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!