#dkaccepted

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Rose Age: 23 Pronouns: she/her Timezone: so I accidentally got it wrong in the other app haha, it’s currently GMT +1, soon just GMT because I’ll be moving to the UK Activity estimation: Right now I have all the time in the world but in September I will start my masters so it will probably be a little less but I’m sure I’ll have time to work around it. Overall my activity would probably be around 7 or 8. Triggers: REDACTED

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Linda Elizabeth Goode (nee Holland) Age (DD/MM/YYY): thirty-nine (28-09-1957) Gender: Cisgender female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: heterosexual Occupation: currently on the look for one. After living without Paul, her ex-husband, she has enough money to move and live for a few months with the kids but she’s been keen on finding a job and becoming a part of the community. Before that she was, and still is, a stay-at-home mom. Connection to Victim: Well, about as closely connected to him as one could be. She carried him for nine months, goodness sake. He is her baby. Brian is her youngest son who she loves so dearly. With the other two being older and a little more rebellious, Brian is all she has left to love and hold dear of her children before he gets older and more independent as well. Alibi: The Saturday that Brian went missing, Linda had been busying early in the morning. She had woken up at her usual time, seven in the morning, and prepared breakfast for her children. They all came tumbling down one by one, eating their pancakes bleary-eyed except her daughter who always looked ready to take on an army with her deep scowls. After that, she went food shopping and came back. She had just made lunch for herself and Brian, her other two children out for the day, while she loaded all the dirty plates and cups into the sink and started to clean. All it took was a split second while her hands had been in soap or while she had been drying the plates for Brian to leave. Linda left looked up through the kitchen window where Brian had just been, only to find him gone. She shrugged it off for a second as she tidied everything away first. After that, she decided to ask if he felt like coming in. When she went outside and found him nowhere to be seen, that’s when she started to panic. Faceclaim: Jodie Whittaker

WRITING SAMPLE

“Mom! Mom, come on!” Brian yelled from the car, his brown hair waving along on the breeze of the wind. Linda, feeling like a sumo-wrestler, walked towards the vehicle with two big bags in her arms. One on each side, swinging back and forth with every huge step she took. Pushing them inside the boot, she closed it as she moved to the front. As she did, she walked past the rest of the car where within lay her three greatest treasures. David, Beth and Brian. Her eldest son was sat in a corner, shading his eyes from the sun. The wrinkle between his eyes indicated what he truly thought about being trapped in such close vicinity with his two younger siblings. Beth sat in the middle, her unruly red hair tumbled down her shoulders while her blue eyes moved around the car to see everything that was going around her. In the other corner sat young Brian. His wide eyes, similar to Linda’s, watched his siblings with great interest. The smile on his lips seemed to brighten the entire world. Linda felt a surge of pride and pure happiness as she saw them. Moving to the front of the car, she sat down and turned to face her children.

“Who is ready to go to the beach?”

Linda enjoyed the gritty feeling of the sand between her toes as she slid them deeper into it. The big lime green towel that was their collecting point lay flat open with a parasol to keep create a little shade in this otherwise lovely warm weather. Through her sunglasses, she saw her whole new world unfold before her. The lovely warm glow that was cast on everything she viewed. Beth’s hair was the colour of live fire as strands of it almost seemed gold, David’s skin seemed slightly tan and warm and Brian’s smile and bright yellow sunhat seemed as bright as the sun itself. It created a warm feeling in her chest that spread through her, turning the corner of her lips up. Paul had left for a few days on a trip to another state so Linda wanted to make the most of her time with the children. It was summer and the weather was so nice, that when they’d come down in the morning she immediately asked them what they thought about going to the beach. They spend the entire day there until David had a slightly red-ish hue to him, Beth had managed to pick a fight with someone and Brian had stomped off because she hadn’t let him get every ice cream he wanted to try.

As they were about to leave, Linda called the three of them to her and told them to sit down on this wooden bench close to where they were parked. Judging by the annoyed groans and sighs she could tell that they weren’t in the mood for a picture but Linda had enjoyed this day so much that she wanted something tangible to remember it by. They were perched on the bench and faced her as she took a photo. She took a few extra ones for good luck, or so parents always said but she enjoyed having as many pictures of her children as she could.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she looked down at the photo in her hand. She remembered so well David walking next to Brian as they chatted together. Laughing together. Beth running around them. Helping her younger brother get up after she’d pushed him too hard and caused him to fall down. Brian. It had been a week since she’d last seen him and the weight of that reality settled heavily on her shoulders. She’d walked passed the mirror, catching a glimpse of her ghoulish appearance. That’s the best way she could describe it. Sleep didn’t come easily but so didn’t getting out of bed. The dark shadows under her eyes revealed as much. Her hair, pulled back in a ponytail, hung loose and you could see the greasiness of it in the morning light.

It was her real face, but the town of Devil’s knot had no time for reality. They wanted to see a mother put together, one that was not a failure, that could stand up to the unbearable of a missing child. It was impossible, but she tried, stepping into the shower as if it could wipe away all that buried into her heart.

Her hair hung in its usual styled bob and a little make-up worked miracles to hide the dark shadows and harsh lines that had become prominent on her face. Once perhaps she’d have spent a moment to appreciate her features, wide doe eyes and small lips that had been admired for long ago. The notion of such fanciful ideas was laughable however, in the face of a tragedy such as this.

“Mom, are you ready?” David stood in the opening of her bedroom, seeming larger than life in the shadow of the hall lights. He’d become the man of the house, or at least tried to, and she found herself being so very proud of the effort. But it was too much to ask him and Beth to keep a brave face. The haunting of Brian’s absence was replicated on them as well.

Linda tried her best to conjure up the warmth and be the caring mother they needed, but a facade could only do so much. The practical was easy, making breakfast, doing simple chores, but when it came to the emotional, to actually looking them in the eye and saying it would be okay - she wasn’t sure she could really be there. Linda let out a soft sigh as she tried to rid herself a little of the pain and emotions that raced through her. She tried not to let her children see too much of what it was exactly what she was feeling, she wanted them to see her as strong and determined because that’s exactly what she was. Linda knew her son was out there somewhere and she was sure she’d find him, as sure as the earth goes around the sun.

“Yes, come on honey. Let’s go and look for your brother.”

ANYTHING ELSE?

→ Linda was a girl who didn’t look like a “nerd” but she was smart. During her high school years, she worked hard to get the best grades that she could get and worked for it. Her wide eyes and soft smile caused her to receive quite some attention from guys but she never pursued them. After graduating, she got into her state university and pursued her dream to become a journalist. Her love for writing grew as she read literature and got involved with extracurricular activities and what was going on in the world. At that moment in time is when she met Paul Goode, the darling of the political classes and one-time guest speaker at her university. He was the most charismatic man she’d ever met, and she fell, easily, dramatically, and most of all, foolishly. It wasn’t his wealth that got her, nor his position, but his passion. He had a drive that was infectious and a tendency to sweep you into his path whether you want to or not. And so, like a love-struck teen, she let him spin her into his web and he kept her there in every sense. Her pregnancy for one. They started dating in her second year and in her third year she found out she was pregnant. She was worried her mother would disown her, instead she fully embraced it. The woman smelt the opportunity with such a man on the up and up, and so, they were married. You’d think for someone so clever she’d have avoided that easy pitfall, but no, she ended up with David at the age of 21, with no prospect of finishing her course and no choice but to lean on Paul. Till unhappiness do them part…

→ Linda is a good mother. Perhaps too good. There’s such a thing as caring too much and that’s exactly what she does. But what else can she do? They were after all her life, literally. After giving up her own dreams and ambitions, she has close to nothing else to do except care for her children. It’s not her intention but its manifested into a deep, constant need to take care of them. From fussing over their hair to making sure their rooms are perfect to accounting for their location almost constantly. Over time the incessant has produced friction in the house, especially with David and to a lesser degree Brian. Who unlike their sister were unable to easily break out the chains of her overbearing nature and Linda tried her best to break habits far too old in the making. It makes Brian’s disappearance all the more stinging, knowing that she could have stopped it if only she’d loved him more and kept a closer eye.

