, and strengthen Gold’s power.

“Emma,” Killian said his voice low as he looked at Emma, “what deal did you make with Gold?”

~*~

Emma looked between Killian and Ruby, the warm light from the fire so different from the stark laboratory she had been in with Gold. There it had felt like she had no options, no choices. Here with their kind and worried faces she was ashamed of what she had agreed to. 

Even after all the time Gold had spent trying to convince her they were hardened criminals she knew they wouldn’t easily condone murdering a king and queen. And still there was nothing else she could do if she wanted to save their lives.

She pushed down all the warring emotions within her and tried to keep her expression from betraying her under Killian’s piercing gaze. She hoped his habit of seeing through her was currently distracted with everything else going on.

“Gold wants a meeting with the King and Queen,” she told them the lie rolling easily off her tongue. “He said the rumor that the royals are trying to return to power is creating problems in Misthaven and he wants to address any complications with them directly.”

Emma waited for their reaction, nearly holding her breath.

“Why can’t he set up a meeting himself?” Ruby asked.

“Well, he did try to murder them and ran them out of their own country,” Emma said. “They probably wouldn’t be that receptive to granting him any favors. But I can get an audience with the King and Queen and arrange a meeting.”

“You think you can get the King and Queen to agree to meet with Gold?” Killian asked his tone unsure.

Emma nodded trying to look more confident than she felt. “Our plan was to convince them I’m the princess anyway. If they believe I’m their daughter I’ll be able orchestrate a meeting with Gold.”

“Did he tell you where the King and Queen are?” Ruby asked.

“Gold said there’s a ball tomorrow night the royals will be attending. He gave me an invitation that will get us inside.”

She passed the invitation to Killian. He looked it over carefully his expression veiled.

“So you set up the meeting and then what?” Killian asked her setting the invitation aside. “What are you getting out of this deal?”

“Gold will let us go,” she told them.

“Just like that?” he asked his expression held a hint of suspicion. Suspicion she hoped was for Gold and not her story.

She nodded. “That’s the deal.”

“You’ll be meeting the King and Queen tomorrow night?” Ruby asked. “That’s much quicker than I was hoping. Do you think we’ll be ready?”

Their eyes turned to Emma. She gave a half shrug. “We have to be.”

Ruby ran a hand through her hair listing off the things Emma still should learn or go over before any face to face with the King and Queen. Emma wasn’t listening though. It didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t need to convince anyone anymore, the only thing she needed now was the dagger tucked into her jacket.

[loverofgravity]

West Coast Tech Mystery: A Gravity Falls Fanfic Ch. 1

So I’ve never written fanfic before, but this came from an application I wrote for a roleplay. I just wanted to share it with you guys. Let me know what you think. Its all original content. 

Dipper was speechless. He first saw this symbol five years ago, but how could it be here? The Society of the Blind Eye was destroyed when he and his friends erased their memories and destroyed the memory gun at the end of the summer. He now grew extremely paranoid and pulled his jacket’s hood low over his brow. It was nearly two in the morning and he had a long walk back. Between his apartment and the library, there would be a plethora of dark places where red-robed miscreants could be waiting to snatch him.

West Coast Tech was eerie at this time of night. The entire campus was desolate of human life save the occasional maintenance worker mopping a floor or repairing a light fixture after-hours. There were lamp posts about, to be sure, but they hardly helped. As Dipper took wide turns around corners and hugged open spaces, he quickened his pace gradually as each dark alley or slight noise brought reality to a nightmare. The stately halls, so cheerful and vibrant during the day, loomed over him like caves full of monsters as he broke into a run upon reaching the housing area.

Dipper sprinted up the steps and down the balcony leading to his apartment where he slammed into the door with his shoulder. The force of hitting the door caused him to drop his keys. Now, sweating profusely despite the 40°F wind chill, Dipper bent down clumsily grabbing for his keys. That’s when he heard it… Heavy, deliberate footsteps mounted the stairs he had just ascended. He shot up and quickly fumbled with several keys as the steps got louder, heavier, closer. The key is in the deadbolt, it won’t turn. It sounds like there is more than one climbing the stairs. Jiggle the key; it’s too far in. They are on the balcony now, not yet around the corner. He dare not look back. The key turns, now it has to jiggle out. Tug hard on the door. They must be able to see him; he can feel their eyes on his back. The door is open now. Dipper slams it behind him and locks the bolt.

