CORIN THUNDERFIST II
Active member
Since you've brought up the subject of Ghostbusters, I'm going to scoff all the survivors' sausages!
I was referring to those who were still alive, of course.And three is not quite the number I was hoping for when I joined the legions of the dead. But you are more than welcome to join me; in fact, here's a chain to rattle! *Hands Corin a chain*
The legion of 3 ghosties, lol! I can hear the chains rattle!!!
While Lava and Barbarian King worked at drawing a map of the village, MissReepicheep wandered back into the general store, hoping to look at a display of stuffed animals that she had seen. The travelers had already eaten, so she expected the store to be empty. Upon opening the door, however, she saw that the lights were on in the gift shop.
D entered to find Lonny stretched on the floor, a book on one side and her notepad on the other. She was writing furiously in a shorthand that, D guessed, was of her own invention.
“Is the book any good?” D asked, sitting cross-legged beside Lonny.
Lonny glanced up and smiled. “If you like local history, then yes.”
“Local history?” said D.
Lonny nodded. D sat quietly for a moment, thinking.
“Then I want you to tell me something,” she said. “Who was Elijah Morgan—that one in the ballad?”
Lonny flipped a few pages, shaking her head. “You know, I’ve been hunting all over this gift shop for that thing. The ballad, I mean. There are probably twenty books in here on the history of Perry County, and there’s a book of Kentucky folk songs. But I can’t find any ballads about the French-Eversole feud.”
“So maybe people don’t sing that ballad much?” D asked.
“Or maybe,” Lonny said, “there isn’t any ballad. What if a descendent of Elijah Morgan just wanted to get even, and they made up that stanza so that everyone would know why they wanted Rainshadow dead?”
“Hmm,” D murmured. “I guess it’s possible.” She looked at Lonny. “How did the feud start, anyway?”
Lonny sat up. “Well, a lot of people have claimed that some store clerk was in love with a woman he later saw talking to Ben French, so he told Joe Eversole that Ben was plotting murder. But that story is pretty much nonsense. I think the real truth is actually more interesting.”
“Glen said that most feuds started over power.” D drew her knees up to her chest.
“Ben French wasn’t from Perry County,” Lonny said. “Came from somewhere in North Carolina. He married local, but he was in league with the big land and timber companies that were buying up a lot of property in the Appalachians at the time. Coal mining hadn’t really started yet, you see. Now this part of the state is hardly known for anything else.”
She paused for a moment, and then went on. “Joe Eversole was a native, and he thought French was basically cheating people—getting land at bottom dollar and then reselling it to the companies. As a merchant, Joe had enough financial knowledge to see what was going on. And it made him furious.”
D nodded. “So they didn’t like each other. But—how did things turn violent?”
“One of French’s friends, Silas Gayheart, was murdered,” Lonny said. “Ben French blamed the Eversoles, even though they denied having anything to do with it.”
“So were they guilty?”
Lonny shrugged. “Probably not. But French was too upset to listen to reason. He started planning revenge, and pretty soon both men had gathered miniature armies. They scuffled off and on over four months. Then there was a street fight, and Joe Eversole shot one of French’s men. For six months, things were quiet. But French spent that time plotting. When the winter snows had melted from the mountains, he sent men to ambush Joe Eversole. Two men were with him—Judge Josiah Combs and Nick Combs, Joe’s brother-in-law. Joe died instantly, but they killed Nick while he tried to plead for his life. Josiah was hurt, like Nick had been, but they didn’t kill him. Maybe they figured killing a county official was going a little too far.”
“Nick Combs,” D muttered. “That tour guide….” Then she shook her head. “But what about Elijah Morgan?”
Lonny suddenly froze. “Get up slowly, D,” she whispered. “Look calm. Get up very slowly and walk to the door.”
“What is it?” D felt her legs beginning to shake.
“The window behind you,” Lonny said in a low voice. “I thought I saw movement. Someone’s out there. And they don’t want to be seen.”
"I'll go out the back," D said, thinking quickly. "Then maybe...maybe circle around and—" She shivered.
"I'll follow you," Lonny said. "There were some pitchforks in the corner of the store. That might be our best bet. I don't think we'd have much luck trying to load some of those weapons."
Carefully, D rose to her feet and glided toward the door. She opened it with as casual an air as she could manage. "Talk to you later, Lonny."
She grabbed a pitchfork in the corner and pulled on it, but found that its prongs were tangled with those of the other pitchforks. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to slow down enough to loosen the pitchfork from the pile. Holding it in front of her as if it were a lance, she advanced toward the back door. Holding the pitchfork in her right hand, she slid the latch back with her left and smoothly opened the door.
The door itself made no noise. There were no creaking hinges for Lonny to hear as she waited in the gift shop. What Lonny heard were the three gunshots that struck D in the chest.
