You find yourself in front of a cast iron gate emblazoned with a great, three foot image of a dragon. The gate clanks open of its own accord, and when the lightning flashes, a skeletal tree with a dry-rotted, limp tire swing is momentarily visible. Across the barren yard, the looming specter of the house towers above.
A grotesque marriage between neo-Gothic and Victorian architecture greets you as you ascend the massive, carved stone blocks up to the porch. Just like the gate, the front door swings open invitingly.
The parlor is draped with cobwebs, thick as canvas, and you can either find your way into the east or west wings via two arched doorways on either side of a grand staircase, or ascend to the second floor. Moonlight streams in from a side room, seeming to light the way to the left arch.
You make your way through, and discover a narrow, moth-eaten library. By the candlelight, you admire the floor globe, the multiple bay windows, and of course, the massive literary collection. Though you peruse without touching – everything looks as though it would fall to dust if you handled it – the bookcase next to you pivots outward with a prolonged squeal.
Now you are descending a spiral staircase into what appears to be a dungeon, if the manacles chained to the wall are any indication. Instead of handrails, the only barrier to prevent falling through the center is a series of pillars featuring snarling grotesques lit from within with a fiery glow.
At the base of the staircase, beside an ancient, rusting cauldron, a simple wooden door opens for you, and you step into a vaulted, underground crypt. The sepulchers are placed here and there randomly, intermingling with mismatched tables, five foot candelabras, displaced stone blocks, and unidentifiable metal and glass implements. Everything is layered thickly with dust.
Suddenly, the upper lid of a coffin you didn’t realize you’d fixed your gaze upon opens. A half-decayed, half-mummified corpse sits up quickly and glances at you with milky eyes before clenching them to erupt in shrill, hysterical laughter.
“Tales From the Creeps!” a sinister voice announces in your mind before you lose consciousness.
】【
The Cryptkeeper sits in his candle-lit crypt, kicked back on a threadbare, moldy couch that sends up little puffs of dust each time he gestures. His gray-green feet are crossed, propped up on a coffee table with faded, peeling, red varnish, and a bowl of popcorn is balanced on his squat legs. One bony hand clutches a Roku remote.
“Oh, hello kiddies!” he cackles. “Don’t mind me, just rewatching the Run of the Mill pay per view on UGWC’s new screaming platform.”
A frenzy of piercing chuckles erupts as Cryptkeeper makes the pun, and he shakes the nest of pale yellow hair on the top of his skull.
“It’s only Free.99 after all,” he reminds the audience, “but if you can’t afford it, you could always stick with… Netfreaks and Kill!! Ah heheheheheheheheheheha!”
Slapping the popcorn bowl as he chortles, he knocks the contents around, revealing a mix of the aforementioned buttery staple and cockroaches, fingernails, arachnids, and M&Ms.
Once he calms, Cryptkeeper reaches for a tome beside him, flipping open the yellowed pages to a comic book cover that depicts Holden Orson being chummy with Tempest and Montague Cervantes. Behind the Astrocreeps, their shadows stretch menacingly up the walls, taking on the shapes of clawed demons grinning hungrily.
“Tonight’s tale is about a hipster who is desperate to fit in wherever he can,” he shrugs with both hands up. “I guess he really is just a… mainscreamer!”
After yet another round of raucous laughter, he continues, “I call this one, ‘Astrocreepsters!’”
】【
The curtain has fallen on Infinity 2023. Zane Scott is a Keyholder. Ezra Wade, Dave Rydell, and Sebastian Everett-Bryce extend already impressive reigns. And Montague Cervantes and Lucy Wylde have set a high bar for main events this year.
The Showman himself sweeps into his locker room, reaching for Jordana to lift her to her feet and spin her around the room.
“Tell me you were watching that command performance?” he begs.
Jordana howls, “I saw it, I saw it! Put me down!”
They share a chuckle as he lowers her back to the floor. Smoothing her Princess Zelda dress, she beams at her client.
“Five stars,” she admits, “it’s a match of the year contender already.”
Satisfied with her review, he hums to himself while he moves to the vanity mirror. Montague removes his top hat, running his fingers through his hair to tease out the flatness.
“It was an exciting show all around. Well, maybe not the Cross Hemisphere match,” Jordana observes tentatively, gauging Monty’s reaction through side-eye.
“Yes well,” he agrees absently. “That’s what we’ve come to expect from 1 Mask.”
“Aw, he just needs someone to guide him,” her voice drips with pity.
“He has Phrixus,” he reminds her, before they both turn to spit on the floor.
She doesn’t respond for a full minute, causing the Doctor-Professor to pause his wrinkle-perusing and catch her gaze in the mirror.
“Why are you so concerned about Holden Orson?” he wonders suspiciously.
Jordana gives a small, one shoulder shrug.
“With UGWC being lured to Gnaw Bone, I just thought you might want to hedge your bets.”
“Go on…” he turns and crosses his arms, leaning against the vanity.
