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Thursday, February 15th, 2007
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2:36 pm - Final Entry?
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As you can tell, I haven't been very motivated to make entries here for some time. It's just not fun any more.
Since the last entry, we've lost three more men, two have attempted suicide, and Frankie's suffering heart failure.
So, I'll reveal a few secrets that people have wondered about. As you may know, everything that happened here was based on factual occurrence in daily life. It was only twisted in the perspective and labels.
Sacred Heart became Holy Blood, for example.
River City is Spokane, Washington which has a river running through the middle of it.
The Vampire was a phlebotomist, drawing plasma from my veins.
The corpse weed that took Will from us was nothing more than river currents and underwater growth.
The damned thing with the unholy smell that lurked about the mission with it's black fur marked with white in the dark was a large skunk that caused us no end of troubles on our rounds.
The Great White Whales that took Rod away were the truly immense women he sought out on the net to take him in. (Yeah, I know it's sleazy, but that's what happened, I didn't write it)
And so it goes.
If you have other questions, feel free to email me here at the Art Of -3- website and I'll try to answer as I can.
It was fun, but it's just not any more. So I'm closing this down for now. Maybe some day in the future, it won't be so painful to continue. But for now, this is The End.
In Their Memory:
Mike Edwards
Greg Stuek
Kalen Hearn
May they know peace now that was denied them here.
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| Tuesday, December 19th, 2006
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10:48 am - Johnny Was A Deskman
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It's been a long time since the last entry.
I wish I could blame it all on work - on being just too damn busy to write.
I could. It has been busy. Very busy. New gig keeping me working constantly. And we lost the net connection on the graveyard desk, so I can't post while on shift any more.
I could blame it on these things, but that would just be burying much of the truth in convenient excuses.
The truth is, I've been avoiding it, too.
Avoiding writing about Johnny.
Johnny was a deskman. He managed to make his escape back into the world just before I started this blog. The Tiger was his replacement. Johnny survived to reach veteran deskman status, and then he moved on, heading to school himself in computers and build a new life for himself - starting over again at 46.
Johnny was an easy going soul, though things were never easy for him. He was a former warrior in service to the country. His nose was broken in two places. He carried the marks of a hard physical life on him, but wore them with an easy smile.
Rough and casual, he was the kind of guy you could kick back with comfortably, who always had a friendly word and warm greetings, no matter any pain one might see in his eyes.
And there was pain. He constantly lived on painkillers, and was undergoing regular treatments to cope with the ongoing pain that wracked his body. But he never let that come between him and those of us around him.
All of us who knew him would agree - Johnny was a good man. One we were happy to know. And we all were glad to see him starting a new chapter in his life, even if it meant he had to leave us behind for now.
And then the Praetorians called.
They had his body and were seeking his next of kin.
The Mission was the last address anyone had for him. We were the ones who knew and cared for him in the last months of his life.
And we can't even find out what happened to him. They'll answer no questions - offer no clues. We only know that he is gone. Did he finally succumb to the pain and make his own exit from this life? Did someone else take it from him? Was there just some damn meaningless accident that ended his time on this Earth?
We don't know. We'll never know. We're not allowed to know.
They won't tell us a damned thing.
We only know that we've lost a good man forever.
Johnny was a deskman.
Now he's not.
And it's total bureaucratic bullshit that we're left to wonder how and why with no hope of answers.
We miss you Johnny.
You'll be remembered with love by those of us who knew you.
And we'll always wonder how and why you were taken from us.
Johnny McDougal
1960-2006
He rests free of pain now.
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| Saturday, October 28th, 2006
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1:30 pm - A Week Already...
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It's been so busy, I'm here posting in daylight hours.
The recruiting poster worked - within 24 hours we had two new men on the Graveyard Desk. They're very different, almost a designed study in contrasts.
Well, except that they both seem a bit short, but that's my perspective.
One is old, the other young. One bald, the other with Harry Potter-ish out of control hair. One is slow and passive of presence, the other nearly jitters out of control.
They seem interesting, and both have made it through a week of training and duties without dropping out. So they may be here for a while.
I'll introduce you to them next time, but i got a report from Holy Blood today. Frankie's coming home, he'll be sleeping here tonight.
It's not often I get to talk to one of the Order on a casual basis, but it seems Frankiestein's a good topic of conversation around Holy Blood.
So he started talking when I started asking about him.
