Friday, July 8, 2011

Bade Them Sit Down On The Beach

We're going to California. Specifically, Pasadena. That was the next place on the list. The next destination.

We need a vacation. Maybe while we're there, we can go to a beach somewhere. Lay back on the sand, enjoy the sun. Before we go to wherever we're supposed to go, meet whoever we're supposed to meet, see whatever we're supposed to see.

I hope so. God, I hope so.

 -- Carol Baker

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

There Is Another Shore

Frank called the feds. The group that call themselves the SMSC, he called them. I don't know how he got their number -- maybe one of the interviewees had it -- but he called them. I didn't object, because how could I? How could we fight this thing?

So we let them handle it. We arrived at the prison this morning to see dozens of black SUVs outside. A man met us at the gate and introduced himself as Special Agent Ian Fish. "You'll have to wait outside the gates," he said. Frank told him he was the one who called in the tip. "Yes, I know," Special Agent Fish said. "You'll still have to wait outside. It's for your own safety."

So we waited. I was glad we weren't allowed in. Occasionally, someone would check up on us. Finally, a few hours later, Special Agent Fish himself came out and talked to us.

"I want to thank you," he said. "We've been getting reports now from all over about these little toys appearing, growing bigger, and then disappearing. Sometimes they kill, sometimes they don't. We've evacuated this part of the prison in preparation for the capture or termination of this entity." As he explained, I realized something: this was new to them, too. They had never seen this and they had been at this far longer than we had. This must have been the Boojum just born, what Steward called the Manufactured Newborn.

"We've got it cornered now, though," Special Agent Fish said. "I don't think it's like the others. I don't think it can move around like them. I think we got lucky today, thanks to you." He smiled at us and then a very loud explosion boomed across the prison. Dust billowed into the sky as one of the walls of the prison collapsed. Something shifted, something moved, and then, faster than anything I'd ever seen, it leaped out.

It was big. As big as a car. It had legs like a centipede, many and jointed. It looked patchwork, like it had constructed itself from any materials on hand. I saw prison bars and chair legs and bones. I saw a dark red splotch that must have been Hickson's heart, but in the middle I saw something else. In the middle I saw a snowglobe just sitting there, like it was its brain.

It was a quick nightmare. It didn't give anyone time to think. It moved before they could fire and when they did, it wasn't in the place where they fired. Special Agent Fish took out his firearm and started shooting, while Frank took my hand and we both curled up inside the car, hoping we wouldn't get shot.

It was over before I knew it. No more shooting was heard. I peered outside and saw it. It had climbed up on a fence and one leg had ripped a hole in the world. No one said anything, no one shot their gun, they just stood their as the thing ripped the hole wider. On the other looked like nothing I've ever seen. I only saw a glimpse. Just a glimpse. It looked like an engine. A monstrous engine. The thing pushed itself through the hole and it closed itself afterwards.

We didn't want to stay there. Frank drove away before Special Agent Fish could find us again. Whatever had happened was no success for them. We didn't want to stick around if they got suspicious of us and decided to throw us in jail or worse.

But as we drove away, I kept thinking about where it went. The Newborn. I would need a name for it.

The Cheshire Cat. That's what we'll call it. The Cheshire Cat. Appearing and disappearing at random, vanishing into whatever hell it came from.

 -- Carol Baker

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

By a Sign or a Word

He left us a letter. Sigand, Hickson's cellmate, left us a letter. The local police have already read it and asked us why we wished to see Sigand. We gave them the same story as the one we gave Sigand -- that we're reporters that want to know about Hickson's last days. We had petitioned Sigand for over a week to interview him and he only acquiesced the day before his death.

Apparently, he wrote us this letter the day he died. Perhaps even just hours before. The police have the original as evidence, but they gave us a copy and asked if we understood what it meant. We told them we didn't.

Dear ms. Hargreaves [the fake name I had given him] 
What happened to Hickson was justice. He mirdered those girls and he got what he deserved. But now its loose. Now it wont stop. 
It started last week. A few things went missing. We all thoght there was a theif. But then sum of us saw it in the hall. It looked like a strange toy, weird and incompleet.  
It hid in Hicksons cell away from genpop. I saw it there once. I gess he thoght it was like a pet. But it wasnt. I saw it afterwards. After it killed Hickson. It was covered in blood and it had his hart, Hicksons hart inside it. It looked bigger. 
It wont stop now. It will come after all of us until its big and strong enuff to escape. 
Im sorry, 
Russell Stigand

I don't know. This...this isn't like any Boojum we've encountered before. Stigand wrote that it'll kill again. Can we...can we stop it?

Do we even want to try?

 -- Carol Baker

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Curiouser and Curiouser

Okay, so, it took over a week to finally convince Wayne Hickson's cellmate, Russell Stigand, to agree to an interview with us. He wasn't in the cell at the time of Hickson's death, but we figured hey, anything is better than nothing. And nothing was what we had so far.

So we rode down to the prison yesterday. Except we weren't allowed in - there was a lockdown in progress. It seems another prisoner had died like Hickson. That prisoner being Russell Stigand.

Yeah. Stigand was in prison for armed robbery - nothing to do with little kids. If this is the Jabberwock, his MO is off. Of course, the Jobberwock's MO has never really been all that clear, but this...there's something else going on here.

 -- Carol Baker