I slept in the cellar, deciding it was safer as the things outside wouldn’t see me. A fine start to Christmas Eve, right?
I was pretty quick at grabbing some food from the kitchen and kicking the bed’s mattress down the stairs, along with some covers. The central heating didn’t reach the cellar, but there was a little electric heater and several extension leads which would do.
I slept surprisingly well, despite the cold of the cellar. I’d not explored it after the first time I came down. The cabin had apparently seen some major repairs over the years, but this part of it mustn’t have been as much of a priority.
Morning came and with it the terrible choice of whether to stay in the cellar or to move upstairs. Maybe I could get the car going, or even make it down to the village. Hunger, boredom and a need to pee took over, so I crept back up the stairs.
The door to the cabin was open, letting flurries of snow through into the hallway, soaking the welcome mat and the rug by the entrance. I closed the door, feeling the freezing water through my socks. Armed with a torch from the cellar I walked through the cabin, making sure there weren’t any intruders. Postmen, four-eyed creatures or even wild animals.
I was alone. A relief, but there was something out of place, a feeling that it wasn’t as good a sign as I’d hoped. Surely animals would have come inside, stolen food, started making hiding places. I listened for mice, rats, anything small that might have hidden from my stomping around. Nothing, just the wind.
The needs were dealt with, I used the loo, changed my clothes, grabbed some toast from the freezer and put it in the toaster set to ‘defrost’. Then I realised there was an absence in the room.
The stone skull was missing. I ran back to the cellar to make sure I hadn’t taken it downstairs. It had been my only real company for most of the holiday. It wasn’t in the basement, under the table or even the place I’d hidden it at the back of the cabin when the woman seemed freaked out by it. Nothing, no sign of it, no scratches, no sign it had ever been there.
I peered beyond the curtains to see what was outside. Just snow and nothing else. I couldn’t even see my car. Had those fucks taken my car? Incensed by this, I put my boots on and ran outside. The car was gone, the drive was gone. I barely recognised where I was. The woods had grown closer, the snow thicker than it was before.
A noise came from the trees, a crunching. They began to shake. Literally shaking trees, I’d not seen anything like it. They parted and those spirits were there, pushing them aside. Beings of living snow, with four ice-white eyes the closest to anything physical about them, at least until now.
One of them had a skull made of stone, the sockets fit the ice-white eyes perfectly. I dropped the torch I’d been wielding as a weapon and fled. If they’d got rid of my car, maybe the postman’s van would still be there.
It was, but had been buried in hedges grown too large and wild from how they had looked a few days ago. The spirits were slow to move and looking at the cabin, so I had a little time. The van’s door was open, so I got inside, closed it and checked for keys. Nothing, but at least it was shelter. It would have to serve as a place to hide, as the spirits seemed to ignore it so far.
>>>
Advent of Abomination is by Black Armada and available here.
I tried to head down to the village today, to try and stock up. I’d decorated the cabin as best I could, but I thought maybe something more Christmassy would help make it homely.
When I left, the snow was barely falling. I’d still dressed warm, just in case. The road was barely visible. I stuck to the hedges on the way down, figuring the grassy verge would be nearby. It was almost the winter solstice, so I’d have little daylight, I needed to be fast.
The village felt far away, the roads stretching on for longer than they were supposed to. When I reached it, nothing was open. The village shop, the pub, the café, nothing. Most of the lights were off. A ghost town. I did what any English person would do in the situation, I tutted and rolled my eyes. Then I set off back to the cabin.
The sun went down on the walk back, way too quickly. I’d hoped I would have more time, but apparently not. At least the night sky was clear, and the moon was full enough to help light the way.
The stars felt like they were more prominent, more visible. I tried to make out constellations and cursed not knowing more than the dippers and Orion’s Belt.
I lost track of where I was walking and slipped, having to steady myself on a hedge. Prickly, but fine. I stopped to catch my breath and looked up at the sky again.
The stars moved. Just two, but it looked like they were moving around each other, getting larger and larger. I couldn’t move, grasping tightly onto the hedge so I didn’t fall over watching them. A pair of moons, orbiting each other.
Going to eat each other.
I remembered that from somewhere.
My vision was engulfed in light.
Day Twenty-One
I didn’t expect to see the postman this close to Christmas, this far out. The letterbox made a loud metal crash and a couple of cards fell through. Sam and Lou signed one, and the kids sent another. I put them up on the fireplace. A nice touch of home.
There was a noise from outside and the power went off. The generator again. I wrapped up warm and went outside. It was early and mostly dark still, but I’d got used to it breaking periodically and reached the point where I could change it in my sleep.
This time it looked like something had been broken off. In it. I managed to get it running, but didn’t like how it sounded. Stretching my legs, I walked out into the road, watching the sun rise. Something was off. Down the hill, the postman’s van was there, looking like it had taken a bit of a skid on the icy road and ended up face-first in one of the hedges. I took off, trying to see if they needed help.
The van was empty, the door open. I looked around to see if there were any footprints. Nothing. I looked at the other side of the hedge from the van and the snow in the field was undisturbed. Back up the road past the cabin the road ended and went towards the woods. I thought I’d have a quick look that way. Not much of one, I’d left the door open and didn’t want the cabin to get cold.
Running into the woods, I tripped over a stray branch and managed to stop myself from going face-first onto the path, putting my arms up and hitting them instead. I looked at the branch I’d tripped on, long, thin and tied to the opposite tree. I pulled out the kitchen knife I’d kept in my coat pocket and hacked it loose. I didn’t want to forget and trip over again.
I went back into the cabin and closed the door. It wasn’t warm yet. I decided to stay with the stone skull by the window, just in case I saw a postman out in the snow.
Day Twenty-Two
The eyes were back, the ones I saw in my dreams. They were outside the cabin in the snow and the darkness. I’d fallen asleep at the table and woke around three or four.
It was difficult to make out what they were attached to, it looked like the snow was moving, taking a form that was almost human. Each one had a set of four eyes, unblinking, burning with white fire.
I’d been face-down on the table, I didn’t want them to notice I was awake, to notice me at all. I slowly reached towards the curtains. I’d not closed them in case I saw the postman again. In case he needed help. Now I wanted nothing more than to seal off the sight of those things. Even if they saw it, I could retreat further back into the cabin, maybe get a knife just in case… in case what? Would I be able to do anything against these creatures of living snow?