When Frankie was brought in, the first thing they did was put him under the paddles to give him a massive quick charge. The levels of voltage cause the entire body to seize up as the electrical flow of the nerves are overridden inducing a massive muscular seizure. In any normal case, the cessation of the charge causes the recipient to spasmodically unclench, going completely limp as the muscles snap back like too tightly stretched rubber bands. It can leave them looking boneless, in a puddle on the table.
Frankiestein sat up.
He sat up, eyes wide, growling as every jumped back a step; worried he might come off the table at them.
Everyone in the chamber, he said, just held their breath and watched, frozen in place for the longest ten seconds...
And then Frankie collapsed back onto the table, and they all exhaled and made nervous jokes while trying to decide whether to continue or not.
I don't know what they finally decided, but after the session, they asked if he had any memory of the incident. They didn't expect him to. There's an interesting type of pain killer they seem to use in the sessions. It doesn't so much kill the pain, as makes you forget it was ever there. So by rights, any memory he had of sitting up in reaction to the pain should have been obliterated with the memory of the pain itself.
And for the most part, that seems to have held true.
But Frankie remembers one of the Order holding something up - something he couldn't have seen at any time except during the procedure. What it is? No clue - just something he'd never seen in waking time.
Frankie's coming home today.
And apparently some at Holy Blood are at least as glad as we are.
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| Saturday, October 21st, 2006
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3:08 pm - The big move is on!
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It's been a while coming, but the Graveyard Desk is moving to my personal webspace this weekend. It's currently up and running, though it may need some tweaking as I go along.
The biggest problems have to do with moving the comments. There may be some loss of older comments in the process, but I don't think so. (Though not all are transferred yet - so don't panic if you don't see yours)
The "Recent Comments" display may seem out of whack for now. It seems that instead of sorting by the date listed in the comment data, it sorts by the order I transferred. Not knowing this, I had started at the most recent and was working backwards. I'll fix it if I can, but if not, the problem will be self correcting as new comments enter the database.
The new location is www.artof3.com/graveyarddesk/
And here's another bit of overdue business - finally Tpapa Fred's portrait:
I'll continue to post the blog to both locations for a bit, and I'll announce the final post at the old site when it happens, with the forwarder to the new location.
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| Thursday, October 19th, 2006
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2:23 pm - Frankiestein Gets A Recharge
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You've no doubt guessed it's been a very busy time lately, as indicated by the lack of postings.
Just before Frank The Palm was carted away (never to be seen again?), Frankie The Dago was taken back to Holy Blood. Instead of the slow charge he's been taking, he got a few sessions of high intensity voltage applied by direct paddles. While the effect of this is apparently a good thing in the long run, it was quite debilitating for the short term. So Frankie has been gone for a week, and it's been just the Blackbird and myself again.
To help fix this situation, one of the Paladins, Michael, asked me to design a new recruiting poster for Graveyard Deskmen.
Here's the flyer I created for him:
It had better help bring in new recruits. When Frankie returns, we're going to lose him. He'll be joining the order of Programmers, and will be shifting to daytime duty on the desk. While this makes good sense given his physical state in recent times, it leaves us severely undermanned on the Graveyard Desk. Not to mention losing my senior man on the desk. He might not be able to handle anything physical currently, but he was fully trained for dealing with all the communications and information processing.
Blackbird has been picking things up well, but there really hasn't been much time to train him on all the little details. Without anyone else here to handle the security, bagpulls, box rotations and the rest, he's had to handle most of those things while I'm dealing with the information side of our duties. So while he knows the basics, there's a lot of things he's only partially equipped to handle.
As soon as we get in some new bodies, we'll rectify that.
In the meantime, the vines seemed to have stopped spreading - currently infesting dorms 1, 3 & 4, while dorm 2 still remains unaffected.
The Thing has faded into the background, almost never seen or smelled in the last few weeks.
The weather is cold and getting colder - more and more seek shelter with us lately. Soon we may have to turn them away for simple lack of space.
That is something I've never had to do before. Frankly, I find the possibility most disturbing. We're here to help, but our resources are very finite. We'll stretch them as far as we can, but I don't think it's going to be enough.
May Heaven help those whom we are unable to.
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| Tuesday, October 10th, 2006
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5:04 am - What A Week!
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As some of you know, this past weekend was 24 Hour Comics Day. I was quite bound up preparing for, and then participating in, the challenge. And so there've been no posts here.
If you're curious, the results can be seen at the Art Of -3- website.