“I’m just thinking,” she points out, “We’re not exactly as impactful as we were this time last year.”
Montague doesn’t respond other than to raise an incredulous eyebrow.
“I’m not going to try to convince you that two consecutive losses for the Astrocreeps against Lucy Wylde and a diminished horde compares at all to when we ran the Global Challenge and dominated Infinity last year,” Jordana huffs as Montague’s jaw drops. “even as they desperately sought ways to slow us down, we simply continued to march forward, and Tempest carried the domination through most of the rest of the year. You can't believe we haven't stumbled a bit I'm recent months though. We need to find out footing again. Having Daedalus at the helm is a start, but to get back to full strength we’re going to have to start winning hearts and minds, if you catch my drift.”
Montague looks confused, “You think… we should recruit Holden Orson… to be an Astrocreep?”
The look on his face says he’s certain she’s pulling his chain.
“No… what?” she shakes her head. “No, I’m just saying that our track record for drawing in our targets has been somewhat derailed lately. Holden is unstable and ripe for reprogramming. At Nightmare at Gnaw Bone, he would make an excellent… let’s say emotional mercenary. And he could be only the first.”
Montague strokes his beard momentarily, but doesn’t concede the point.
“I’ll speak with him..” he agrees with some hesitation, “but no promises. Er… where does he go…?”
“Go?”
Gesturing vaguely, Monty clarifies, “When he’s not… doing whatever it is he did out there tonight.”
Jordana appears to mull the question over, not confident that she knows.
】【
Montague approaches Holden, who is watching a CRT television/VCR combo he has set up on a concrete stoop at the back of the UGWC arena parking lot. The tracking from the worn film makes it hard to perceive, but he appears to be watching some early 1990s monster-of-the-week anthology series.
“Ahem.”
If Holden hears Montague clearing his throat, he doesn’t react. The Showman draws closer, and can hear the hipster muttering incoherently. Also, he appears to be making an instant coffee with contents he’s pulling from a circle handbag. Much to Monty’s disgust, Holden pulls out a Mountain Dew Red Fusion and adds a generous pour to the coffee cup.
“Hmmm…” he stares disapprovingly as Holden sips the concoction, and then goes on muttering.
“I wonder if I might have a word with you,” Montague begins. “About our upcoming collaboration?”
Holden seems to notice the Mothman for the first time. He turns away from the screen, where a young Bobcat Goldwaithe is bombing a ventriloquist act.
“Eyebrow raise.” he says, only a bit louder than his muttering. Misunderstanding, Montague raises his left eyebrow. Holden blinks with confusion.
“Do you not have a hotel in town?” Monty wonders aloud.
“Fear kicked me out.” An explanation could not be simpler, or more vague.
“That’s unfortunate,” the Doctor-Professor commiserates, “I can’t imagine abandoning one of my proteges that way.”
He shakes his head sadly.
“Well, maybe that’s not entirely accurate,” Holden admits. “He just quit letting me in, actually, after we lost the Cooperative Championships.”
“Wasn’t that months ago?”
Holden considers, then narrows his eyes.
“Probably,” he doesn’t seem sure.
“Well,” Montague offers, “since we’ve both been cast in the main event, along with Tempest, perhaps you should come back to Indiana with me and meet the Astrocreeps.”
“Suspicious stare,” Holden declares. “Why did you cheat to win the World Series?”
Montague can only blink while trying to parse out this question.
“Um… so that I would win?” Montague assumes he meant the World Championship.
“Fair enough,” Holden nods. “But I don’t like big cities.”
“You’re literally living outside in Chicago, Illinois…”
“Scoff.”
Montague hesitates as Holden returns to watching the program.
“What if I could help you with Rogan MacLean?”
Without another word, Holden switches off the television and begins packing his coffee supplies back into his bag.
“Ok.”
He begins to walk past Montague toward where the talent parks. Montague remains put.
“What about your television?”
“That’s not my television.”
】【
Tempest: I still don’t understand why, as the creative director, you’ve booked this random cooperative match. I thought you were the Architect? You seem to have fallen directly into the same mold as every other creative director that’s plagued this company.
Daedalus and Tempest are standing in the front room of the farmhouse. The television is on with the volume low. The screen shows Don Rickles fighting something internal, obviously trying to keep a secret from surfacing. Daedalus rolls his eyes at Tempest’s protest.
Daedalus: As I’ve said already, that wasn’t my decision. I’m the creative director, but I only have a percentage of stock in the decisions being made by the Consortium. If it were up to me, you would have the opportunity to pursue the path you intend on taking.
Tempest: I guess I’ll just have to do it myself. What good is it to have you in power, if you’re not really in power?
Daedalus shrugs, a small smirk forming at the corners of his mouth.
Daedalus: Now you understand how politics work.
Tempest: We’re not here for the politics, remember? No gods? No laws? We’re not politicians, this goes against everything that we are.
Daedalus: Yeah… well, some of us aren’t politicians.