In one swift move I grabbed both sets of curtains and yanked them closed. Even through the fabric I could tell they were looking in my direction. The wind howled and I kicked myself away from the chair, grabbing the stone skull and a knife from under the sofa. I ran to the bedroom and turned the lights off, waiting, listening to the howling of the wind.
Day Twenty-Three
Sod it, I’d decided. Whether the eyes in the night had been imagined or not, I was done with the cabin. The snow was going to make it difficult, I’d kind of hoped that by waiting then the snow would have calmed down or gone to rain or something. I hadn’t expected it to be as heavy as it’d been for the last few weeks.
I’d set my mind on leaving, so I grabbed a shovel, wrapped up warm and started trying to dig the car out. Hopefully the battery was okay. I had some anti-freeze in the boot, bought by Casey in a rare moment of organisation.
The car was uncovered and I needed to clear a route out to the road. I put the shovel down and paced along the road to eye up the challenge ahead. The postman’s van was still in the road. It’d take some effort to navigate past it, but I didn’t care.
I turned back and saw my shovel swinging towards my face. I tried blocking it and felt something in my hand crack against it. The person was between me and the cabin. I ran towards the woods, figuring I could lose them, circle back and get in the car or the cabin. If the car worked then fuck it, I’d get out. It’d be a risk and I’d leave all my shit behind, but fuck it. If I took the cabin, I’d be safer, have supplies and a weapon.
I ran through the trees, looking at the path ahead in case any more traps had been laid for me. A branch caught me in the face and I recoiled. Having stopped, I quickly looked off to my sides, looking for a good way to run down and circle back.
The footfalls sounded like a person, not some snow-thing. They still had my shovel and looked dishevelled. I kept an eye on where I was going through the rough terrain, pushing through thick hedges and falling into a small opening. It was the little nook I’d found early in my stay. From there I ran back to the car, thought for a second and went back into the cabin instead. I grabbed a knife and waited by the door, just in case.
>>>
Advent of Abomination is by Black Armada and available here.
I woke up, still dressed in case the police would call. It was nine and there’d been nothing. There couldn’t have been much to delay them, there weren’t any messages on my phone which I’d left by the window in case there was better reception there.
I opened the curtains and through the snow I could tell the body was gone. I put the kettle on and went outside, looking for any signs the police had been by to collect it.
There weren’t any tracks in the road, the gritting had worn off on the roads, covering it in snow. Maybe the police had arrived in the middle of the night and didn’t want to disturb me. I checked the front door in case anything had been stuck to it by them, then the letterbox. Nothing.
The bench felt oddly empty without the body there. I sat there for a moment, not really dressed in clothes that should be snowed on for long. When I put my hand on the bench to get up, I felt a deep cut in the wood. It was a letter. I brushed the snow off it and saw words cut into the bench “WITH US NOW”.
Day Sixteen
I’ve been trying to keep calm. The police drove by yesterday afternoon and asked questions about the body. I told them what happened and they seemed dubious. They didn’t even check out the bench where the body was found.
I’d seen a death and some grisly animal corpses. While the dead person was someone I’d felt threatened by, I decided I needed to stock up and go a bit survivalist. I’d probably have felt safer if Casey was still around. I’d have been talked out of acting a bit crazy. I made sure I knew where the food was and stashed some of the knives from the kitchen in places around the lounge. I brought the skull back out from its hiding place, put it on the table and told it to keep an eye out for anything weird.
When you’re stuck in a cabin alone with no telly, almost no reception and a bunch of shit books, the boredom can get a bit much. I decided I’d have a bit of a walk to get my head straight. It’s not like there was a murderer, just the cold.
I dressed up warm with a couple of jumpers, a thick coat and my best walking boots. The previous day’s snow was high enough I’d have to wade through it, especially with the snowfall adding to it. Still, it’d help keep my mind off of the strange goings on. I walked out and realised I wouldn’t be able to see any dead animals even if there were any. Hopefully I wouldn’t tread in one.
The clearing was tempting to go into, but a bit too hidden away. I walked across the field and down to the lake. I figured if the weather got worse, there was the cave. Making my way down the slope was trickier than I thought, I slipped and skidded onto what I thought was the path.
When I got up, I realised I’d gone too far, off the path and onto the lake. I could hear the cracking underfoot. I’m not a big guy, but that didn’t matter, the ice wasn’t that thick. Looking at it, there were lines moving quicker than I could comprehend. I dived for the ground which was a worse idea, my left foot went through the ice and shattered. I went into the water, grasping for anything I could gain purchase on.
It’s the shock, I remembered people saying. A drop into a cold lake. I grabbed for some reeds and tried to control my breathing. If I got out, running would hopefully keep me warm enough until I reached the cabin.
I must have done it. I don’t remember how I got back to the cabin. It felt like everything went black, the air was taken out of my lungs, replaced with ice. When I came to, I was at the front door, curled up. The snow was still raging around me, I moved my fingers, hearing the crack of ice covering the gloves. I opened the door, ran inside and turned the heater on. I made sure not to dive into a hot bath for a little bit, but it was too tempting.
Day Seventeen
I’m falling in the ice again, and there are eyes on me. Watching me.
The dark of the lake goes deeper than I expected and I’m pulled further, further down. I don’t know if it’s warmer than I thought or my body’s acclimatised to it. Either way, I don’t feel the cold anymore.
The light through the ice was getting further and further away. I saw forms walking on it and I knew they were watching me. Their eyes were as bright and cold as the lake’s ice.
I stopped falling when I hit a wooden floor. It was the cabin. I woke up, having tumbled out of bed and missed the rug. I was still freezing cold, even after the hot bath and wrapping myself in as many clothes as I could when I went to bed.
Day Eighteen
Sam called in a brief moment of reception. It was difficult to hear her sometimes. I pretty much pressed myself up against the window. The cold of it didn’t feel too bad, not after my fall in the lake.
She wanted to see how I was, given everything. I didn’t mention most of what I’d experienced. I told her the lake was nice, but I’d taken a tumble into it. She offered to send up more clothes and blankets as she might be able to get it here before Christmas. I said I was fine, I’d picked up some bits from the village shop and there was a washing machine so I was able to get everything less muddy and cold.
Before she cut out, Sam said that Lou passed on her love and had seen Casey. Apparently they were down with a cold, but otherwise there wasn’t much to report. I was pleased they weren’t immediately involved with someone else. I guess they just didn’t like me for me. I imagined them alone in their flat while I was alone here. Was it better this way? I didn’t know, but it was nice to hear from someone back home, even if they were fuzzy and barely able to be heard. The skull-stone was far less of a conversationalist.