Dipper’s back slides down the door as he descends to the floor, tears welling up in his eyes. How could this be? How could they find him? How could they even exist? For now he can’t know. He must rest; the answers will come in time.

[a-million-stories-for-you-blog]

Dipper Application: Accpeted

Dipper Pines Application

Name: Jacob

Age:20

Time Zone: Central USA

Discord Name: LoverofGravity

Triggers: Incest, abuse, billdip

Personal/About Yourself: Hey guys. I’m Jacob, I’m a huge nerd for history and mystery which is why Gravity Falls has been so appealing to me and is my no. 1 Fandom. I have roleplayed some but not too much; I would like to give this a good try. I’m a junior in college and a member of the National Guard. Dipper’s character is the most relatable character to myself that I have found, animated or live action on any media. I’m about a year and a half older than him, as I was born in early 1998. I share his love of the unknown/mystery/puzzles and his habit of hanging around slightly older friends because of early maturity.

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Character Name: Mason “Dipper” Pines

Headcanon Age: 19

Appearance: Dipper is 6 ft. 2 in. He has somewhat messy brown hair and relatively pale skin. His nose is a bit darker than the rest of his face. His eyes are brown, and he has an average build on the slim side.

Headcanons About Character:

-       Dipper is trying to get with Wendy now that they are both in college and the age gap is negligible.

-       Attends West Coast Tech after being admitted with the help of Stanford (Wendy does too by coincidence).

-       He stays in Gravity Falls with his sister quite often but hasn’t necessarily spend every summer there.

-       He still is great friends with his sister, though they are now used to spending time apart.

-       He is interested in working with/for Ford.

-       He knows he is somewhat socially awkward and doesn’t know how to deal with it other than trying to make it funny.

-       Often starts thinking so fast that he rambles or loses previous trains of thought mid-sentence.

-       Often overthinks situations and motivations/intentions of others.

-       Very judgmental of self.

-       Worried about his appearance.

  Example Writing Piece:

Dipper was speechless. He first saw this symbol five years ago, but how could it be here? The Society of the Blind Eye was destroyed when he and his friends erased their memories and destroyed the memory gun at the end of the summer. He now grew extremely paranoid and pulled his jacket’s hood low over his brow. It was nearly two in the morning and he had a long walk back. Between his apartment and the library, there would be a plethora of dark places where red-robed miscreants could be waiting to snatch him.

West Coast Tech was eerie at this time of night. The entire campus was desolate of human life save the occasional maintenance worker mopping a floor or repairing a light fixture after-hours. There were lamp posts about, to be sure, but they hardly helped. As Dipper took wide turns around corners and hugged open spaces, he quickened his pace gradually as each dark alley or slight noise brought reality to a nightmare. The stately halls, so cheerful and vibrant during the day, loomed over him like caves full of monsters as he broke into a run upon reaching the housing area.

Dipper sprinted up the steps and down the balcony leading to his apartment where he slammed into the door with his shoulder. The force of hitting the door caused him to drop his keys. Now, sweating profusely despite the 40°F wind chill, Dipper bent down clumsily grabbing for his keys. That’s when he heard it… Heavy, deliberate footsteps mounted the stairs he had just ascended. He shot up and quickly fumbled with several keys as the steps got louder, heavier, closer. The key is in the deadbolt, it won’t turn. It sounds like there is more than one climbing the stairs. Jiggle the key; it’s too far in. They are on the balcony now, not yet around the corner. He dare not look back. The key turns, now it has to jiggle out. Tug hard on the door. They must be able to see him; he can feel their eyes on his back. The door is open now. Dipper slams it behind him and locks the bolt.

Dipper’s back slides down the door as he descends to the floor, tears welling up in his eyes. How could this be? How could they find him? How could they even exist? For now he can’t know. He must rest; the answers will come in time.