Tempest looks up and follows the Architect’s gaze outside. Montague Cervantes is approaching from the gravel driveway to the front door. Trailing him is Holden Orson. Tempest squints behind his mask before shaking his head.
Tempest: Is this what we’ve become, Daedalus? A parody of ourselves? All of the work we’ve put in, to be taken seriously and get past the stereotypes. What are we going to get out of this? Verbal scoffs and other nonsensical horseshit?
Daedalus doesn’t respond, only stands with his hands clasped behind his back. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, deep in thought.
Tempest: Don’t let us fall into the abyss that so many have fallen into. That’s not why we’re here. We have motives. We have a vision. We stay on the path, no wandering.
Daedalus: Who’s the leader around here, Moseley?
He says it without taking his eyes off the front window, only turning his body slightly into Tempest’s direction. Before silence can make the tension rise anymore than it already has, Daedalus attempts to hold it together.
Daedalus: I won’t let our motives fade. I won’t let your motives fade.
Tempest: That’s good. I’d hate to start making executive decisions on my own.
Daedalus: It’s not going to come to that. Just take a deep breath. You’re on edge.
The front door swings open and the Mothman steps in with Orson a few paces behind him. They enter the house and Daedalus greets them both with a smile. Tempest gazes from behind his mask, his good eye narrowing on Holden. For his part, Montague catches Tempest’s gaze and attempts an apologetic expression.
Montague: Um, heh, well, uh… Holden is going to be staying with us this week.
Tempest grunts.
Montague: To… to strategize for Synergy.
Tempest: Oh, we strategize now?
Montague gapes, unsure how to continue. From behind him, Holden begins to wander while surveying the farmhouse with appreciation.
Holden: This is outstanding! The vintage kitchen equipment. The rusting farming implements hanging from the walls. This… this is going to work.
He continues to nod with satisfaction while the Astrocreeps share uncomfortable glances.
Daedalus: Gentlemen, a word with the two of you?
He indicates Montague and Tempest while tossing his head toward a nearby door. They take the opportunity provided by Holden’s fascination to quickly follow their Creative Director into the dining room.
Without speaking, Pisces appears andsets a cup of coffee down on the console table near Holden. He smiles at her as a way of thanks, and she leaves him to continue his appreciative studying of their home. Holden leans over, sniffs the coffee, then lifts a bottle of Mountain Dew Red Fusion to top it off.
】【
Tempest: Just, make it make sense why he’s here.
He sighs with resignation. The Showman shoots an accusatory glare at Daedalus.
Montague: We’re unbalanced on Synergy. Three of the four top competitors in the company have been assembled to, I don’t know, wake us up?
Daedalus shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.
Tempest: Wake us up? We are the music makers, and the dreamers of dreams, Monty. The show must go on, remember?
He, too, is staring daggers at the Architect.
Daedalus: The two of you are being included in the post-pay per view main event. You were considered important enough to the company to include you with ‘three of the top four competitors in this company,’ and you’re unsettled by this?
Montague: I hear you saying we were included because of how important we are, but I can hear Holden humming a Danny Elfman theme in the other room. Is he very important to you and your Consortium as well?
Tempest: And I’m not sure I heard you correctly; is this about the High Societies accepting the Astrocreeps? Is that what we’re about now?
Montague: I’m not really clear on what we’re about lately either. Since when do we get hung up on losing and not being champions?
Stunned, the Spider King turns to glower at Montague.
Daedalus: Enough, we’re not going to fall apart here because the Man Out of Time is temporarily an inconvenience for you both. You might stop seeing him as an albatross and think about the opportunity he represents.
Montague: Alright. Enlighten us.
Daedalus: You’ve both made it clear that Lucy Wylde is no longer on the playbill, yes?
Tempest: The Omen has proven herself a more than adept adversary, what would be the point in continuing to demand she prove it?
Montague: Cough, Sebastian, cough…
Tempest: Oh great, you’re saying your reactions now instead of just having them. He’s already rubbed off on you.
Daedalus exhales and rolls his eyes up to stare at the ceiling.
Daedalus: …but Holden still has a reason to put her in his crosshairs. And you have a reason to support him.
Montague makes the spinning finger motion to encourage him to get on with it.
Daedalus: For the last several years, this group has drawn the curious, the lost, the rejected like moths to a flame–
Tempest, Montague: Holden Orson is not joining the Astrocreeps.
Daedalus: –and now people are losing interest. We need to get back to basics. You’ve both all but admitted you’re not going to break the minds of such giants as Sebastian Everett-Bryce and Lucy Wylde. I agree, you won’t, not in the discordant state you’re in. But you only lack the will, not the capability. If CreepShow is ever to rise, we need to recapture the conviction you both had when the Season of the Witch began. And we need to begin where we began; the underbelly, where we do our best work. With your urging, Holden will be occupying The Omen, and you both can focus on reminding the Cooperative Champions what you're capable of.
Tempest and Montague share a resigned look of acceptance, then nod reluctantly.