“And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither …”
–Robert Frost
The eleventh month has begun.
Democracy will be tested. Gratitude will be freely given. Surviving warriors will be honored. Time will flow backward for one night. The day of the Golden Spiral will come without the notice or understanding of most.
Though the evening of hallows has passed, the veil between worlds is still thin. The Season of the Witch endures. Here in this hilly memorial garden, on this breezy night, the air feels particularly narrow.
A recent rain, coupled with the cool of the evening, has produced a chilly fog which sets heavily over the tombstones. Before long, an eddy appears over one of the taller hills, dragging reluctant tendrils of fog into a swirl.
More and more mist coalesces over what appears to be the fresh dirt of a grave, until the vortex has pulled in all of the cemetery’s vapor. The cloud becomes distinct, taking on the faint shape of a six-foot-three bearded man in a top hat and ringmaster’s jacket.
No sooner does the cloud take shape than it begins to drift away as if carried on an errant breeze.
The graveyard stills once more as the specter disappears outside the gates. The stillness will not last.
No more than a full minute goes by when an earthy scratching can be heard. The fresh earth over the grave jitters for a moment, until a hand erupts from the mound and reaches for the sliver of moon above.
With an agonizing slowness, a maladroit figure climbs up and out of the earth’s embrace. He stands and dusts himself off, wearing a much more solid, but dirtier, version of the ghost’s hat and jacket. The ensemble is several sizes too big, to give the Showman a more gaunt appearance in spite of his size.
Montague gives a grimy grin on a face painted to look more like a ghoul and takes a seat on what had seemed to be his own tombstone.
Montague: Some competitors watch footage of their opponents, while others will read analysts’ observations. Some are lucky enough to spar with the subject of their upcoming contest, or convince that person’s trainer to give them a lesson. Astro Creeps do their research somewhat… differently.
With that cryptic introduction, Monty leans his head back and closes his eyes.
The head of the Monty-shaped vapor drifts through a wall where a distressing scene is taking place. An elementary school-aged girl sitting on the couch in a den presses throw pillows to either side of her head. Her head is bent forward, her eyes clenched, as tears stream down her cheeks.
As the Monthghost’s body follows, and he drifts closer to the couch, the cacophony of an intense argument bleeds through the furthest wall as the adults in the next room take out their frustrations on one another through verbal abuse.
Shaking its head, the ghost places an unseen hand on the child’s shoulder and squeezes, then pulls away to float back through the wall.
Montyghoul opens his eyes and shakes his head slowly.
Montague: The fracturing of the Cooperative reign of Baltimore Elite has all but broken them. The Godly Ken, when forced to act alone, becomes a sad case of someone who was once an edgy, violent, and dangerous fighter becoming a dorky, cool stepdad. He is desperately trying to cling to his former identity, but doesn’t quite pull it off. It doesn’t help that the partner who shares his usurpation comes from infinitely more talented stock.
Lucy Wylde’s sister proved her mettle the same night she was forced to relinquish the Cooperative Championship. While Ken was momentarily vindicated when he eliminated Holden Orson from the Melee, he immediately suffered a second embarrassment at the hands of Holden’s partner. It was Kyra who eventually thwarted Phrixus Deimos from gaining a second victory that evening, and that earned her the final Key of the year.
Since then, we haven’t seen much of Lucy’s sister. Mostly we’ve been treated to the repeated embarrassment of her paramour as he struggles to bounce back. Kyra understands something Ken does not; the two of them are only granted meaningful success perhaps once per year.
Who can forget how much Baltimore Elite floundered when they first traded in their Carnage t-shirts for UGWC ones? It wasn’t until their absolute fluke of a win over Tragedia del Arte that (some) observers put to rest the notion that they’d have to purchase the rights to and reopen their defunct former promotion to see anything resembling success.
After that, the champions were promptly forgotten and gifted with a short rotation of “challenges” which made sure they were kept busy while more important contests were decided.
So now what? Their rations for success were cashed in all at once for Kyra to walk away with a Key, which means after being privileged enough to share a main event with the Astro Creeps and Tony Savage, we’ll forget to remember that they’re both peering longingly into the closet at the tattered trash bag where they store their Baltimore-based wrestling promotion memorabilia.