Meanwhile, Frank The Palm brought us a bit of comedy in his short tenure on the Graveyard Desk. At our regular monday meeting of deskmen, he brought up a point he was curious about.
How do we handle it if the Praetorians come to arrest someone in our care?
The procedure was explained to him. We try as much as possible not to disturb the guests. The Praetorians are left to wait by the main gate and we gather their perp and bring him down with minimal fuss. We keep everything low profile to help maintain the safe atmosphere.
The Palm nodded almost sagely, absorbing the information with a quiet smile.
So I guess we really should have expected it when the Praetorians showed up the next day asking for him...
Should have, but no one did.
We were all caught by surprise at the time. But it seemed stereotypically obvious after the fact. All his declarations of being Sicilian, not Italian, have a strong taste of dark comedy to them now.
Ah, well. His time on the desk was short, but at least he was somewaht entertaining.
current mood:  amused
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| Sunday, October 1st, 2006
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3:20 am - A New Record...
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One day is all the longer the Rod lasted this time. A new record, most certain.
I wasn't there, but the stories the others tell are a direct repeat of his last disappearance. Except they say it was a different white whale this time.
As if my brain didn't hurt enough the first time.
The major difference this time is the lack of shock at the happening. Everyone just accepted it, and most just nodded and waved goodbye.
Some were glad to see him go.
As far as the graveyard desk is concerned, we won't be missing him. Blackbird is working out fine, and we have a new man - a Sicilian called Frank The Palm.
For some strange reason, he makes some folks nervous. Probably just stereotyping. Or maybe those of us who've worked the graveyard desk for a while are inured to such vibes.
We'll see.
Keeping things short this time since there's been so much work to do lately. I'm heading off to try to catch up on some long lost sleep. Definitely more next time, and another deskman portrait.
current mood:  tired
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| Wednesday, September 27th, 2006
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4:20 am - What the f-?!?
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The Rod was back tonight.
His breath smelled of the rot surrounding the great white whale that took him.
I don't even know what to think about that.
I don't even want to know what to think about that.
Every one is keeping their distance from him. All are on edge.
I don't...
Hell.
Tell you what - let's just start posting pics of the former deskmen, and move along for right now. More on what's happening next time.
Here's the Tiger for you:
current mood:  distressed
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| Tuesday, September 26th, 2006
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5:14 am - The smell is back
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I haven't seen the thing in several nights, and I can't feel its presence when out on patrol. But now the smell is there.
Haven't had much time to think lately. But this is leaving me to wonder - why is it releasing its unholy stench while remaining hidden as it is?
I don't like the only answer I've come up with -
because it's announcing itself, calling to others of its kind...
Meanwhile, the new deskman seems to be working out. Blackbird is catching on quick and has an eagerness to be good at what he does. That helps. It helps a lot. I think he'll do well on the desk. I hope he survives for a long while.
Certainly longer than the Rod did.
And rumor has it that the Paladins have found a fourth recruit. If so, we'll be fully staffed again for the first time since we lost Tpapa and the Tiger.
Speaking of whom, I'll run pics of both of them this week. But for today, here's a pic of Frankiestein:
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| Monday, September 25th, 2006
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4:19 am - Big changes coming
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 We finally got a new deskman (Blackbird, whom I recommended). More on that real soon. Now that there's more than two of us, I'll have the chance to start posting again.
This is just a quickie to let you know of the big changes coming - I finally registered my domain. That means a couple things to this blog. The biggest is - graphics!
I'll finally have the chance to start posting some illustrations with the entries. I'll be starting with pics of the various deskmen, past and present.
To start with, here's a larger version of the icon pic used for the blog.
I'll post more when I come back on duty tonight.
see you then!
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(For those who may be interested, the new domain is ArtOf3.com - grand opening October 1st)
current mood: excited
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| Wednesday, September 20th, 2006
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4:50 am - The vines are spreading
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The growth in dorm four spread to dorm three, but no one seems to care much. After the first anxious week, most just accepted them. A few even said they prefer it that way - makes climbing into their bunk easier, or provides a curtain of semi-privacy for them.
Then they grew in a matter of hours to enwrap the beds in dorm three. And now they've spread to dorm one, bypassing dorm two for some unknown reason.
Actually, I have a guess about that, but not one that explains the why of it.
Dorm two is different in one respect from the others - it's where the day sleepers bed down. Those who must venture out before dusk to return in the morning, and the mildly ill. We keep that dorm dark during the day for them.