Day Nineteen
The snow had stopped after several days. It took a little time to open the door, even with the overhang shielding it from most of the snow. I decided to have breakfast first to fortify myself before going on a walk. I wasn’t going to be ambitious this time, especially with the thick snow underfoot.
The woods were easier to travel than trying to walk waist-deep across the field to the lake. I also had a bit of a grudge with it from the tumble I took. The ground was free from the worst of it, but the natural paths had changed. I wasn’t as sure of where I was going at first, but it didn’t really matter. I had enough of my bearings to know where the cabin was, as long as I went back that way then I’d be fine when I was done with my walk.
I found the dew pond, but it was nowhere near where I thought it was. It was frozen over, like a tiny version of the lake. Even with the grey sky, the opening in the trees felt like a spotlight on the centre. There was something on the lake, the light bouncing off it. I walked closer and saw what it was. A deer, made out of ice. Someone must have carved it and brought it there. I was surprised it didn’t put too much pressure on the dew pond. Maybe it was frozen solid.
I looked around and was alone. Whoever left it there would have left a while ago, given how quiet and untouched the woods seemed. Getting closer, I could see its eyes. Four of them, all carved beautifully. For a second, I thought one set of them blinked. It couldn’t have, though. Not really.
When I left, I kept an eye on the deer, just in case it moved again.
>>>
Advent of Abomination is by Black Armada and available here.
I finally did it! I made it out of the cabin with no distractions, no neighbours being weird, no animals, no blizzard. I mean, it was snowing, but a manageable amount. I wore a thick jacket, wellies, my biggest backpack and walked out like I was on an Arctic expedition.
The road looked like it would have been easier to walk down, but the snow on the gritted tarmac had gone to slush, making for a few skids. All very dignified. It took about an hour to get down the 20 minute walk to Mistbirch, I was starving by the time I reached the outskirts, but it was so good to see people walking their dogs on the green and coming out of the village shop.
I laughed off people asking what I was doing out in the snow and walking down the hill instead of driving. I explained that I didn’t want to use the car in this weather, I’d been in a crash once before because of the weather and preferred the longer walk.
The village cafe was open with no customers. I went in and could see the disappointment that they were just about to shut up shop. I had a nice hot chocolate and a thick sandwich, but I did my best not to take too long there. I didn’t want to delay the waitress getting home, especially if the weather was going to be bad.
The shop was small and I kept banging into things. I took my backpack off and bought a bunch of supplies, having forgotten about my list and just filling up the bag with all sorts. They took cards, luckily, although it took ages for it to go through with the reception. I thanked them and they told me that they would be closed from the 18th. Hopefully I wouldn’t need much more than I was getting. Milk, maybe. I didn’t bother asking about a milkman, I guessed they wouldn’t make it up the hill on a float.
Feeling a lot more civilised for my interactions with folks at the village, I made my journey back up the hill. The snow was much worse, but I was spurred on my human interaction and warmth.
Day Thirteen
I had difficulty sleeping last night. The generator went again and left me in the dark. I’m not afraid of it, but I’ve grown used to having a lamp on while I’m sleeping. I keep it dim, but still on. I woke up and it was off. I thought I’d turned it off or something in my sleep, so I tried to close my eyes and will myself to sleep.
Then the cold started to creep in. The heating was supposed to be on through the night, just low. I pulled the covers close to me and at one point even tried to reach out and grab my dressing gown. It didn’t do much to help. After a little while, I realised maybe it’d be better if I put it on instead, but the moment I got out of bed the cool air hit me. Then the noises. It was probably just my senses adapting to the darkness, but every creak of the floorboards underfoot echoed, it sounded almost like someone was in the cabin. Once I had the gown on I got back in bed and pulled the covers over me.
Sleep came, eventually. I’ve spent the rest of the day shattered, though. It’s been a bit of a lazy one, barring a trip to the loo with a coathanger as a weapon and bundling up mid-morning to get the generator working again.
Day Fourteen
Something Dead that was once alive.
No generator problems today, and I decided to make another trip into the village. That way I’d be able to freshen the supplies that’d expire faster, like milk. Possibly a blanket if there was anywhere which had them. Something to help make things warmer if the genny’s going to keep crapping out.
I may have expected too much from the village and took some time to get a drink at the café, which was one of the only places that was still open. The village shop had some scarves knitted by the mother of the person running it. I picked that up, along with the perishables and had an easier walk back to the village than I did last time.
That’s when things went awry. Maybe I’m just cursed here or something. I don’t know. There was that person from a few days ago, yelling about the skull. I’d expected them to return, even after I’d hidden it. The person was sat on the bench when I got back to the cabin. I called out, trying to be neighbourly, after all, they might have been there to apologise for coming across like a crazy person.
They didn’t respond. I got closer and said hello again, I asked if the person was okay. Still nothing. Once I was close enough, I saw they had a book in their hands and looked like they were reading it, only they weren’t. The person was dead, probably from the cold or… I don’t know. I’d have definitely seen them when I left for the village.
I tried to call the police, but the cabin’s phone wasn’t working. Of course. I’d not really tried using it for anything. My own reception was terrible. It was time to hike back down the hill to the village and tell someone.
By the time I got down there, the shops were closed, the pub had signs up that it was closed for Christmas. I made my way back up and sat on the bench. I’d have to keep trying my phone for the police, and wanted to give the person company. They were a woman, I realised, being sat that near them. Her book was handwritten, all stories about the woods. Fairytales about creatures living around the lake, living in the cave. Each one ended with beings taking people away, leaving things behind as offerings. Generally sticks or stones made to look like their abductee.
Eventually the reception was good enough, the police said they would pop by, ask some questions and take the body away.
I went inside and sat by the window waiting, but no one came. I’m going to bed now, hopefully I’ll get interrupted by the police.
>>>
Advent of Abomination is by Black Armada and available here.
Superman and Krypto on the moon, looking at Earth, a shot referencing All-Star Superman
I have a couple of very specific loves in comics. The X-Men, the Legion of Super-Heroes, the New Warriors. Those are all teams, and when it comes to solo superheroes, it always comes back to Superman for me.
I’m very particular with Superman. As a kid with some fairly simple views, there was too much of the feeling that Superman = establishment = Reaganism and American militarism. Child Charlie was dumb and hadn’t read much Superman at the time.
