“Tonight, on Creep Hunters, the team investigates a haunted sandwich cafe in Northeast Chicago.”
Grainy, monochrome green footage begins, featuring several close-up shots on the Doctor-Professor’s face peering dramatically from one side to another. His eyes are darting black dots, stark against the night-vision view of his curious expression.
“They’ll attempt to make contact with the persistent energy that fills this once-thriving restaurant.”
Cut to a view of Montague gazing at the ceiling. He holds some kind of electronic instrument up beside his head.
Montague: Is there anyone here? Do you have a message for us?
The spirit box in his hand sparks static and warbles as he fixes the camera with an excited look.
“But will they be overwhelmed by the evil that stains its history?”
Cut to the Showman looking shocked and frightened as his EVP recorder plays back a clear voice:
Voice: You need to leave. Now!
“Find out tonight, on Creep Hunters!”
—
The Creep Hunters team assumes all risk and no liability for their investigations. Please do not attempt to visit these locations if you’re a boring mundane.
—
No longer night vision footage, the full color spectrum of early spring blooms on the verge of exploding in the carefully manicured brush in front of a Subway restaurant is painted like brush splatters against the orange canvas of the sunset.
Montague steps into view, and the furry edge of a boom mic can be seen hovering along the top edge of the shot.
Montague: Chicago’s dark history is full of startling tragedy. From the St. Valentines Day Massacre and the murder castle of H.H. Holmes, to the drinking dens of John Dillinger and the horrific sinking of the Eastland. Enrico Fermi developed the first controlled nuclear reaction at the University of Chicago, before he went on to be a key contributor to the Manhattan project. The Potawatomi tribe slaughtered the soldiers garrisoned at Fort Dearborn nearly to a man when the captain in charge reneged on a deal to supply them with arms and whiskey for a safe evacuation escort during the war of 1812.
The Showman steps up onto the sidewalk, heading for the entrance.
Montague: The Native Americans burned Fort Dearborn to the ground, and took the survivors to be ransomed. The response from the United States government was to immediately remove all tribes from the Chicago area. If you know anything about the history of relocating indigenous people on this continent, you can safely assume this was a bloody affair. Historians have pointed out that this cafe is situated on the site of one of these brutal retaliations, and that it carries a curse down through the centuries that still manifests to this day. With any luck, we’ll be able to drive out the curse, and allow this shop to finally rest in peace. We’re the AstroCreeps, and we’re here to help.
With that set up, Montague throws open the door, cringing at the electronic chime that announces his arrival. He steps in and pauses just under the fly fan and holds his hands out to the side.
Montague: Do you feel that? I’m already sensing a presence moving here. This location is bursting with paranormal energy.
His excitement isn’t swayed when several customers pause mid-bite to stare up at him.
Montague: Let’s find a spot to set up.
The Doctor-Professor leads the camera toward a double set of trash cabinets, then takes a small duffel bag from someone off camera. He opens it and begins to remove devices that he places gingerly on top of the tray return: digital cameras, a portable tape recorder, laser grid scatter, EMF meter, thermal imaging device, spirit box, and of course, a small Ouija board.
He sets to work putting cameras in each corner of the dining area, walking past and almost bumping a few patrons without acknowledging their presence. The grid is situated to shine upon the sandwich making station, while the thermal imager is pointed toward the restrooms. He straps the tape recorder, EMF meter, and spirit box onto his belt and begins to wander around. As he passes the freestyle Coke machine, one of the devices begins to beep.
Montague stops and unclips the EMF meter, waving it around in a tight figure eight slowly.
Montague: Do you see that??
With mounting excitement, Monty turns the meter toward the camera. Each time his arc draws closer to the drink fountain, the line of dots on the front illuminate in sequence, dropping only when the meter moves away again.
Montague: Is there someone there who wishes to communicate?
Replacing the EMF on his belt, he next holds up the spirit box. Turning a dial on the box causes an even static to begin, and Montague looks up toward the ceiling before calling out.
Montague: Is there anyone here? Do you have a message for us?
The spirit box in his hand sparks static and warbles as he fixes the camera with an excited look.
?: Excuse me sir?
Monty curses as he nearly jumps out of his skin, then spins around to confront a balding gentleman with a horseshoe of greasy black hair approaching. He laughs with relief before clapping the manager on the back of his uniform shirt.
Montague: Don’t do that! I nearly wet myself!
The Showman makes a point to straighten the manager’s cheap tie.
Manager: What are you doing here?
Montague: We’ve established contact, so I’m glad you’re here. Are you feeling anything?
The manager looks around, confusion obvious and red on his chubby face.
Manager: I’m tired and don’t have time for this.
Monty nods sagely at the camera.
Montague: Energy drain is a common side effect of active hauntings.
—
The feed suddenly cuts to Montague in a different jacket, sitting in what must be one of the rooms of the Underlook, by the decor.
Montague: Our guest psychic seemed utterly rattled and off his game thanks to this powerful presence.
—
The manager has ushered Montague and his accoutrements to a corner booth, where the Showman is now lightly caressing the planchette over his Ouija board. His eyes are rolled up so that he’s looking at his brow, and he calls out slowly at just-above-conversational volume.
Montague: Can you tell us your name?
The planchette rocks and begins to slide across the board, spelling out a name; J-A-R-E-D.
Monty blinks and looks up at the camera man.
Montague: Did you get it?
Cameraman: It says it’s name is Jared.
