Day 38: Luckiest Investigative Reporter on Earth!

MOST AMAZING NIGHT of my LIFE!

Things have been pretty slow at work this week. Joanie's not worried, she says it gets that way sometimes. It's the summer months, so many local families are heading out to bigger beaches and tourist destinations, so the local planning board tends not to run much. Meanwhile, I'm running out of people to interview. I was just sitting around the house today when I randomly remembered that sparkly dust Flora Goodfellow gave me before she died. Eh... why not... not like there was anything better to do...

It's pretty stuff. Very fine. I decided to sprinkle a little on myself, Peter Pan style, just for kicks.

All of a sudden I'm seeing this weird glow... I thought maybe it was just residue hanging in the air. But then...

Holy crap! It IS fairy dust! This stuff seriously works! I was hovering in the air like a flippin' balloon for two straight hours. My feet weren't even touching the floor! I had to experiment with more, of course, so I tried moving and worked out a sort of unsteady locomotion. It seems like just willing myself to go a certain way and leaning in that direction works for locomotion. After figuring that out, I had the bright idea to test the hovering power over different surfaces. I thought about running a bath to see if I could float over water (Could this be the same stuff Jesus used for his famous walk on water?), but then I had a better idea. There's a pond in the local graveyard. Not much bigger than a hot tub, really, but it works for what I was trying to test. So I headed out into the night to test my theory, literally flying to the graveyard. SO COOL!

Well, unfortunately, it doesn't work over water, so I had to scrap that theory, but I did discover that it had a luminescent quality that made the gloomy, misty graveyard light up within a few yards of wherever I was standing. It was such a beautiful night out I decided to stay and experiment further. I even skipped a few stones.

That's when I heard some weird noises coming from the catacombs. Well, me and my stupid self, I totally forgot about the reports of local bears coming down from the mountains and sightings around the edges of town, so I went to investigate.

Yes. I got mauled by a bear. Well, sort of. It knocked me down, but apparently it was only a cub because I managed to frighten it off by yelling and waving my hands once I got back to my feet, and after that I beat a hasty retreat to avoid backlash from its mama. But still-- fairy dust, and walking away from a bear attack on the same night?! Seriously! How cool is that?! And wait, it gets better!

I was just hurrying back out of the catacombs and about to head home when I spotted this weird bluish light over by the fish ponds. I figured I was already a mess, may as well check one more thing while my luck was holding, so I headed over to investigate.

As I drew closer, the light began to coalesce... into the form of a woman, standing by the pond, looking out over the water. But it wasn't a woman, because I could see right through her. It was a ghost.

Yes. I, Sophia Buenavista, discovered magical fairy dust, wrestled a bear, and met a real honest-to-god ghost... all on the same night! So much for a slow news week! I've got the makings of half a dozen articles right here!

Day 36: Moving Day

Needless to say, I've been working my ass off. Joanie surprisingly didn't hassle me at all about that piece I wrote on her dirtbag husband, so either she's been too distracted to notice it, or she doesn't mind. Kinda makes you wonder what kind of relationship they have behind closed doors... and there I go sticking my nose where it doesn't belong.

Anyway, more importantly, I'm finally out of that crappy little trailer! After my latest raise, I finally decided to take the plunge and started looking around town at available realty. I was a little nervous at first... I mean, I honestly hadn't made the decision to settle down here long-term yet, but when I found this little place on the north end of town, I felt like the decision was made for me. It's perfect, just what a single working girl needs. Plus it's pretty secluded, just a block from the local graveyard and brisk jog away from Moonlight Point, a secluded local beach. I made an offer on it the same day I saw it, and I moved in yesterday!

Just for kicks, I decided to jog home from work, see what kind of a run it was, and-- just like everything else-- it's perfect.

I love my new place! I love this town! I guess you could say I'm becoming a local...

The Hemlock Chronicles: Updates and Pic Spam

I was going to write this up into another chapter, but frankly, after writing three intensely emotional chapters in one day, I'm beat. Not to mention, in the game I forgot about Lilah's impending graduation and moved Moriah and the kids out the night before her graduation ceremony so the only person who came was Timo, and I just didn't feel like making Moriah out to be THAT bad of a mother that she would skip her own daughter's graduation ceremony, especially after everything else she's missed during her mourning period. ::sigh:: Poor Moriah. Poor Lilah. Poor Xander. Poor Mattei. I am just a big meanie to my characters... ::evil grin::

Anyway, here are some shots from Lilah's graduation.

