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John conceded the point. While he could easily break the door, if Morello could pick the lock, that would make things a lot easier. At least, a lot quieter. He stepped back a bit to serve as lookout, hoping Morello would make things quick. Of course if Morello did fail, well, he was sure he could bust the door anyway. He had a sneaking suspicion he'd end up throwing punches eventually, he just hoped he wouldn't have to. If he were a lucky man, perhaps he could avoid violence altogether.

 

If he were a lucky man, he wouldn't have gotten shot in the head, so that was that. 

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GM

 

Morello got to work with the lock picks, grunting. He was no expert, but he knew how to pick a padlock. And whilst sturdy, it was not a difficult one to pick. In a minute or two there was click. 

 

"Aha! I have not lost my fingers!" he said, with a knowing smile, and wiggle of those very digits. 

 

He pocketed the lockpick with a whistle of his teeth. 

 

"Now then, down we go, I suppose. But tell me, my friend. What do you think we shall find, and what do you think you will do when we get down there? I would like to know before stepping into the darkness!"

 

He fondled a small silver crucifix around his neck. John could here him mutter some Catholic ritual in Latin. 

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John nodded, and looked. "I have no idea, but I have a bad feeling. This place is unnerving." He looked at the door, and back to Morello. "Maybe you should get behind me." He suggested. "We don't know what's down there, and I"m tougher than I look." That much was an understatement. He was tougher, stronger, faster. Plus, his senses were sharper than most. Whatever was inside, he was probably better equipped to handle it. What sort of man was this Angel Morello? Who wears a crucifix and can pick locks? This strange church wasn't the only thing he had his eyes on. 

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GM

 

"I bet you are" said Morello, that thin bright smile on his lips, just below his dark eyes. 

 

The door lead down to a crucifix. There was a musty smell, and dust - a lot of dust. Enough to make Morello cough. He tried to make it quiet, but a cough is a cough. Especially in the dark silence. 

 

"I can't see a damn thing..." muttered Morello, bringing out a flash light...this was of course no problem for the Tattered Man. He could see the dust. The half-rotten wine cellar wood. The old barrels. The vintage wines. And odd jars of exotic herbs and spices. And pickles, with most peculiar and disturbing pickles in those jars. 

 

Before Morello could turn on his flash light, John heard a scuttling sound, like a rat, behind some of the wine barrels. It was an unpleasant sound of something small in the walls and woods...

 

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

All of John's senses were on alert. That was not a rat. Or it was abnormally large rat. Either way, he had no intention of getting near it. "Keep clear of those wine barrels." He said, pointing to the barrels in question as he spoke to Morello. He was not afraid of much, certainly not death, not anymore. Still, there was something about that sound that unnerved him, made him keep his senses sharp. He was on alert. He did not want to be surprised by whatever was making that awful sound.

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GM

 

"What?"

 

Morello, unlike John, could not see in the dark. He twisted his flashlight on. 

 

The beam sliced through dust, thick dust. But even through the dust, it swept past the wine barrels, and something  stared back at them. It was no more than a foot tall, may a foot an a half, with pale pink flesh and startled, malign eyes. It mouth quivered and puckered and squeaked, dribbling all the time. 

 

Then, in a moment, it scurried off behind the wine barrels, squeaking and gibbering. 

 

"What the hell was that!" said Morello, angry and frightened. 

 

 

Edited by Supercape
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"That, was a rat." John said, deadpan. He took a deep breath. He was not prepared for this. He thought that Piper had meant actual rats. The church abused her, did some bad stuff, but that was not a rat. He didn't even know what to call it. Morello's reaction seemed genuine, though. A mix of shock, fear and horror. Really, John reflected, he should have felt the same. Apparently dying made you a lot harder to shake.

 

At least it didn't attack them, he reflected. He resolved to see if he could find a source of this infestation. He wished he knew someone who could help him identify what the hell that thing was.

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GM

 

"Satan's buttocks that was a Rat!" screeched Morello, furious. "That was witchcraft!" 

