Couldn’t tell you much about the day that goddamn fog rolled in. I ‘member seeing it out in the bay, thick and dark, like pea soup. I went outside for a look-see, you know, and then everything went black. I woke up the next morning back in my trailer, splittin’ headache, like sharp things were crawling around inside my brain. Tango barking like crazy and Cash, starin’ at the door like sumthin’ spooked him good out there. Sumthin’ big…and stinky. The fog took the whole town, or most of it, replaced ’em with smurfs and frankensteins. I call ’em frankensteins on account of the movie, see? Dead men walking, get it? And the smurfs? Big blue bastards with spikes and claws, and those walkin’ brains, runnin’ the whole fuckin’ freak show. Jeez.
Not that it made much of a difference ’round here. Town was filled with vermin and whores and devil worshipers long before that fog rolled in. Sure, you got your survivors back at the sheriff’s office. That Bannerman lady, Andy…and that big guy, the outsider, with the bike – wa-what’s his name? Elk? Deer? Give’s a shit. Then there’s Hawthorne, the pastor, that’s not a man you should trust, let me tell you that. He’s got skeletors in his wardrobe. I’m telling ya, I’m telling ya the truth. And that gypsy fortune teller, if she’s still alive, the harlot. Never slept with me, he-he, slept with half the town though, ‘cluding the shrink, sheriff’s husband. Bannerman, hell. As for Norma, she’s awright, but… I feel a whole lot safer out here alone with my hounds.
It’s not the first time we’ve had an incident ’round these parts, now. I seen things, bad things, slimy things. Things with a hundred sharp teeth, a thousand black eyes and terrible thoughts that chew and claw their way into your brain so that it hurts like a mother fucker and makes your nose bleed and gives you terrible nightmares. And they stay there. They never, ever leave you.
I’m a gen-u-ine local, grew up right here on Solomon Island, just south of town, at the Overlook Motel. Used to be nice down there. Red oaks in the forest, beautiful ocean view…Place all boarded up these days, been that way since those guests just up and vanished, and those lights and knocking sounds at night… Screams… Word of mouth got around, people stopped comin’ and we had to shut down. Now that whole business at the motel started when the Englishman disappeared. Never saw the man again. Left all his luggage n’ everything. Didn’t even pay up. Wicker, I think his name was, I think, I think it was Wicker. Yeah, his room smelled like cigarettes, and booze and sulfur, and English stuff, you know. And there was this sticky black stuff all over. I remember, ’cause I had to clean it up afterwards, heh. By that point, my mama’d had enough, what with Pa dying n’ all, and then Henry and…and Tom Dexter. So she left for Florida, said I had to fend for my own from now on. At least I had the scrapyard. Been runnin’ that ever since.
Everyone always told me I’d never amount to much, everyone ‘cept my mama and Tom. Tom Dexter’s his name. Now he believed in me. Tom always believed in me. Then he died, and I had nuthin’. Nuthin’ but his memories inside my brain. And the yard. Of course I had the yard and my dogs. And my projects. I always got my projects. Those fuckers back in town? They’ll be howlin’ a different tune when they watch me ride outta here, wavin’ my handkerchief, blowin’ exhaust up their tight assholes. Fuck you! They gonna be sorry for treatin’ me the way they did, callin’ me a retard a-and badmouthin’ my mama. Gawd bless her soul. They’re gonna pay for what happened to Tom Dexter, I’ll tell ya that too, I swear on my life. I got a list for my bus, it’s a short list for a short bus. Hee-hee. Goddamn, I’m funny. It’s got me on top, of course, then my dogs, Norma, I mean, Mrs. Creed, she’s on there. Andy, if he asks nicely, with politneness. The Widow Franklin, she’s welcome to have a seat. Eeeh, the injun fella – Red – yeah maybe him too. The rest of ’em? Devil worshippers, whores, liars and cheaters! They can watch the rest of us roll outta here, over the bridge and through the fog. They can rot in here until the Day o’ Judgement. Until the day o’ Exodus.
Jay-sus Christ, do I look like a college professor? I aint’ got no fancy words. All my gene-i-us is in my hands, and franklies they got neither the time nor patience to be splainin’ shit to you. Just don’t give up do you? Look, quantum motors, is just motors. Except you don’t see the motor. You following? Gotta shut your eyes and focus on the sub-and-tonics of things. You see the itabities, they go in one end. Then godzillions of tiny li’l gears start grinding up against each other. And then – Poof! – you get these bitatities shooting out the other end!
Edgar wants to keep the zombies and draug out of his scrapyard. Barricades help, but supporting a defense with corrosives and other homemade concoctions will help even more.
The greatest defense is motion. However, on occasion we must dig in and secure a strategic position. Or perhaps simply give that impression. The scrapyard is, like its owner, a locus of labour and mystery. Most likely it amounts to nothing, but places of safety are rare in Kingsmouth. As are projects concerned with communal transportation. In times of death, anything that moves is significant. Either is is an enemy to be killed, or something worth defending.
Full Metal Golem
Edgar needs parts to finish his bus. Problem is, the parts have walked out on him. Recover the missing parts so Edgar can finish the bus.
We are not concerned with appearances, but with reasons and consequences. Others see a metal golem and scamper to react. They are driven by tactics without meaning. We, on the other hand, turn our attention to the sea. Automatons imbued with life are common; they are made to serve their masters. But in this case, life was not granted by a master; it was the spontaneous consequence of a spark in the air. Everything is linked, and the air links everything. And so the question persists: what blew this wind in from the sea?