[invinaveritas]

This is the start of the mystery box suite.  I keep getting stuff and swag in the mystery boxes.  This stone and crystal were part of Hunt A Killer: Mallory Rock.  I’m going to try and unwind the bezel wire from the stone and try again; it looks much better on the back than the front, but it’s not the front with the word on it.  I’ll affix it to this ribbon for a neckband (yes I like neckbands, bite me) and suspend the wire-wrapped crystal from it.  I have a number of pins from HaK that I’m thinking of affixing to steampunk gears to maybe make a torc.  There’s a constellation stamp that I’m going to press into metal clay (now that I’m a member of the Lana’i Art Center, I can use their kiln).  I think I’ll make multiples, to have charms since I have to factor in the shrinkage.  I have to troll back through the Finders & Seekers and Deadbolt Mystery Society boxes to see if there’s anything in those that can be used, I can’t remember off the top of my head.  Some of the swag is pretty useful but not for crafting results:  Finders & Seeker sent a fucking awesome retractable metal tape measure that includes a level, a post-it pad and a tiny pen.  I’ve also gotten a collapsible water bottle, a ruler, a keychain flashlight, a fabulous headband (F&S: Timbuktu) that I’ve worn almost every day.  I don’t think there’s anything in the Society of Curiosities that…wait…there was a cipher coin.  That could be great on the torc, or just by itself.  I really need to sit down and sort through them all.  Of course, I’ve no idea what to do with the two beachballs and the whoopee cushion.  The red clown nose is now a stippling sponge. https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ78dOFPFst/?utm_medium=tumblr

[key2safe-locksmith-blog]

Lock Bumping Problem

In the 1970's, locksmiths in Denmark shared a method for knocking or bumping on a lock cylinder while using little strain to the back of the lock plug. When the pins would leap out inside the lock cylinder, the attachment would have the option to slide out openly and disassemble the lock rapidly. The usage of a lock bumping key was not introduced until some time later and was first recognized as a potential lock security issue around 2002-2003 in Europe. Presently lock bumping procedures and lock bumping keys are sweeping all over the internet.

The method work on 90% of locks you may go over and it's extremely easy one. What you need, is to create a knock key, also know as a 999 key. It is made by cutting down a key (that fits the lock) to its most profound setting. Then a little bit of metal should be eliminated from the tip of the key and the shoulder. After insert the key into the lock, because of the eliminated metal, you can give the key a little whack and the key will go in slightly further into the key way driving the pins vertically.

Unfortunately, criminals never rest in coming up with new strategies to get around locks. If there are strategies that force a great risk on society, or if a lock manufacturer fails to inform clients about a particular vulnerability in the items, then we blow the whistle. Whether or not you should promote flaws or maintain them mystery is an easy one for us to answer. A weakness or flaw in an item can presently don't be switched, and once it is has already been advanced within a certain scene then it is greatly improved if everybody thinks about it.

This is the only way how people acting in good faith can secure themselves against people acting in bad faith. Indeed, even specialized installation companies and locksmith are here and there unaware of methods that are broadcasted on early evening TV directly over the line of the neighboring country. For example, there is a knock key strategy, which caused quite a mix in Germany, but which is practically obscure in other nations.

As the word spread as to the ease with which certain locks could be passed by, several games lock picking clubs and notably the individuals from TOOOL began to examine the issue all the more intently. Various tests were directed by the research organization in the Netherlands in 2006.

After this a portion of the local locksmith associations alluded to our club as a "danger to society" because they are teaching people in their early twenties how to pick locks, but more, to understand how bolts work and how security really functions. Everybody mechanically makes the quick judgment call that information equals to debasement. A fact that makes me wonder, if knowing how to pick locks at an early age makes you automatically a budding criminal, how did all the moderately aged/more established locksmiths of today begin in their careers?

But instead of thinking that locksmith is "danger to society" you should realize that locksmith offered new technique how to secure your home, family and business from the lock bypass strategy called "key bumping" also known as "lock bumping". The easiest way to prevent lock bumping is to install a high security lock cylinder into both your door handle lock and a deadbolt. Special lock framework incorporates a special U-shaped key and a 13 pin locking framework can be added to your existing hardware in your home or office.

In this way, despite the fact that the general population and the locksmiths disapproved of the knock key information becoming public, it was only a matter of time before it surfaced. The interest declined once the spotlight was taken out. Life continues. Locksmiths are still all around regarded in this specific field and will continue to be such.

Read More : Bellevue Residential Locks

[creativinn]

Online Art Exhibition Needs Your Help Finding Lost Artworks | Mental Floss

This article contains affiliate links to products selected by our editors. Mental Floss may receive a commission for purchases made through these links.

