The October Country: Project Sleeping Village

In 1972, the Central Intelligence Agency, working under the auspices of Project MKULTRA, erected a facility fifteen miles outside of Gilead, Maine. This facility consisted of six Quonset hut-style dormitories and five auxiliary buildings. Surrounded by razor wire and guard towers, the purpose of the facility was ostensibly to house an overflow of non-violent criminals incarcerated in the Downeast Correctional Facility in Machiasport. In truth, the site was the home of an illegal C.I.A. human research program designed to stimulate and test psychic phenomenon. This program was dubbed Project Sleeping Village.

When the facility, known as “Town Hall” in declassified records, began operations, one hundred human guinea pigs were transported to the site and installed in the prefab dormitories. These one hundred test subjects came from various sources: federal prisons, college campuses, military bases, and as a result of classified intelligence operations around the globe.

Once inside Town Hall, the subjects were treated with a synthetic chemical known as Chimera, a drug that purportedly caused laboratory animals to exhibit spontaneous psychic talent. Testing of Chimera on the human subjects in Town Hall continued for six months, during which time 17% of the subjects experienced psychotic episodes, 5% lapsed into catatonia, and 1% displayed what was referred to as “anomalous sensory phenomenon.” The cost of these results: $2 million USD or approximately one-fifth of MKULTRA’s operating budget at the time.

Lack of statistically significant results combined with high operating costs doomed Project Sleeping Village and Town Hall was closed down the following year. The site was abandoned for almost a decade before the land and remaining buildings were allotted to the state of Maine and eventually became a summer camp for special needs children. Most of the classified records pertaining to Project Sleeping Village were destroyed in 1973 when CIA Director Richard Helms ordered a purge of all materials pertaining to MKULTRA. A few documents survived destruction, and an even smaller percentage has come into the possession of “interested parties” outside the U.S. Federal Government.

Considered a failure at the time, Project Sleeping Village and Chimera have displayed an unexpected longevity. Although the drug had little effect on developing psychic talents in the initial test subjects, the offspring of the original one hundred have demonstrated an abnormally high predilection for psychic ability. Three in five children with a parent who participated in Project Sleeping Village displayed some sign of extra-sensory talent before the age of ten, with the strength of this ability increasing significantly during puberty. Although no official tally exists, children of “Sleepers” reportedly displayed talents ranging from psychometry, telepathy, cryokinesis, telekinesis, precognition, and biokinesis.

These children are now in their mid to late 30s and can be found scattered around the country and overseas. Because of the broad spectrum of the original test subjects and the destruction of the records relating to Project Sleeping Village, it is virtually impossible to determine who bears the legacy of the that research. One common trait is prevalent, however: anti-social and even sociopathic tendencies brought about by constant abuse and ostracism during adolescence. Anyone dealing with a suspected Village Legacy should exercise extreme caution.

As a related note, recent intelligence reports have determined that a drug based on the original Chimera agent is being developed in nations unfriendly to the West. In twenty years, a new generation of psychically gifted adults could pose a threat to national security; operations to curtail the development of this chemical are currently underway. Those aware of the October Country worry that the drug could cross the barrier, with the results of a psychic stimulator in the Autumnal Lands causing widespread havoc in that magic-rich environment.

The October County: Les Rouge Soeurs

If you spend enough time around the bayas of Snakewater Swamp, sooner or later you’ll hear tales of the loup-garou, a nasty piece of work that haunts the backwaters and lonely roads late at night. Chances are, especially if you’re from Earth, you’re already thinking you know what ol’ loup is. You’d be wrong.

Old loup-garou is a man or woman who went bad...real bad. So bad that when they died, not even Hell wanted a piece of them and so they walk the world of the living, angry, mean, and hungry. You can tell a loup-garou easy: he’s got a wolf’s skull for a head and is wrapped in the burial shroud they put him in the ground in. He’s got long claws and razor-sharp teeth, and he likes nothing more than a dainty bit of woman flesh to chew on. Fact is, old loup will stalk a woman a’fore he’d stalk a man. That’s usually bad news for a woman or girl caught out after dark when he’s on the prowl.

But loup-garou has met his match a few times when he thought he’d spotted a helpless waif alone in the dark. Sometimes it’s due to sheer luck; other times it’s because that helpless maiden was more than she seemed and knew what lurked out in the night. But the worst bit of news for a hungry loup-garou is that the little bit of girl he planned to put the bite on is one of the les Rouge Soeurs.

Nobody can recall who started the les Rouge Soeurs  (otherwise known as the Red Sisters to those who don’t habla the patois of the baya). Nobody outside the Sister that is; those who bear the crimson could tell you, but it ain’t likely unless they’re welcoming you into their krewe—and they’re only doing that if you’re a woman who got one over on old loup-garou.