→ The notion of putting on a good face is not exclusive to Devil’s Knot. In fact, it has been Linda’s recipe for life ever since she had gotten pregnant. No matter the abuse Paul threw her way, nor the stresses of essentially living as a single mother even when she was married, she could always be relied upon to put on the show of a happy housewife. The truth, however, beneath the mask, is that Linda has been unhappy for decades. It buries down to her bones, a dark stain, that clouds her mind in the moments that she was alone. All it would take would be a few visits to a therapist to know she had depression, but the notion doesn’t even enter her mind. Instead, she loses herself in her duties. When she makes the kids dinner or folds their laundry, she’s not ever really there. She’s just an empty shell, going through the motions, watching the world pass but taking no joy in it. She’s afraid that should she take a moment to really face what she felt, she would no longer be able to keep going.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Rose Age: 23 Pronouns: she/her Timezone: so I accidentally got it wrong in the other app haha, it’s currently GMT +1, soon just GMT because I’ll be moving to the UK Activity estimation: Right now I have all the time in the world but in September I will start my masters so it will probably be a little less but I’m sure I’ll have time to work around it. Overall my activity would probably be around 7 or 8. Triggers: REDACTED

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Brooke Enola Youngblood Age (DD/MM/YYY): eighteen (14-11-1978) Gender: Cisgender female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: heterosexual Occupation: high school student and cashier at Piggly Wiggly Connection to Victim: Brooke has a few classes with the older two Goode siblings but doesn’t know much about Brian or their mother. She’s probably seen them in passing while she was working at Piggly Wiggly but nothing more than that. However, she feels for the family, she, unlike them, was born and raised in the darkness that can sometimes be Devil’s Knot. It’s unfortunate that a family from elsewhere be dragged the shadows created by the events of 1984 that lurks in their town. Alibi: The Saturday that Brian went missing, Brooke had been working the entire day at Piggly Wiggly. As usual, there was an assortment of customers who came and left. Children buying sweets, mothers doing a grocery run, guys buying some beers, girls buying new glossy magazines. It was business as usual. Around 5 the shop closes and so Brooke leaves the old decrepit place that always seems to be on the verge of financial problems for the next day. Her evenings were always spent out doing whatever she felt like. Sometimes it was to watch a film, sometimes to get high and other times just drive around until it was pitch black outside. Brooke explained that she’d been out for dinner, eating a meal in peace and quiet and drove around till she arrived at Videoport, flicking through DVD’s she wants to watch. Around midnight, she arrived in her old Chevy Impala, turned matte black due to the dust and dirt over the years, back home where she found her mother passed out on the sofa with the tv on. She moved her mother upstairs and cleared away the wine glass and wine bottle, the only two witnesses to this affair ever happening. After that, she went to bed.  Faceclaim: Devery Jacobs

WRITING SAMPLE

Biting a fingernail on her left hand, Brooke Youngblood surveyed the scene in front of her. Her almond-shaped eyes glazed over to the one side of the table where John was sat. Well, actually her father but she saw him so rarely that she normally just referred to him by his first name, something neither of her parents seemed to like much. His dark hair was still quite full for his age and his smile was as dazzling as ever. It wasn’t hard to see why her mother had fallen for him. Now he wore a crisp business suit with a white shirt and striped tie. He fit right into the image that had been created by both of them when they had gotten married at 21. So young to be making choices that would affect you for the rest of your life. You can never know if it’s going to be influenced in a good way or a bad way. Only time can tell and it can sometimes be a bitch of a master.

Brooke swung her gaze to the other side of the table where her mother was sat. Rozene was an image that one doesn’t forget and deliberately so, her mother had worked at it. Her dark hair fell effortless down in waves as she wore a linen dress, casual yet chic. Her mother’s make-up was flawlessly applied, no signs yet of the mascara that could possibly end up running down her cheeks or any lipstick smudge on her chin from reapplying lipstick in a giddy fashion. Their whole house seemed like something that one pulled straight of a poster for the American dream. Well, it was more like the all-American nightmare for her. She let out a sigh as she passed around the casserole that her mother had spent the entire day making to her dad. It tasted good but there was nothing, nothing, that could decrease the tension in their household. Taking a sip from her glass of water, she could tell that it would only be a matter of minutes before her parents would start talking to each other. Now they were sat in deathly silence, only the sound of cutlery on plates and eating could be heard.

Eating the last mouth full of her plate, she set down her knife and fork and her napkin just as she’d been taught all those years ago. She thought back to when she’d been taught proper etiquette. For months she had to ask her parents “please may I leave the table?” whenever she even wanted to go for a piss. From all the fine things her mother tried to teach her, that was the only thing that had stuck. She quietly uttered the sentence as she stood up and picked up her plate, setting it in the sink. As soon as she was out of sight, their voices started to push through the walls. Her father’s deep, baritone muttering something to her mother as she heard her mother throw down her fork and heatedly reply back. “For fuck’s sake Rose, you know this isn’t normal. This town has always had its demons…. Now, this….”

Her mother replied back, but the words were cut out as she turned on the tap and rinsed her plate clean.

“Also, what the fuck kind of food do you call this?”

“I spent HOURS cooking that, you piece of shit. I don’t see you offering yourself up to cook a meal for us.” Their voices were rising over the noise of the tap, that’s when Brooke knew she had to get out. The plate clattered in the sink as she pushed her arms into her coat, grabbed her keys and left.

Her trusty Chevy Impala had brought her to one of the few places she could think of that was clear of any people. Piggly Wiggly. It was stupid to come to work after hours but right now there was no chance of anyone being there and that’s all Brooke needed right now. Sitting on the hood of the car, she slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her pack of Marlboro and a lighter. As she inhaled the soft grey smoke of the cigarette curled up and into the night air, the embers of the tip burning a fiery orange. Her eyes cast upwards as she exhaled the smoke. If it only was as easy to disappear from this town as the smoke disappeared in the night. The cold nipped at her cheeks which she stubbornly refused to acknowledge as she lifted to the hood of her coat onto her head, keeping herself as warm as she could. The size of the cigarette seemed to be dwindling fast as Brooke started to feel this dark feeling boil inside of her. Anger started to build as she thought about her parents. Why couldn’t they just have one normal meal? Just one. Is that too much to fucking ask for?

Dropping the cigarette to the floor, she stomped on it with a force that wasn’t necessary to put out something so small. No, it was measured against the fire that was burning through her veins.

Brooke’s hands started to itch, a desire to hit something rising, like a coiling serpent ready to strike, trying to find a way to let out all her anger. She popped the boot of her car and pulled out a green canvas bag, slamming it closed again. Her footsteps were full of purpose as she strode up to the sidewall of her workplace. Her hand reached in and grabbed a can as she let the bag go. The can felt cold, the sharp biting making everything seem more real, as she lifted it above and pressed hard. The colour was neon green and spread like a wildfire as she started to draw.

A smile slipped onto her lips as her anger faded and instead the feeling of thrill ran through her body. It lasted about a minute. She saw before she heard. Her eyes caught the sight of red and blue light as she swore loudly. Bright lights shone in her face as she tried to shield her eyes, automatically watering due to the brightness.

“Oi! Hey you!” Brooke dropped the can into the bag and slung it over her shoulder as she tried to get away.

“Hey! You! Stop right now! An officer of the law is speaking to you!”

She turned and ran right into a body. “Well, if it isn’t Brooke Youngblood. You’re coming with us. Vandalising property.”

An officer picked her up by her armpit as she tried to wiggle free. The other officer came up behind her, huffing and puffing despite the short distance. He observed her bag and the scowl that she wore. “Don’t you think we aren’t busy enough as it is? All us looking for that Goode kid?”

The officer shook his head as he signalled her to come along to the patrol car, a hard push sending her that way. Brooke decided not to say anything as she sat down in the back of the car, the leather seats feeling slight warm despite the cool October air. Yeah, that’s right. Finally, this town is being woken up. All of these idiots get to see what’s actually going on behind all these smiles and closed doors.

A smile slid onto her face as they drove off, only one thought on Brooke’s mind. Wakey wakey, motherfuckers. You’re all in for one hell of a ride…

ANYTHING ELSE?

→ The Youngblood household is less a home and more like IKEA showroom, all gloss that when disassembled is just cheaply made wood. The matriarch, Rozene Youngblood, is the epitome of the notion of a two-faced coined. On the one hand, she is a classy lady, married to the esteemed businessman John Youngblood, who she met at Devil’s Knot very own highschool as a senior, who performs the duties of a housewife to a perfection. On the other side, the real side, she’s a bored, lonely, repressed alcoholic. She hides her misery behind glasses of Rosé and plastic smiles as she laments the singing career she abandoned for traditional atomic family life. Her parents play the roles but never truly mean it, and while the rest of the town is fooled, their only child is not. Brooke has spent her life clearing up empty bottles and sick, while her father graces them with his presence every few weeks if only to criticise and make barb comments at the dinner table. Is it any surprise Brooke strives to break every social conformity she meets? She has first-class proof that bliss is not picket fences and neighbourhood barbecues.