Montyghoul flicks his eyebrows at the conclusion, then closes them and tilts his head back again.
When Montyghost drifts through a doorway, it hesitates because the one occupant of the room seems to become acutely aware of its presence.
Surrounded by video equipment, the black man is wearing a powder blue hoodie and a yellow beanie. His head is cocked, and he stares vaguely more or less in the direction of the apparition.
The spirit reverses the course of its trajectory, but pauses when the videographer reaches out to flip a switch, transferring the audio from the headphones tucked under the beanie to one of the bigger monitors in the room. The sound of "Off Deez" by J.I.D. fills the room for several minutes before being switched off.
The videographer picks up a cell phone from one of the many surfaces around him and taps the screen.
Videographer: The mix on the latest entrance video sounds perfect. It’s all ready for your return.
Montyghost gives a single slow nod, understanding that the subject of his current excursion is currently busy with other pursuits.
Montyghoul awakens again, peering out over the distance of the graveyard while smirking.
Montague: How hypocritical would be for me to call someone to task for taking time off? I’m not going to sit here and put him down for pushing himself beyond his limits and getting his vertebrae cracked, not when I myself have had to take time off to allow my body to heal from injury. I only recently returned from a hiatus, after all.
Tony is one of the few people who have given the Astro Creeps their (over)due. He doesn’t keep the best circle of friends and associates, but he at least is wise enough to connect himself to the most talented and successful. I suppose he learned that over the course of his storied history, not only in this industry, but over each career he’s taken on and excelled at.
Tony has been a star in football, basketball, hockey, lacrosse, baseball, bowling, curling, badminton, powerlifting, power walking, bear blasting, polo, dirtbike racing, and pickleball. He served with honor and medaled in the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Coast Guard, Space Force, National Guard, Salvation Army, foreign legion, The United Federation of Planets, the Clone Army, Mobile Infantry, the Night’s Watch, SOLDIER, Tianem Fleet, Galbadian Military, and the Rohirrim.
He’s also a champion chessmaster, spelling bee winner, competitive eater, and can hold any note for a minute and fifty seconds. He’s been featured in the Guiness Book for a different record every year of his life.
If you didn’t know all that about Tony, you’ve never listened to him talk.
I have no doubt that such a celebrated accomplisher will bring his all Monday, as he always does. Provided Donovan Hastings isn’t still under his skin.
Without even a smirk of sarcasm, Montyghoul closes his eyes once more.
The phantom version of Montague wafts across a field at the farthest edge of the property in Gnaw Bone. Several yards ahead of it, a lone figure shouldering a spade saunters along, swinging his free arm and whistling a discordant and haunting melody.
When the figure stops, so does Montyghost. It watches as the figure sets to work digging yet another hole. Montyghosts slowly turns its head to behold the dozen or so holes the figure had completed before it materialized here to watch. Though they’re scattered herea nd there without a pattern, each is nearly identical in dimensions.
Tempest is digging graves again.
The Montyghoul opens his eyes one last time.
Montague: Refreshing as always, my brother in the macabre. The moment he secured the Battleground Key and sealed the Keeper of the Keys event for the Astro Creeps, the dynamic in UGWC immediately shifted back to where it was before Outlast the previous month.
The Spider King tried to warn you all, back when he was simply a Chaos Champion playing mind games with The Final Girl. A paradigm has been established, and our regime is not so easily buried. One way or another, the Creeps dominate, and we’re poised to hold sway over Keeper of the Keys and Horizons as the sun sets on another year in UGWC.
The dark night of the Creeps has come again. Soon you’ll all once again be scrambling to muster forces and plots to turn the page on a new day, but we’ll still be there. A gloom around the edges of your vision, a blackness sweating through the pores of your reality.
It’s all part of the show…
As he’s been talking, the Montyghost has meandered back up through the cemetery gate and the hill where its body is waiting. It settles over Montyghoul, who smiles and spreads his arms outward as it sinks back into him.
Reassembled, Montague stands up from the grave, arms still outstretched, no longer the pale pallor of a ghost, or the gaunt flesh of a ghoul.