Les Rouge Soeurs specialized in hunting loup-garou, bringing the fight to those critters with fire, silver, and mirrors. You can recognize one of the Rouge Soeurs by the red cloaks and dyed leather armor they wear. They usually ride chestnuts, sorrels, or palominos when they can find them and seat them with red saddles tooled with silver. Almost all the Sisters carry firearms, but each is a master with a blade as well. They work in teams of five or six, with each krewe responsible for a large region, oftentimes covering many hundreds of miles in area. Each group reports to a superior known as Grand-mère who works to coordinate her team with other krewes of les Rouge Soeurs to hunt down and destroy loup-garou wherever they might lurk.

Les Rouge Soeurs only recruit woman and teenage girls who have survived a loup-garou attack. For many of these victims, the sense of sisterhood offered by membership in les Rouge Soeurs, combined with the skills and tactics they learn upon initiation, helps them cope with psychological trauma they face in the wake of an attack and forges them into self-confident, powerful women. With this empowerment, few have any desire to return to the world and society they knew before they met their monster.

Although they specialize in loup-garou,  les Rouge Soeurs will hunt other dangerous creatures, especially those that victimize the young, old, or defenseless. They have an uneasy relationship with the Rambling Men and occasionally work with one of those travelling troubadours when their interests coincide, but the personalities and the misogynistic attitudes that some Rambling Men have tend to make those partnerships short-lived.

Wildwyck County: Paul Strohd, Alternative Historian

A hint at things to come in the Wildwyck series. Again, this entry is set in the modern era, but its roots go back to the 1920s...and beyond.

Throughout New England and New York there are Neolithic anomalies. The most famous of these is Mystery Hill in Salem, New Hampshire, but numerous, less-famous examples exist. Of these lesser sites, many are slab-roofed chambers of stone, some of enormous size. Mainstream archeologists explain away these constructions as Colonial-era root cellars. More controversial historians speculate that they may have served as Native American tombs. Outright crackpots call them evidence of a widespread but undocumented Irish (or Norse, Atlantean, etc.) presence in the area. There is, however, another very unusual theory.

Paul Strohd lives just outside the village limits of Rotskill, New York. A thin, severe-looking man in his mid-fifties, Strohd hardly fits the image of the crazed crank arguing his favorite theory. He is always immaculately dressed and carries himself with an almost old-fashioned grace. He conducts himself in a precise and orderly manner, never succumbing to haste when working at a task. It is for this reason that so many people have difficulty reconciling the man with his work.

Strohd maintains that these Neolithic anomalies are evidence of an undocumented culture in New York and New England, but one that even the alternative history theorists are loathe to embrace. It is Strohd’s belief that these chambers were constructed by beings from another dimension, one that shares permanent yet uncommon connections with Earth. He has written three books on this subject, Uncanny Colonists, Walking Through Walls: A Guide to the Thought Temples of New York State (both self-published), and Ancient Anomalies Explained (Shadows Gather Books, 2004).

Strohd’s theory is that, prior to the arrival of Native Americans to the region, there were several seed colonies settled by extra-dimensional visitors scattered about the Northeast. These beings, dubbed “Exonauts,” arrived on Earth as refugees of a horrendous upheaval in their home dimension. It was their hope to establish dimensional beachheads in this world that would allow others of their species to escape the chaos raging in their native world. Unfortunately, the Exonauts were unable to achieve their plan and either died out or where absorbed by the native tribes when they arrived in the region. Their stone chambers and other anomalies remained untouched as they were considered cursed by the indigenous peoples.

Despite how ludicrous Strohd’s theory sounds, there are some campfire tales that seem to confirm that these sites are home to unexplained phenomenon. White-robed figures, hooded Viking-like entities, cloaked dwarves, and even Sasquatch-esque creatures have been glimpsed in and around these stone chambers. Whether these are the spirits of the long-gone Exonauts, glimpses of their home dimension, or some other phenomenon is, of course, unknown.

Strohd engages in regular speaking tours and is quite popular amongst the New Age crowd. His speaking fees allow him to continue his research and writing while maintaining a frugal lifestyle. This coming summer, he plans to take a three-week foray into the Adirondacks in search of more Exonauts sites and is currently looking for research assistants willing to work for room and board (or in this case, a tent and MREs).

Wildwyck County: The Black Magic Club

A little ahead of the era in which the Wildwyck County material appearing in the pages of Fight On! magazine is set, but Black Magic Club has its roots in the 1920s and its original incarnation will appear in the period Wildwyck County supplements.

