Bradbury Falls : Part Four
A Solo Kids On Bikes adventure using Mythic GME.
A weird sense of unease settled on me after I found the ring, and that night I tossed and turned until dropping into sleep like a stone in a pond.
I sank.
I dreamed of Amber Lake and of lonely empty boats drifting silently across the water, thick clouds of fog breaking and coalescing about the bow. While up upon a hill, a light stuttered off-and-on in the window of a cold and crumbling estate.
The following day was a Sunday. I woke from my sleep dull and unrefreshed. A dim grey light seeped in from behind a crack in my curtains and I instantly knew what kind of a Sunday it was going to be.
You know what I mean, right? The Sunday where everything’s a bit too cold, too wet, too colourless. Where everything is too slow and everything is too absent - just making the motions but nothing’s really happening. Like the rides on a carousel, moving and going nowhere. Where the seconds crowd into the evening and then suddenly, unexpectedly, toppling like dominoes and the day is gone and you wonder how Monday is upon you already?
One of those Sundays.
I sighed, swung my legs out of bed and looked out my window. For a moment I wondered if I was still dreaming, or if my dreams had rippled out of my sleep and into my day. A thick fog had rolled in off the lake overnight and Bradbury was lost beneath a great grey mist.1
After breakfast I got dressed in jeans, a grey hoodie and my blue raincoat. I opened my front door and stepped out into the morning. My backpack was full of missing cat posters and my plan was to stick them up along the street before going to explore the old Darby place up on the hill. But it was hard not to get distracted by the wisps and phantoms of fog twirling and rolling around cars and streetlights, over garden-fences, down muted, bare side-streets.
Clancy Street was quiet and completely mine. I walked past the shadows of parked cars, squat and still like sleeping animals. On either side of the street, windows glowed with a warm yellow light as households woke one by one.
In the distance I could hear soft footsteps approaching, the splash-splash-splash of boots in puddles. A small shadow grew darker and larger as the figure emerged from the fog, and all at once it was on me. Not a person but a thing, an it.2 I stifled a scream as a terrible mummified face appeared from out of the gloom, the skin behind the bandages sickly and green, the eyes alight with a spectral glow.
I staggered backwards, dropping a missing cat poster from my hand, turning to run.
The mummy laughed. Not a deep sonorous, haunting sound nor a dry witches cackle. No, this was a childish laugh. High-pitched and merry.
“Got you!” It was Rory, one of the younger kids that lived on my street.
I shook my head and grinned with relief. “You scared the bejesus out of me! What are you doing?”
Rory peeled off the rubber mask. “It’s great isn’t it? I found it my cousins attic. Some dude called Mum-Ra from an old cartoon. I’m going to wear it on Halloween.” The younger boy settled into an easy pace beside me. “Isn’t this fog so cool? It feels like we’re not really in Bradbury anymore. Like, like a ghost-Bradbury and everyone’s dead.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I thought I was the only one out here,” Rory continued. “What are you doing out Alex?”
I held up one of my missing cat posters. “I’ve lost Puck. You haven’t seen him have you?”
Rory shook his head and shoved his hands into his deep coat pockets. We walked together in companionable silence for a bit and he helped me stick some posters on fences and trees.
“I like your cat.” Rory said. “I always see him walking across fences or sitting on rooftops. He always looks like he’s on some crazy adventure, while I’m stuck in school. Mrs Middleton always shouts at me for looking out the classroom window instead of doing my maths.” This was typical Rory, always rattling on until he ran out of breath. “Where do you think Puck is now?” He asked.
I shrugged gloomily. “Emma thinks he’s been run over by a car.”
“Do you want me to help?3 I’m really good at hide-and-seek, and I brought my torch, see?”
The fog showed no signs of lifting as we continued our walk along Clancy Street. And apart from the occasional headlights, the road was completely empty. I could almost believe Rory’s Ghost-Bradbury idea.
Rory swung his torch beam here and there. Shining it under bushes and parked cars, over the tops of fences. But there was no sign of Puck.4
I asked if I could try and Rory handed me the torch.5
I idly swung the light around and watched tendrils of fog float and spiral in the beam. But then, as I pointed the torch dead ahead something metallic reflected back.6
The reflection came from the name tag on a torn dog collar. It was dangling from some string attached to the village notice board. I picked up the collar and ran my finger across its frayed edges. A phone number was etched onto the back.
I followed the short length of string to where it was stuck to the notice board. To my surprise there was a handwritten note attached at the top.7
“Something ate my Stanley.”
A cold icicle of fear rushed down my spine, I dropped the collar in horror and took a step back. The notice board was covered in Missing Pet posters, and someone had scrawled over them in red marker:
LUNCH MENU … HAHAHA!!
My mouth went dry and my eyes prickled. Stanley’s dog collar swung back and forth like a hanged man.
Ash: A hanged man? You’re embellishing again. Just the facts please, I don’t want poetry.
Alex: Are you always like this?
After that I couldn’t bring myself to place my picture of Puck among the other missing pets. It felt cursed. I stowed the rest of the posters back into my backpack.
Rory’s asked if I was okay and I handed the torch back to him.
“Thanks, I don’t think I need this anymore.” I said.
“What will you do now?”
I took the dog collar and looked at the phone number again.
“I’m going to find out what’s happened to my cat.”
