ALTAR
The altar before you may not have been crafted by an expert, but this is without a doubt someone’s personal altar – and what a chill the intentions of this altar give you as you lean closer. Six upright photos, with handwritten labels, surround a red, unlit candle in the center. The candle sits atop yet another photo, this one of a winsome little girl. It’s labeled, “Elsie”. For just a moment, a touch of warmth blooms, like a loving hand has rested on your arm.
You pick up the candle to inspect it. It’s a blood red candle that appears to have never been lit. Red candles may be used to focus passion and desires, but the deep, visceral color of this one has more dire aims. Despite its relatively small size, it feels heavy in your hand. Someone has poured a great deal of energy into this little candle. Beneath the candle is a photo.
Oh dear. Of course, Elsie McDermott. Then this place you’ve been Called to must be the house of poor Charles McDermott. It was said that until the day he died, Charles claimed little Elsie appeared to him saying she had been murdered by someone in the house that dark night. None of your acquaintances had ever felt anything here, but now… Maybe you’ve been drawn here to finally clear the house of the dark energy that has blanketed it since Elsie and the others had passed. Elsie herself was just seven years old when she died of poison. Friends of the family had described her as bright and full of life, though something had sapped her of her strength in the days leading up to her death. She had been named after her grandmother, which seemed inauspicious considering the matriarch had been the original victim of the infamous McDermott Curse. When Charles had returned home, he had found Elsie in bed having passed on to a final sleep. You remember that it was said the little girl was actually the first one to succumb to the poison that killed them all. As you stare at the photo of Elsie, a strange fog clouds your senses. A sharp, metallic tang coats your mouth, and you quickly set the photo back down and replace the ritual candle on top.
There are six worn photos surrounding the candle in the center. These must be the other victims of the McDermott House deaths. Your mentor had visited once to try to commune with Elsie’s spirit, and you remember them talking about the mystery surrounding the house. You can select a picture below to see what you can recall:
There wasn’t much known about this man. Not surprising, if the way he avoids even the eye of the camera is any indication. You touch his photo, hoping for any sort of connection, and after a sense of hesitation, the name “Otto” blooms in your mind. You get the impression of children’s laughter, car fumes, and a whirlwind of front porches. Ah, yes, the traveling doll salesman. He was an interesting figure, one that had intrigued you the first time you heard about the McDermott House deaths. He was a mystery within a mystery. Is it possible that a soul without an anchor would stay here? Would the untimely death by poison be enough to tie his spirit to the house where he’d only ended up after giving the family a ride home?
Ah, THE Aunt Jane. The most infamous of the victims of the dread McDermott Curse, tragically punctuated with her untimely death along with the others that fateful night. The McDermott Curse had plagued the family, but it seemed to have focused its violence on Jane. First, it claimed Jane’s husband in a deadly car crash. Jane and her now-fatherless daughter Rose had tried to outrun the curse by moving to be closer to Jane’s brother Charles. However, less than a year later the Curse struck again. While out on a day trip to the park with the McDermott family, Rose was apparently kidnapped. This was what brought the McDermott curse to public knowledge, as a letter had been left behind with just a single line: “The curse is coming to get you all.” Certain that the Curse had taken everything from her it could, Jane moved into McDermott House to try to find some peace with her brother’s family. You touch the photo, hoping for some sort of connection, and a wave of melancholy washes over you. Could she have guessed the Curse had one final grand blow to strike the family? She had died in the sitting room, where she must have spent so much time trying to rebuild her life, a victim of the same poison that claimed the others.
You stare at the photo of Virgil Weber, forever caught at 14, just at that edge of leaving boyhood behind. His expression was so serious, it’s almost easy to forget that Elsie wasn’t the only child lost that night. You reach out and touch his photo, hoping for some sort of connection, and a shudder shakes through you. This poor boy must have been a riot of insecurity and turbulent emotions he didn’t know how to handle. Oh, of course he was. You remember now, he was Mrs. McDermott’s son from her first marriage, and his father had passed. Not only that, but then his mother had suddenly remarried and abruptly Virgil was moved to a new life with a new stepfather and little stepsister. Then his new cousin Rose vanishes while playing with him? All of that would seriously misalign anyone’s energies. Too bad meditation wasn’t a thing at the time, poor Virgil could have benefited from that. At least his last moments, as tragic as they were, were spent with his family.
