Friday, March 13, 2009

Gerry Cohen's Journal. Entry 1. Prelude Part 1

Entry 1. Prelude-part 1.

Nov. 1922


It’s been pouring for weeks. I have been counting the rain drops from my luxurious second-storey, one room, one cot office/apartment.

As grey and ugly as it seemed, Veronica Styles Aimrec brought it to a whole new level of grey and ugly when she stepped into the office. 

She had all the vestiges of the imposing dame, but she came to me shrunken and frail. We formally introduced ourselves, and she told me that Manny Maxwell had sent her my way. It figures, this time of dame wouldn’t be caught dead this side of the Bronx. She told me she wanted to hire me to find her husband, Professor of Medieval literature James Willis Aimric, whose gone missing.

I asked the same tired old questions every P.I. makes in a missing persons case: Did he have any enemies? Did he owe money to anybody? Did he hang out with a rough crowd?

All of which she answered with unadorned NOs.

There were no “other lady” questions. This woman doesn’t need me to cut open a new wound to pour salt on. That’s not my style. I could figure that out without rubbing it in her face. Besides, squirrel fever doesn’t control every single man that walks God’s green Earth. Some of us are able to stay with the same doll for the long run. Well, I sure I will when I find the right one.

 After a bunch of time when she didn’t say nothing, she starts speaking about how their marriage has changed since they moved to sleepy Warwick, New Jersey. Her husband inherited a manor due the untimely death of a distant cousin, an Edward Aimric. The missing professor was also offered a teaching position at Warwakua College. Trouble came looking for the Aimric’s almost immediately. The town’s people seemed to be apprehensive about the newcomers, in particular the man. Mrs. Aimric also noticed her husband distancing himself from her. He was constantly preoccupied with late night meetings with the College’s Board of Directors and bizarre antiquarian affairs.

The dame told me that after her husband’s disappearance, the demeanor of the town’s people changed from untrusting to ominous.

Not only did Warwickians deny any knowledge of the Professors’ where abouts, they also dismissed the whole episode, claiming that he was probably on vacation.

Great, either this fine dame was a cuckoo, or there is a large group of inmates running a town-sized sanitorium somewhere in New Jersey.

The case went from interesting to weird when the name Edward Aimric came up again.

The dame came clean with some of the details of the inheritance.


Edward Aimric killed his wife and then hung himself.


Not only was he a savage animal; he was also a damned coward. Just like the good reverend. A family of the damned: degenerates that feed off of each other’s evil.

This man’s last name has to be at the center of all of this.  


Then, she produces a slim imitation leather book. It was obvious that mice have feasted on some of the pages. Some one wrote:


Desperate. Went back to the old twisting lane and found only a blank wall.


Without the amulet, how can I resist—


…bottles, bottles...


Getting worse. People I have never met smile knowingly at me in the street. The police believe I am a child molester, but have brought no charges against me as yet. Why? Head hurts all the time. I have turned the cellar upside-down…damn it, where is it?


Dreamed of father again. Dreamed of Grandfather. Those horrible, red-rimmed eyes…


…into the safe, finally. 51-2-16. Won’t forget that soon. Ha!


CONNOT DISCOVER ENTRANCE IN THE CELLAR!!! Secret eludes me still but I will find it!!! The clue is in their names, that pestilential procession of names!

If I could only—


-- will fail. There is no recourse left. I know now what I must do.



My god! Pederasty, murder, incest, does the Aimric wickedness know any bounds?


I looked at Mrs. Aimric straight in those sad eyes.

“Ma’am, I’ll do everything in my power to find your husband.”

I insisted on talking about the money latter. This woman is in need; business can wait. She insisted on giving me an advance: 200 Cs divided up into 4 $20 bills. She also provided a card with the room where she staying in the Monpelier Inn, where she’s staying with her sister while all of this blows over.
After some formalities I walked her out.
Tomorrow I’m driving out to strange Warwick, New Jersey to chase after very nasty family secrets. Tonight, sleeping.
//This is Gerry's first journal entry for the Masks of Nyarlathotep campaign I'm playing. My character's prelude is not part of the publish campaign, it's another scenario my Keeper decided to use. I'm going to lable journal entries with the tag Campaign Journal, so that you guys can easily find any particular entry that interests you. I'm numbering each entry and dividing the "scenarios" in parts, because I feel that shorter entries are more appealing to read off the blog than longer novel lenght ones. This can change as the game gets underway. 
This is but the first part of my character's prelude. I'll post the next bit sometime this weekend.//  

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