Once a month, in the old wing of Rotskills’s Brodhead Library, a cabal of men and women gather after night fall. Herbal potions are brewed, elixirs sipped, and ceremonial foodstuffs consumed. When the preliminaries are completed, one of their members begins to speak, weaving a captivating spell.

This is no occult coven, however. It is a meeting of the finest storytellers in Wildwyck County. For nine decades, this group has met in the Freedman Reading Room on the night of the full moon to tell tall tales, trade old legends, and recount historical anecdotes regarding the town of Rotskill. Limited to a membership of thirteen, the Black Magic Club began at the onset of Prohibition. With liquor outlawed and the taverns forcibly shut, some young men formed private and semi-private social clubs to hide their alcohol consumption. The Black Magic Club was one such organization and the only one to remain after the repeal of the Eighteenth Amendment in 1933.

The club got its name from the quick retort one member uttered not long after the club’s formation. When pressed by his wife as to what he was doing out at such an hour, Caleb Brown, a founding member of the social club, sarcastically replied, “Black magic.” When he regaled his fellow members with the anecdote, the name stuck.

Although the club’s membership is limited, the group does host occasional seminars and open houses to raise awareness of the importance of preserving oral history and folklore. It is safe to say that, amongst its members, there is no greater repository of local legend and history in town. This doesn't mean that they are completely free with all their tales: some things are better forgotten—or at least restricted to a close circle of people best suited as custodians of such knowledge.

The Black Magic Club’s current membership is comprised of Michael Harris, librarian and town historian; Selma Andersen, president of the local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution; Bill Miller, a retired chemistry teacher; Thomas Cook, lawyer; Albie Soape, bar owner; Jessica Allgoode, self-proclaimed “woman of leisure”; Freddie McDougal, auto mechanic; Cal Harris (no relation to Michael), theatre owner; Sebastian Smyth M.D., endocrinologist; Robert Ericson, author; Ellen Guinness, retired seamstress; Jake Forlin, college student; and Gordon Swims, former editor of the Rotskill Crier. It is likely that one or two openings in club membership will be forthcoming. Ellen Guinness has stage II liver cancer and Jake Forlin has one year remaining at the university. Forlin’s membership in the Club is a most unusual one. Previous members have all been long-time residents of Rotskill and most have been in their late thirties. The Club, as is its right, won’t comment on why Forlin was granted entrance into their esteem body.

The Black Magic Club has self-published several anthologies of popular local legends and stories. Copies of these books are available in the Brodhead Library’s collection and offered for sale at Brick Alley Books on Main Street.

A Face in the Shadows: Alistair Philips (Wildwyck County)

As some of you know, I've begun a series of articles for Fight On! magazine detailing a historical horror setting for use with Call of Cthulhu, GORE, or any other percentile-based rule system compatible with those titles. My second article, one detailing half of the towns, hamlets, and cities located in Wildwyck County, has been submitted for the next issue of FO! Of course, sometimes my brain and fingers produce more material than can fit comfortably within that most excellent publication's page count. The following was excised from the first Wildwyck article in Fight On! #13 due to such size restraints. When necessary, material from that series will be featured here for the edification and enjoyment of those interested in the Wildwyck County setting. Up first: Alistair Philips, a helpful NPC.

Wildwyck County is home to many interesting characters, some of whom can assist investigators seeking to uncover the ‘Wyck’s mysteries. Other parties will do their best to thwart such inquires, resorting to cold-blooded murder if necessary. Alistair Philips is one of the more friendly faces PCs embarking on a campaign set in Wildwyck County might encounter. His voluminous correspondence with friends, acquaintances, and the curious could serve as both an introduction to the mild-mannered historian and draw investigators living in other places to the lands along the Hudson River.

Alistair Philips, 47, historian and author

STR: 8                   CON: 12                DEX: 10                 

SIZ: 11                   INT: 15                  POW: 14               

CHA: 14                HP: 10                   Damage bonus: -1D2

Weapons: none carried; all at base percentages

Skills: Anthropology 35%, Archaeology 40%, Driving 42%, Evaluate 35%, Hear 65%, History 76%, Influence 56%, Language (Dutch) 65%, Language (French) 55%, Language (Latin) 70%, Natural Lore 45%, Occult 20%, Research 85%, Wildwyck Lore 21%,

Alistair Philips is the archivist for the Ashton Historical Society, as well as the author of numerous monographs regarding various aspects of Wildwyck County’s history. His position’s stipend and his monograph sales provide Philips with a modest living, allowing him to dedicate himself to incessant research into local history, the arrangement and maintenance of the society’s archival collection, and, his most favorite pastime, correspondence with a large circle of colleagues, acquaintances, pen pals, and folklorists around the world.