→ After years of not only seeing her mom consuming more alcohol than Brooke ever thought was possible and the unhappy effect it’s had on their family as a whole, Brooke doesn’t drink. Even though she’s not of the legal age to do it yet, she’s already decided that way in advance. There have been moments she’s had it offered to her which she declined. On the whole, the number of parties she gets invited to is also on the low side so peer pressure and her exposure to it, besides being at home, is limited. She’s more open to drugs and has been known to smoke on certain occasions. Handing some of her cash in and sneaking a packet of cigarettes out, going on quick breaks just to have a quick smoke is rare but it happens as she tries to relieve herself from the not stop grind of her work ethic. Besides that, she’s open to experimenting and having a fun time. Anything to get out of this dreary, awful town, right? Even if it’s just mentally.

→ If Piggly Wiggly is an American staple, then Brooke Youngblood’s dark eye shadow and blunt cut bangs are a Devil’s Knot staple. As a young girl, she used to run around in colourful dresses and bows in her hair. It all slowly started to fade away but when she started high school, that’s when it really peaked. On their first day of high school, Brooke stepped out of her mother’s pristine car and all eyes met her. Her dark, long locks were always braided or beautifully taken back now were let loose and hung like a curtain down her back. A blunt fringe had been cut, somehow framing her face better and making her face seen at least five years older. Her eyes were rimmed with deep purple eye shadow, highlighting all her best facial features. She wore a simple purple dress with black Dr Martens. Since then that’s become her style and it’s what she’s faultlessly known for. Some say she’s the only fashionable thing about Devil’s knot and others say she seems like a demon sent from hell. Whatever it is, Brooke Youngblood is in never going to change it, despite her parent’s wishes to the contrary.

→ Brooke drives a old Chevy Impala. Although it’s not traditionally a car for young girls, Brooke isn’t traditional nor a young girl anymore. Once she got her license, she went car shopping with her mom which turned out to be a disaster. Her mom wanted to get her new, fancy open-top cars which she definitely didn’t want. As they drove back, Brooke spotted an auto shop where they fixed old cars. As she walked in, it took her all of one second to spot the car and ever since that moment it’s been hers.

→ Even though her parents met in Devil’s knot and it’s all she’s ever known, Brooke despises the town. It seems to be filled with pretentious people who are so worried about fitting a certain societal mould that they can’t think straight. All this white-picket-fence crap is enough to make her sick. It’s definitely not the kind of life she ever wants to live. One of the first things she wants to do is travel. Leave Devil’s Knot for good behind. She’s always sensed the darkness in this place and now with Brian missing, it’s only affirmed it once again. Even if no one else will follow her, Brooke knows she won’t be staying here forever. If she can help it not even another year. This very purpose is what drives her to work so hard, either she’ll leave by savings or good grades, whichever ends up being first.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: SB Age: 28 Pronouns: She/her Timezone: PST Activity estimation: I’m on all day erryday. Triggers: REDACTED

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Deborah Elizabeth Davies Age (DD/MM/YYY): Thirteen. Born: 18/05/1983 Gender: Female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: N/A Occupation: Elementary School Student Connection to Victim: Brian was part of the gang. Out of their group, she’s closest to Josh, but Brian came in a close second. They bonded over their absent and problematic fathers and found in each other a kindred spirit. His absence weighs heavily on her and at this point, she’s not sure what she’ll do if he isn’t found soon. Alibi: Taking a nap. Her mom made her clean the house Saturday morning while she  was at the diner and Deb was told she could have friends over for a movie marathon if she made sure the house was spotless.  Faceclaim: Sadie Sink

WRITING SAMPLE

“Sorry, you think one of us knows something about all this?” 

School had been a mad house since two days ago when she stopped seeing one of her best friends in the halls. It wasn’t weird for Deb not to hear from Brian, sometimes he just took a few days to himself. Sometimes she wishes she could do the same thing. But then again, with her mom  always at the diner and her brothers none existent in her home life, she kinda got her wish. This, however, was different. Brian had been AWOL. His brother and sister hadn’t heard from him, his mom hadn’t seen him, and the fact that none of the gang had heard a peep...well that meant trouble. 

“I just don’t see how you think a bunch of kids are gonna know who took him. We never saw anyone weird around, he didn’t have a stalker or anything, he was a normal kid, okay?”

Deb was never the one to get in trouble. Not for lack of trying, but she was pretty good at manipulating the adults around her into believing that she’d either never do it again or that she was never in the wrong to begin with and it was all just those darn boys. In the aftermath, Deb was the one walking away with a smirk while the boys stared angrily at her back as they got their punishments. 

“I already told you. The last time I talked to Brian was on the phone after school on Friday night. We’d all just finished watching the baseball game and we were gonna go grab corndogs, but Josh had his family dinner to go so we all went home.”

The perks of living with just your mom and no older brothers was that there was rarely someone hogging the phone or the bathroom when you needed it. Deb could only imagine what sort of hell it’d be to get ready in the morning if she had two older brother around. It was bliss they was she had it. Truely. There was no part of her that wished her whole family could be together. Brothers, a mom, a dad....

“What do you think we talked about? Kid stuff! Mostly about how much Brian loves playing but never gets a chance to. Sure, he’s not a great player, but they should still let him play! That’s just fair.” 

They all knew Brian wasn’t the best player on the team, but that wasn’t what was important. He wasn’t terrible, and he liked being part of the team. Deb was one of the  loudest voices in the stands any time he got up to bat, and she hoped Brian knew that. He had friends, even if he liked to be off by himself every once in a while. Deb really hoped he knew that people cared about him.

“Can I go now? I’m supposed to meet my mom at the diner. And honestly, you guys should be out there looking for Brian instead of talking to all of us.”

Talking to a bunch of thirteen year olds wasn’t gonna find Brian. A part of Deb wondered if it was the same person responsible. If the monster that had a hand in taking Pete had actually stayed in Devil’s Knot, running free. Not Max Acosta, but his spawn. What if she was the reason Brian was missing? What if he was picked ‘cause he hung out with her? 

Deb snatched up her bookbag and stomped out of the Principal’s office, shoving rudely past the Office Assistant. Sometimes her mom called her abrasive as if saying it out loud would change anything. How could she not be? She was literally the spawn of Satan. What else would she be?

ANYTHING ELSE?

She has a small “shrine” hidden under her mattress. It’s a scrapbook consisting of all the news clippings and magazine articles written about her father. It’s not like she idolizes him, but she can’t deny that she needs to know everything she can about him. God knows her mom won’t tell her anything. 

Has been trying to get Andrew to teach her how to skateboard. She found an old one out in the garage, probably one of Bobby’s failed experiments, and has been trying to make it her own. It’s covered in holographic alien and glitter winking cat stickers. She’s not very good and has a lot of scraped knees to prove it. 

Sometimes she zones out when doing her homework. Sure, everyone does, but for Deb it’s not because she isn’t interested in doing the work. Sometimes her brain just gets so overwhelmed with all the ideas and problem solving possibilities that it just sorta shuts down. Give her a few and she’ll reboot. 

Deb doesn’t really talk to her half siblings. She wants a relationship with them, sure, but right now it just sorta seems like they’re too old to hang out with a kid like her. She can’t help but feel like they just don’t know what to do with her which makes her uncomfortable too and if you ask her, it’s just easier to avoid them at all costs.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Cee Age: 20 Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT+10 Activity estimation: I’m currently studying full-time again, so I should be able to post IC every 2-3 days easily, depending on my muse. Even if I’m not writing, I’m usually able to be around to plot almost every day! When I know I’ll be pressed for time due to deadlines or exams, I’ll request a semi- or full hiatus. Triggers: N/A

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Ezekiel “Zeke” Hawker Age (DD/MM/YYY): 13 (07/01/1983); Capricorn sun, Gemini moon, Libra rising Gender: Cis male Pronouns: He/him Sexuality: N/A Occupation: Student Connection to Victim: Brian was one of them. He has no idea how such a quiet kid managed to weave his way so easily into an already tight-knit group, but it happened. Zeke wonders if it was because of him being in the same baseball team introduced Brian to the group. Whatever it was, he’s never found himself doubting whether Brian could be part of the friendship – and he doubts plenty of things. Alibi: Zeke was watching the other baseball games. With his game finished (and most of it spent sulking on the bench with Brian reluctantly lending an ear), he’d chosen to stay a while longer that afternoon. Sometime between the matches, he’d made a quick trip down to the Piggly Wiggly with ten dollars he’d mooched off Abel for candy and chips with a few other kids on his team who were still around. At around four-thirty he picked up his bag, shrugged on a crewneck and walked home from the pitch. A teammate’s parent offered him a ride home, and he gratefully took it. He was dropped off at the front doorstep and went straight inside. Faceclaim: Jack Dylan Grazer

WRITING SAMPLE

“Nope. That’s not it.”