The original film was breathtaking, and while I saw the Batman films far more than the Supermans, there was always something there which interested me. This powerful person up in the light, whose thoughts were always for other people. All that against the capitalist monster of Lex Luthor, the true form the billionaires take compared to Bruce Wayne or Tony Stark.
Compared to the team books, I pick up and drop Superman comics more often based on the people behind it and their version of Superman.
All-Star Superman, flying too close to the sun.
Grant Morrison’s All-Star Superman was this perfect benevolent being who’s still incredibly human. The great idea of the god who thinks he’s a man versus Lex Luthor’s man who thinks he’s god. The selfless versus the selfish. When faced with his own mortality, Superman has to ‘fix’ anything he can as quick as he can. He needs to make sure the menagerie of alien monsters he looked after are safe, reveal his true self to Lois Lane, redeem Lex Luthor and save the world. And he does in beautiful fashion.
Here’s Grant explaining some of what Superman means to them:
Kurt Busiek, Mark Waid and even Brian Michael Bendis have got it, with a Superman who’s nice, a bit cheesy, but never boringly grimdark or an easy stooge for the powerful. Bendis’ version had some rubbish villains but cemented him as a slightly cheesy dad type. For Superman, this feels like his true form. He is the ultimate dad after all.
There was an attempt by JM Straczynski to have Superman get ‘Grounded’ and walk across America making very questionable JM Straczynski proclamations. The series itself almost had me bail from the comic until Chris Roberson came on board and in the second half of the arc it was revealed that someone’s misguided vengeance was forcing Superman to be conflicted, filled with doubt and making rubbish choices like supporting polluting companies against protestors because… jobs, I think? It ended with multi-dimensional Supermen creating a “Fortress of Solidarity”, a counter to the Fortress of Solitude. Another moment that had me welling up.
Superman, together with people who get him.
The current Absolute Superman has been a joy to read, with Superman going back to his socialist roots. The S doesn’t stand for ‘hope’ in this reality as it’s a grim reality. Instead it’s the sign for the labor caste of Kryptonians, with Lara and Jor-El raising Kal on a farm, their scientific minds banned from contributing. In the present, Superman’s helping miners and being hunted by private military contractors. It’s great.
A page from Absolute Superman issue one.
So I’m quite particular with my Superman. He means a lot to me.
When Zack Snyder released a trailer for Man of Steel, my heart leapt. I found it awe-inspiring. My friend Steve and I watched MovieBob’s defences of Snyder’s other works, having only seen 300 and Watchmen by him. I checked the Twitter account of Chris Haley, a person who’s another very good, very specific Superman fan. He was optimistic.
Then I saw the film. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. Snyder’s objectivism was incredibly present, the product placement, the prettily vengeful Clark Kent, the choice of his father to simply die rather than get rescued, the continued presence of Jor-El (he’s never good whenever he pops up). It was all disappointing. I remember a fight scene so long and uninteresting I could see phones lighting up like a sea of stars in the cinema.
And then Clark murdered Zod. The pair’s fight had caused several 9/11’s worth of damage, definitely killed people and then he killed Zod. There have already been thinkpieces about the scene, the many ways Superman could have avoided murdering. Snyder’s defence of Superman having to commit murder in order not to murder in the future and… that’s not how it works. Most of us have not murdered and wouldn’t murder people. I was so upset and have ranted for many more hours than a sane person should have about it.
I like James Gunn. Super felt like a dark, cynical superhero film but was still enjoyable unlike Kick-Ass which was better than its comic equivalent but had issues anyway. The Guardians of the Galaxy trilogy are some of the better MCU movies and somehow managed to get normal people talking about people like Groot. The Suicide Squad was great, too.
He’s not a perfect creator, but he gets the heart of these creations even when he’s taking darker and weirder edges. There’s an amount of MCU, “Well, that happened” humour, but it’s not always the case. When The Rock changed the balance of the DCEU by ending it and James Gunn was announced as the person behind the next version of DC in cinemas, I was okay with it. He cited some comics which weren’t just Dark Knight Returns and Death of Superman. His first choice of thing to show was Creature Commandos.
And now there’s a teaser for Superman: Legacy.
I watched it, and I feel like I’m in the same space as I was with the trailer for Man of Steel. There are some great visuals. There’s not enough to get too much of a feel for the characters, but we get way more than just Superman. There’s Krypto! You know, the super-dog! I love that it’s embracing things like Krypto and the pants-on-the-outside look which makes Superman’s costume look less like some generic MCU body armour. There’s Kekex, Superman’s robot. We get glimpses of Lois Lane, Mr Terrific and the wonderful weirdo Nicholas Hoult playing Lex Luthor. There are giant monsters and people chanting Superman’s name.
I have my hopes up again. Hopefully this time it’ll be for good reason.
I woke up late this morning. Losing a bit of a schedule can’t have helped. I figured I’d be able to wake up at a normal time naturally, but I’m not waking up for anyone. I don’t really have much of an agenda.
More of the roll-out pain au chocolats. I might have overdone it a bit by adding some Nutella to the chocolate sticks. A bit of a goopy mess. Luckily I just have you, dear journal, as the only witness. I guess there’s the skull, but it’s in the back of the cabin on one of the comfy chairs, just in case that nut job from yesterday’s around.
I went out for a bit of a walk. I still had my shopping list from yesterday which had been abandoned after the woman had freaked me out. The path out of the cabin to the road is covered in uneven stone slabs. They were ‘characterful’, I decided. Charming, rather than sloppily made. Casey would have complained about them.
Someone had cleared off the stones. I hadn’t, and there was snow through yesterday afternoon and the night. It was light, but it’s been settling. I looked around, I didn’t really have any neighbours near enough to do it out of the goodness of their heart.
As I reached the last stone, I saw red smears in the snow next to it. The stone itself had two circles of dead rats, blood spatter making it look like they were a pair of horrific wreaths. The smell of them hit me and I threw up in the snow, just missing the paving slabs.
I tried to regain my composure, looking at the circles of rats. Someone had nailed the tail of each rat to the head of the next. I looked back at the roof of the cabin. Had there been scuttling last night? After a week I’d become acclimated to it. Was someone helping me out by disposing of the rats? Did someone bring the rats here?