Lilah attending her graduation.
She was voted "Most Likely to Offend."
Poor girl just can't catch a break.

Lilah thanking Timo for attending her ceremony.

Can't you tell he's bored and doesn't like you, Lilah?
Geez, just leave the poor kid alone so he can go hit on that cute blond girl.
"Hey baby, that guy's a joke. You wanna see what a real wizard can do?"

Timo came, but more than anything, it was out of a sense of familial obligation. He doesn't like Lilah at all, and doesn't trust her as far as he could throw her. He really only stuck around the house because he likes the old place, and because there'd be more room for his imaginary friend with everyone else gone.

Yeah... he's special...

Did I mention he's also a witch? Well... wizard. Warlock. Whatever. He has the Magic, and he's more talented already than his mom ever was.

Timo casting a conversion ritual on a toadstool.

And voila!
Okay, well, maybe a fish is the most impressive thing ever, but it's a start.

"Bubble, bubble, toil and... tribbles?
Hey! Who swapped out my alchemy book for Star Trek fanfic?" 

Drinking a home-brewed potion.
This may be the best pic I have of Timo.... sadly.

That's all the extra pics I have for now. Don't worry, though. This is not the last you'll see of the others. I'm already working on something special for Mattei, since he's such a good-looking and sweet guy who just didn't get much of a role in The Hemlock Chronicles. Be watching for him in The Buenavista Diairies!

As for who I pick for the legacy heir... I guess you'll just have to wait and see, won't you?

Day 20: Confrontation

I am just fuming right now! I just don't even know what to do, I'm so mad! I just... UGH!

Okay, I need to start at the beginning:

So on Wednesday this week Joanie pulled me into her office again to let me know I was getting another promotion, this time to a freelance writer. At first I was leery, but then she explained that this will give me more freedom to determine my own hours and sniff out the good stories, since I will be only indirectly affiliated with the town's newspaper. In other words, she wants me to find the nitty-gritty stuff that people might not want to tell someone they knew was a reporter for the local paper the stuff that makes the really big headlines. And... well, when she told me the new salary, I was on board.

Well, that evening I decided to go try out another local haunt to celebrate my promotion. But when I arrived, I discovered that Joanie and her family were all there as well, apparently celebrating one of her son's birthdays. I met both of her sons, good-looking young men named Joe and Jules, as well as her husband, Flint. Joanie and I enjoyed a drink together at the bar and chatted about work for a little while, and then they all headed home while I had another and went home, too.

Well, then on Friday night I decided to head over to the Red Velvet Lounge and check out what sort of people (or non-people, as the case may be) frequent a lounge that advertises itself as a “premier vampire hangout.” Joanie had asked me to start doing more interviews, so when I arrived I quickly introduced myself and struck up a conversation with a friendly-seeming Goth fellow named Malcolm Harris.

I was in the middle of asking him about his fascination with vampires when I saw Flint MacDuff walk in. I smiled at him, but he apparently didn't recognize me in my more formal attire and with my hair down, because he moved past me to the bar and got himself a drink. I made a mental note to catch him after I finished my interview and reintroduce myself, but before I had finished, I snuck a peek only to find him chatting up another woman, very evidently flirting with her.

Well, I couldn't help myself. I hate two-timers, and not only is Joanie a great boss, but I consider myself her friend. I grabbed my own drink and headed over to confront Flint. The other woman was just wandering off as I stepped up.

“Hello,” Flint greeted me, with a smarmy grin on his face.

“Hi, Flint. You don't remember me do you?”

“Should I?” he asked, sipping his drink.

“I would think so, considering we only met two days ago. Sofia Buenavista.”

“It's a pleasure,” he said, extending his hand.

“I work for your wife.”

The color drained from his face. Apparently it wasn't such a pleasure after all.

“I noticed your friend,” I said, jutting my chin in the woman's direction. “Not exactly your type, if she? I mean, based on the fact that you're... I dunno... married?”

That got him. He narrowed his eyes at me. “What are you implying, Miss...”

“Buenavista. And I'm not implying anything. I'm coming right out and saying it! You're a two-timing jackass!”

Well... it pretty much degraded from there, but we basically got into a brief shouting match during which I threatened to tell his wife and he threatened to get me fired and insisted I had no proof that he had done anything wrong. I threw my drink in his face and stormed out. In the cab on my way home, I realized that he was right. I don't have any proof. But I did have a handle on public opinion, courtesy of my job. I didn't have to tell Joanie he was a two-faced liar to get him to stop cheating on her. All I really had to do was smudge his reputation a little, and get all the single women in town to back off. So as soon as I got home, I sat down at my computer and wrote two stories: one positive one on Malcolm Harris (I was feeling charitable, and even though he's kinda weird, I know he could use the good publicity since he's looking for work) and one bad one on Flint.