Dust motes float languidly around him in the muted daylight that spills from the attic window, stagnant in mid-July air. A hand retreats from the cardboard box he’d finished rifling through, a messy stack of books and trinkets set back in their rightful place. To find a hint, anything about his parents, shouldn’t have been this hard to find. This was a trope of every movie; people kept unwanted things in the attic, not the basement. Too predictable. He thinks so, anyway and although this was real life and not some Spielberg blockbuster, it was close enough. Zeke had forgotten about the graze from another failed skating attempt that spans the base of his knee when he kneels down to store it away. A slight wince crinkling his face, he pushes it back to the spot on the boarding that’s a stark brown against the thin grey that covers the floor. Like nobody would know he’s ever been there. He dusts his hands on his shorts, but not before he’s rubbed his face and splutters from a cobweb across his nose. “Gross.”

Over cereal that morning, he’d asked again. Over a sugary bowl of whole milk-laden Cheerios, Abel consumed by today’s newspaper and soft radio masking the quiet that settled over the house, he wondered if there was anything else to be told about his mother or father. And just as his grandfather always did, it was a stock-standard answer of no, not really, there’s nothing remarkable to tell. As if he hadn’t missed out on the ordinary things already. And besides, isn’t it much more worthwhile to focus on the present?

“Focus on the present, my ass,” Zeke mutters to himself now, free arm outstretched to tear away a frayed edge of packing tape run across cardboard. In heavy marker, the next box is labelled 1971. A good decade before he’d come into existence, kicking and screaming. “Huh.” With limited options for company, it’d become nothing short of normal to talk to himself. Small comments of wonderment as he came across a particularly impressive fact in a book. 

Backhanded remarks as he resigned himself to watching The Bold and the Beautiful when nothing exciting was on television. Once, while they watched television after school, Josh had said he bugged out for doing that, laughter mingling with the taunt. Whatever. You try living in a giant house with just your grandpa, Zeke retorted. The Sunday visits Josh came along for were far different from living there week in, week out. Sundays were warm and bright. Cheerful, even. Once that rolled past, it fell back into the same monotony of school and baseball and homework, all tied together neatly with a rigid lights-out by nine sharp. To focus on the present was a joke.

A soft tug pulls the tape away easily. It’s left crumpled up beside him, gathered together in his fist before being dropped to the floor. He’s hasty to uncover the contents. Just like the last one, it’s packed meticulously. Like Tetris. The cover of the top photo album is worn in one spot, thumbed over by countless hands. He’s careful when he lifts it out and sets it on his lap, even more gentle with the plastic covers that run over the already faded photos.

So he sets to work. He’s learned to search out that face, the same way he skim-reads the chapter of a book assigned for reading he’s put off until the night before. Even if the only reference he relies on is faded, the photograph tattered and dog-eared in one corner from being stuffed in his jacket pocket to show his friends, the features are clear as day when Zeke pores over the images one by one. The disappointment’s sour in his mouth when he’s gone through it with no luck. The photos are beautiful, filled with smiling memories and yet, all devoid of his parents.

Beads of sweat across his upper lip, cotton shirt glued to the spot between his shoulder blades, another hour passes of searching through the storage boxes. He gives up eventually, when he’s graced with that same unpleasant taste. Mingled with that, though, is something else. An idea that perhaps there’re better places to look than right under the nose.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Zeke equates knowledge with adulthood. Maturity. Being a grown-up with a monotonous office job, fibre cereal and the drone of a television. Or used to. Brian’s disappearance has confirmed his suspicions – that it isn’t quite the case. The cops figured out who snuffed Phillip Silverman all those years ago pretty quickly, right? Or so some of them claimed. So, why’s it so hard to put a finger on who kidnapped Brian? The manhunts have gone on drearily, ended with no real certainty. Nobody’s a step closer to finding his friend. All grown-ups seem to do about it is croon in gossip over a diner booth table or spare an infinitesimal glance at the Crime Stoppers posters plastered on each utility pole downtown. He’s become distrusting, and quick. Whatever valiant spearheading people take up of the manhunt and the newfangled mystery of Brian appears self-serving. That there’s a few brownie points to score for next Sunday’s service, or a nice spot on the front page to print their mug across for stumbling across the next clue. If grown-ups cared, what reason is there to be so hush-hush when he asks questions? Zeke doesn’t want to think only the worst will happen. But if the adults are getting nowhere, he’s brought it up in hushed conversation with his friends that maybe, maybe, there’s a better chance of them getting to the bottom of it.

It’s well-known that Zeke isn’t great at making friends. Scratch that – he’s awful at it. Was his father, with all those vices, like that as well? It isn’t that kids don’t want to be friends with him because of his admittedly unconventional family. Whose only parent is their grandpa? But that’s never been so strange to set him apart far enough to be the black sheep. Jealousy has kept him from making friends. Until he reconciles with the fact, he supposes there’ll always be a quiet anger simmering at the back of his throat. It’s an uncomfortable sensation that makes its home in his chest, knowing that he won’t have a mom or dad to take (somewhat reluctant) photos of him on a birthday, on the first day of school or at a family gathering with a scowl plastered to his face. Those are things he’ll never be able to replicate, with Abel occupied by work and the belief that rules in place of his company are enough to raise a kid. He’s long become familiar with that yucky twinge when kids mention their families. He’s never had the luxury of saying My mom took me to go watch Independence Day in Lansing last weekend, or Hey, my dad came to see me score in little league, isn’t that cool! No, it’s been quiet admissions of frustration to Andrew when Abel has skirted a question on his father with the same lacklustre, manufactured answer journalists get when they shove a microphone in his face for the millionth time. To have answers is an itch he constantly finds himself having to scratch.

Apparently, his name means “God will strengthen”. Impressive. Except he despises going to church, enough to almost call himself an atheist, though he’s uttered a prayer or two in the last week when the worry really gets to him. Please, God, find Brian. Keep him safe, bring him home. It’s a nice way to swallow the nerves down, but not much else. He’s more interested in picking up a science book rather than the Bible, adamant about his excuses to weasel his way out of Sunday service but the effort is often pipped every time. Elaborate stories are quickly becoming his new forte. They’re just not quite good enough to get him out of that scratchy button-down and slacks too short at the ankle from his last growth spurt. At least he doesn’t have to go to those prayer groups Abel attends. While he can chalk it down to tradition and old habits, he’s never quite understood why Abel’s put much of his time and energy into it. He’s funny about it, too. Not funny as in it’s an innocent hobby, but funnyfunny. Funny where, if Zeke holds him up with a badly-timed question right as he’s about to step out the door or makes an offhand (and most definitely deliberate) remark that he might as well live at the church with the group, his face becomes stony. While he has quietened down about it, as far as his grandfather’s concerned, he’s determined to ask around elsewhere.

Sometimes, Zeke entertains the idea of asking if he can live at Ken and Aisha’s house. It makes sense. Their car often rumbles in the driveway to pick him up for school or to take him to a county fair. It feels much more familial. He worries that he’s a burden on Abel, that he’ll never properly connect with him as a son should. He’s come home with a busted lip and bruised pride from smart-mouthing bullies enough times to make anyone sigh with exasperation rather than concern. It’s not as if resisting the status quo at home, rules laid down like the law, helps his case either. His uncle and aunt’s home is welcoming. Smaller and cosier and warmer, always filled with chatter or laughter or radio. Abel’s house is huge. Silent, most of the time. When bad weather’s in, the windows rattle and wind shrieks around the corners, making it feel far emptier than it already is, which is no easy feat. To busy himself, Zeke got into the habit of reading and video games. Once he’d mowed his way through the fiction in the reading room, he quickly became hooked on non-fiction. There’s a haphazard stack of books on his bedside table at all times, switched out every week or so. He didn’t mind playing Actua Soccer for a while, until it reminded him of just how terrible he is at sport. Zeke likes to pick up new hobbies. It’s given him a wealth of new knowledge; new facts to ring off. Or when he needs to prove a point. He even tried to skate for a while. Eventually, he got sick of the bruises and grazed knees and Andrew’s bemused remarks. From stargazing to photography to origami, it’s a good way to pass the time.