A quick lap of the cabin through the snow left me none the wiser. There were no footprints. I widened the circles, trying to see if there were any tracks, if there was a sign of any cabins which I’d not noticed. It was stupid thinking of that, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. I walked up and down the road. They must have come up and down it, avoiding the snow and keeping to the gritted tarmac.
I grabbed a bin bag and carefully scooped up the horrible wreath.
Day Ten
You are being watched, how can you tell? Open Special.
I got up early to keep an eye on the driveway and see if there was anyone leaving any grim offerings again. I kept the curtains closed, barring a crack to look through.
Of course, I didn’t want to seem paranoid, or like some kind of weird busybody, so I made breakfast like a normal person and ate it while glaring through the sliver of light in the window.
No one was there. No one came out, no new offering of rats was given. Oh, thinking of the rats, I didn’t hear any scratching on the roof. I guess it must have been the ‘offering’ from yesterday instead of a tree branch or something.
After looking at what I’ve written, I decided I was sounding like a crazy person. This was my Christmas holiday, my retreat from a break-up, from all the duties of life back in the city. I wasn’t going to be scared by phantoms. I pulled my curtains open and looked at the majestic glare of the winter sun on the snow. It was time to go for a walk.
The lake took my breath away the last time I saw it, and was nice and open. I decided to head down there without my camera, just for a walk. I rushed out of the woods by the cabin and slowed down once I reached the fields. I assumed that when the weather was better they’d be filled with farm animals or something. Right now it was just me, following the tracks I’d made in the snow the other day.
The lake was still gorgeous, but the ice looked thinner. I paced around the side of the lake until I saw the indentations from my feet the other day, and another pair of footprints in the snow and mud. They looked like they were larger boots than mine. I kept going, keeping an eye out ahead of me. There was a dark patch which I realised was the entrance to a cave. Some old cans and a campfire made it look like it was used as a shelter by people walking or having a pit of a party down there.
The walls had graffiti and markings which looked older than that. I almost stepped in, and that’s when I saw the skull. Not like my stone one in the cabin. Not quite. It was maybe a sheep or goat skull, sat on an old, rotten wooden bench. There were an extra two eyes drawn on it. And it looked at me.
I turned tail and ran back to the cabin, slipping over in the cold mud a couple of times as I made my way up, up and through the fields.
Day Eleven
Something is broken, what do you do about it?
I woke up early this morning, mainly because of the cold. The place has been toasty for the last… nearly two weeks. God, it hits me sometimes how long I’ve been out here. I admit I’ve been blasting the heat a bit, but it’s been freezing out and it’s not a big place so I don’t feel too bad. I’ve just had a break-up, I can treat myself.
Anyway, this morning was different. The generator mustn’t have been working. I tried to wrap myself tighter in the covers and make myself comfortable despite the cool air. I nodded off for a bit, but then reality hit as I started to hear a dripping noise. It was making me want to go to the loo, but more than that… where was it coming from?
The kitchen, it turns out. The fridge/freezer, more specifically. So that’s been my morning, mopping up the kitchen and seeing what frozen food I can salvage. This afternoon I’ll try to see what’s up with the generator. There’s a problem with being out of the way and this is it. If there’s a rat or a skull or anything else in it, I’m just going to go home.
>>>
Advent of Abomination is by Black Armada and available here.
I decided that I’d brush off the bench outside the cabin and have my breakfast coffee in the sun today. It still meant a bit of a damp bum, but I did what I could to keep my dignity intact. It meant wrapping up warm, but was worth it for the smell of the winter air. I didn’t take my camera out and instantly regretted it when I saw something moving in the woods nearby.
I put my mug down and got up, trying to keep an eye out in case it was someone from the nearby village or maybe a hiker. Instinctively, I did my best not to make any noise. I wasn’t likely to be some kind of weird Annie Wilkes murderer or horde of rats, but I was careful anyway.
It was a stag. Like, a big stag. Not moose big, I’ve seen one of those before and nearly lost a car to it when I accidentally went off-road in a Nortdic holiday. Still, this was the first life I found besides birds, and it hadn’t noticed me. It was picking through the woods and felt like it was on a mission. You know the way that sometimes you’ll pass a cat on a street and it doesn’t care about you as it’s got places to me. Basically that kind of attitude.
I watched the stag and found myself following it deeper into the woods. I swear, at one point, it was like it looked back to make sure I was still following. It couldn’t have been doing that. I know that. It was trying to see if there was a predator in the woods.
Eventually I made a noise. I stepped on a branch, hidden in the deep snow. The stag bolted, leaving me alone in the woods. I walked up to where had been and looked around. It was the clearing from the other day, I hadn’t noticed as I approached it from a different angle. From this way, I could see something under the low branches of a tree. Ducking down, I saw a stone that looked like a skull. I admit I almost fell over when I saw it laying there. It was all my nightmares about things on the roof, things out in the woods validated. I crouched down and approached it, armed with a stick. Brave, I know. A solid poke and the skull rolled. The holes which I thought were eyes weren’t right at the new angle. There were four of them and in different places than a human skull would have. The colour was a stone grey. It was just a stone, obviously. With holes in it, odd-looking, but that was it.
I dragged the thing out and held it in both hands like a bowling ball. The holes were deep, with markings which looked a bit like those suns on the beam in the cellar. Circling each other. Eating each other. I decided to take the ‘skull’ in. The only way to take the power away from these things is to confront them, after all.
Day Seven
News from home. How does it make you feel?
Scrambled eggs for breakfast. I only had a couple left after the pancake extravaganza the other day. The stone ‘skull’ was still on the dining room table, my partner in crime for the next couple of weeks and change.
I just about jumped out of my skin when the letterbox went. I didn’t realise the post was still going this far out, but I guess it’s only early December yet. By the time my heart had calmed down, I could hear the post van leaving. There was my attempt at speaking to another human gone. I guessed I’d have to wander into the village at least to get more eggs soon enough.
The post was barely anything. A postcard from Sam. She wanted to check that I was alright, and not going all Shining in the cabin alone. I couldn’t help but imagine Christmas in the city, surrounded by people, my sister and her partner, the kids, the noise of it all. Would I have been better getting lost in all that, or having this meditative calm out here?
Whatever the answer, I decided I’d write a postcard back and tell them about the lake and the stag, enjoying pancakes and books. Light things. Promises to bore them all with photos soon enough.
Day Eight
An unexpected stranger. What is unsettling about them?