By the time Lonny had rushed out with a pitchfork of her own, the attackers were long gone. D lay on her side, vainly trying to cover the gaping holes with her hands.
Lonny ran back into the store, searching for a medical kit. But, in vain, she remembered that Loverble had stored all the medical supplies in Nick's farmhouse, where the travelers had thought they would be safe. Sobbing in desperation, she ripped several yards of fabric off of one of the fabric rolls and pressed the cloth against D's wounds, struggling to stanch the bloodflow.
D was gasping. "Lon—Lonny—I—"
"Don't talk," Lonny whispered. "You'll be fine D. Just relax."
D groaned aloud. "Don't let the mafia get Felix. Please—"
"They won't, D. I promise."
When D had breathed her last, Lonny ran back to the farmhouse, looking for D's stuffed panda. She should be buried with him, at least, Lonny thought. But someone else, it seemed, had come there first.
Felix had been decapitated. His head hung from the ceiling by a rope affixed around one fuzzy ear. His body lay on the floor with a note affixed:
The time has come when the old friends have to part.
My old Kentucky home, good night.
It is now DAY. You have 96 hours to vote.
D entered to find Lonny stretched on the floor, a book on one side and her notepad on the other. She was writing furiously in a shorthand that, D guessed, was of her own invention.
“Is the book any good?” D asked, sitting cross-legged beside Lonny.
Lonny glanced up and smiled. “If you like local history, then yes.”
“Local history?” said D.
Lonny nodded. D sat quietly for a moment, thinking.
“Then I want you to tell me something,” she said. “Who was Elijah Morgan—that one in the ballad?”
Lonny flipped a few pages, shaking her head. “You know, I’ve been hunting all over this gift shop for that thing. The ballad, I mean. There are probably twenty books in here on the history of Perry County, and there’s a book of Kentucky folk songs. But I can’t find any ballads about the French-Eversole feud.”
“So maybe people don’t sing that ballad much?” D asked.
“Or maybe,” Lonny said, “there isn’t any ballad. What if a descendent of Elijah Morgan just wanted to get even, and they made up that stanza so that everyone would know why they wanted Rainshadow dead?”
“Hmm,” D murmured. “I guess it’s possible.” She looked at Lonny. “How did the feud start, anyway?”
Lonny sat up. “Well, a lot of people have claimed that some store clerk was in love with a woman he later saw talking to Ben French, so he told Joe Eversole that Ben was plotting murder. But that story is pretty much nonsense. I think the real truth is actually more interesting.”
“Glen said that most feuds started over power.” D drew her knees up to her chest.
“Ben French wasn’t from Perry County,” Lonny said. “Came from somewhere in North Carolina. He married local, but he was in league with the big land and timber companies that were buying up a lot of property in the Appalachians at the time. Coal mining hadn’t really started yet, you see. Now this part of the state is hardly known for anything else.”
She paused for a moment, and then went on. “Joe Eversole was a native, and he thought French was basically cheating people—getting land at bottom dollar and then reselling it to the companies. As a merchant, Joe had enough financial knowledge to see what was going on. And it made him furious.”
D nodded. “So they didn’t like each other. But—how did things turn violent?”
“One of French’s friends, Silas Gayheart, was murdered,” Lonny said. “Ben French blamed the Eversoles, even though they denied having anything to do with it.”
“So were they guilty?”
Lonny shrugged. “Probably not. But French was too upset to listen to reason. He started planning revenge, and pretty soon both men had gathered miniature armies. They scuffled off and on over four months. Then there was a street fight, and Joe Eversole shot one of French’s men. For six months, things were quiet. But French spent that time plotting. When the winter snows had melted from the mountains, he sent men to ambush Joe Eversole. Two men were with him—Judge Josiah Combs and Nick Combs, Joe’s brother-in-law. Joe died instantly, but they killed Nick while he tried to plead for his life. Josiah was hurt, like Nick had been, but they didn’t kill him. Maybe they figured killing a county official was going a little too far.”
“Nick Combs,” D muttered. “That tour guide….” Then she shook her head. “But what about Elijah Morgan?”
Lonny suddenly froze. “Get up slowly, D,” she whispered. “Look calm. Get up very slowly and walk to the door.”
“What is it?” D felt her legs beginning to shake.
“The window behind you,” Lonny said in a low voice. “I thought I saw movement. Someone’s out there. And they don’t want to be seen.”
"I'll go out the back," D said, thinking quickly. "Then maybe...maybe circle around and—" She shivered.
"I'll follow you," Lonny said. "There were some pitchforks in the corner of the store. That might be our best bet. I don't think we'd have much luck trying to load some of those weapons."
Carefully, D rose to her feet and glided toward the door. She opened it with as casual an air as she could manage. "Talk to you later, Lonny."
