Hello Dr. Zann,     I hope that this missive reaches you in good health in these trying times. It has come to my attention that you still fully intend to commit to your planned procedure regarding certain properties of physical translocationality, despite our spirited conversation held previously in happier times.      I implore to once again: reconsider .     As was covered in that conversation, and repeated again here for emphasis, what you plan to do will react poorly with at least several other goings-on, which will in turn affect certain aspects of material resonance of our vaunted Stone Hall. As such, we cannot know or even pretend to know what would come of your sundering of the local environs, no matter how "mitigated " or " contained ".  To put in even more stark terms; should you do this, we would have no idea where you would even go, and there would be no rescue. Just as well, this is to say nothing of the suspected social repercussions of our nei

      Port Astor State University is the premier higher education facility in the State of Jefferson, and every year, tens of thousands flock to the City of Secrets to "begin their futures". Most prestigious of all is the post-graduate program, the Doctorate of Applied Metaphysics & Philosophy, which is by invitation only. While many openly desire to enter the program, few could even begin to explain what the exact criteria of admittance are, let alone what is actually taught within.     The program itself traces its lineage back to the university founders, who ran a small college out of the original university building, The Old Stone Hall. It began as an almost chapel-like structure of rustic cobble, but over its life grew into a bizarre and sprawling web of eclectic neo-gothic stonework, contemporary wood and cement, and other, harder to describe styles not seen before by any of its students.     This was the heart of Port Astor Academia, until the December of 1931. Dur

 This is part three, and the finale, of this year's mini series! You can read part two here .                Anton dropped his bag down the shaft. After jimmying the outside doors, evading city employees and security, and going in a general downward direction, he had found it; the Plague Tunnels of Port Astor. He then dropped down himself, kicking up dust that hasn’t seen the light of day in nearly a century. Anton turned on his headlamp, which only stubbornly obliged. It revealed where he was; in the alley way between two buildings. As he stepped out into the forgotten street, he could make out one of the ancient signs; “ARTHUR’S IMPORTS & RARE BOOKS”. He cleared some of the dust from the window, which hung in the heavy air.                 He shined a light into the store, and as he did, an immense clamor was heard from within. Anton jumped back, and would have screamed if he hadn’t stifled it. He was, after all, trespassing. The shop door was still in place, and secured wi

  This is part 2 of this year's 3 part mini series! You can read part 1 here if you missed it. October 10 th , 1929 It’s with great resignation that I begin this diary, in the hopes that I can one day look back upon it in happier times. I have lost my employment as an accountant, as the clients I oversaw have themselves gone out of business. With fewer and fewer accounts, the firm of Fuchs & Royce chose to let me go, as I am was a junior member. Tomorrow, with great vigor, I will begin hunting for new work.   November 29 th , 1929 I went to my cousin Edith’s this holiday, out in Fields across the Channel. I thought that perhaps some time out in the country with family would do me some good, and perhaps it did. I had a wonderful series of conversations with her, about family history no less! It was curious as the topic had never garnered such interest from me before, but with so little else in my life at this moment, I suppose that it just struck the right nerve at the

                      In 1930, a mysterious disease overtook the western city of Port Astor, in the state of Jefferson. During its run, it killed one in five; nearly one-hundred thousand. Where it came from and how it started are hotly debated topics by local historians, but the official story is that it came via ship from the Far East. During that time, however, there were no similar outbreaks in the ports of East Asia. The situation garnered national attention when federal forces, sent to the city to enforce a quarantine, opened fire, and shelled the John Astor Bridge, killing dozens and maiming hundreds, when they tried to flee the city.                 The most affected area was the neighborhood of John’s Landing. One of the oldest parts of the city, it featured tight, narrow and twisting streets. After the plague, much of the neighborhood was abandoned, and buildings condemned due to damage, or fear of the disease that might linger; a haunting warren of brick and cobblestone.

  Hello everyone! Welcome to spooky season! We made it back here again, after a surprisingly mild Summer here in the Pacific Northwest. I know that a good chunk of the country cannot say the same, but I hope that it has mostly passed by now. I wanted to do something a little different this year, since I was still fairly new at this last Autumn, still getting my legs wet with running a blog, and so I didn’t have much material for this season; pretty silly for someone who calls themselves a horror writer. That’s why I’m happy to announce that for this Spooktober that I’ll be starting what I hope to be a regular tradition of The Plague of ’30; in 1930, Port Astor was ravaged by a mysterious disease that force the entire city into quarantine. No one knows where it came from, at least officially. In that year, and the follow years to some extent, Port Astor was a scene of unspeakable dread and terror as people struggled to survive, mortal and supernatural alike. Each year will focus o