Thomas’s Friday night odd encounter(Thomas)
Date: 2025-09-26 23:48
(Thomas’s Friday night odd encounter(Thomas):Thomas)
[Fri Sep 26 2025]
In A Worn Student Apartment
It is about 65F(18C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Elm and Blackstone
(Your target stumbles upon a black market auction where supernatural artifacts and enslaved minor spirits are being sold to the highest bidder. They must decide whether to intervene, infiltrate as a buyer, or escape before being discovered as an outsider.)
There is a knock upon the door — a rap-rap-rapping, in some specific, queer, curious pattern. It repeats a second time, sounding almost like Morse code, even if even the best code-breaker can’t quite make out -what- code it is.
Jeremiah steps over to the door and looks through the peephole, even as he asks, “Who is it?”
Standing outside is Thomas — glancing to and fro. He speaks into the peephole. “The crow calls,” he says. “I answered.” It’s clearly some attempt at a passcode.
Jeremiah opens the door to speak to the man. “No idea what you’re talking about. Do you need help?” His expression is one of confused concern.
Peering past Jeremiah, Thomas says, “Is this apartment 402?” he asks. “The crow calls — I say,” he says. “I think I have the wrong door. There’s not an underground auction happening here, is there?” he asks. A pause. “I am very sorry to bother,” he tells Jeremiah.
“No bother. If there’s an auction, I haven’t heard about it. But this is 302, not 402. One floor up, the guy who sounds like he rides a pogo-stick through his apartment at all times. Is there anything I can do to help you?” Jeremiah asks the man.
“No,” Thomas tells Jeremiah. “Thomas Hale,” he says, extending a hand. “Though I am afraid I have an auction to attend,” he says, glancing up. “I doubt pogo stick is the proprietor, but — there are plenty of ways to make a man lend an apartment for an evening,” he says, full of some mildly unsettling humor.
Jeremiah shakes the offered hand. “Jeremiah Deacon. Nice to meet you, Thomas. I just moved back to town about three weeks ago. And if the crow can carry the pogo stick away, you won’t hear me complaining about it. What kind of auction is it, anyway, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“It is a special auction,” Thomas tells Jeremiah. He looks over him speculatively. “You’re welcome to join me,” he says. “I can’t promise the quality of the experience, though I am sure it will be eye-opening, one way or another,” he shares. There’s some humor. “Or you can leave that door closed.”
“I wasn’t up to much, so sure, I’d be interested in seeing what’s what.” Jeremiah says. “If I see anything I want to bid on, do they accept credit? I’ve only got $25 on me, sadly.”
“It’s not really a cash place,” Thomas tells Jeremiah. “Here — follow me.” He steps out into the hallway, beginning to take the stairs up, and then he pauses. His head tilts, and it’s as if he’s listening to something. Then: “The Sons?” he says of Jeremiah. “I suppose you may have friends at this auction,” he shares. “It’s for — interesting things,” he says. “Captive spirits and other sundries.”
Jeremiah nods. “I recently joined, yes. They were looking for technical help. I’m a computer scientist, and also like to work with my hands. How did you know that, though? I haven’t told anyone apart from the other members.”
Jeremiah follows Thomas into the hall, closing the door behind him as they head up to the fourth floor.
There’s a pause: “We all have secrets, Jeremiah,” Thomas explains. “I whispered your name to a spirit I know, and asked it to whisper it in turn to the winds: and the winds replied,” he says. “With what little nuggets are heard when things blow through the Quarter.” He ascends the stairs, beginning to walk down the corridor to Room 402. This time, the strange, Morse Code like knock produces a response, and with it, that coded phrase. Before the door swings open, the librarian asks Jeremiah, “Ready?”
Jeremiah nods. “Sure. At least, I think so…”
Then the door swings open — and beyond is revealed an apartment that seems too large for the space. Jeremiah knows the layouts of these studios, and this room is just… too big. Thomas steps inside, nodding to the doorman, who seems uncomfortably thin and way too tall, as if he was a human being that has been stretched out. The door is shut behind them, and the apartment seems filled — filled with figures in faecloth, with browsing magicians, and with items on pedastels. Some of them are boxes that seem to rattle as if possessed, others are pieces of bone, and perhaps the most disturbing are cages, holding desperate, shadowy figures that grasp the bars. “Anything catch your interest?” Thomas asks Jeremiah. “Have a girlfriend? We could acquire one for you here,” he says.
“I recently started dating someone, yeah. So not interested in that. This place feels… off. I’m not supernatural at all, but you don’t have to be to feel this.” Jeremiah gives an involuntary shudder and frowns as he looks around them. “I’m not sure I’ll want anything they have here.”
Turning to look back at Jeremiah, “That’s society holding you back, Jeremiah.” He pauses. “This place trades in truth,” he says. “It trades in uncomfortable, unvarnished truth.” He moves from place to place, finally settling on a skull, sitting atop a pedastel. When the librarian reaches out to touch it, it’s as if there is an electic jump: some psychic fear, registering in Jeremiah’s mind. “There we go,” he says. “This is what -I- came for.”
“Okay. So, grab it, and let’s maybe be on our way. Society may be holding me back, but it’s where I live, so I’ll give it some leeway.” Jeremiah says, looking quickly around as if expecting to be attacked. “And sure, I respect truth, but truth can be subjective.”
“I have to wager for it,” Thomas tells Jeremiah. Near the skull is some shadowy figure — as hard as Jeremiah might try to focus on it, it’s hard for things to come into focus. The dark-haired librarian, however, speaks to him in some sibilant tongue, and then he turns to look back at Jeremiah. “Well,” he says. “I need your help, Jeremiah,” he explains. “Then I can be on my way, and so can this auction.”
“What do you need me to do?” Jeremiah asks Thomas, as he very obviously avoids looking at who or whatever the other man was just speaking to.
Somewhere in another corner of the room, a deal is being concluded for something — someone? — in a cage. The man who has won this deal smiles, exultantly. “I need you to be silent,” Thomas tells Jeremiah. “You could rescue some of the things here,” he says, almost caressing the skull. “The people here, if they are people.” Are they people? “But I need you to see but still your tongue,” he says. “Silence — a promise of it — and then all of us will be gone.”
Jeremiah opens his mouth as if to reply, but catches himself and simply nods.”
Agreement — the figure, the dark figure, behind Thomas smiles, and it is as if Jeremiah can see the impression of teeth. The librarian picks up the skull, tucking it away, and it is hard not to hear the wail, psychic, from whatever ghost is bound to the bone. “Perfect,” he says to Jeremiah. “And –” His eyes glitter emeralds at Jeremiah. “Thank you. Sacrifice is the true currency of the demi-monde.” A beat. “Shall we?” he says, heading for the door.
Jeremiah nods, keeping his word.
And then — as Thomas goes down — the auction closes up shop. What is it that Burke said? All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is the indifference of good men. “I am sure we will see each other again,” Thomas tells Jeremiah. “Enjoy your night.” Then he, too, is gone.
Jeremiah says “Thank you!“