Humans have a strange and lasting fascination with the dark and macabre. We’re hooked on stories about crime and murder, and if you know one of those obsessives who eagerly binges every true crime documentary and podcast that crosses their path, you’re in luck—we’ve compiled a list of gifts that will appeal to any murder mystery lover.

1. Donner Dinner Party: A Rowdy Game of Frontier Cannibalism!; $15

Chronicle Books/Amazon

The infamous story of the Donner party gets a new twist in this social deduction party game that challenges players to survive and eliminate the cannibals hiding within their group of friends. It’s “lots of fun accusing your friends of eating human flesh and poisoning your food,” one reviewer says.

Buy it: Amazon

2. A Year of True Crime Page-a-Day Calendar; $16

Workman Calendars/Amazon

With this page-a-day calendar, every morning is an opportunity to build your loved one's true crime chops. Feed their morbid curiosity by reading about unsolved cases and horrifying killers while testing their knowledge with the occasional quizzes sprinkled throughout the 313-page calendar (weekends are combined onto one page).

Buy it: Amazon

3. Bloody America: The Serial Killers Coloring Book; $10

Kolme Korkeudet Oy/Amazon

Some people use coloring books to relax, while others use them to dive into the grisly murders of American serial killers. Just make sure to also gift some red colored pencils before you wrap this up for your bestie.

Buy it: Amazon

4. The Serial Killer Cookbook: True Crime Trivia and Disturbingly Delicious Last Meals from Death Row's Most Infamous Killers and Murderers; $15

Ulysses Press/Amazon

This macabre cookbook contains recipes for the last meals of some of the world’s most famous serial killers, including Ted Bundy, Aileen Wuornos, and John Wayne Gacy. This cookbook covers everything from breakfast (seared steak with eggs and toast, courtesy of Ted Bundy) to dessert (chocolate cake, the last request of Bobby Wayne Woods). Each recipe includes a short description of the killer who requested the meal.

Buy it: Amazon

5. Ripped from the Headlines!: The Shocking True Stories Behind the Movies’ Most Memorable Crimes; $15

Little A/Amazon

In this book, true crime historian Harold Schechter sorts out the truth and fiction that inspired some of Hollywood’s best-known murder movies—including Psycho (1960), Scream (1996), Arsenic and Old Lace (1944), and The Hills Have Eyes (1977). As Schechter makes clear, sometimes reality is even a little more sick and twisted than the movies show.

Buy it: Amazon

6. The Deadbolt Mystery Society Monthly Box; $22/month

Give the murder mystery lover in your life the opportunity to solve a brand-new case every single month. Each box includes the documents and files for a standalone mystery story that can be solved alone or with up to three friends. To crack the case, you’ll also need a laptop, tablet, or smartphone connected to the internet—each mystery includes interactive content that requires scanning QR codes or watching videos.

Buy it: Cratejoy

7. In Cold Blood; $10

Vintage/Amazon

Truman Capote’s 1965 classic about the murder of a Kansas family is considered by many to be the first true-crime nonfiction novel ever published. Capote’s book—still compulsively readable despite being written more than 50 years ago—follows the mysterious case from beginning to end, helping readers understand the perspectives of the victims, investigators, and suspects in equal time.

Buy it: Amazon

8. Stay Sexy & Don’t Get Murdered: The Definitive How-To Guide; $13

Forge Books/Amazon

Any avid true crime fan has at least heard of My Favorite Murder, the popular podcast that premiered in 2016. This book is a combination of practical wisdom, true crime tales, and personal stories from the podcast’s comedic hosts. Reviewers say it’s “poignant” and “worth every penny.”

Buy it: Amazon

9. I Like to Party Mug; $12

LookHUMAN/Amazon

This cheeky coffee mug says it all. Plus, it’s both dishwasher- and microwave-safe, making it a sturdy gift for the true crime lover in your life.

Buy it: Amazon

10. Latent Fingerprint Kit; $60

Crime Scene Store/Amazon

Try your hand (get it?!) at being an amateur detective with this kit that lets you collect fingerprints left on most surfaces. It may not be glamorous, but it could help you solve the mystery of who put that practically empty carton back in the refrigerator when it barely contained enough milk for a cup of coffee.

This content was originally published here.