Roberta’s Wednesday afternoon exorcism
Date: 2025-07-16 14:14
(Roberta’s Wednesday afternoon exorcism)
[Wed Jul 16 2025]
King‘s Chapel Burial Ground/span>/spanafternoon, about 100F(37C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by grey clouds. The mist is heaviest At Birch and Blackstone/span>/spanThe heavy July heat presses down on King’s Chapel Burial Ground as the five investigators gather near the wrought iron entrance gate. Sweat beads on foreheads despite the partial cloud cover, and the air shimmers with humidity. Ancient headstones stretch out before them in neat rows, their weathered surfaces telling stories of centuries past.
A maintenance worker in faded coveralls approaches the gate from Tremont Street, carrying pruning shears and a worn canvas bag. He’s middle-aged with calloused hands and moves with the practiced efficiency of someone who’s walked these paths countless times. Without acknowledging the group, he unlocks the gate with a heavy brass key and steps inside, heading toward the older section of the cemetery where Revolutionary War markers lean at weathered angles.
The man’s footsteps crunch softly on the gravel path as he makes his way past elaborate Victorian monuments toward a imposing stone mausoleum bearing the name “BLACKWOOD” in carved letters across its facade. The structure stands apart from the other graves, its granite walls darkened with age and moisture.
Vesper notices her watch reads exactly 2:14 PM. A faint mist seems to cling to the area around Birch and Blackstone streets, unusual for such a warm afternoon. The cicadas’ drone creates a constant background hum, but something feels off about the rhythm of it all – too regular, too predictable.
The maintenance worker reaches the Blackwood mausoleum and produces the same ornate brass key, sliding it into the heavy iron lock with a metallic click that echoes strangely in the still air.
Meridith stretches out and lets a little yawn. The drone of the cicada’s always makes her a little bit sleepy. She motions over to the worker, the key, the mausoleum. “I’d start there,” she advises.
Giving a tip of his hat to the maintenance worker, Buck says, “Afternoon, sir. Great day for a walk among the dearly departed. Is it all right if I leave some flowers on my relative’s grave here? I don’t know when they get cleaned up, and I want to make sure I do it on the right day.”
Jenny wipes some sweat from her brow “I should really talk with Aerie about gettin’ a sundress.” she says as she looks over at the mausoleum and lets Buck do what he does best
“So, any idea what this is?” Roberta asks the group, ignoring the worker for now.
“That’s Blackwood. I know that much.” she sluths, pointing over, “I keep seeing that name, but I don’t know how to handle this shit, and I assume after the previous failings where shooting didn’t work that we don’t kill the guy.” Smooth, Roberta. Right in front of the guy Buck is talking with, too… and all of this coated in blood.
Vesper close her eyes and listens to the cicadas for a moment, and scunches up her nose, “So artificial.” She examines the mausoleum as Buck does the talking.
“BLACKWOOD FAMILY MAUSOLEUM – EST. 1847.” Below it, in smaller text: “EVELYN BLACKWOOD – BELOVED DAUGHTER – 1895-1923.”
Raising an eyebrow, Buck looks at the mausoleum and says, “I suppose we were all led her together by one of the blackwood ancestors. Perhaps we should pay respects.” he looks around and picks some wildflowers from where they were growing by some bushes and carries them into the Mausoleum, “Miss Evelyn Blackwood? We’re here to pay respects.”
With Vesper and Buck apparently having this covered, Roberta drifts in their wake. She looks at the inscription, nods as if she know that all along, and comes to the perfectly reasonable conclusion– “So smash it before a ghost can rise? I have C4.”
Meridith sticks close to the others. Protective. “Vesper, desecrating graves rarely leads to fewer angry ghosts.”
Jenny puts on some earplugs at the mention of C4 “I’ve tried punchin’ ghosts. It don’t end well… usually need a mage.”
“I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.” Roberta quips to Jenny.
Vesper nods at Meridith, “Neither does sticking them with knives apparently. Is anyone here well versed in ghost banishment?”
“EVELYN BLACKWOOD – BELOVED DAUGHTER – 1895-1923.” Ivy creeps up one side of the structure, and the stone shows signs of water damage despite the building’s solid construction.
The cicadas continue their rhythmic drone, but now that Vesper has pointed it out, the sound does seem unnaturally regular – like a recording on loop rather than living insects responding to the heat.
Buck’s wildflowers feel warm in his hands, their petals already beginning to wilt in the oppressive heat. As he approaches the mausoleum entrance, a cool draft emanates from within, carrying the scent of old stone and something else – something floral and faintly sweet, like perfume that’s been trapped for decades.
The worker’s footsteps echo from somewhere deep inside the structure, along with the soft scraping of metal on stone.
Meridith’s action: Meridith follows Buck to the mausoleum entrance, but doesn’t go inside. She peers in and tries to see what the worker is doing.
Vesper’s action: Vesper follows Buck and Meridith to the mausoleum entrance, but doesn’t go inside. She peers in and tries to see what the worker is doing.
