Ectonovel: Chapter One

PREFACE:

So what the hell is Ectonovel you ask? Well, about a month or two ago I was kicking around in IRC and I got the sudden urge to write a novel. And in keeping with my normal creative process I shouted (caps locked) into chat that I was going to take the next thing some one said and write a whole novel about it. The first one was "a murder mystery with the people in #ectomo" which I think came from corben the second was from Will that was "a party that has gone on forever" or something and so I decided to write about both.

Anyway, Im always open to suggestions and criticism. Bear in mind, this copy is still pretty raw. I haven't checked spelling or anything and it really isn't supposed to be anything but silly so enjoy.

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Chapter 1

I was staring out of the window in my cabin, out across the shifting water, when the reality of what I was about to do hit me. I was going to the bottom of the goddamn ocean. To an eternal party that had been going on since the early 1950’s. An endless celebration constantly being filled with the strangest and craziest folks from around the world. Creative types, scientist, and rouge professional wrestlers, all communally letting loose 24 hours a day for the past 60 years. All that energy mixing with the old and dark magic that exists down there couldn’t be good. Which was why I found myself being sent out to an ocean elevator in the middle of the pacific 900 miles away from civilization.

I was once a part of the police force. Spent my afternoons solving petty crimes and catching nameless murderers while my evenings were spent neck deep in history books and blacklisted tomes. For 20 years I managed kept my archaic hobbies to myself. Ever since I was a kid I had a interest in the occult, magic, and mystic beings. All through high school I read tons of campy fantasy books and watched tons horror movies. I still have a box set of “Elvira’s Movie Macabre” on VHS in my apartment. All of which fed my curiosity. As I got older the more information I was able to get a hold of. And as a result I got deeper and deeper into the more realistic side of my hobby. During my free time in the Police Academy in between grooming my perfect copstache and watching old action flicks I studied and memorized every Grimoire I could get my hands on.

From The Greater Key of Solomon to The Lost Text of Nichzlichezllen I learned as many things as I could. Devil summoning, hexes, old Germanic rituals, ghosts, and forgotten gods… I loved it. And for the most part I was able to keep that and my day job from interfering with each other. But, the day those two mixed was the day I was kicked off the force and I became a Klaus, the freelance Occult Detective. Nothing to spectacular to say about that day really.

I had just started being able to pull off little spells. Little illusions and summoning a few little demonic sprites here and there for fun. Nothing too big or complicated just enough to amuse me and a few of my fellow magicians. And one day, I was being reviewed by my boss for a possible promotion. He wanted to see how I would handle a small time drug bust. Simple break down a door and haul in some junkies. But the first house we busted had been fused with a demonic spirit. The stupid thing nearly killed me and my boss. Luckily the guy who bonded it was really dumb and it wasn’t difficult too break the bonding.

Unfortunately I was still learning too and breaking that bond without any precautions let loose all the pent up energy at once and blew the house sky high. I was only blind for a week but the boss lost his legs. Once I got out of the hospital I was delivered a letter informing me of my dishonorable discharge.

As much as I miss the old job, it gave me all the time I wanted to prefect my craft. I went into business for myself and for a while it paid off better than I could of hoped and it was fun.
I mean it was a rare profession and I had experience. Cases would flock to me and each one was just as interesting and crazy as the last and would pay just a little bit more. However, lately I had been living on animal crackers and peanut butter ever since I lost my retainer from the US government. They really didn’t like me after they heard how I solved the final case I worked with them.

So I’ve been taking any case I could find regardless of there being any real magic involved or not. Last week I “magic’d up” a new pilot light for some old ladies broken oven that had been “hexed” by her drunken husband who I think made a pass at me as I walked out of the house. So needless to say when “Timothy” came to my office and offered me a huge up front payment, care of the Coilhouse Collective, a company I had only heard whispers of, I had to say yes. And now I was going over 9000 leagues under the sea to a place I never knew existed and I had a sick feeling in my stomach.

There was a knock on my cabin door and a voice telling me Tim wanted to see me on the observation deck. So, I straightened my back and tried to push my worries into some neglected corner of my brain by lighting up a cigarette and checking out my reflection in the mirror. I’ve always loved looking at me. It calmed me down when ever I was stressed. My freshly polished black combat boot with the two inch heels (say what you will but my ass looks damn fine in heels) and my pristine white tie went well with my finely pressed black dress pants and shirt. Overtop of all that I wore a slimming duster that I accidentally turned dark purple while trying to make a spell that would keep my beard at that perfect level of handsomely grizzled. (I still haven’t figured that one out but I’d be damned if I will ever give up).

I would still rather be wearing my police uniform but I admit my current uniform had a certain charm. I mean, I sort of looked like a douche, but what is a Occult Detective supposed to look like? Besides, I thought to my self, Tim certainly seemed to like my style.