I kept the piece on Flint pretty low-key. I don't want to get on Joanie's bad side, after all. But I did make sure to prominently declare that he's married with four kids and a hefty mortgage. Hopefully that'll deter any gold-diggers after him.

I just don't get it though. Joanie is a great woman. They seemed to have it all, a beautiful house, great jobs and reputations, awesome kids... why would he gamble all that on a pretty face? I mean... I know it's none of my business and all, but I just don't understand it.

Ugh! Listen to me! I really need to get a life of my own and quit prying into others'. Uncle Saul's always asking me if I have a boyfriend yet.

Oh no! I just received Doreen's email with the obituaries she wrote (she still sends me her stuff for proofreading occasionally , and Flora Goodfellow just died! Of natural causes, it reads. Well... I suppose that's likely. But still... how will I find out about that “fairy dust” she gave me? And it says the funeral is closed to friends and family only. Great... I knew I should have pursued that lead sooner. Damn my lousy timing!

This day is just sucking more the longer it goes on. I'm going to bed.

Day 14: A Promotion and a Decision

Geez, I've been working so much, this is the first chance I've had to get back to my diary for awhile. I've been keeping so busy with work that the only thing I've really had to do in my sparse free-time is exercise and sleep.

Things are going really well at work. In fact, yesterday afternoon, Joanie called me into her office where she told me she's officially promoted me to Automated Spell-Checker Checker. “Since you already do a better job of catching our mistakes than the computer software, anyway!” she explained. I rolled my eyes at that, but thanked her, and when I announced it to my coworkers, one of them, Doreen, cheerfully suggested a girls' night out.

They took me to a local tavern, Varg's, where we danced and had drinks. Doreen invited her daughter, Serena. They look nothing alike, and I didn't make the relative connection at first because Serena is apparently married and has her husband, Rick's, last name.

Anyway, we had our fun last night, and I came home and passed out pretty early. I guess I must just be feeling optimistic from my promotion and the new friends and everything, because I've made a decision: I'm going to write my book. I've been waffling back and forth about it for several years now, and I've finally decided to just do it. In fact, I sat down and wrote the introductory chapter today, and I already know what I'm going to call it: Unnaturals Among Us: A Study of Contemporary Unsolved Cases and their Paranormal Possibilities. I have a lot of research saved up from when I was working at the Revealer on several different cases, but I think for this one I'm going to focus mainly on the vampiric deaths, since that's the majority of the evidence I collected while living in Bridgeport. Anyway, I'm getting excited about writing it, now, so I'll wrap this up and get to it.

Day 3: Questions

My first day at the Daily was mind-numbingly simple, but it was good to be back to being productive again. 

I distributed the orders to various addresses in the morning, then spell-checked a few things in the afternoon. I caught where one of the other girls had misspelled the mayor's name in a story about a recent community festival, and when I brought it to Joanie, she seemed impressed that I had caught it after only having learned his name this morning on my route. I sense a promotion on the horizon!

After work, I felt the urge to exercise again, but the sky looked like it might rain, so I decided to try out the local gym, Bell's Barbell House.

It wasn't exactly state-of-the-art, but my old apartment building back in Bridgeport had a really nice workout center, so I'm sure I was spoiled. Anyway, it had treadmills, which was really all I needed. I warmed up on low for a few minutes then turned it up and ran for awhile, watching the close-captioned news. I didn't notice anyone else until I heard a woman's voice exclaim behind me. An elderly woman had tripped on the treadmill. I hit pause and immediately jumped off to go help her, casting a glare at the inattentive desk clerk who was bobbing his head to the beat of the music on his iPod and paying no attention to anything beside his magazine.

Having ascertained that the woman was alright and didn't need further assistance, I introduced myself. She smiled and shook my hand. “Flora Goodfellow,” she told me. Apparently she lives with her son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter here in town. I told her I had just moved to Dorsey from Bridgeport, and she welcomed me warmly. “You'll like it here, it's beautiful.”

That's when I noticed her wings. I guess I just hadn't been standing at the right angle, because they were pretty thin and diaphonous, easy to miss. Anyone else would've just thought they were seeing things. I leaned in and whispered, “Um, excuse me, but... what are you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked me, wide-eyed.