Philips stands 5’ 6” and is of slight build. A small pot-belly, the result of a bachelor’s diet and too little exercise, emerges like a hillock from between his customary red suspenders. He prefers linens suits and soft caps when strolling about town. His hair is red and thinning, and a pair of spectacles sits atop his nose, while another pair of reading glasses protrudes from his shirt pocket. Alistair is prone to headaches and must sometimes conduct research or interviews in a dark room with cold compresses held in place by a scarf wrapped around his head.

Anyone seeking information about Wildwyck’s history will eventually be directed to Phillips as the resident expert on the county’s past. Contact can be initiated by visiting the Ashton Historical Society in person (hours of operation: Mondays and Wednesdays through Saturdays, 10 AM to 4 PM; other hours by special appointment), telephone (Philips’ home number is listed), or by mail (either at his home or through the Historical Society). Characters with backgrounds in history, folklore, education, or other related fields who relocate to Wildwyck County will undoubtedly be instructed to make the acquaintance of Philips by others in their specialty; he is quite well known and respected by experts in these disciplines.

Investigators meeting or corresponding with the archivist and author discover he is an affable soul who enjoys discussing the history of his home county to great extent. He willingly puts off other pressing business to indulge in his penchant for pointing out landmarks, recounting legends, and dispensing what would be considered juicy gossip if the subjects of those rumors hadn’t been dead for over a century. Anyone who responds to his impromptu lectures with sincere interest will earn an invitation to dine with Philips at his home on a regular basis. Those who do so gain +1d6% to their Wildwyck Lore scores (see below) after 1d4 months of dining with Philips and examining the old diaries, artifacts, and maps he loves to share with visitors after meals (provided they wash their hands after eating).

While not a devout believer in supernatural phenomenon, Philips has acquired a small bit of occult knowledge and does not discount the odd tale or eyewitness account that he encounters in his research. He won’t volunteer the stories he knows, but if others express interest in hearing such tales, he gladly fulfills their desires. The following are but a sample of the legends and weird stories that Philips can share with investigators pursing such knowledge. Each will be expended on in later articles, and the game master is free to use them as starting points for campaigns set in the ‘Wyck or substitute his own.

• A surprising number of people have vanished in Wildwyck County, more than simple happenstance can account for. These vanishings extend back to the colonial period, but few realize how long this has been happening. Philips has discovered that the disappearances occur in cycles, rising in frequency every seventeen years—a cycle that corresponds with the emergence of the local cicada brood.
• An interesting number of “Indian stones” can be found throughout the county. These megaliths are commonly believed to have been erected by the ancestors of the Kettahwohnucks for religious purposes. There are also those who purport that the stones are not the product of the indigenous tribes, but were erected by an alien population that settled in the region at some point in the past. The Celts, Vikings, Egyptians, Phoenicians, and even Atlanteans have all been named the source of these Neolithic monuments at one point or another. Many have strange sigils and carvings on them that some believe give credibility to these more outré origins.
• Those interested in ghost breaking might wish to contact Raymond Crowe, the owner of the decaying estate known as “Whispering Laurels.” As last surviving scion of that family, Crowe inherited the estate, a crumbling Gothic Revival mansion with a checkered history. Crowe is in deep debt due to his habit of visiting the track in Saratoga Springs and has been considering using the old estate to replenish his dwindling funds by either selling or leasing the place. Unfortunately, no one wishes to spend much time in the massive corpse of a home.
• A student who volunteered for an experiment performed by the Department of Oneirology at Bishopsgate College has vanished. Although not an uncommon occurrence in these parts, the disappearance occurred while the student was inside a locked, windowless “dreaming lab” on the college grounds. A police investigation is underway and ransom is suspected as the motive, but there are those who think the culprits may hail from a place unreachable by physical means.
• Odd lights have been spotted on occasion hovering above the leaning stone known as “Satan’s Lamppost” and local residents never venture near the granite oddity when this spectral illumination is sighted. Many discount the lights as the product of swamp gas, moonlight on low clouds, and even large congregations of fireflies, but those disbelievers suggest these explanations a comfortable distance away from the ancient stone.
• There is a local boogieman known as “Old Jan” who supposedly haunts the hills and forests of Wildwyck. The legends say he was born hideously disfigured and his ashamed woodsman father kept the boy locked in the root cellar of the family shanty high up in the mountains. When the father died, the boy—now grown to an adult and possessing an animal-like cunning—escaped from his prison and currently dwells in the wild, catching small animals and eating them raw. He also has a taste for human flesh, an appetite acquired when he feasted on his father’s cold corpse after breaking free, and Old Jan lies in wait for campers, hunters, and lovers that stray too deep into the woods and mountains. This legend is existed in one form or another for more than two hundred years old and this is just the latest incarnation of it.