 

He pulled out his pistol, an elegant one, with a nice pearl handle emblazoned with a crucifix. 

 

"We need to kill it! Burn it! BURN IT!" he screamed, his torch swinging this way and that. Every second or third sweep, the flashlight beam caught sight of something that seemed both fascinated by the light and keen to avoid it. A dweller in darkness, but a moth to the flame. It was quick, like grease, of this there was no doubt. But it seemed to be hard to look at, too. A horrible mess of pink mutated flesh. And a constant drool. Even with the dust, one could imagine smelling it, something diseased and sickly sweet. 

 

"Let us burn this cellar down! The wine! That will do!" said Morello, barely able to keep his from the trigger of his gun. One more jolt and his finger would surely squeeze...

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"Hey!" John barked, trying to both convey urgency and trying to keep relatively quiet. "You want to burn the cellar? How about making sure we don't go with it, okay? That thing isn't even attacking us, and if it does, I can handle it." He needed Morello to freak out a lot less. While he was certainly unnerved, panic never aided anything. Best to keep calm. Act quick, but keep calm. Not that he could blame Morello. That thing made him sick to his stomach. He wasn't sure what it was, or what it was doing down here, or what the church was doing. His hair was raised, and his skin crawled. 

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GM

 

Morello gripped his gun tightly, as if pondering. It was not exactly that he was afraid, and not exactly that he was shaken. It was more than he had a kind of blind fury, a terrible disgust, running through him. 

 

"That thing is an abomination! You saw it, did you not?" he demanded. "An affront to God and Jesus. It should not be allowed to live. Sorcery! Yes, Angel Morello knows of sorcery. He knows it well..." he said, teeth gritted. 

 

But he put down his gun. 

 

"It must be destroyed, burnt, like all witches...like all witchcraft, I mean" he added, wiping sweat from his brow. "But you are right, this is not the time. A gunshot would give us away. And we have larger schemes afoot, you and I...we must cleanse this place! A den of stinking evil!"

 

He gestured with his flashlight beam. There was a half rotten wooden ladder leading up to the church..or restaurant...or whatever...above. There was a wooden trapdoor in the ceiling, but it was unlocked and unbolted. 

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"I don't disagree." John said, cautiously. "But we need to be smart about it. We can't exactly just start a fire and risk innocent lives, here. We have to be careful about what we do, and where. Pretty sure you don't want to get buried in this den of evil." Now, John was not afraid to die, but he didn't feel like dying in the cellar of dubious pickles and the not quite rats. "We also need to make sure we know what we're killing, destroying burning. Are there any captives down here, is there anything bigger or meaner than those things?" 

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GM

 

"God will protect the innocent" remarked Morello, boldly. "And God will protect me, as long as carry out his will" he said, with perhaps a shade less boldness. How easy it was to be brave with other people's lives rather than ones own. 

 

It took a minute or less to sweep the rest of the cellar. If they were looking for fine  vintage wine, or dust, or slightly rotten wood, they would be finding those very things everywhere and in great abundance. Morello even helped himself to a little wine, declaring it an excellent and fruity French make from the west valley, with hints of earthy mushrooms and a fine floral aftertaste. 

 

There were cracks in the masonry. Enough for a rat. Or a very large rat, even. 

 

But no innocents, no captives, and nothing bigger than the thing they had seen. Just a vague scrabbling sound from the walls. 

 

Whatever else was in the Church come restaurant, it was not in the cellar. If it was indeed to become a restaurant, however, it might easily be reported as having a vermin problem. 

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John mused. "I"m half tempted to call the health department and see if they can sort this mess, but I doubt that would help. Health department is probably on the take. Since there's nothing down here..." He glanced around. "Suppose we'll have to go up that ladder and see where it leads." He realized how likely it was he was walking into a trap, or at least into a bad place. They might even realize they were down here, what with Morello's frantic screaming. 