“You have wings,” I pointed out.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

I frowned. “What do you mean you don't know? They're right there behind you!” Flora got very tense suddenly and she almost looked frightened, so I attempted to reassure her. “Don't worry, I'm not trying to hurt you or anything, I was just curious.”

She looked around the mostly empty gym, then stepped closer. “You... you can see them?” I nodded, and she frowned. “Well, that's odd.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, most mortals can't see them,” she said.

“Mortals?” I echoed, getting excited. “What are you?”

She studied me for a moment, then sighed. “Well, you did me a good turn, young lady, so I'll trust you. But beware the wrath of me and my kin if you betray that trust!” She gave me a glare so ferocious that I thought for a moment I might spontaneously combust from the effort of meeting it. But then a brilliant smile lit up her wrinkled old face, and she leaned over to whisper in my ear. “I'm a fairy.”

I gave her a skeptical look, and she sighed again, shaking her white head. “I knew you wouldn't believe me. Here,” she said, and took something out of her pocket. Holding it out to me, she instructed me to cup my hands, and she released a stream of fine yellow dust into my hands.

“What is it?” I asked, poking a finger into the tiny pile in my palm. My finger left an indent and came away coated with the shimmery powder.

“Fairy dust,” Flora said, in an isn't-it-obvious tone. “Be careful with it, though, a little goes a long way. And that's precious stuff! Don't waste it!” Then a car horn honked outside, and the guy at the desk took one earbud out and looked toward us. “Your ride's here, Miss Flora,” he called, replacing his earbud. Flora started. “That'll be my daughter-in-law. I have to go, dear. It was nice meeting you, Sofia. And remember,”-- there was that icy glare again-- “this is our little secret!” With that, she was out the door, and gone before I could collect my things and come looking for her.

When I got home, I put the dust Flora had given me in a little glass jar I found in one of the cabinets, and inspected it. I knew it wasn't cocaine or anything like that. I had run into that enough times covering stories back in Bridgeport to be able to identify it easily: crackheads see some pretty loony things when they're high. This stuff was different, more like gold powder used by artists. It didn't look like anything particularly special. Finally, I put it away, laughing at myself. Here I am, in a new town, and the first person I meet who isn't a coworker is a crazy old lady who thinks she's a fairy. But then I thought about those wings again. They had looked real... they even moved. Was it possible? Could she actually be a fairy? Or were those just some really impressive high tech fakes, maybe her son's way of playing into his mother's aging delusions. But then what kind of son would do that to his elderly mother?

I don't know. I have more questions than answers at this point. I'll have to figure out where the Goodfellows live and see if I can pay Miss Flora a visit. Perhaps her daughter-in-law can clear things up for me. We'll see.

Day 2: Acclimating

I had an interview this morning for a job as a paper girl at the local newspaper, the Dorsey Daily. I'm a little annoyed that I have to start over at the bottom of the totem pole when I was second only to the editor-in-chief back in Bridgeport, but at least I got the job. My boss is a woman named Joanie MacDuff, and most of my coworkers are women too, so work promises to be a fun little estrogen-fest.

After my interview, I went for a walk around the north end of town. I found an interesting old barn in a misty field.

The place felt rife with mystery. I could practically feel eyes watching me from the boarded up windows. There was even a water well up on the roof. I'll have to remember to ask Joanie if she knows anything about that. It's kind of an odd design decision. I wonder if it links back to any of the town's origins? Maybe the early settlers here had superstitions regarding the storage of their water, or they didn't want it to be contaminated by ground-dwelling creatures. Hmm...

Anyway, while I was exploring I happened into Gypsy's Landing Park along the river, and discovered the fortune-teller's caravan. I was excited: psychics may not always be genuinely talented in and of themselves, but they do tend to have an “in” on the supernatural and otherworldly occurrences in the vicinity, and often make great sources for leads. So I figured I'd go give this one a try.

Total waste of money! After spending over 100 simoleans, I walked away with nothing more useful than advice “not to ask a ghost for healthy living tips.” The man who read my palm was a total charlatan, and probably not even a real gypsy. He looked more homegrown Anglo-German descent than Romani, despite his costume, which even under dim lighting was obviously bought at a store during Halloween. So much for that lead! I guess if this town is hiding supernaturals, I'll have to find them on my own.

After my laughable fortune-telling, I decided to jog home, since my funds are getting tight and I really can't afford any more cabs. What with packing and the move, I haven't had time to fit in a good jog for almost a week, so it was nice to stretch my legs and get some fresh air moving through my lungs.

That is one definite advantage to this little town: less pollution. The mountain air is refreshing and clean, and even a little crisp for May. Must be the altitude.

