*BRRRIINNNGGGGG* The clattering alarm of the cheap clock announced the seven o'clock hour. Thelonius Jones lurched bolt upright in bed, his lanky frame drenched in cold sweat from a nightmare that even now was receding from memory. He swung his legs over the side of the stained mattress, surveying his cheap studio apartment in an attempt to hasten the departure of the night terror.
The place was a dump. It was a cheap room in a cheap brownstone on the east side of
"Damn," Thelonius muttered to himself as he reached for a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes on the nightstand. Nicotine...and Caffene...his two lovers...they would help rouse him from Morpheus' icy grip, and bring him back into the world of the waking.
Maybe I should go back to bed? He mused, as he fired up his smoke, taking a long drag before standing up and trudging over to the bathroom. He relieved himself, then flicked the cigarette into the toilet before beginning the ritual of making himself presentable for the world. After brushing his teeth, shaving, and showering, Thelonius dressed himself in a set of his perpetually wrinkled clothes - brown suit, white (well, dirty white) shirt with the collar open, and a red and green polka dotted tie dangling loosely about his neck. He picked up his battered brown fedora from the hat rack and glanced into the mirror before heading out.
Six feet tall, lanky and on the thin side of average, his limp brown hair showed little signs of aging. Tufts of the dishwater colored stuff peeked out from beneath the fedora. His pale blue bloodshot eyes and angular, long face reminded him that he hadn’t had a decent meal in several days. He decided to head over to the corner diner for a cup of Joe and some eggs over easy.
Thelonius picked up his camera case, slinging the strap over his bony shoulders and shuffled out to the street, where his rusting black Nash was parked. As he made his way down the steps, he was hailed by his nosy landlady Mrs. Tibbons.
"Mr. Jones," She keened. "You have a telegram. It just arrived this morning. I was thinking if I should wake you or not...but well..here you are." She handed Theo the (surprisingly) still sealed message. He stuffed the envelope into his jacket pocket.
"By the way, I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed that article in last week's True Tales...was the demon possessed baby REALLY too hot to touch?"
Thelonius winced, pressing his thin lips together as he shook his head.
"Mrs. Tibbons...." He began, wanting to explain to the woman that True Tales were not always true, but they always spun a considerable tale. The possessed baby had looked like any normal baby despite the claims of the child’s Roman Catholic mother...but of course that wasn't good enough for the pulps. It was clear that the child was no more possessed than any other colicky baby, but a normal looking baby doesn't sell magazines. True Tales modified the images that Thelonius had shot; they must have done something in the printing process to make the kid all spooky looking.
Fuck 'em. As long as Thelonius got his paycheck he didn't give a good God damned what they did with the photographs. They didn’t capture an authentic occult event.
Rather than explain all of this to Mrs. Tibbons, he simply said, "Yes...you could have fried an egg on the demon baby’s stomach." And with that, he moved off down the street towards the diner.
Thirty minutes later, over a large coffee and a plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns Thelonius remembered the telegram in his pocket. He was preoccupied with the whole 'demon baby' affair. The world at large knew so little of the hidden occult universe. To truly understand the occult, one had to delve deep, as Thelonius had...and such delvings are not for the feint of heart nor do they leave a man unchanged. For the better part of the last ten years, Thelonius had eschewed the trappings of a 'normal' life to pursue the unseen world. Unfortunately, for all his studies and searching he had yet to witness a Fortean event first hand. He knew that there had to be some truth to the thousands of stories of the weird and the occult. Too many people experienced too many unusual things for it all to be imaginary. Thelonius was convinced that there was some sort of conspiracy of silence, or some reason why the occult was suppressed and not given the same open scrutiny as many scientific breakthroughs were given.
Thelonius opened the telegram and silently read the missive…
