The Next Move

It was a few days later, after you had slaked your lust that some measure of normalcy returned to your life. You and your friends were still keenly aware of the danger that stirred beneath the surface of the town, but you would need time to better strategise your next move and had to go about your day as best you could.

You were expected at the Historical Society for your weekly duties, and greeted the officious Mr Horace with a phoney smile and basic pleasantries. The old man had grinned and made all the right noises before extending a bony finger down the rows of book cases.

“They’ll need to be cleaned,” he said primly. “The town’s one hundred and fiftieth birthday is in a few weeks and I mean to show off the place for the influence of visitors.”

It you a moment to realise what the old man was talking about, but then the penny dropped and you remembered that the anniversary of the town’s founding was at the end of the month. Something about that struck you as ominous. If there was a time for the cult to plan something big, it would be then.

You took your broom, your cleaning supplies and went off to complete the laborious chore, the whole while your mind was working away at possibilities. If the cult was conspiring, maybe they’d be sloppy and you could find a way to take advantage. Certainly you had gained an added weapon in your arsenal that might help.

Voices lifted through the building as you cleaned, Horace and someone else. They were talking furiously, but quietly and you only caught a handful of words at a time. You paused and listened as hard as you could.

“Interference…heads will roll!”

“Yes, but…can’t pin down…”

Taking a chance, you moved closer to the two men and hoped you wouldn’t be spotted as they argued in front of the native displays. Horace was sweating and the man opposite him, who you think you recognised as the mayor’s aide, was shaking his head.

“Listen, no more excuses. The being has killed multiple of our number already and we can’t have any more rituals disturbed. Everything needs to be perfect in time for the Advent.”

Horace wiped at his bald head with a handkerchief. “I can only work with what I have! The only information we have of the half-breed is that it sometimes it chooses to meet with some individuals at the bridge at midnight.”

“That’s not good enough. The creature has killed everyone we’ve sent to that damned bridge. Find out how we draw it out and how we kill it, because I promise you that it won’t be me who hangs for this.”

The other man turned and pounded away, his feet echoing like thunder in the old building. You went back to your busy work, mind racing with ideas. If something had been fighting the cult with enough **** that they were scared of it, you needed to investigate. You just hoped that you would fair better than the cultists.