 

He shrugged, it couldn't be helped. On the off chance the ladder broke or couldn't support his weight, he was prepared to simply jump and grab on to the ledge. 

Edited by Thunder King
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GM

 

Whilst the wood creaked alarmingly, and dust crawled up one's nose, the ladder could be ascended and the trapdoor opened. 

 

But the trap door was not a doorway to a trap. 

 

Instead, the faint sound of violin music wafted over them. A rather ominous but beautiful, hypnotic piece by a solo violin. It was well played, although one would not call it world class. 

 

Morello and John had ascended into the back of the kitchens, quietly. A heavy smell of roasted and stewed meats hit them, entwined with the smell of herbs such as basil and thyme, and other ones John could not quite make out. Beyond the kitchens was the main restaurant, although it was not open. It seemed candlelight was used more than electric light, although there clearly was some power running to the church. 

 

John could see, just ahead in the kitchens, a slightly bent middle aged woman fussing over simmering pots and muttering to herself in a manner that did not inspire faith in her sanity. 

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John did his best to stay quiet. He climbed out of the hole and righted himself. He needed to get past this woman, whoever she was. If nobody was allowed in the restaurant, and there were hardly any people in the building, who was she cooking for, and why? After seeing the 'rats', he wasn't sure he wanted to know. So, he began to look around, quietly. He hoped Morello wouldn't stumble up and screw everything up.

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GM

 

As John crept through the kitchens, through the strange and rather tasty smells, through the steam that seemed to permeate the entire kitchen, he was soundless. Morello too seemed used to the quiet touch of foot. 

 

And then Angel stepped on a floorboard. And froze. 

 

A soft creak sliced through the air. Not loud. But present. 

 

"Mrahwadabble...Nyarlothotep...be quiet my little ones!" mumbled the crazy cook, who looked quite unkempt now that John saw her up close. She did not, however, look up from her large black pot, stirring in some parsley to her stew. 

 

Morello gave a look of relief at John, then looked upwards and offered a prayer. 

 

The two crept through the kitchen to the end, and entered the main Church hall. 

 

It had been converted to a Gothic, dimly lit, and rather beautiful dining room. There were some rather odd, even disturbing, pictures on the wall, and rather disturbing, even odd, sculptures to the corners. It has a purple flavour to the colour code. Chandeliers full of candles lit up a head. It was cool of temperature, but not cold. 

 

And by one table sat a gentleman of indeterminate years, in a tweed suit and bow tie, a monocle in eye. He had a rubbery face with a friendly fat that was not limited to just his head - it extended to a portly belly, and clear grey coloured eyes. 

 

"Good evening gentlemen" he said, without looking up, studying the menu. 

 

"Welcome to our little restaurant. Would you like to dine with me?" he asked, looking up with fathomless eyes and broad smile. 

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"I'm going to have to pass." John said. "In fact, I think I'd like to be on my way." He doubted that it would happen, though. They had every reason to make sure he stuck around. If for no other reason than to ensure whatever they were doing wouldn't get out. He wondered if, perhaps, he should have listened to the old cook. Maybe he could remember what she said for later. He did not, however, want this man to know everything he'd figured out.

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GM

 

"As you wish, young man" replied the man, who stood up and straightened his suit. He had a faint French lilt to his voice. 

 

"And what about you, sir?"

 

Morello hissed slightly. "I think I must decline" he said, rather softly. 

 

"I am sorry to hear it, tsk tsk" said the man, sadly, shaking his head. "I am Monsieur Jaune, owner of this fine building, and indeed our restaurant. I am sorry if you find me...us...unpalatable" he said, growing his smile back. 

 

"The door...I mean, the main door, is that way.." he nodded to the grand archway and heavy wooden doors, to one side, where an ancient gentleman in a loose fitting suit, half asleep, waited to greet or farewell guests. Even though the place was not open yet. 

 

"Before you leave, may I have your name?" he asked John. The question was not directed at Angel Morello. 

Edited by Supercape
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