Perhaps that inhibited the vines?
They seem to spring up in the first hours of light, achieving full growth by about 7am.
And then they do nothing. No source has been found, no effect perceived.
They're just there.
I'm not sure which bothers me more. The way they're spreading, or the fact that everyone seems to have decided to just ignore them.
By themselves, I might do the same. Might.
But I think of the number of odd happenings lately and wonder. The Thing has not moved on. It's evil stench is still absent, but it's out there. I haven't encountered it again the last several nights, not directly. But I've felt its presence, seen its spore. I know it's there.
I find myself eager for a new deskman to send out on some of the rounds. Doing them all myself, being the only one out there for it to find... it makes for raw nerves, leaves me on edge.
Maybe that's the main reason I worry about the vines.
But I don't think so. There's just too many deviations from the normal strangeness. And the number of bagpulls seems to be way up. The most I've ever seen in a single night was ten, and that was most unusual. Two or three would be more typical. Sometimes one or none.
But this past week, there's been a half dozen a night, on average. And twice there were nine.
We're talking 40-50 bagpulls in the last week.
That's not right. Not at all.
The cold is lingering, spreading to daylight hours now.
The regulars are disappearing with alarming frequency. New people are accepted and welcomed into the Mission, only to disappear before nightfall - fleeing rather than stay here? I don't know. But it seems that way.
Isaac, an old friend from my first days here returned yesterday. But before supper he bundled up and headed back out. He chose to sleep hiding in his vehicle, hoping for safety that he doesn't seem to think he can find here any more.
But he couldn't tell me why - only that he had to go.
And still just the two of us on the Graveyard Desk, with Frankie The Dago still unable to do more than watch and process information.
If anything happens to me, I don't know what will happen. I suppose one of the Paladins will have to step in to fill the gap. Not Michael, certainly, but perhaps Silvered Bill.
I don't know. I shouldn't think about it. Certainly shouldn't put it into binding words and give it power.
There's too damn much I don't know lately. But I do know we need to find more capable Graveyard Deskmen.
And soon...
current mood:  drained
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| Sunday, September 17th, 2006
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3:29 am - Five whole days...
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That's all the longer the Rod lasted.
That we lost him that quick was no real surprise. I kept expecting each night to be his last. He was barely here anyway.
But the how of it was still surprising.
Some call him Ahab now.
River City may have a river running through it, but we're nowhere near the ocean.
And yet - the Rod was snatched by a great white whale.
A befouled creature, surrounded by a miasma of rot.
It claimed the contents of Diesel's stomach.
Diesel is one of the roughest of the deskmen, working day and evening, and even into the graveyard shift at times. He's faced and dealt with a host of vile things in his time at the Mission, and before.
But when confronted by the great white whale, he lost it.
Quite literally.
His system emptied out into the nearest wastebasket in response to the presence of the creature.
While he and the others were incapacitated or frozen in shock, the white whale engulfed the Rod and was gone.
No one tried to follow.
Nor did he seem to want to be rescued.
They just stared in horror of the beast, in relief that it was gone, and in stunned wonder at the half smile on the Rod's face as it carried him away.
And so we are but two again, just Frankiestein and I.
The hunt for new Graveyard Deskmen continues.
I suggested recruiting the Blackbird. I know he's interested in the job, and he's smart as a crow.*
But the decision belongs to the Paladins; it is not mine to make.
So we'll see what tomorrow brings. And carry on as best we can, as always...
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*(Yes, crows are indeed really damn smart. It's not a slam. Crows are better tool makers than chimpanzees, even. For a little more info - and even video of a crow making a hook from a piece of wire - check these brief articles at National Geographic: One Two)
current mood:  shocked
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| Friday, September 15th, 2006
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4:04 am - The Thing...the Hellspawned THING...is back
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The nights are darker, and temperatures are dropping fast. Already into the 30s at night. And the thing is out there again.
But there is no trace of its trademark stench of evil.
Always - Always - we scent the beast and rarely sight it. But three times I saw it tonight, and not once did I smell it.
The Rod is of questionable use. We wonder if we send him out into the night on security rounds, "Will he find his way back?"
So I'm out on most of the rounds, and now the Thing is out there. With no warning to give it away until it's already upon me.
Not fifteen paces out of the Mission it stepped from the brush in front of me.
I froze on the spot, the closest I had ever come to the beast. Dark eyes shining bright beneath a heaping mound of thick fur, black as night, with luminous stripes in the fur giving shape to the Thing.