Stroking his goatee with the forefinger and thumb of his left hand, Montague repeats the name a few times under his breath. He takes up his former stance and rolls his eyes back again.
Montague: Can you tell us why you still linger here? What unfinished business do you have with this bistro?
Once again, the planchette moves in jerks from one letter to the next.
E-A-T-F-R-E-S-H.
Cameraman: Eat Fresh.
Montague screws up his mouth and squints.
Montague: That has to be a mistake. Are you sure it didn’t say… eat flesh?
Despite the subject matter, the World Champion seems anxious for the cameraman to agree with him.
Cameraman: Uh… sure. You’re probably right.
Monty nods with excitement, then his eyes go wide as he holds up a finger.
Montague: Do you hear that?
The cameraman pans around the dining room, where most of the customers have begun to ignore them. One woman, wearing a white bluetooth headset around her neck but obviously not listening to the earbuds, is the only one who looks toward them with some interest.
Cameraman: What does it sound like?
Montague: Like… beeping? Did we leave a motion sensor out?
While the cameraman shakes his head, one of the sandwich artists behind him removes a sheet of wax paper from a microwave, the sizzling bacon within destined for a turkey club sub on the counter.
Montague: Ah, you’re here! Fantastic!
The cameraman whirls around once again to see Montague approaching the young woman who had been observing them.
—
Cut back to the hotel room.
Montague: The local diocese had agreed to send someone over to help us cleanse the location. I was glad she showed up when she did, because things were getting tense.
—
The diner’s eyes grow wide as The Showman approaches her, hand extended.
Montague: Reverend…?
He leaves the rest of the title blank for her to fill in her name. She reaches out automatically to shake his hand, obviously confused.
Priest?: Sarah?
Montague: Reverend Sarah, excellent! We’ve had quite a bit of activity since arriving, do you think you can help us restore peace here?
Sarah: Uh… sure, I guess?
Montague pulls her to her feet, then drops her hand as he leads her over to the booth.
Montague: I thought we’d get an EVP recording, and perhaps you can help us with identifying what we’re dealing with here?
Sarah: What? You think this place is some kind of portal to hell or something?
Freezing mid-motion while reaching for the tape recorder, Montague goes white as a sheet.
Montague: I thought we were dealing with a residual haunting, but if you feel there is true evil here…
Sarah flicks her eyes toward the cameraman, who only shrugs.
Sarah: Could be?
As she shrugs, he nods solemnly, dutifully lifting the recorder to complete their task.
Montague: Whatever foul entity has profaned this place with its presence, we will drive you out!
He holds the recorder up in the air for another ninety seconds before hitting stop. He rewinds it cautiously, fixes Sarah with a ‘here goes’ glance, and presses play.
At this exact moment, the greasy manager walks up behind Montague once again and points a finger at the back of the Doctor-Professor’s head.
Manager: You need to leave. Now!
—
Cut back to the monochrome green footage, and we’re treated to a series of panicked censor-bleeps, presumably Montague’s reaction to the stern voice ordering them out of the restaurant. He grabs Sarah by the elbow and drags her along as the camera struggles to keep up. Together they flee toward the door, but she breaks away at some point without his notice.
—
Back in the hotel room, Montague shakes his head.
Montague: Bound by duty to her faith, Reverend Sarah was compelled to remain behind and battle the evil within. I’m ashamed to admit I did not go back for her, or any of the equipment.
He considers for a moment, and then shrugs.
Montague: Luckily it wasn’t mine. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to hire that cameraman again, though.
The scene closes as Montague chuckles to himself.
Montague stands outside of the Englewood Post Office, an address on which once stood the most terrifying building in Chicago history.
Montague: This week I’m haunted by two of UGWC’s most persistent ghosts.
He follows this announcement by flicking his left wrist and holding out his palm, where an action figure of Dave Rydell now stands.
Montague: One is a mostly harmless poltergeist, who occasionally rattles the doors and knocks over bric-a-brac around the arena in order to get someone to take notice. This energy manifests in cycles, always hoping to spook the current residents into fleeing, because that’s the only way he’ll ever reign over this home.
Turning his hand over so that the back is facing the camera, he dips it downward, then back up before turning his palm up once more. Now a Donovan Hastings action figure stands there.
Montague: The other is an obsessed malevolent force, hellbent on dominance by any means. Although this tricky entity cannot be trusted, it is known to possess those who mistakenly assume they can make use of its power to achieve their own ends. Sadly, they inevitably wind up under his thrall, wondering how they managed to lose control.
He drops his hand again, joining it to his right, clasping them in front of his waist.
Montague: They’re the most ancient of this company’s top competitors; the most- and least-decorated now cooperating–as well as can be expected–in pursuit of their shared unfinished business.
Montague spreads his arms to the side slowly, revealing the UGWC World Championship around his waist.
Montague: This week I must confront the one who has yet to control this holy relic, but the one who has claimed dominion over it more than any other soul will be there watching, plotting, determining the best course by which to claim it once again, a fate he is damned to repeat forever.
The Showman crosses his arms above the belt and smiles broadly.
Montague: This is but one of the curses attached to this artifact; these two stiffs must naturally be dealt with sooner or later. That's the price of casually wearing the crown of thorns they have each hungered for in their own way since the dawn of this organization.
Uncrossing his arms, he shrugs.
Montague: After that, I'll begin preparing for the ritual of the next curse it carries: the Outlast Tournament.
He winks.
Montague: See you both there?