The skull and I had breakfast together and I pondered going out for a wander, possibly reaching the village to grab some supplies and post my postcard to Sam and Lou. I admit I’ve been talking to the skull, I patted it on the head. I’ve not gone full Castaway. I know it’s a big stone, but it’s my big piece of stone. It’s probably coming in the car with me after Christmas.
Reciting a shopping list to the skull wasn’t helping. Instead I decided to get a pen and paper to jot it down. Probably futile as I tend to let my stomach guide me anyway and forget about the note, but again, it’s a ritual.
eggs
milk
bread
sweet potatoes
chocolate coins
book/s?
The chocolate coins from our supplies might have been casualties of the first day or two, the sweet potatoes because I preferred them and compromised for Casey. I can have them myself now.
As I was making the list, there was a slam on the window. I ran to it and refrained from talking to the skull. It’d seem weird if there were onlookers. A person in thick winter clothes stood outside in the light snow. I think they were a woman, but their hat was pulled down their head almost down to their eyes and their hair whipped around in the wind.
”What are you doing?” She shouted.
I asked who she was, what she was doing there. She was far enough back that she must have thrown a snowball or something at the window. They were double-glazed but even so, the noise carried.
”What is that?” She pointed at the skull on the table.
”It’s just a sk— a stone,” I said. I’d already got so used to calling it a skull, which wouldn’t have reassured her.
”Take it out of your house. You shouldn’t have it in there.”
”You shouldn’t be out there throwing snowballs and judging me. I’ll take it out when I want thank you very much,” this was about as assertive as I can get.
She was shouting, but the wind was picking up. I decided to put the kettle on and ask her to come inside, maybe talk reasonably about what was going on. Maybe I’d disturbed something she’d made. Maybe the stag did.
I went to open the door and was met with the harsh stings of cold air right in my face. I called out to the woman, barely able to open my eyes. She was gone though.
I made a hot chocolate for myself and moved the skull further into the cabin, to keep from bothering her if she came back.
>>>>
This is apparently the end of things being chill. We’ll see how that goes in the next few days’ entries.
Advent of Abomination is by Black Armada and available here.
I found the basement to the cabin. I didn’t think they had them, but apparently this one does. It looks like it’s been carved out some time after the cabin was built, with timber and some really rubbish plaster work making the walls more solid. I could see damp getting in, but hopefully that’s not going to be my problem while I’m staying here.
Apparently this used to be a bit of a workshop, with a work bench and old tools. A lot of them are rusty, I didn’t dare touch them lest I get tetanus. There’s an old sofa which felt distressingly moist when I pushed on an arm of it. Basically, I’m going to keep the basement alone.
When I was on my way out, I caught sight of a carving in the timber. There were a few little ones dotted around, I figured they were just some kid mucking around with a penknife, but this wasn’t. It looked like two suns, with lines like they were circling each other. Feeding off each other. I’m not sure where that thought came from. I decided against getting my phone to take a photo of the carving and just went back upstairs.
I finished Rats, there are a couple of dry looking war books on the shelves here. Beever, mainly. I figure I’ll read one of those, as it’s unlikely to give me bad dreams or make me think of the noises on the roof.
The special door I opened.
Day Four
Comfort food. What does it remind you of?
I couldn’t get through the Beevor, so I spent last night just laying around, unable to get to sleep and trying not to focus on the sounds on the roof. I had a look this morning and it looked like it was just snow and branches moving in the night.
The weather was rough enough that going up a ladder was as daring as I was willing to be. I like snow, but from the other side of a window. Deciding it’s an indoors day, I decided to make some pancakes. They’re more of an Easter thing, really, but I had the supplies and the process is kind of meditative. After years of wrecking pancakes, I’ve got them down to a fine art. Fairly thin and light, but that’s not a bad thing. A little Nutella, some bananas. It’s nothing fancy, but I like it.
Day Five
A beautiful sight. How does it take your breath away?
The snow stopped overnight, so I decided to put on some walking boots and have a bit of a hike. rather than going into the woods, I wanted to go somewhere a bit more open. I’ve got my old digital camera which has about half the megapixels or whatever of my phone, but hopefully it’ll all look a bit retro instead of just shit.
I found some fields to walk through and took some photos of big vistas, distant woods, hedges. The usual nice snowy things people take pictures of. The snow wasn’t too tricky to wade through and left a satisfying trail which made me more confident in finding my way back to the cabin. After a few hours, I found the lake. It was a stunning sight in the brightness of the afternoon and the cold air. Massive and frozen. It looked like it was from a painting or a cartoon or something. I tried to find a good vantage point a little higher up to get a good shot of it.
After taking a photo or two, I just sat, watching some birds on the lake. As the sun was beginning to go down I could see the pale shadows touching the edge of the lake from some nearby woods. I retraced my steps and made my way back to the cabin.
Advent of Abomination is by Black Armada and available here.
I’m on the Black Armada Patreon and last year they put out a solo journaling advent calendar. I loved the idea, but was too lazy to print it out and too forgetful to preorder one in time for Dragonmeet. This year, as well as having a lovely chat with the UK Indie League folks, I picked up one of the few remaining copies.
It’s a folk horror advent calendar, with each door giving a different prompt. As far as I can see it doesn’t need dice, just the calendar and something to write with.
Beware spoilers, as I’m going to try and go through the whole of the Advent of Abomination.
Day Zero: Going Away
Who are you? Why are you here? Who will you miss?
I’m waiting for a train at the moment and it’s an hour until the next one, so while I was going to wait until I was at the cabin to start this holiday journal, this is going to help kill some time. If I’m lucky it’ll keep my fingers warm as the fingerless gloves aren’t doing enough.
If you find my frozen corpse on Platform 2 of the Caenholm Railway Station, my name’s Martin Price. I’ve spent the last few years staying in fairly remote places with my partner, Casey. It was a great way of avoiding both of our families who are frankly way too much drama. If it was in the middle of nowhere and fairly cosy then all the better. Thing is, places get booked up quickly so as the organised one, I arrange somewhere for us to stay as early as possible.
And that’s why I’m here. Casey and I broke up in October. They’re back with their family now and you know… good for them. I’m not in a good place with mine and while Sam and Lou offered a place at theirs, I didn’t want to be a burden. I’d rented the cabin, I already had a shopping list of supplies, so I’d just spend some time there alone, read some books, get off the grid. If the snow’s not too bad, maybe go out on some walks.
It’ll be good. It’ll be good. If I say it enough times, if I write it down, maybe it’ll even be true.