The maintenance worker doesn’t respond to Buck’s greeting, seemingly focused entirely on his task. He inserts the brass key into the mausoleum’s iron lock and turns it with a heavy click. The door swings open with a groan of old hinges, revealing darkness within. Without hesitation, he steps inside and disappears from view.
The mausoleum’s interior remains shrouded in shadow, but the sound of his footsteps can be heard echoing off stone walls. Then silence.
Buck’s wildflowers lie at the threshold of the open doorway, their bright colors stark against the weathered granite. The air around the mausoleum feels noticeably cooler despite the oppressive heat, and a faint musty odor drifts from within.
Vesper’s examination of the structure reveals intricate carved details around the entrance – roses intertwined with thorns, and what appears to be a coat of arms featuring a raven perched on a branch. The stonework is masterful, clearly expensive for its time.
The cicadas continue their rhythmic drone, but now it seems almost mechanical in its precision. The mist near Birch and Blackstone streets appears to be thickening slightly, despite the afternoon sun.
A groundskeeper’s schedule posted on a nearby bulletin board shows maintenance rounds, but Thomas Hartwell’s name appears nowhere on the current roster. The most recent entry is dated three days ago.
Meridith shakes her head. “Most ghosts can be banished with actions resolving their final needs. You don’t need magic to resolve such things.” She insists.
“I got a bag of rock salt that I use sometimes. Keep it on me for spirits and other kinds of things, but let’s see where this guy is going.” Buck says as he starts to walk into the darkness, pulling out a flashlight to light the way. “Onward, buds. Let’s meddle.”
Jenny raises an eyebrow over to Meridith “Oh yeah, I guess the last one I dealt with I had to smash a mirror.” she says as she follows Buck “Lets split up and search for clues.”
Meridith says “I think that makes you Scooby Doo of this mystery team, Jenny.“
“I’m an expert.” Roberta lies smoothly. “I shoot what ever tethers them, and possibly their victims. Only one’s been raised as a wight-thing.”
Roberta steps up. She sniffs the air. It’s rat-like, not human in the least, and her head cants to one side to listen. “This smells odd, too. A scent like perfume should have gone completely by now…”
With no need of light, and Buck in the lead, the albino follows up, losing herself to the shadows as she makes her way deeper with the group.
Vesper falls in behind buck, pushing her bug-eyed sunglasses atop her head, “Very well, let’s see what’s causing Miss Blackwood to stick then.”
Justine wanders in between the graves, glancing around the small gathering. She tips an invisible hat to Buck. “Hello, people. Weird place for a picnic.”
47 PM. The cicadas’ drone seems to have grown louder, even from within the stone walls.
A new figure approaches the cemetery gate from outside – a woman with an uncertain gait, as if she’s not entirely sure where she’s going.
Buck nods as he sees his flowers wilt and suffer. He sets them aside as he glances over at the woman. He waves to her, “Over here, are you looking for the odd tug of fate that brings you to this place?”
Justine whirls around quickly, taking a step back, deeper into the burial grounds.
Justine says, seeking safety in the small crowd, “I didn’t feel it this time, I just saw you lot… oh, fuck this is gonna be another Vance incident.“
Meridith nods, assigning Roberta the velma by default. Buck is obviously fred, leading them. She has a sinking feeling she might be the Shaggy? She groans.
“Ruh roh.” Jenny says with a chuckle over to Meridith giving a wave over to Justine “Like, I think theres something totally spooky ’bout to happen.”
It’s nod mindreading– Roberta cant do that, but she gets the reference. What else can she do but contribute to the conversation with a simple, “Jinkies!”
“In memory of our beloved Evelyn – may she find the peace that eluded her in life.”
Outside, Justine’s arrival seems to have disturbed something. The mist near Birch and Blackstone streets begins to thicken noticeably, and the temperature drops several degrees despite the oppressive July heat.
The maintenance worker’s activities continue in the darkness ahead, methodical and repetitive.
“Beloved daughter, taken too soon by consumption. ‘Love is the bridge between two hearts.'” Below it, someone has scratched additional words into the metal: “T.H. – Forever waiting.”
The cicadas suddenly stop their droning. The silence is deafening.
Buck’s watch shows 3:01 PM.
A low, anguished wail begins to echo from somewhere within the mausoleum’s walls.
“EVELYN BLACKWOOD – BELOVED DAUGHTER – 1895-1923 – ‘Love transcends all boundaries.'”
Outside, the cicadas have gone completely silent. The sudden absence of their drone is more unsettling than their artificial rhythm had been.
Justine finds herself drawn inexorably toward the mausoleum, as if something is pulling her forward against her better judgment.
“Fuck, time is going weird. It’s cold as hell and shit’s getting real now.” Buck murmurs back to the crowd gathered, up ahead he yells out, “Hey, bud! You need some help up there? T. H. I’m guessing?”