When it comes to music, he’s pretentious. Zeke considers himself an indie aficionado – he’ll go for an underground station rather than the commercial pop garbage that plays on the radio. Most of his mixtapes are painstakingly curated, filled to the brim with Pavement, Mazzy Star, The Cure, Soul Coughing. Weird stuff. It’s made him consider picking up music, save for the fact that he can’t carry a tune to save himself. Tone deaf, that’s it. He won’t dare admit that he doesn’t understand half of the songs, lacking the life experience to even do so, but he’ll certainly make it seem like he does.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Asher Age: 23 Pronouns: They/Them Timezone: EST Activity estimation: Every other day or so. I work full time and am going to be taking classes starting next month. Triggers: REDACTED

IN CHARACTER

Full name: David Goode Age: 14/06/1977 Gender: Cis-Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Homosexual Occupation: High School Senior (Quarterback) Connection to Victim: A member of the Goode family, David is Brian’s older brother. Alibi: On a long run, training for an upcoming game. Faceclaim: Jack Mulhern

WRITING SAMPLE

“What’s that one?” 

David looked up and followed Brian’s hand as it pointed up at the sky. Following the blond’s finger, David saw the familiar bright stars and laughed. “Oh come on dude, you know this one, you gotta.” Turning his head, David looked over at his younger brother, trying not to laugh as Brian’s face scrunched up in an attempt to remember. “It’s Orion…” the younger boy responded slowly, as if something bad were to happen if the answer was wrong.

“Well yeah, you knew that already though. What do you remember about him?” David asked, gently poking Brian’s cheek as he spoke. The kid was on a roll tonight. Either he was forgetting all the stars he once knew by heart, or he was pulling David’s leg. “He’s a hunter. A big hunter. And he’s like Jesus!” Brian exclaimed, swatting David’s hand and squirming farther away on the blanket. 

“Like Jesus? Whadda ya mean?” David laughed again, poking at his brother once more before lying back down and looking up at the stars again. “He walks on water.” Brian responded, in a tone that seemed to say ‘duh’. Holding back another laugh, David nodded, eyes scanning the stars for familiar constellations. Before he could find one though, Brian spoke again, pointing at another set of stars. “What about Gemini?” he asked, eliciting a groan from his older brother. The kid definitely knew how to get a reaction out of him but he knew how to as well. Turning onto his side, to face his brother, David grinned before beginning to tickle the young boy.

The two of them had spent countless hours sitting on the lawn, staring up at the sky. Stargazing nights had practically become a tradition for the Goode brothers after they’d moved to Devil’s Knot. Back in Rosemount there had been too much light pollution to see the stars but Devil’s Knot was different. It was small. It was suburbia. A perfect place to pause and look up at the stars.

After almost a year of looking up though, David had never been able to understand how Brian did what he did. The kid wasn’t even ten yet and could point out more constellations than most adults. He’d just look up at the stars and be able to see them, as if the lines that connected them in all the books were up in the sky as well.

David had never been able to do that. He could appreciate how beautiful the scene was but would never be able to interpret it in the way Brian could. 

Which was why now, almost a week after Brian had disappeared off the front lawn, off of their stargazing spot, David looked up at the stars and felt lost. Without his younger brother, it was all just a mess of lights in the sky. There were no stories to tell, no long gone Greek gods, just balls of gas burning lightyears away. 

For the first time since he’d come home to find Brian missing, David felt lost. The past week had been a whirlwind of search parties and police interviews and the brunet had hardly found time to breathe, let alone stop and think about what it all meant. Now though, it was hitting him like a tonne of bricks. It meant that Brian was gone. 

Mom believed that there was still hope; that Brian would come back one day, but David wasn’t so sure. He heard what people said, listened to them as they spoke, in hushed tones, about the Silverman family, about how similar the two cases were. He knew that the police were checking bodies of water, the woods, all the dark places where a body could be disposed of. 

Because they were looking for Brian’s body, not for Brian himself. 

Feeling tears start to form in his eyes, David blinked, his father’s words playing in his head. Man up. Paul had always said. David used to hate it when he said that but now he didn’t. Mom was a mess, the house was in even more disarray than usual, and Brian was gone. For once, David agreed with his father. He had to man up. He had to take responsibility, help his mom, find Brian. The only question was how.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Moved to Devil’s Knot from Rosemount, Minnesota (Twin Cities area) almost two years ago (January-ish)

Enjoys nature and flowers and plants but has pushed that part of himself deep down because he’s been told, constantly, that he needs to man up

Loves his siblings more than anything. He’s drifted away from them, Beth in particular, but would do anything for them

Despite the fact that he knows that it was the right thing for his mom to do, the divorce hit him really hard. He knew that his dad was abusive but still clung to the facade of normalcy that he had when his parents were together

Deep in the closet. Practically in Narnia. He’s thought about coming out, about not playing it safe, but the thought of having to have that conversation, of having to be something other than good scares him.

When Brian first showed interest in piano, Paul Goode had ridiculed his son. Had told him to “man up” and to stop being a f*g. Tired of Paul pushing them around, and regretting not doing so for himself, David stood up for his younger brother.

He encouraged Brian’s piano playing as often as he could.

The two would sometimes star gaze together. Brian knew all the constellations and David knew the stories behind them.

The day Brian had gone missing, David said that he had gone for a long run. He was quarterback after all and people expected him to be in the best shape he could be. While he had been on a run, that hadn’t been the only thing he’d been doing. In between running, he’d ducked into the woods to explore and get high. He feels guilty now that he’d been dicking around in the forest when his brother was in trouble.

Sometimes misses his old town. It was bigger than Devil’s Knot and he could be more anonymous there. Here, he feels suffocated by the fact that everyone knows everyone.

Loves music. Has a lot of cassette tapes.

Wishes he could be 90s grunge but is probably, actually, 80s pop.

Spotify Playlists:

David Goode’s Playlist https://open.spotify.com/playlist/39RrcVa1DLMfveulGoiyxB?si=D0SKWKhURpSsQJE5A4Pk_g

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Kris Age:  20 Pronouns: She/Her Timezone: EST Activity estimation: I can commit to around an hour or two of activity a night on weekdays. However, my weekends aren’t ever planned and I cannot give a completely accurate estimate of what those will look like in terms of activity. Triggers: N/A

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Heather Lucille Wheeler Age (DD/MM/YYY): (03/07/1978); Cancer Sun, Gemini Moon, Virgo Rising Gender: Female Pronouns: She/Her Sexuality: Closeted Bisexual. Occupation: High school senior. Connection to Victim: Heather doesn’t really know them. Sure, she had seen Beth around school a couple of times but it’s not like they were friends. Her aunt isn’t very active in the community, so she wouldn’t have met Mrs. Goode; therefore, this whole case is pretty distant from her. She does feel incredibly bad that Brian has gone missing, and has devoted just as much time as everyone else to making sure that he comes home safely. Alibi: “Kelly was hosting one of her Saturday practices. Yes, it was horrible, and freezing cold. I mean – who takes cheerleading that seriously? The only reason why I showed up was because we have a huge competition coming up, and even considering that I was still skeptical.” Faceclaim: Zendaya

WRITING SAMPLE

I fucking hate my life. Heather thought as she rounded the track for the third time. It was a Thursday afternoon, and school had just let out. Track practice was in full swing and she was reconsidering her decision to join. She had participated in four extracurricular activities today: the debate club which met before school, a student council meeting that took the place of her study hall period, an impromptu cheerleading practice during lunch because Kelly felt like they still weren’t ready for the competition on Friday, and now track practice. She was fucking drained.

It was exhausting living her life. Somehow, her aunt had thrown her into this mindset that the only way to be successful was to be involved in everything. Of course, by default Heather barely wanted to be included in anything. Yes, she was a part of every club you could think of, but her role in each was pretty mediocre. There was nothing about Heather that stuck out, or made her anymore noticeably than anyone else. This was definitely done on purpose. In all actuality, she just wanted to get the fuck out of this place. All of her hard work was finally paying off, and she knew that she would get into her dream school on the west coast. As far away from Devil’s Knot, Michigan that a 4.0 grade point average, and stellar class activity involvement could get her.

She was focusing intently on the head bobbing in front of her as her thoughts wondered to the pack of cigarettes hanging out in her bag. She had gone through a pack already this week, and it was only Wednesday. At this point she either had a raging nicotine addiction, or was stressed the fuck out. She’d prefer to claim it was the latter. Her life wasn’t completely horrible. She was generally okay most days, just not living her best life. However, after four years of being you it was hard to change. Sometimes she just wanted to pop out of her shell and scream – “I’m only one person, I can’t do everything!” …. But then again, the thought of screaming anything gave her crippling anxiety, so that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

A slight giggle escaped her lips as she pondered over this fact, and relief flooded throughout her body as she reached the fence. Finally, her pre-practice conditioning was done, and she could escape for a ‘bathroom’ break. “Hey coach, I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be back,” she called out, leaning down to rummage through her backpack, settling on her toiletry bag and starting across the grass and towards the field restrooms. Her beloved bike sheds were only a few steps past those small concrete buildings, covered by a few trees. Her mouth had begun to twitch as she anticipated placing a cigarette between her lips. “Thank goodness,” she sighed aloud as she rounded the last tree. A cigarette already in her mind as she couldn’t help rummaging through her bag to retrieve one on her way over here.