Keeping torch high, I took two steps slowly back, then began backing steadily away under its dark gaze.
I decided to reverse the route on my patrol. Purely for security reasons, of course. It's always best to vary the routine, you know.
Patrol was routine until I approached the trailers, and there was the Thing again. It emerged from the trailers, almost casually sauntering toward me.
Suddenly I remember I needed to check and see if the newspapers had been delivered. So I reversed my course to circle back around to the Mission proper.
After checking the delivery zone to see if the papers had arrived (none had), I started to head around the Mission to the other side to the main gate back inside.
And there it was again. Far too close - close enough for it to attack with ease. Breath stopping in tight chest, I backed slowly away, hoping it would let me leave without marking me with its fury.
At that point I recalled...
I got nothing - I turned and ran. I headed as fast as I could the other way around the Mission and sealed the gates with a resounding Slam! as I rushed back inside.
I don't know what happened - why the Thing's stench is gone. But it's dangerous as Hell.
There's no warning any more.
We're at the Thing's mercy...
current mood: scared
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| Tuesday, September 12th, 2006
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3:56 am - Enter the new kid
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The new kid arrived today. He's called the Rod.
We didn't ask why.
He's short and skinny with no apparent reason for the name.
He's slow to train, but he's quick to spend time on the phone and online with various pick-up women.
Somehow, I don't see him lasting long.
Watching him leaves me thinking of the Tiger and Tpapa Fred. Of how the pressure finally sent the Tiger feral.
And I know I added to the pressure.
I treated them based on the deskmen before them instead of learning what they needed. And so when all the other pressure came down, they were already feeling the strain; they snapped.
Now they're gone.
And the thing still comes freely in the night, leaving its evil stench and fading away again.
Still no one has a workable idea on how to deal with it. We just try to keep the Mission itself safe, and leave the night to it.
And now there's the new kid.
I look at him and all I can think is "fodder"
current mood:  pessimistic
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| Thursday, September 7th, 2006
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2:02 am - We Interrupt This Blog For A Special Announcement...
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Help Support The Mission!
Now available: Gear featuring the Graveyard Desk logo:
 
Currently available: T-Shirt, Cap, Mug, Mousepad, Sketchbook/Journal and Fine Art Print.
Yes, it's the nearly inevitable Graveyard Desk CafePress Store.
Items have been marked up $5.00, which goes directly to the Mission.
Or, if you prefer to do without the cool gear, but still wish to make a contribution, send a check or money order for whatever you can afford to:
Union Gospel Mission
1224 E. Trent
Spokane, WA 99220-0066
Credit card donations may be made over the phone at:
509-535-8510
Thanks for any support you can provide.
We now resume our regularly scheduled blog already in progress...
...
and forced showering had no result. At this point, our best suggestion is to put him up on the roof. It would keep the smell inside the Mission to a minimum, and the odor on the wind might scare away other creatures of the night.
But we're not quite to that stage yet.
Hopefully we'll find another solution - but we need to find it fast.
This situation can't last long. Not if we're going to survive the week.
current mood:  numb
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| Tuesday, September 5th, 2006
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3:17 am - It's all different now
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How long has it been?
Three days? Four days? Five?
I don't know - it's all fragments...
The Tiger and Tpapa Fred are ... gone. Just gone.
First the thing returned - its evil stench announcing its presence in the night. We couldn't stay hidden inside the Mission; rounds still had to be made. But never knowing how close the creature was - smelling it, feeling it, out there in the dark...
The pressure started working into each of us. Even deskbound Frankie could feel it.
I remember all that clearly. And thinking that we'd never get the smell out of our nostrils.
And then...
then it all breaks down into pieces. What happened when? in what order? What... just, what.
What?
The thing's eyes gleaming in the torch light...across the lot...just staring at me, not moving forward or away...
The Tiger's stripes coming up...he goes feral on one of the brothers...
Tpapa charging out in to the night after him...
Both Gone.
The sounds...wet dark noises scraping through the dark...
Tension in the main hall...wondering eyes...accusing stares...questions no one wants to ask....
Angry flare-ups through out the day...restless walkers in the night...
And now just Frankie and I working the graveyard desk. The Paladins will be recruiting. Soon they'll send another fresh face to us. Another to look at and wonder how long they'll last.