Keeping silent, Roberta advances stealthily. With Buck in the lead (possibly as a meat shield) Roberta considers herself safe enough, especially if she remains in the deeper aspects of the shadows, with Jenny, Vesper and Meridith to cause distractions. Justine, too.
Justine takes a couple slow, measured steps, watching the old, crumbling mausoleum. She pauses, her hand on a knife pocket on her handbag. Then takes another step toward the structure.
Jenny perks up at the sound of the wails “Hey, you need any help in there?” she calls out as she follow behind Buck. “Lead the way Fred.”
“Love transcends all boundaries, huh? How romantic. Probably have bring closure to some star-crossed lovers” Vesper says mirthlessly. At the wails, she remarks, “They seem pretty broken up about it too.”
13 PM.
Outside, Justine feels an overwhelming compulsion to enter the mausoleum, as if invisible hands are guiding her forward.
05 PM.
A translucent figure begins to materialize near the sarcophagus – a young woman in a white dress from the 1920s, her dark hair pinned up in the fashion of the era. She reaches toward the motionless worker with ghostly hands.
“I won’t let you die again,” Evelyn Blackwood’s spirit pleads, her voice echoing off the stone walls. “Not this time. Never again.”
The brass key in the worker’s hand begins to glow with an otherworldly light.
“Bit late for that.” Roberta snipes in a low tone. The spirit has manifested though, and she believes herself well hidden, which leaves this to the meat shields.
Justine’s hand, guided by some sort of morbid curiosity pushes the creaking metal door of the old mausoleum, slightly ajar.
“Evelyn.” Buck says as he approaches the sarcophagus, “It’s time.” he murmurs to her, reaching a hand out to run it along the edge of the crypt. “You can be with them now. If you let go of them, you’ll find them.”
Meridith nods to Evelyn. “There’s no need to keep this going, you get to rest, that’s the deal.”
Jenny looks over at the apparition “Just gotta let go girl. This is more trouble than its worth.”
Manifesting in the door way, Roberta leans on her opera cane. She’s helpful though, so when that albino gaze falls on the spirit, she tells her. “Being dead’s not so bad. Just rest. That way you wont be bothered by grieving over people who’re in the ground and wont care in return.”
10 PM. Four minutes until the reset.
“The key,” Thomas whispers, his voice barely audible. “She has to break father’s key herself. Only then…”
Evelyn clutches the brass key to her chest, her form flickering between solid and translucent. The other spirits press closer, their collective anguish filling the stone chamber.
“It’s your fetter.” Buck says as he says to Evelyn, “This is what binds you here and keeps you from him. Break the key and let go.”
Vesper’s eyes are draw to the key as it beings to glow and nods along with Buck, “Da, just snap the key and there’ll be nothing standing between the two of you.”
nods. Buck is good at this, and no wights so far. Clearly the play is to back him up. “You don’t need the key anyway. Everyone you know and love is dead. YOu may as well join them if you’re not going to find someone to put you in a fresh corpse and live off of masticating flesh from living beings.”
There’s no chance that Roberta braught her PR face. Oops.
Jenny looks down at the key that is being held “Yeah! Break it! You can do it!” she cheers on
12 PM. Two minutes left.
Evelyn’s ghostly form wavers as she looks between the brass key and Thomas’s exhausted spirit. Tears of ectoplasm streak down her translucent cheeks.
“But if I break it… if I let go… I’ll never see you again,” she whispers to Thomas, her voice breaking with a century of accumulated grief.
Thomas manages to lift his head slightly, his spectral eyes meeting hers with infinite gentleness. “Evelyn… love isn’t about holding on. It’s about letting go when it’s time.”
The other trapped spirits begin to quiet, sensing the moment of decision approaching.
3:13 PM.
Evelyn raises the brass key with trembling hands. The metal gleams in the supernatural light, heavy with the weight of decades of obsession and control.
“I… I can’t lose you again,” she sobs.
One minute remains before the loop resets and this moment is lost forever.
13 PM. Thirty seconds.
Evelyn’s form solidifies with sudden resolve. She looks one last time at Thomas, memorizing his face as if seeing him for the first time in decades rather than the thousandth.
“I love you enough to let you go,” she whispers.
With a sharp crack that echoes through the mausoleum, Evelyn snaps the brass key in half. The metal fragments clatter to the stone floor, their supernatural glow fading to ordinary brass.
The moment the key breaks, Thomas’s spirit straightens, the exhaustion lifting from his features. He smiles at Evelyn with profound gratitude before beginning to fade, finally free to move on.
The other trapped spirits dissipate like morning mist, their anguished wails replaced by sighs of relief as they too find release.
Evelyn herself begins to fade, but her expression is peaceful now, no longer twisted by obsession. “Thank you,” she mouths to the investigators before vanishing entirely.
The oppressive atmosphere lifts. The cicadas resume their natural, irregular chorus. The mist near Birch and Blackstone streets clears.
The time loop is broken. King’s Chapel Burial Ground returns to normal, and the spirits find their rest at last.