With that, I smiled and headed out the door. I met up with Captain Beeal on the stairwell to the observation deck who told me were nearing our destination. Together we approached Tim who was resting in a reclined deck chair puffing on a wooden pipe in one hand while swirling a half empty glass of brandy in his other hand.

“Ah, Detective…. So nice of you to come so… promptly” he said with a smile pulling at his mouth revealing his large white teeth. I nodded and he continued,

“I’m sure the captain has informed you that we are getting very close to our destination. You can see it, just a bit, now that the sun has set a little bit”

I looked out to where he pointed with his pipe. There was a fairly large rectangle at the center of a circular platform only about a mile or two away. I couldn’t make much else out because even though the sun was setting the thing was reflecting glare like a son of a bitch. I walked over to the chair next to Tim and turned it towards him. As I sat down I lit up another cigarette and said,

“Well Tim, looks like its about time for you to tell me what exactly I’m going to be investigating. I‘ve been patient this long but payment upfront can only carry you so far.”

“Quite right, Detective” he replied, “To put it succinctly there has been a murder. I would call the police but you must understand the party must not be interrupted.”

“Hey, listen, it’s putting food on the table. I’m not going to complain. Do you think magical things are involved?”

“Yes we do. It has to do with some strange things about the body when it was examined. One of the doctors that lived down there managed to come down off of his ecstasy high for long enough to do a autopsy. Exactly one inch beneath the flesh the insides had been replaced with paper with no marks on the outside that would indicate it was surgically implanted.”

“Paper? What kind of pa- wait, Paper!?”

“Yes paper. It was that thin bible paper. Wrapped and folded tightly together so that only the outer layers got wet and damaged. Once the doctor started to cut into it he found that every inch of every page the doctor was able to unravel was covered in runes and strange symbols. We could only identify a few letters as coming from the latin alphabet but beyond that we have no clue.”

I took a moment to think and I looked towards the sun.

“Do you think it could possibly be Russian?” I asked.

Tim just shrugged.

“Despite Collectives expansive libraries and resources even we haven’t found anything written in Russian since it sank and disappeared 953 years ago”

I rubbed my hands together. I was excited now. Russia had always been an interesting place for me. A modern day Atlantis. But unlike Atlantis we knew for certain that it existed. There were even recorded wars with it and everything but then suddenly in 1057 it sunk and disappeared under the sea. So much land and culture suddenly gone. Over the years following its sinking, artifacts and from Russia began to slowly disappear or were destroyed and after a couple centuries no one even knew what a Russia looked like any or how they spoke or spell or anything. For along time it was there then suddenly it wasn’t. It was the one of the few things I couldn’t learn in seconds by using the internet or searching my books and I wanted to learn about it bad.

“Sounds promising enough. Who was it that was murdered?” I said, trying to keep my voice from squeaking from excitement.

Tim reached down and grabbed a suitcase that had been sitting next to him and handed it over to me.

“Inside is a bunch of files and dossiers on various people who live down there. Don’t put too much faith in them. We haven’t been down there to update them in 15 years. And things change so quickly down there…“

I opened the case and started going through its contents.

“Which one of these is the victim?” I asked again.

“Oh yes of course. The one who was murdered goes by the name Jonathan Brownlee. His file is the red one there… Yes there you go. He was a delightful man, gave me this pipe for my birthday. He was also the person who started the party in the 50‘s. At the impetuous of the Coilhouse Collective, of course.”

“He must have been pretty old”

“Oh dear yes. But as we’ve discovered, living down there you can live much longer than you normally could. If you look there and find the file of the man named Ross you’ll see his age listed as 148. And that’s no lie. My father delivered him himself.”

I knew that was coming. I knew it. The oceans are old and if you spend to much time where the oldest things live your spirit and theirs start to meld. It’s not a terrible thing, really, hell if you wanted to party the old spirits know how its done. But that wild influence does tend to do nasty things to a persons mind. I reclined back on my chair and took a long drag on my cigarette. I started to read Brownlee’s file and I heard Tim take a sip of his brandy and we sat there in silence until the boat slowed to a stop.

We arrived at the platform just as the sun had almost completely disappeared behind the horizon. I was finally able to look closely at the elevator this time, it was an well polished and intricately detailed brass elevator. Every inch was decorated in beautiful leafing and etched designs all intertwining within each other seamlessly. There was a single golden button next to the doors that had the word “down” written in three different languages above it. I looked back at the boat that was already beginning to turn around and start its long trip back to its home in the safe ports of New Hampshire.

Tim’s parting words had been short rehearsed and off I went. I pressed the button and the shinning doors slid open to reveal the rich blue velvet that lined the elevator. I looked back and waved to the captain as I stepped in. The doors slid shut and I thought about how crazy this all was. But it doesn‘t matter how crazy a case is, when Tim Curry walks into your office and offers you a job, you don’t say no. I sighed and smiled again as I watched my decent out of the one window on the back end of the elevator.