Day One
A strange sound. What does it make you think of?
Guess what? I survived the trip up to the cabin. It’s quite a walk from the station, I nearly ordered a taxi, but I’m not sure how long that would have taken to arrive and really didn’t want to stand still any longer.
The cabin’s fairly big… you know, couple-size. I reached the place, turned on the heating and unpacked my clothes just in time for the online delivery to show up. There weren’t many substitutions, luckily. I wasn’t sure if they’d make it from wherever they came from, especially through the snow. I offered them a bottle of water and to use the loo if they wanted, but they were on a clock.
The signal’s sketchy here and the WiFi’s rubbish, mostly working in the bedroom and the left side of the sofa. I decided to treat it as a bit of a detox.
I was originally going to read some Stephen King, specifically Gerald’s Game. I decided against it, as I didn’t want dreams of being trapped and alone in a cabin. I grabbed a James Herbert instead, one of his unsurpassed and unsurpassable Rats trilogy. A work of Marenghian magnificence.
Of course now, I’ll be dreaming of rats in the walls instead. Rats on the roof. Not because of Herbert, god help me, I’ve read the trilogy a few times and they’re hilariously bad. It’s because of noises I heard. Scratches, loud scratches. I genuinely thought someone was on the roof at one point. I went outside and had a look, but there was nothing there. Maybe it was some snow falling from one of the trees near the cabin. I don’t know.
Wish me luck with my dreams!
Day Two
A comfortable place. What do you do there?
The rats didn’t return, either in the real world or in my dreams. I got the freezer pain au chocolates (chocolatses?) out and put them together, breaking a bunch of the weird chocolate sticks you put in before you unroll them. They were alright to eat and I’ve got leftovers of them for lunch as I ended up making enough for me and Casey.
I went out walking, not to the village as it felt a long walk just to see their shops which are probably closed for the winter. The paperwork about the cabin said there were some nice woods to walk in with some cultivated pathways, so it’s easier to walk even in the bad weather.
Luckily it was cold, but bright. You could hear the creaking of the snow in the trees. The ground was more treacherous than I’d hoped and I almost slipped over on what looked like fairly stable earth. After a couple of hours I was warming up, but a bit tired. All these years of sedentary work has done in my stamina. Hopefully this time away will help build some up.
I’d gone off the path and wandered through some old woods, past a dew pond which was frozen over. I don’t know if it was used or not, but there were a lot of old trees with their branches dipping into it, all frozen in place now. Beyond that, I found a nice little clearing. Some tightly-packed trees meant that there wasn’t as much snow, I was able to brush off a stump and have a sit for a time. The snow and the light meant that even the shade was a kind of pale blue. I took a few minutes to sit there and regain my breath before returning past the dew pond, to the path and then to the cabin.
Advent of Abomination is by Black Armada and available here.
A Victorian X-Men team from an alternate reality, about to solve a murder!
The Between is a game from The Gauntlet which recently finished a campaign on BackerKit. The game’s about Victorian monster hunters who are incredibly messy people. As they investigate mysteries, they often become part of them and could often be seen as pretty villainous.
The X-Men are a group of superheroes made by Marvel who despite their intentions are often hated and feared by humanity who sees them as their own extinction. They try to help other mutants from human, mutant and robot threats. The journey to mutant liberation is a fraught one and the team’s often populated by people who have at one time or another been villains.
I’m a fan of both these messy groups, and while I was watching The Between’s campaign break the record for how much overtime it was running into on BackerKit, I decided to do something involving both these fandoms over on BlueSky. I enjoyed doing it, but I thought I’d expand on it here.
The Between’s protagonists, all about to investigate a mystery.
The American: James Howlett aka Logan aka Wolverine
Wolverine’s past. Not a great moment.
We’re going to gloss over the fact that Wolverine’s technically Canadian, because he’s pretty perfect for this role.
The American is the ‘werewolf’ playbook, born of a wealthy family originally, cursed by a feral rage which comes out at night. They’re hunted by officials and the fear that they might become a threat to everyone around them.
James Howlett was born to a wealthy family and marked by tragedy, taking the name Logan and resorting to a feral life in the wilderness. Over the years, he was hunted, made into a weapon and managed to eventually break free of everyone, joining the X-Men. Even so, he’s prone to a berserker rage which can be deadly when coupled with his unbreakable bones.
The Explorer: Professor Charles Francis Xavier aka Professor X
The X-Men’s Problematic Dad
Here was the playbook & character mix-up that made me think of it. The problematic boss.
The Explorer is the ‘campaign’ character, with a relationship with the Mastermind where they have had connections and will be intertwined in their chess match. They travelled the world, colonised places, have a mountain range named after them and left behind a lot of scars. Now they have a lot of contacts from their place of privilege and can call on them for help. Their Masks of the Past don’t look into their backstory but instead show The Boy, who was taken in and abandoned by The Explorer. Their final Mask of the Future has The Boy return and physically destroy The Explorer.
Charles Xavier is the founder of the X-Men and a king of hubris. In his youth he travelled the world, sometimes even with his stepbrother Cain. He met ‘Magnus’, they worked together until they fell out, then he got his legs crushed and went home in a wheelchair. He founded the X-Men and in the name of doing good, often did some abominable things with his telepathy. Folks often mention that he created a child army and… that’s not entirely wrong. He did things like wiped the memories of everyone who knew Hank McCoy in his hometown to make it easier to adopt him, completely wiped Magneto’s mind once, had a whole second X-Men team who died, enslaved a robot and turned it into a Holodeck. The list goes on. I think to make him work as The Explorer, his contacts would have to be his students. I’m not sure who The Boy would be, but there are a lot of candidates.
The Factotum: Forge
The first appearance of Forge in his little shorts, showing off his bionic bits.
Forge has almost never been a core member of the X-Men and that’s part of the point here.
The Factotum is a servant at Hargrave House, they have their own background and life, bur that’s not important. They are probably the most competent person in the group, but they will not get recognised for it, living a life of service instead.
Forge aka Maker does have a place of his own unlike the Factotum, generally Eagle Plaza in Dallas. Like the Factotum he has his own dreams and ambitions (a lot of them being Storm), but they will always be unfulfilled. He’s rarely been part of the X-Men outside of as a support role. He makes their technology, repairs them and even in a leadership role with X-Factor ends up helping others out. On the nation of Krakoa, he helped give Domino a weird biological arm-weapon and Wolverine an adamantium surfboard. Now that’s service!