Keep wondering how long they'll last...so I never have to wonder how long until it's me...
current mood: distressed
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| Wednesday, August 30th, 2006
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3:08 am - Return of The Dago
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Frankie was back by the time I woke for my shift.
He'd been quietly returned to his bed while we were sleeping.
When we rose for our duty, he came up from the cave as well. It was very strange. Like he'd been reset to before Monday's events. He remembers everything, but physically, there's no sign that anything ever happened.
I don't know...
He's not allowed to cough or sneeze. That might tear his sutures.
But pick up a bus?
No problem.
Why do I feel like I'm missing something?
I tried to give him the night off, but he said he couldn't lay down - he was too charged up.
Fortunately, it's a quiet night. Most of the time can be spent relaxing, just being aware of potential needs or problems.
Frankie talks about his boat. It's a nice little houseboat waiting for his return after Holy Blood has had their way with him.
No one knows how long that might be, but he's counting on making the distance.
Hmm...
I wonder if he's into Travis McGee?
I'll have to ask him when next I see him.
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| Monday, August 28th, 2006
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1:42 am - Frankiestein gone wild
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The machine has been charging, and charging Frankie in turn.
After what happened, I learned a lot more about the machine Holy Blood installed inside him. It has twelve chambers instead of the merely human four. Until now, they'd pumped in slow relay, working through one full cycle in the time of 4 1/2 cycles of the average human heartbeat rate.
Today the machine ran out of control, cycling at a 1-1 rate.
I wasn't there at the time. It happened in the afternoon as I was visiting the wolfman, after my regular appointment with the vampire earlier in the day. The wolfman was looking better. He'd moved into a much nicer apartment (if one can call the previous cave with a door an "apartment") and had cut seriously down on his drinking. He's much closer to his Sister's place now, too.
He is much happier lately, and I left his place similarly uplifted.
Then I returned to the Mission and found that Frankie was gone. There was a buzz in the main hall. Murmurs of "Frankiestein" and "picked up a bus" and "gone wild" - which was always unusual to hear mentioned there without the word "girls" preceding it.
With very little prodding, I was suddenly verbally bombarded as five different voices all tried to tell their version of events, nearly driving all into incomprehensible babble. But despite the strain on my poor (in every sense) ears, I managed to pick up the basics of the story.
Frankie was up and walking around, even stepping out of the Mission into the sunlight.
"I feel Great!" he kept exclaiming, "Really GREAT!"
"Yeah, right. We get it. Great," someone said as the city bus pulled up.
"No, you don't get it. I mean Really GREAT!"
And then he grabbed the front end of the bus and picked it up over his head. Stood there with it angled up on its back wheels, holding it up high as he exclaimed again. "I mean REALLY GREAT!"
When the bus driver started to panic and hit the gas, Frankie put the bus down and stepped aside. Muttering "really Great" to himself, he headed back into the Mission.
He was found an hour later collapsed in a corner, sweating profusely with harsh labored breathing. Eventually Holy Blood came to take him away.
"Premature Reactive Overload" they said. They assured us he would be back directly.
Not to worry.
Say What?
Not to worry?
"Premature Reactive Overload." Premature. That sounds like it might be worry enough. Does that mean the only problem is the machine starting cycling at that rate too soon? Like his body wasn't ready to hold the charge yet? Yet?
Just what are they doing to him?
How soon will we see him again?
And what is he becoming?
current mood:  frustrated
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| Saturday, August 26th, 2006
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5:31 am - The fire started a bit before 2am
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The augers started screaming almost immediately. Mercy watches over us, and no one was harmed.
At the first indication of the fire, we knew we would have to breach the shelter of the Mission. There was no helping it, we'd just have to hope that numbers and presence would deter anything from taking advantage of the situation. While Frankie summoned the brigade, Tpapa and the Tiger rousted the brothers from their beds, ushering them out into the cold. Though the vicious northern winds had eased, the night still held unseasonable chill. Clad only in the thin night robes, they were herded out into the night just as an icy drizzle started falling.
Meanwhile I went seeking, and found the fire in the laundry - a dryer going up in flames. Fortunately, it was quickly found; not yet spreading beyond its source. Though hot, it wasn't yet unbearable to approach.
Odd how unused data surfaces from the depths of one's mind when needed. A voice from some ancient training session in my ear, instructions in fire suppression technique. Heed the inner guide - a heavy layer of foam sprayed out at the base of the fire, work the way up. Not top down, where the heat of the flames can work against the suppressant.