Hm. There are some strange vibrations coming from this image of the elderly neighbor. You touch it and barely have to reach for a connection before -oh! Birds chirp and a feeling of HOME HOME HOME. Ah, yes, the neighbor Ms. Birdie (‘Elizabeth Lovage, thank you very much’ a prim voice at the back of your head scoffs). Her father had built and lived in the house that is now known as McDermott house long before Charles McDermott settled his family there. Despite having sold the house, the energy radiating from her photo leaves little doubt that she forever regarded this place as hers. Not only that, but she must have been here frequently, from the way you can feel a matching energy echoing around you. In fact, it’s starting to feel a little suffocating. You focus on the reassurance that her life ended in the beloved home it began in, before letting go of her photo.
Here’s another odd figure in the McDermott House mystery. Little of… (‘Emmett’, the name rumbles through you softly as you look at the shadowed face in the photo). Little of Emmett lingers in the aura of the house. Not a member of the family, but a victim of its Curse nonetheless. You reach for his photo and are surprised when you’re hit with the echoes of children chattering, before a clutter of words and numbers and question marks jumble your thoughts. You let go of the photo with a cough, and your thoughts settle. You wouldn’t have expected “the loner lodger” that you’d heard of to be a riddlemaster and defacto babysitter, but there’s no denying the noise you picked up. All that for his life to end abruptly in a house and with a family that wasn’t his.
Like that of her son, you find yourself captivated by the photo of Vera McDermott. She looks like something out of an old film, distant and beautiful. However, you suspect that she was as emotional as her son behind that composed mask. Sure enough, you reach for her photo, hoping for any kind of connection, and a chill shoots through your veins before it feels like you’re overtaken by a fever. This was without a doubt a passionate woman who fought to keep a tight rein on her emotions. That sort of thing could not have been good for the chakras. She must have taken it hard when her first husband died to have kept her emotions locked down so tightly. Well, not so tightly that she didn’t fall in love with Charles so quickly. Did she know she was marrying into a cursed family? Could she have imagined that this home she joined and tried to rebuild would claim her and her son? You let go of her photo and breathe a sigh of relief as you shake the pins and needles from your hand. You wonder at the potency of her remnant energy, and wonder for a moment why a forceful spirit like that wasn’t the one to appear to Charles, her husband, over all those years.
You pick up the candle to inspect it. It’s a blood red candle that appears to have never been lit. Red candles may be used to focus passion and desires, but the deep, visceral color of this one has more dire aims. Despite its relatively small size, it feels heavy in your hand. Someone has poured a great deal of energy into this little candle. Beneath the candle is a photo.
Oh dear. Of course, Elsie McDermott. Then this place you’ve been Called to must be the house of poor Charles McDermott. It was said that until the day he died, Charles claimed little Elsie appeared to him saying she had been murdered by someone in the house that dark night. None of your acquaintances had ever felt anything here, but now… Maybe you’ve been drawn here to finally clear the house of the dark energy that has blanketed it since Elsie and the others had passed. Elsie herself was just seven years old when she died of poison. Friends of the family had described her as bright and full of life, though something had sapped her of her strength in the days leading up to her death. She had been named after her grandmother, which seemed inauspicious considering the matriarch had been the original victim of the infamous McDermott Curse. When Charles had returned home, he had found Elsie in bed having passed on to a final sleep. You remember that it was said the little girl was actually the first one to succumb to the poison that killed them all. As you stare at the photo of Elsie, a strange fog clouds your senses. A sharp, metallic tang coats your mouth, and you quickly set the photo back down and replace the ritual candle on top.
There wasn’t much known about this man. Not surprising, if the way he avoids even the eye of the camera is any indication. You touch his photo, hoping for any sort of connection, and after a sense of hesitation, the name “Otto” blooms in your mind. You get the impression of children’s laughter, car fumes, and a whirlwind of front porches. Ah, yes, the traveling doll salesman. He was an interesting figure, one that had intrigued you the first time you heard about the McDermott House deaths. He was a mystery within a mystery. Is it possible that a soul without an anchor would stay here? Would the untimely death by poison be enough to tie his spirit to the house where he’d only ended up after giving the family a ride home?