Okay, for this next bit we’re going to do something a bit different. I wouldn’t normally do something like this on the show, but I’m going to allow a bit of artistic license for the sake of the narrative.
Ash: Okay, so we’re going to role play your telephone call. But no poetry okay. You’re certain this is how it went down?
Alex: Well it’s all from memory, but I wrote down as much I could remember.
Ash: Well, I’m still not sure but I guess we can always cut it out if it doesn’t work. What’s this word here - “back?”.
Alex: Bach. It’s a softer sound. It means dear or little one. My nan used to call me bach.
Ash: Cute. Bach?
Alex: Close enough.
Ash: Okay, so you be you and I’ll be the dog owner, what’s her name … Vera.8
Vera: “Hello?”
Alex: “I’m calling about Stanley.”
V: “Poor Stanley.”
A: “I’m very sorry. I lost my pet too.”
V: “Oh Stanley’s not lost bach, poor Stanley. And poor poor Vera.”
A: “Vera?”
V: “Yes.”
A: “Sorry, who’s Vera?”
V: “Me. Vera Dodds. Who’s this?”
A: I’m Alex. Look, I’m sorry to bother you Mrs Dodds - “
V: “Ms Dodds”
A: “Sorry - Ms Dodds. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for my cat and - “
V: “No cats here, bach. Oh, there’s the kettle. Goodbye.”
She hung up. Alex called back.
A: “Ms Dodds?”
V: “Who’s this?”
A: “It’s Alex.”
V: “I’ve not seen your cat bach. Sorry.”
A: “Wait! I just wanted to ask you about Stanley. I’m worried something … got … my cat too.”
V: “Poor Stanley. He chased into the night and the Gwrach ate him.”9
A: “I don’t understand.”
V: “How old are you?”
A: “Thirteen. I’m almost fourteen.”
V: “Thirteen. It’s a bad number. If you ask me, you should try and turn fourteen as soon as possible.”
A: “I will.”
V: “The gwrach and now thirteen. Omens omens everywhere.”10
A: “Ms Dodds? Please could I meet with you? I really think you could help me.”
V: “Help you? I can’t even help myself. No, I’ll be gone soon. I just want a little bit of peace with my paintings, with whatever time I have left.”
A: “Please? It doesn’t have to be at your house or anything. We can meet at a cafe or, or library or something.”
V: *Pauses to think*. “I was planning on taking some of my paintings to the arts and craft fair at the village hall this afternoon. If you can find me then we will talk.”
A: “Thank you.”
V: “I’m sorry about your cat bach.”. *hangs up*11
Ash: Gwrach?
Alex: I’m getting to it, but seriously you’d be surprised about all the weird stories that come out of this part of Wales. Witches and Druids and all that.
Ash: Oh believe me, nothing surprises me anymore. This show is the hotspot for weird shit. Black Dogs, UFOs, the Fae. We’ve covered it all. Did you know there’re scorch marks on a church in Suffolk that were left behind by a hellhound? Or that the church steeple in Chesterfield is permanently crooked because the devil danced on it?
Alex: Well you can’t believe everything you hear.
Ash: We’re going to hold you to that. Are we done for now?
Alex: I think so.
Ash: Night night bach.
Alex: Funny.
So what do you guys think at home? Should we believe everything we hear or treat it with a grain of salt? Do you have any experiences that sound wacky as hell but that you know are true? Let us know in the comments page.
Until next time I’m Ash Summers and this has been From The Ashes.
This one was a tough session and I remember a few surprising rolls. Really had to flex my creative muscles with some of the prompts, but reasonably happy with how it went.
Still mostly using the Oracle during play and not so much the KOB mechanics, but I guess that happens when you’re trying to learn two systems simultaneously.
As always, hope you enjoyed the read. Have a great week.
Is it still raining? No. Is it foggy? Yes.
Fate check. Do I meet anyone else? 50/50. Yes. Why are they out in the fog? Motivation. Transformation, adventure. Identity. Villain, ruler. Names: R, Or.
Fate check. Does Rory offer to help? 50/50. Exceptional Yes.
Fate Check. Do we find Puck. Unlikely. No.
I spend one Adversity Token to activate my Treasure Hunter strength.
Objects: domestic, personal. Fate check. Is the item related to my search for Puck? Yes. Random Event. PC Negative. Triumph, representative.
Cryptic Message: Messy, violence.
Personality. Creative, wise. Conversation. Irritating, careless. Names: Ve, R, Deeds, Oh
Stanley’s owner is an older lady in her 60s. She’s an artist and paints canvases. Her name is Vera Dodds. She has a ditzy, careless way of talking with an irritating tendency to wander off track.
Fate check. Did Vera see what killed Stanley? 50/50. Yes. Does she think it’s something supernatural? Likely. Yes. Undead? Yes. Undead descriptor. Dirty, old.
I really wanted to take a dive into some Welsh folklore with this story, and something undead felt right. After some interesting bookwork the malevolent spirit Gwrach y Rhibyn seemed to fit the bill.
At this point Alex decided it would be easier if he could meet Vera in person. But she’s not likely to just tell a complete stranger her address.
Charm check against a difficulty of 7. Rolled 7 but has a +1 modifier giving an 8. Success, but only just!
Scene Ends. Reduce Chaos Factor by 1. Test scene. Expected Scene.