It was only a few seconds before she had it between her lips and lit, a long pull following. She tried to keep her smoking habit a secret, but she had been caught a couple of times by various people. It was a disgusting habit, and she really wanted to stop, but it was hard to find the willpower. She had control of everything in her life, and it was nice even if it sounded crazy to let something take control of her for once.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Heather is a closeted bisexual. Not in a hide in the bathroom, and kiss inside a stall type of way… more so a “I don’t even know that I really like girls” type of way. She’s had a few moments when she’s looked at Kelly and thought “Wow, she’s fucking hot,” but everyone finds people of their same gender attractive right? It’s almost like finding yourself attractive in a way.

In reality, Heather only finds Kelly attractive because she’s just as high strung as she is. In Heather’s eyes it comes across as determined… but the both of them are just batshit crazy. 

When she’s not participating in one of her many after school activities she likes to sit out in the woods. It’s quiet, and sometimes it’s nice to be alone. She’ll take a couple of schoolbooks, a snack, and just hide behind the trees watching the road. Only a few cars pass by, and the rumbling of the engines mixing with the hum of nature is soothing. Now that Brian has gone missing, she’s strayed from that spot, not from fear directly – she just hasn’t had the opportunity to return just yet.

She doesn’t listen to much music, it’s distracting. Especially when she’s trying to study; which is more times than not. When she hangs out with Julie, she’s more open to doing ‘fun’ things, but only so she’ll shut up about it. 

Heather takes pride in the fact that she is dependable. She gets things done correctly the first time. Wasting time isn’t something she’s fond of, and she would rather take her time to get it right rather than rush and do a mediocre job.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Marie Age: 22 Pronouns: She/her/hers Timezone: GMT+1 (summertime) Activity estimation: Fairly active. I can be online most of the day even if I’m not always writing. My roleplaying is usually really writing heavy so it’s obviously impossible for me to churn out 3+ replies every day but it’s not impossible, depending on my muse + real life commitments, which I have a few, but I believe communication is key so I’ll always let the admins and the group know. Your current activity requirements is perfect to me. Triggers: REDACTED

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Julie Middle West Age (DD/MM/YYY): Eighteen (b. 07/09/1978) Gender: Cisgender female Pronouns: She/her/hers Sexuality: Undefined. It’s not something Julie has quite explored and labels aren’t something she’s familiar with. Her family was never one to discuss sexuality any more than they had to (like the very awkward ‘sex’ talk they had on Julie’s sixteenth birthday) so her knowledge is fairly limited. I feel like it’s very likely she’s aromantic: whatever she feels isn’t love, even if she doesn’t know it. The same could apply to sexuality but she does find both boys and girls attractive… or, as attractive as someone can be. Occupation: High school student, babysitter & active member of the community. Connection to Victim: Julie likes to be friendly and when the Goode family moved to town, she was one of the first people to bake some cookies (slightly undercooked, with too much sugar and a taste no one is quite sure what it was) and welcome them to Devil’s Knot. Brian was the one to open the door, all polite smiles and thank yous. She wanted to pinch his little cheeks. She has a special fondness for meek, fragile little things. Brian was exactly that. She also volunteered to babysit. Alibi: “I was at church.” Julie had the capacity to mold herself into whatever anyone wanted her to be. Devil’s Knot is a small town and everyone knows each other, she knows the officer asking this question is doing it merely because he needs to. Surely he doesn’t think Julie West had anything to do with it. Her voice is sickening sweet and she wets her lips a bit more, hiding the chapness that constantly plagues her, before continuing. “I was helping my uncle setting things up for the gathering that was supposed to take place before. well…” she lowered her voice in a conspiratorial tone, as if what she was about to say was a secret “...the tragedy.” She shook her head as if to say “terrible thing” “poor child”. Then, she turned her eyes to the officer and while her lips didn’t move, there was something about her demeanour that felt like a smile, peaceful and concrete. I’m sure they believed her. Faceclaim: Elle Fanning

WRITING SAMPLE

Interlude: one day after Brian Goode’s disappearance.

This has become a ritual: clothes splayed on her bed, Julie is not one to lose too much time figuring out what to wear; it’s a no-brainer, the same variations of the same clothes always on hand but if there’s one thing her mother cherishes is her daughter and how thoroughly wrong she is about her: ‘my little doll’, ‘peach’, ‘darling’, ‘dearest’, all words so sweet with affection they almost make Julie cringe but that alone proves too much for her complexion.

It is Summer and outside the sun shines hot, an unrelenting heat shuning away any possible breeze. It is at such moments the name of the town makes more sense: this is Hell, this is Devil’s Knot. Julie giggles to herself without making a sound, congratulating herself on her good humour. Her mother stands behind her, unknotting her hair from the turbulence of her afternoon, twisting and pulling away any imperfections from her daughter’s mane. “You should wear the white one.” Of course, it’s always the white one, pointless to ever bring out any of the other possibilities out of the closet, but Julie likes to give her the illusion of choice. She knows what’s coming next, too: one of her mother’s tear-eyed monologue, the one time of the week she allows herself to wallow, the one time she contemplates the possibility that maybe her daughter isn’t as darling as she likes to think she is. “Your father and I often found you in the most inconspicuous places, you were always scaring us.” There it is, Julie thinks, her demeanour unchanged. “We never knew where you were, outside in the garden or roaming around the house, alone, always alone, the other kids begging you to play with them but you weren’t interested,” she continues to comb her hair, relinquishing the comb for her fingers, hacking at the knots as if they were patches of wilderness. “One day, we couldn’t find you for hours. We called you and you just wouldn’t answer, wouldn’t appear out of whatever spot you were hiding. We were so worried.” Mother’s voice starts to crack a bit, a pause to clear her throat and hold back the tears. “When you finally appeared, out of the woods, I didn’t recognize you at first. You looked so…” she didn’t finish, unable to find the proper words, perhaps too scared to say them aloud. “In your hands, there was a little bird and you smiled so wide when you saw us, despite the frown in our faces and your father’s quick-temper, already yelling at you. The bird was cupped in your hand, like a cage around it, so protective you were. Such a good girl,” she cut off mid sentence to add that last bit, the fingers that were until then combing the hair slowly stopping midway through, blonde locks tangled around them. “And then the bird started to beat its wings and the chirping, it was so loud, but still you wouldn’t let go. We tried to take it away from you but you held your ground, and the bird wouldn’t stop… until it did.” Mother wouldn’t utter the obvious, didn’t dare ask Do you remember? “Then you said, with a seriously injured voice, as if the bird had hurt you. The bird. I loved it. You always had a way about it, with love. It is suffocating.” 

She stayed in silence, still not facing her daughter, letting the story soak into the walls. Her bony hands finally let go of the hair and she took a step back, face twisting into her normal self. “Yes, the white… wear the white one.”

----

There was something in the hair, besides the excruciating heat. It was the weight of possible loss, the murmurs that became louder and louder and the gossip that started to gather around the church, little groups of people whispering in a false modesty, their practioned mournful looks of pity in their faces. Secretly, they were enjoying it. You could hear it in their voices, how despite the awful things they were saying, there was a kind of joy, electric and pulsing, to their voices. ‘What a tragedy, poor mother.’ ‘Poor boy, all alone out there, god knows where.’ ‘Who would want to do this to a child?’ ‘It’s just like twelve years ago…’ Of course, the story was still about a missing boy but already everyone was predicting the worse, the image of Phillip’s Silverman’s body hanging from a tree conjuring in their mind’s eye. Already, only a day after the boy’s disappearance, less pleasant voices started to rise.  ‘If you ask me, how come she didn’t notice her son being taken? She was right there’ ‘A single mother, with all these kids, what was she thinking?’ ‘That’s what you get for not having a man in the house’. Nevermind that twelve years ago it was the man of the house that went missing, and killed.

As Julie approaches the church, her beautiful white hair matching the prestiness of her dress, a tray of wrapped up heart-shaped cookies in her hand, the murmurs suddenly subside, everyone becoming silent for a moment before they see it is her arriving, and not the mother of the boy. “Good afternoon,” she says in the voice she has reserved especially for the church people, for the grown ups. They all smile wide, a little less fake than before and answer her in a chorus, like they’re one entity. Hello, Julie.