In only a couple minutes, it was reduced to mere smoldering and steaming, no longer flames and smoke.
By the time I reached the front of the Mission again, the brigade was arriving. Their clockwork efficiency almost spellbinding to watch as they deployed men and gear. One team was lifted to the roof to check for stray fires climbing up through the building while I led the Captain to the laundry. His men quickly extinguished any potential for the fire to break out again, communicating mostly by hand signals.
The alarms still rang out too loud for most verbal exchanges, and no one seemed to have the access to stop them. It took twice as long to extinguish the alarms as it did the fire. My half deaf ears still ring a day later.
After all was said and done, the brigade thanked us for our good work. They seemed unused to arriving to find the building properly evacuated, much less the fire contained. They gave the deskmen an A+ rating on our handling of the situation.
Who knew they gave graded ratings like that?
How strange, but we accepted it with pride, knowing we had done everything to protect the charges in our care. As soon as we could, we got them back inside and to their beds, keeping a watchful eye on the night as they entered, and sealing the Mission against the outside forces again.
The dryer was destroyed, but only the dryer - nothing else. The men were frightened, cold and wet. But all were accounted for and unharmed. Our biggest concern from it all now is hoping we don't have a wave of illness sweep through the Mission in reaction to their time in the damp chill of the night.
Given how much worse it could have been, we'll happily live with that as our biggest concern.
Frankly, I'll call that a good night.
But with the recent mood and happenings, I can't help but get a little paranoid.
Was this just happenstance?
Or another manifestation of something in the Mission?
But we'll find that out some tomorrow.
Today there's a Spider-Man comic reprint in the paper, and I'm going to go enjoy it before bed.
current mood: cheerful
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| Thursday, August 24th, 2006
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3:42 am - Cold, Trolls, and the Thing That Goes Bump In The Night...
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It's cold out on rounds tonight. A hard wind blowing bitter cold after a mild winter. i look forward to walking between the trailers for a change. The trailers are all quiet. Everything lying low as the harsh winds bring a sudden savage chill to the air.
As Deskmen, we watch over much more than the interior of the Mission. Our security patrols take us out to other compounds where the Mission's work is done, through the trailers and down by the river, through the parklands, and confronting the occasional trolls beneath the bridges.
That last can be one of the strangest, and hardest, parts of our duty. Finding those you've seen and known before, sometimes those you yourself have bagpulled and cast into the pit, now misshapen and twisted, reduced to trolls lurking from a sense of familiarity from earlier days.
You want so much to do something to help them. But what can be done? I can't draw them in past the wards if they've banished themselves.
Sometimes we find those simply lost, or those broken souls who have only now found their way here in the night. We bring them in that will come, and shelter them in the Mission. Hope perhaps their time here can help to heal them, help them to stand and walk out on their own again.
At least can can offer them that chance. But the trolls - they've been cut off from our power to help. Only the Inquisition or a Paladin can help them now. No matter how much we might wish to help, they are beyond us and must seek their own redemption. We can only suggest the path to them.
But the bridges must be kept clear, so we have to drive out the trolls before they settle and stake a home. With the sudden cold, our task becomes even more odious. It is a reminder how much of our work is bound to Duty.
Duty doesn't keep one very warm.
So completing the outer rounds, I'm glad to return to the interior warmth of the Mission. But something is different. Maybe wrong? Maybe just different. The air is still on the interior sweeps. Some familiar vibration is missing.
In the Box Room, it suddenly becomes clear. The Beast is gone. The roaring rumble, at its peak the horrific sound of a brontosaurus passing a kidney stone, was gone. Always present, since before I joined the deskmen. Gone. Always at least a low rumble, a reminder of the slumbering beast. And the thumping...
The Beast of the Box Room was the thing that went bump in the night. New graveyard deskmen were initiated by sending them in to fetch something from the recesses of the box room. When the beast's limbs flailed about independent of the sleeping body, thumping and banging in their struggles to escape from it, all the new men were startled. Some loudly startled.
Those that cried out were invariably rewarded with the roar of the Beast. By the time they emerged from the box room, the crew had a fair measure of the new recruit.
And now the beast was gone. Into the coldest night of recent times. The beast was a constant. I find that without its vibrations, the Mission feels wrong. This adds to the other somewhat ominous feelings of late.
It leaves me wondering...
Did the Beast just go? Or did it flee? Did it sense something we can't and move on before...
before....
before ?
current mood: uncomfortable
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