Ah, THE Aunt Jane. The most infamous of the victims of the dread McDermott Curse, tragically punctuated with her untimely death along with the others that fateful night. The McDermott Curse had plagued the family, but it seemed to have focused its violence on Jane. First, it claimed Jane’s husband in a deadly car crash. Jane and her now-fatherless daughter Rose had tried to outrun the curse by moving to be closer to Jane’s brother Charles. However, less than a year later the Curse struck again. While out on a day trip to the park with the McDermott family, Rose was apparently kidnapped. This was what brought the McDermott curse to public knowledge, as a letter had been left behind with just a single line: “The curse is coming to get you all.” Certain that the Curse had taken everything from her it could, Jane moved into McDermott House to try to find some peace with her brother’s family. You touch the photo, hoping for some sort of connection, and a wave of melancholy washes over you. Could she have guessed the Curse had one final grand blow to strike the family? She had died in the sitting room, where she must have spent so much time trying to rebuild her life, a victim of the same poison that claimed the others.
You stare at the photo of Virgil Weber, forever caught at 14, just at that edge of leaving boyhood behind. His expression was so serious, it’s almost easy to forget that Elsie wasn’t the only child lost that night. You reach out and touch his photo, hoping for some sort of connection, and a shudder shakes through you. This poor boy must have been a riot of insecurity and turbulent emotions he didn’t know how to handle. Oh, of course he was. You remember now, he was Mrs. McDermott’s son from her first marriage, and his father had passed. Not only that, but then his mother had suddenly remarried and abruptly Virgil was moved to a new life with a new stepfather and little stepsister. Then his new cousin Rose vanishes while playing with him? All of that would seriously misalign anyone’s energies. Too bad meditation wasn’t a thing at the time, poor Virgil could have benefited from that. At least his last moments, as tragic as they were, were spent with his family.
Hm. There are some strange vibrations coming from this image of the elderly neighbor. You touch it and barely have to reach for a connection before -oh! Birds chirp and a feeling of HOME HOME HOME. Ah, yes, the neighbor Ms. Birdie (‘Elizabeth Lovage, thank you very much’ a prim voice at the back of your head scoffs). Her father had built and lived in the house that is now known as McDermott house long before Charles McDermott settled his family there. Despite having sold the house, the energy radiating from her photo leaves little doubt that she forever regarded this place as hers. Not only that, but she must have been here frequently, from the way you can feel a matching energy echoing around you. In fact, it’s starting to feel a little suffocating. You focus on the reassurance that her life ended in the beloved home it began in, before letting go of her photo.
Here’s another odd figure in the McDermott House mystery. Little of… (‘Emmett’, the name rumbles through you softly as you look at the shadowed face in the photo). Little of Emmett lingers in the aura of the house. Not a member of the family, but a victim of its Curse nonetheless. You reach for his photo and are surprised when you’re hit with the echoes of children chattering, before a clutter of words and numbers and question marks jumble your thoughts. You let go of the photo with a cough, and your thoughts settle. You wouldn’t have expected “the loner lodger” that you’d heard of to be a riddlemaster and defacto babysitter, but there’s no denying the noise you picked up. All that for his life to end abruptly in a house and with a family that wasn’t his.
Like that of her son, you find yourself captivated by the photo of Vera McDermott. She looks like something out of an old film, distant and beautiful. However, you suspect that she was as emotional as her son behind that composed mask. Sure enough, you reach for her photo, hoping for any kind of connection, and a chill shoots through your veins before it feels like you’re overtaken by a fever. This was without a doubt a passionate woman who fought to keep a tight rein on her emotions. That sort of thing could not have been good for the chakras. She must have taken it hard when her first husband died to have kept her emotions locked down so tightly. Well, not so tightly that she didn’t fall in love with Charles so quickly. Did she know she was marrying into a cursed family? Could she have imagined that this home she joined and tried to rebuild would claim her and her son? You let go of her photo and breathe a sigh of relief as you shake the pins and needles from your hand. You wonder at the potency of her remnant energy, and wonder for a moment why a forceful spirit like that wasn’t the one to appear to Charles, her husband, over all those years.