She goes inside. The church is mostly empty save for the widows dressed in black that practically live there. She walks to the altar, facing the sign of the cross with a defiant look, her heart beating slightly faster. She’s a holy thing, all white purity and her hands are clean, veins see-through and clear, but behind her eyes there’s something that makes everyone else avert their gaze. While the men are out in the woods looking for Brian, the woman gather in here, asking for help from above. Julie places the tray down on the table, set with a few other plates already. 

She’s been coming to this church since she was a little girl: she grew up under His watchful eye, looking down on her bruised knees from so much praying. When she arrives at the altar she makes the sign of the cross and murmurs something under her breath, presumedly ‘amen’ but it’s impossible to be sure. She goes down on her knees and claps her hands in front of her, blue eyes and swollen lips looking to the sky. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. She thinks in her head. The hard wood makes her uncomfortable, but she thinks that’s part of what the church is, what religion feels like: uncomfortable, unsettling. She pushes herself harder into it, hoping it leaves a bruise on her knees.

ANYTHING ELSE?

The Wests are a staple of tradition… and boredom. They live in a house by the side of the road with a white picket fence, Mrs. West spends her days at the nail salon catching up on the latest and Mr. West is a generic white middle-aged man who wants to please his ageing house wife. They go to church every sunday and buy everything at the local mall. Julie’s education belonged solely to her mother, who dreamed of her babydoll daughter since she was sixteen. She raised Julie to be feminine: to tidy up the house, to learn how to cook. That last one proved to be one of Julie’s favourite things. She likes to do something from scratch, and the notion that she could put anything in there and no one would know is thrilling. “Oh honey, what is that? Tastes like lemon!”

Mrs. West also paid someone to teach Julie piano lessons. No one in Devil’s Knot knew how to do it so they went to the nearest city every Saturday. Eventually, Julie grew bored of it and, especially, of the teacher, a 20-something year old plump woman who treated her as if she was a child. Of course, the woman couldn’t have known that a mere couple of lessons would be enough for Julie to understand everything she was trying to teach her.

Julie’s performance at school is average. She doesn’t display too much interest in anything, fades into the background with her barely-passing-by grades at the end of the school. It’s not because she doesn’t have the brains: indeed, Julie’s IQ is way above average, bordering on genius, she just doesn’t like to stand out… in any way.

She is the neighbourhood’s resident babysitter ever since she was old enough to take care of herself and someone else. Julie loves children and she will tell you so… and if you ever hear your child crying from the other room while Julie is in there, not to worry… I’m sure she’s taking good care of him.

Her reputation as a responsible and trustworthy teenager is a reputation that means a lot more to her than any level of popularity that she could have longed for at school. Julie is not interested in the social hierarchy of such a meaningless place, laughs behinds the backs of every popular kid and feels a deep satisfaction whenever she remembers how she turned down the direct invitation from the cheerleading squad to join them.

Julie’s family is a very religious one. One of her earliest memories is going to the church, only three or four years old and dressed in pristine white (a ‘tradition’ her mother holds to this day). She never doubted there’s a bigger and stronger presence in the world, bigger than the town and the world but, as she grows older, she’s wondering if that’s Jesus or… someone else. She’s drawn to the old testament God, the ruthless entity who does not forget nor forgive. And, of course, ever since she’s old enough to understand, she’s drawn to… “the other side”. Not that she would ever say anything about it, not that she dared to investigate any further (yet). But there’s no denying the weight she feels in her chest, and how dark it is.

The woods is one of her favourite places in Devil’s Knot. Julie likes to be surrounded by the immensity of it, appreciates how someone can easily get lost and swallowed up by something so beautiful, seemingly harmless. She likes to wander about and there’s a special place by the creek that calms her; she likes to bathe there, feel the ice-cold water against her bare back.

Julie collects things: little things, meaningless things. Dried leaves, old books, dead bugs. She keeps them hidden in a box under the bed. It’s mostly things she finds in the woods… and some things she knows she probably shouldn’t have but the cops never came looking for...

Media inspiration:

Lizzie (2018)

Midsommar (2019)

Gone Girl (2014)

Neon Demon (2016)

Raw (2016)

Killing Eve (tv show)

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Maria Age: 23 Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT Activity estimation: Every other day Triggers: REDACTED

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Abel Byron Hawker Age : 05/08/1923 Gender: Male Pronouns: Him/Her Sexuality: Straighter than the Tennessee Line Occupation: Mayor of Devil’s Knot Connection to Victim: Abel Hawker knows pretty much everyone in Devil’s Knot, whether they realise it or not. The same could be said for the Goode’s. Though he never personally interacted much with Brian, Abel certainly positioned himself at the forefront of the search. After all, a Mayor has to take responsibility for the safety of his citizenry. In Abel’s case, he does so by putting pressure on the police on Ms Goode’s behalf. Not that she asked him to, of course. Alibi: According to Abel and members of the Chapter, he attended his regular meeting after church but left early due to a headache and went home. It was, like many evenings, the usual for the Mayor. Faceclaim: Jeremy Irons

WRITING SAMPLE

The Michigan sun poked through the veranda, the soft, not too warm glow basked Mayor Hawker’s face in its orange hue. A curl of smoke cut through the clear blue skies as it wafted from the end of his thickly rolled cigar. He remained like that, leaning on his rocking chair, its long swinging creeks creating a lulling song that he could and had listened to most of his life.

It was his father’s chair, and his father’s father likely sat on something not too dissimilar. Carved from the wood of one of the many red oaks that lined the property, it represented everything the Hawker’s were about. Longevity, home-grown and standing the test of time. He fingers, rough and coarse from the years, ran over the expertly polished arms, just appreciating the craftsmanship as well as the weather.

As he sat, relaxing and looking out, a little song crept into his mind. It drew a slow forming, gentle smile on his lips, his crisp paper-like skin pulling with it. There was no one around, and that was just how he liked it in long afternoons like this. For a moment, he let his eyes closed, heeled shoe clicking against the hardwood of the patio, drumming the beat for an old ditty.

“I loved a girl in Saginaw, Michigan…” His voice was underlined with a faint croak that matched the eek of his chair, the tune rumbling deep in his chest to produce the consummate voice of an older singer.

An image began to form in his mind as he took another deep intake of his cigar. Him and his boys in the brushy fields of Pyongtaek, the beginning to the Korean war stretching out ahead of them. Benny banged his metal mug against the table with all the enthusiasm of Buddy Rich reborn, and Tony clapped completely offbeat as Abel and Ryan started up a song. It wasn’t this one, but that didn’t matter. He could still see them now, their eyes bright and ready to return home as heroes. It wouldn’t take long, after all, it was just some country folks who had caught up with the Russian’s red curtain, that’s what they thought. “The daughter of a wealthy, wealthy man…”

The image of Benny sprawled across the dirt floated up in Abel’s mind as the song continued. His guts had been a pollock-esque splash of reds and browns, glistening in the summer heat. Next to him, Tony was slumped with a bullet hole in the centre of his head.

“But he called me, that son of a Saginaw fisherman…”

And Ryan? Well, Ryan never quite came back right. They found him drowned in the river just two months before the end.

“And not good enough, to claim his daughter’s hand…”

The front gate creaked down the long garden path that led up to the porch, causing Abel to crack an eye open. He pulled the cigar reluctantly from his lips, licking the spot that it had sat on, its warm presence still a ghost against the skin.

“Now I’m up here in Alaska, looking around for gold…”

He continued, a little louder, letting the words drift towards his new guest. The flash of the Sherrif office’s brown uniform was all he needed to see, continuing to idly rock as if he hadn’t noticed anything at all. Only once the visitor was climbing the porch steps did he deign to speak rather than sing away.

“I was startin’ to wonder if you were gonna turn up, my boy.”

The youth was a rookie; it only took one glance to tell. Blonde hair and greener than the fields, the 20-something kid awkwardly grasped his belt and tried to stand straight, but it was evident with the uncertain flicker of his eyes around the large Hawker estate that it was all for show. Abel thought he recognised him, one of those good for nothing kids that got raised on the poorer side of town. Typical that George Adam would give these economic rejects a chance. “Urm…ur…Mayor Hawker, sorry to bother you sir but-”

“Aye, aye, I’m aware boy, you gotta do your due diligence and get the story of what I was doing that night.”

Abel slowly pulled himself off his chair, with all the speed of a seaswept turtle, which was entirely on purpose, as anyone who knew Hawker knows that the Mayor kept himself in good health. He gave the standard ‘ah’ that an old person was expected to give after completing menial physical tasks as if they had climbed the summit of Everest. With a wave, he gestured the kid officer to follow, pushing open his ornately carved front door and shuffling into the Hawker estate.