On my way back to my little redneck paradise, my cell rang, but I was enjoying the exercise so much I didn't bother answering it. I checked it when I got home, though. It was my Aunt Maria. She and Uncle Saul were just wondering how I was settling in. I called her back, of course, and entertained her with descriptions of the tiny little backwoods town I had discovered. She didn't say as much, but I could tell she was worried about me. She and Uncle Saul are always so anxious when it comes to me. I swear, it's like every time they look at me they still see the quiet, shy, traumatized ten year old I was when I first came to live with them. I'm not that girl anymore. I mean, sure, I still think about mom and dad. I even cry for them sometimes, late at night when I've had the dream again, and I wake up with that awful face in my mind and the smell of phantom smoke lingering in my nostrils. But I'm hardly the breakable china doll Aunt Maria takes me to be. I'm a grown woman, almost thirty years old, with a career (or the shredded remains of one, anyway) and goals of my own.

Of course, my goals are probably part of the reason she worries about me. She and Uncle Saul are staunch Catholics, and resolutely refuse to admit the possibility of the existence of anything supernatural. That used to be a real point of contention between us when I was a teen, especially that time when I got in an argument with Father David after mass. My cousins used to tease me incessantly: Spooky Sofi, they called me. That only bothered me until I saw my first episode of X-Files. Then I considered it a compliment. Like Fox Mulder, “I want to believe”.

And further, I'm determined to find proof and share it with the world. I know there are others out there, other like me, frightened children and jaded adults who have seen the creatures that go bump in the night and who are teased mercilessly by others until they doubt what they know to be true: that supernaturals exist, and that there are some things science cannot explain, or hasn't explained yet, and that those things prey on us, on our blind ignorance and innocence. I know they're out there. I've seen them, at least once, and I won't rest until I've proved it to all the well-meaning but ignorant people like my aunt and uncle out there who refuse to believe in anything they can't see and touch.

Day One: Arrival in Dorsey

Well, here I am. The cab driver made pretty good time from the airport, so it was still late morning when he dropped me off.

I'm a little drowsy from my overnight flight, but happy to be here. Well, I was, anyway, until I saw the house. Geez, what a crappy rental! This place is basically a trailer. Gotta love the green astroturf. The inside looks like it was decorated in the eighties and then flash-frozen to preserve everything. The bedroom is complete with faux wood paneling, and everything smells like patchouli, so I can only imagine that the lady who rented this place to me has a deadbeat grandson who likes to hang out here with his friends and hasn't caught gotten the memo that certain scents are commonly associated with potheads.

This place is so retro, it even has little pink plastic flamingos out front. I couldn't help myself. I was so annoyed when I arrived that I kicked one over.

I decided to leave it like that-- it adds a touch of pained irony to the place. And of course, no sooner did I put my clothes away than I looked out the window and saw this:

So on top of bad decorating and the odor, it comes with it's own pest problem too. If I see a roach, I am calling that woman and demanding my money back. First priority after I get a job: find a new place! I have a little saved up, but not much. The move ate up most of it.

Damn, I'm still seething from that. That self-righteous dirtbag, Carter! How dare he fire me? I was his best writer on that paper, hands down! He's told me as much himself, several times! I uncovered the story about that string of dead prostitutes killed in Bridgeport with bite-marks on their necks. I even revealed Matthew Hamming's secret donations toward immortality research! And after all that, when I refuse to make up news on a slow newsweek, he up and fires me? Me?! I don't care if it the Revealer IS a supermarket tabloid, I still have standards. I don't mind digging up a story, but I refuse to make one up! Bastard! Guess this is what a reporter gets for having standards. But there are enough weird things going on out there in the world without making up lies to put on the headlines! Things like my parents' death...

Take this town for instance: of all the sleepy little hamlets in the country, this one keeps popping up every time I investigate strange or unusual cases involving supernatural phenomena. Plus, Dorsey has the highest rate of mortality due to “natural” causes of any town with a similar population in the country. Add in the fact that there have been multiple UFO, ghost, and Bigfoot sightings in the area, and there's even a “vampire” hangout, and you've got a hotspot of supernatural mysteries just waiting to be revealed. And I swear, when I write the expose that proves the existence of supernaturals to the world, I am going to relish the opportunity to rub Carter's smug face in it.

Well, I guess I should get some sleep. This town is hiding secrets like nobody's business, and starting tomorrow, I'm going to figure them out. Ugh! If I can get any sleep with all this racket. Damn raccoons!