She grabbed a pitchfork in the corner and pulled on it, but found that its prongs were tangled with those of the other pitchforks. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to slow down enough to loosen the pitchfork from the pile. Holding it in front of her as if it were a lance, she advanced toward the back door. Holding the pitchfork in her right hand, she slid the latch back with her left and smoothly opened the door.
The door itself made no noise. There were no creaking hinges for Lonny to hear as she waited in the gift shop. What Lonny heard were the three gunshots that struck D in the chest.
By the time Lonny had rushed out with a pitchfork of her own, the attackers were long gone. D lay on her side, vainly trying to cover the gaping holes with her hands.
Lonny ran back into the store, searching for a medical kit. But, in vain, she remembered that Loverble had stored all the medical supplies in Nick's farmhouse, where the travelers had thought they would be safe. Sobbing in desperation, she ripped several yards of fabric off of one of the fabric rolls and pressed the cloth against D's wounds, struggling to stanch the bloodflow.
D was gasping. "Lon—Lonny—I—"
"Don't talk," Lonny whispered. "You'll be fine D. Just relax."
D groaned aloud. "Don't let the mafia get Felix. Please—"
"They won't, D. I promise."
When D had breathed her last, Lonny ran back to the farmhouse, looking for D's stuffed panda. She should be buried with him, at least, Lonny thought. But someone else, it seemed, had come there first.
Felix had been decapitated. His head hung from the ceiling by a rope affixed around one fuzzy ear. His body lay on the floor with a note affixed:
The time has come when the old friends have to part.
My old Kentucky home, good night.
It is now DAY. You have 96 hours to vote.
Last edited:
That's it. They're going down.
(Said Emperor's New Groove-style. Skip to 1:06 in this video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oStWixf19OM)
The Mafia has gone too far!
(Said Emperor's New Groove-style. Skip to 1:06 in this video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oStWixf19OM)
The Mafia has gone too far!
...That's really sad. o.o
Truth be told, I was about three years old when I decided I wanted to be buried with Panda Opos, my real-life favorite stuffed animal. I don't know if I was matter-of-fact or outright morbid. xD
BUT POOR FELIX. If somebody has needle and thread, they should stitch him up. Panda Opos can testify to the efficacy of the many surgeries he has required over the years.
Truth be told, I was about three years old when I decided I wanted to be buried with Panda Opos, my real-life favorite stuffed animal. I don't know if I was matter-of-fact or outright morbid. xD
BUT POOR FELIX. If somebody has needle and thread, they should stitch him up. Panda Opos can testify to the efficacy of the many surgeries he has required over the years.
Rainshadow
New member
I welcome you to the ever-growing party, MissReep and Felix! (So sorry about your head, Felix. A downright painful way to go, I bet.) Here are your chains, and I also recently acquired a couple of whistles, so you can each have one. *Hands whistles and chains to MissReep and Felix*
Now, we ready to rock and roll? *Sticks whistle in mouth* *Picks up chain* *Starts whistling and rattling the chain*
Now, we ready to rock and roll? *Sticks whistle in mouth* *Picks up chain* *Starts whistling and rattling the chain*
Lady of Narnia
New member
That was not okay. Not cool. We shall do our best to avenge you, Miss Reep. And stitch up poor Felix.
WarriorSatyr
Member
I'm lost. Who's D?
And you will be avenged, Miss Reep!
And you will be avenged, Miss Reep!
CORIN THUNDERFIST II
Active member
Welcome to Ghostland, Miss Reepicheep and Felix. That really was the purple pim doing that to poor Felix. These mafia are really bad!
Thank you for the greetings to Ghostieland. I appreciate your condolences on my death.
WarriorSatyr, I go by MissReep and D here. It is rather confusing, come to think of it!
WarriorSatyr, I go by MissReep and D here.
It is rather confusing, come to think of it!
Sorry, I should have made that more clear--MissReepicheep is MissReep, MissR, or D. And amdd97 is Annemarie. Lady of Narnia is Lonny. I think those are all the less-than-obvious nicknames....
In regards to your morbidity, D, I wrote my first will when I was eleven. It's older than three, but also more morbid. Funny, I just thought writing my own will was an interesting and somewhat creative idea....
Eustace C. Scrubb
New member
Whoever killed poor MissReep and Felix will pay! (I have several very old stuffed animals that I would hate to have decapitated.)
They have no respect for innocent plushies! there are 5 Mafia so any pick would be good... eeny meeny miny.... loverble
there are 5 Mafia so any pick would be good... eeny meeny miny.... loverble
Eustace C. Scrubb
New member
I will vote for BarbarianKing. It seems as though in the story he could have been privy to the murder because he was mentioned even though he was not in the gift shop. Or maybe I'm over thinking this...
WarriorSatyr
Member
I think that I will vote for loverble.