Estate was a polite word for it. It was a mansion in pretty much every regard, an ancestral home that would immediately put anyone at unease. There was just a vastness to it that put one on the back foot, as they look up at the ceiling that seemed almost as far as the moon, it’s large traditional beamed structure overlaying a pure white paint job. The walls were a half mix of beaming, polished to a shine, wooden panelling and delicate fleur-de-lis sprouting wallpaper that made it feel akin to a royal’s home.

Confronted by a large hallway that could easily fit three people shoulder to shoulder and a long, winding staircase that enticed one to see what the three upper floors held, the rookie police officer did what anyone would have - he froze.

Abel for his part kept walking a little down the way until he glanced over he shoulder, that grin coming out again. It was the full simper that belonged to a man a few decades his junior, but he wore it now just as he had in his youth, the life in it flashing in his eyes like claps of thunder. It that moment, it was as if he filled the space of the whole house, as grand and extensive as it was. “Come on boy, ain’t time for slack jaws, your boss will have your ass if you take too long.”

The cop shook his head free, quickly stepping after his guide. The house on its part kept an eye on the visitor, the walls lined with sprawling quantities of photos, whose subjects stared out to those passing. It went from old sepia constructs that desperately tried to fight the effects of ageing behind their glass windows to much more recent copies, showing the Mayor, his own children and a plethora of grandchildren.

Eventually, they turned into one of the adjourning rooms, revealing a parlour lounge. Abel didn’t waste a moment, his body immediately cut to the side of the room where a tray sat with a collection of alcohol, whiskey duly placed in a decanter. The rookie didn’t even have a chance to speak before the older man was thrusting a delicate crystal tumbler with the perfect amount of ice and bourbon in it.

“Ah..” The officer blinked after what seemed like an age, finally processing what was being offered and responding to it with a gentle shake of his head.

“I’m flattered sir, but I’m duty I can-”

“Hogwash.” Abel cut in. His voice had a sense of power to it, a thick with husky confidence that was at once both honeyed in Michiganian drawl and intense in its strength. It was almost like being hugged and punched at the exact same moment, it winded you, and you found yourself wondering what exactly happened.

“Ain’t your ma told you that it’s rude to refuse what is offered in a man’s home? It’s just one glass, ain’t no one gonna know.” He pressed the glass into the boy’s chest, and let it go, forcing the poor chap to hold it to avoid it following.

Abel turned around to sit on one of his lounge chairs, the movement hiding the sly smirk that drew across his lips. It always was so easy to play people to a fiddle. More often than not, all it took was a level of firmness, confidence that just begged people to question you and say no. Most people fold because humans, by nature, try to escape conflict. It only took fighters like the Hawker patriarch to know how to only bend to your own will.

“Aren’t you having some as well, sir?”

Perched on his old leather chair, Abel gestured at the boy again, his old veiny fingers beckoning him like a lazy puppeteer. He seemed almost like a relaxed king, his chin lifted in what could be confused for an old man trying to adjust his sight but was, in fact, concealed contempt. “Me? Oh no, I’m going on eighty, son, I gotta pick my battles with the booze. So, whatcha gonna ask me?”

Deputy took a sip of the bourbon likely to try to avoid causing offence and cleared his throat awkwardly before drawing closer to the Mayor. “Well sir, I just need to know your whereabouts and actions on the night of Saturday, 5th October.”

“Boy, if I told you about my whole day, we’re gonna be here till morn, how about you just give me some times to work with eh?”

A blush drew across the officer’s cheek, and he took a longer sip of the bourbon, trying to drown out the embarrassment. It was quite the social awkwardness to waste the Mayor’s time after all. “Ah yes well, any time in the afternoon would be helpful, urm, sir.”

“Well, I spend most of my evenings by the church, meetings and such with the local community. Wasn’t any different that way. I was doing an after prayer meeting at the church like I’ve been doing for longer than you’ve probably been alive.” It didn’t seem like a cutting remark, more just a flag clearly planted. It spoke clearly to the situation 'I’ve been doing this for a very long time. Have respect’.

“Yes, of course, sir, I’m sure the group will also confirm that, ah…um…” The poor newbie was struggling on the whole 'interviewing’ process, he juggled between his glass and getting a notepad from his shirt pocket. In what could only be described as an awkward tangle of limbs, the deputy eventually flicked to a page of notes and setting down his glass, he starts to write.

“Did you do anything after that, sir?”

Abel paused. It was just a minutia of movement, a brief hesitation that was entirely missable. He had to think about what he wanted to say for a moment, which was a rarity. “I got a headache, my age you know, soon as you get a whiff of a cold it hits you hard. So I came home early, and just…relaxed.”

“Of course, understandable, sir.” The youngster gave a nervous smile that likely was trying to be charming, though Abel barely gave it the time of day. Took more like cordial social interactions to actual gain his favour. He was at his heart, the sort of man that appreciated action over the frivolity of words.

“What’s your name, boy?”

The deputy blinked, and stared at Abel as if to ask 'me?’. The Mayor just raised a patient brow, a corner of his lips curled in a half-smile to encourage the boy.

“Urm, D-Deputy Roger Turner…sir.”

“Roger, old sorta name that. Did Sherriff Malvo recruit you?” Abel asked his questions with a gracious smile, but his tone was the kind that a police officer may have wielded ironically. It held a profound sense that answering wasn’t optional.

The deputy just nodded, putting his pad away and blinking away like an epiphytic deer in headlights.

“You know, I went to school with the Sherriff. I was older, but I knew him well enough. Still know him.”

Still completely lost on where this is going, the officer just bobbed his head along like a toy being shaken. His eyes were wide-eyed as if the prospect that his boss could know the Mayor well was surprising, even though anyone with even a modicum of a brain would expect it.

“I know, that if he knew one of his deputies, sent here to question me formally in the capacity of his office, decided to stand around and sip my bourbon, he’d fire them quicker than you could say missing kid.” It was said with the clinical cut of a surgeon. A master of the board calling out his checkmate, though Abel had to admit when it came to dimwits like Rogers, it so easy as to be boring.

The penny dropped. No, in fact, it tumbled down with the force of a loosen boulder, and just like that the naive youngster realised the brevity of his mistake. The only thing deputy could offer was a bumbling mess of words. “I well, you, um, I don’t…what?”

“It’s alright, my boy, I ain’t that cruel. I think we can come to an arrangement, make sure you can keep doing your good work. Take a seat.” To say Roger took the seat was being charitable, it was closer to collapse, the heavy browned leather of seat wrapping around him and making him seem like the 'boy’ that Abel had been calling him from the start. He just mutedly nodded, putting himself in the Mayor’s mercy.

The grin came back as Abel sat forward, a cat who had spotted its next meal. His eyes narrowed in conspiratorial slits a that broad smile of a kindly old man could now be seen to be what it actually had been, the deadly visage of a man who was unforgiving in exploiting your weaknesses. A game hunter in sight of prey.

“Now, why don’t you tell me all the hard work ya’ll have been doing. Don’t leave anything out.”

ANYTHING ELSE?

> Abel Hawker is a man of the draft. Not only did he serve in the Second World War upon turning 19 in 1943, but he then went on to make a second draft into the Korean war in his twenties. He’s a man who has killed and be trained to kill, causing violence to be no stranger to him. However, being a soldier has its price. There’s a simmering rage in Abel that’s hidden beneath his advanced age and small-town manners. It takes a lot to unsettle a man whose been in such brutal wars, but if you do, expect to find a hurricane of force that would rival many of Michigan’s infamous tornados.

> The Mayor was a loyal husband while he still had a wife, and can be quite the caring partner back in the days when he bothered with relationships. A sense of loyalty runs deep in him, and it spreads to his family. While he could never truly understand the interracial and liberal relationships that his children took on, he never removed his support (though he did spare a comment or two of opinion on it), because to him, family sticks together, always.

> No one is entirely sure of the source of the Hawker family wealth. It seems to be an accepted part of Devil’s Knot. The sun rises, the snow falls, and the Hawker family are wealthy. Only Abel and his father before him genuinely knows how the fortune was built and continues to be maintained. Make no mistake, the Mayor does not just sit on his inheritance, he grows it, to pass on to his son and his grandchildren. A tree after all, without the right care, only withers.

> The day of Brian Goode’s disappearance, Abel did indeed attend his usual Chapter meeting, he did also leave early. However, the bit he fails to often mention is that he had visitors to his house that evening when his grandson was seemingly long asleep. Man in dark coats and suitcases, who spent quite a few hours speaking to the Mayor about matters not uttered very openly.