The Mother: Dr Henry Philip McCoy aka The Beast
Beast and an army of clones he’s intentionally made weaker than him, making a clone army of Wolverines.
The Mother is clinical, rational and has a grim project. They’re the ones most eager to get their hands bloody, to dig up graves and assist the authorities in order to get what they want. They have a creature they’re making, one they’re emotionally attached to, harvesting body parts and eventually animating it.
The version of Beast I’m thinking of here is the one from the modern age, where he was the Henry Kissinger of mutantkind, carrying out clinical genocides and cloning an army of Wolverines to assassinate people in the name of Krakoa. The truth is, he was always leading down this path. He experimented on himself and went all grey (then blue). He traded a mentally unwell unhoused woman to Mr Sinister for information. He killed an alternate reality just in case it was bad. Then there was all of the mutant CIA stuff.
The Orphan: Dr Hank McCoy aka The Beast
Hank McCoy The Younger
This was a fun thought, so I had to follow it.
The Orphan is an unlockable playbook, accessible if The Mother completes their project and things don’t go too badly. They’re helpful and bear the sins of their creator. You have some friends, but also may give in to the occasional rage.
Beast left behind a backup version of himself from his Avengers stoner friend of Wonder Man era as he felt it was useless. The X-Men decided to use it to help stop the older, more evil Beast and his clone army. Now this Hank’s the reigning Beast. He’s aware he’s atoning for things another version of him did, a version he could become. He’s not quite a clone, but he’s angry about what he’s done, what he could do and how things have turned out.
The Undeniable: Emma Grace Frost aka The White Queen
Emma Frost in the Victorian alternate reality isn’t too far away from the regular version.
This was difficult. I nearly went with Storm, but there are enough elements of Emma Frost which work better with it.
The Undeniable is a Dorian Grey kind of character. They’re beautiful, immortal and heartless. Somewhere, there’s a work of art looked after by a cult. When hurt or when they transgress, the work of art is scarred somehow. They have a lot of potential to be a real villain.
Emma Frost started out as a villain and a member of the Hellfire Club, one of the most Chris Claremont creations he made in his run writing the X-Men. Despite this, she actually was a good teacher (apart from the time she exploded a horse… it’s assumed she was on a LOT of drugs during her Hellfire days). She joined Generation X as a teacher and then the X-Men after a mutant genocide. Since then she’s alternated between active team member, teacher and reverting back to her Hellfire Club ways. To use her as the Undeniable, the work of art AND the cult could be her students. That way they get worse or end up dying, like too many of her students have, all while she remains a flawless diamond.
The Vessel: Jean Elaine Grey aka Marvel Girl aka Phoenix
Fire and Life Incarnate
Another perfect fit with very little change needed.
The Vessel is as close as you get to a Magic-User in The Between. The magic specifically comes from dark forces who are attracted to The Vessel. They’re drawn to darkness and threatened to be consumed by it.
Jean Grey is a good person, more than you’d think for The Vessel, but that doesn’t mean she’s a nice person. The Phoenix was drawn to her and took her place for a time, living as her. Later, it became more clear that it was still Jean in some way, even if it wasn’t her body. As Phoenix, she is fire and life incarnate. She’s killed a planet, she made Mastermind so cosmically aware that it broke his brain. While Phoenix died and became Jean again, the pair have been linked many times as Phoenix can never really give up Jean. Just re-flavour the dark forces and maybe have the Witches as worshippers of it.
The Mastermind Theodora Braithwaite: Max Eisenhardt aka Erik Lensherr aka Magnus aka Magneto
Professor X and Magneto in their coordinated outfits at the Hellfire Gala.
This isn’t really a playbook, but the season’s big bad. Theodora Braithwaite was a victim of colonisation, a pirate and after a falling out with the Queen, wants to use a campaign of terror to take control and rule without any concern about morality. She’s ominous and ever-present, a Moriarty figure to the hunters of Hargrave House.
Magneto is the best friend and worst enemy of Professor X. The two are intrinsically linked, each others’ biggest defender and hater all at the same time. Magneto, as the saying goes, made some valid points. He knew that mutants may get tolerated but won’t get accepted, not really. He wanted to take over for mutantkind, viewing them as superior and ignoring any assimilationist/integration-based ideas. He’d be a great Mastermind to have linked to the Explorer.
Bonuses:
You can hear Limp Bizkit in the background of this panel.
The Martian is an alien with strange powers and inherited weapons. My choice for him would be Adam X, The X-Treme, specifically the version from Fabian Nicieza where he was a bit more of a Luke Skywalker than a Limp Bizkit fan. His powers allow him to electrocute people’s blood, but it has to be exposed, so his costume is covered in knives. He also skateboards, because he’s from the 90’s.
TheInformals are helpers to Hargrave House. You play a number of them, each with their own abilities but also all doomed. To be honest, these are probably the New Mutants or New X-Men, as they’re all useful but to have a terrible amount of casualties. Poor Doug. And Jay. And two of the Stepford Cuckoos. And so on, and so on.
The Legacy is hunting a beast, defining it at they go. I was tempted to say Cyclops as my boy’s not appeared on the list yet and hunting Sinister would work here. Instead, I’m going to say Bishop, given his hunt for a traitor to the X-Men and his combat abilities. Sometimes he goes through periods of trying to be peaceful, other times he burns the world to make his hunt easier.
The Underground is an Alice in Wonderland type character, thought to be mad and having spent a lot of time in a strange Wonderland. This is one of the new ones, so I don’t know a lot about it, but my first instinct is Longshot. Longshot comes from a strange wonderland called The Mojoverse, run by spineless creatures who get nightmares from our television signals and turned that into their belief system. Longshot’s often lost there, leading resistance efforts and then getting mindwiped. He’s often more Dorothy than he is Alice, but I feel this works. Oh, and he’s also his own grandfather/grandson, but that’s neither here nor there.
The Volatile would be Beast or Forge if they weren’t already claimed. As someone who keeps modifying themselves in volatile ways with science, you could probably get away with having Mr Sinister as them, as he has been someone who keeps tinkering with his genetics. Alternatively if you want someone a little less evil, there’s Greycrow, who has a ton of cybernetic modifications and is always tinkering with himself. He’s also emotionally pretty volatile.
The Dodger is Gambit, obviously.
That is all and I will not be taking any questions.
Faked Tales 