Is it time to give up on “Skepticism”?

Today I’m recovering from a rather unpleasant patch of illness that has left me drained, tired and at times irritable — and has prevented me posting the following thoughts for over a week. As I can’t see anyone caring anyway, the following post can be seen as a sort of note to self — but hopefully in future rows I can refer people here. I was awaiting the chance to read Daniel Loxton’s piece on scepticism – I often agree with him on much – but in the end have seized the opportunity to write my own thoughts here. I shall adopt a short, simple and hopefully clear style, rather than my usual one.

So, I don’t want to be called a “skeptic” any more. Or even a “sceptic”, though I think I prefer that, it having the advantage of being spelt correctly in the British English I speak. Of course, if you go to the Greek — but either way, the issue is sceptic does not work for me. I even think it’s potentially harmful. We might need to lose it.

I know a bit about ghosts. I know people experience ghosts. I’m still fairly ambivalent about what ghost experiences represent and whether science can currently explain them. (I think not all).  I am therefore surely not a sceptic?: I am open to “paranormal” beliefs.

Or am I? Skip back to 2006 when I joined the JREF forum, Randi’s place. People were just as belligerent and rude there back then as today (and some, indeed many, just as ace) and I soon ended up trying to explain that I saw Scepticism as a methodology,  a critical process of investigating facts and assessing evidence, rather than a simple process of nay saying. I argued many posters at the JREF were “a priori skeptics” – that is that they knew say the paranormal was all bunk, therefore there was no need to address paranormal claims. (And such opinions still appear there today). APS, a priori skepticism can be defended as a tactic, but is irrational (in the technical sense) as an actual worldview.

I guess I had best defend that last statement. OK, imagine tomorrow we prove that some phenomena that occurs in paranormal books – take Giant Squid  as that happened – really exists. Giant squid were staples of 70′ paranormal books. Therefore to APS they can not be real because they are/were paranormal. Now you can presumably if you are an a priori skeptic move things from the “paranormal” to the “real” category — but how remains rather obscure, because once you allow that it removes any justification for the APS of paranormal claims in the first place.  Luckily most people who adopt APS are not concerned with epistemology or consistency, only in sneering at anyone who lacks their extreme faith-based beliefs. (I’m sure I don’t have to explain why APS is faith based?)

So enough of APS: it is still a minority position. Most sceptics I spoke to agreed with my 2006 definition of scepticism as a process: a way of looking at the world. Now I spent a lot of 2008-2010 reading philosophy of science, as I kept finding myself puzzled by things I experienced in sceptical circles (people used “rationalist” to mean something other than “argument based on deduction, not sense-observation” for example — and they used “empirical” to include mathematical proofs which are not empirical but rationalist, as well as conflating “rational” and “true” and “irrational” with “false”. I was irritated at times by what seemed to be the exuberance and bull headed self confidence of people who thought they were clever, yet often struck me as not actually knowing what they were talking about. Rather than fight over misappropriation of philosophical language, words can change their meanings and usage after all, I however noted something quite clear —

There seemed little difference between a process sceptic (or methodological scepticism) and normal scientific methodologies.

Yes I really did just write that in red bold. Methodological Scepticism and Science are one and the same thing. If you disagree with me, as I’m sure someone must, then please do comment, and tell me how they differ. Both begin by asking questions, and usually involve attempting to falsify a hypothesis. Both involve ending up making a judgement regarding the strength of the evidence, and if the research supported or opposed certain conclusions. Science like Scepticism can be performed by people irrespective of their personal ideological baggage – even  Richard Dawkins has been able to perform science successfully despite his clearly strong ideological biases. 

In process Scepticism paranormal belief is perfectly compatible with said scepticism, if that is what the empirical evidence leads you to. And hence the strong scepticism among many spiritualist circles, and large numbers of scientists I think who sit in such circles – they have a very anti-faith and evidence based mindset, and spiritualism provides what appears to be empirical proof, or so its adherents profess.

Now I’ve bolded that last paragraph cos I want to look at it more. I’m not a spiritualist, and immediately my instinct is sod “process scepticism”/”scientific methodology”, they are all deluded or being defrauded. Yet I immediately stop myself – because that claim is absolutely unfounded. I have certainly seen fake mediums – and ones who were convinced of their own abilities too – but I certainly have not seen enough to know they were all fakes, even if the Problem of Induction allowed one to make such grandiose claims. I have certainly know enough intelligent critical people who think they have encountered empirical evidence of the persistence after death of loved ones to realise my reaction is emotional, and far from sceptical.

As a sceptic I should do the work: conduct some experiments, investigate the evidence, and not draw conclusions beyond what the evidence permits. To allow “scientific cultures” sneering contempt for mediumship to influence my thinking is clearly seriously unscientific; and when I turn to the arguments most commonly brought against studying such things as impossible, I find most of them are of the category “belief claims for a materialist philosophical worldview” rather than actually anything to do with Science.

If Scepticism is as I propose simply synonymous with Science, it must remain as neutral as possible in framing the questions and conducting the research. If Scepticism is not Science, but instead something more akin to the philosophical defence (apologetics) of materialist, reductionist, and eliminative philosophies then it should be honest that it is that – faith based teaching, a form of apologetics, and state so.

So to go back to those spiritualists — I must adopt an open minded approach as far as I can, given my prejudices, to the phenomena. I must attempt to be objective. If strong belief either way is allowed to interfere with my reading of the data, my science will be flawed. I will want to render the whole research as transparent and objective as possible.

So why disguise my Scientific investigation as something else, dressing it up as “sceptical”? If that term says nothing about my final position (which will be evidence based) why use the misleading “sceptic”  term? I’m assuming that no one thinks one can scientifically investigate spiritualism’s reality with the conclusion already written – that would be appalling science – so why take on a label that seems to suggest one is doing exactly such a thing?

Furthermore, imagine you think you have seen a ghost, or a bigfoot, or somesuch. You look in the phonebook – there is the local woo group with their YouTube video series, or the local SCEPTIC. Who will you go to? I doubt it will be the sceptic – even if you are unsure about exactly what you experienced, sceptic implies someone who won’t believe you.

Science is methodologically rigorous, critical thinking, and evidence based. Why do we need to add a Skeptic label?

We don’t. I suggest “Skeptics” stop trying to promote “scepticism”, and promote simpler easier to sell virtues, Truth and Science. No one will react badly to you promising to use science and objectively look for the truth. They may even support you.

I can only think of four reasons why the term Sceptic may be used…

1. It may be employed by people who feel insecure about their credentials for doing science. Don’t. You do not need to  wear a white coat or have a PhD in a Scientific discipline to do science. If you aspire to do science, people will help you. Choose a simple research topic, think of an experiment, and try and ask a few folks to check out your methodology before you start. Make sure your ethics are good. And publish your results, if only on the web

2. It might be employed by people who think researching say ESP or Lake Monsters without setting out clearly they think it is all bunk will damage their university careers and funding. If so I sympathise, but your publications can speak for themselves, and I think the contrary implication that you are researching topics with your mind already made up as to the outcomes might do you rather more damage in much of academia than a predilection for studying slightly offbeat things.

3. It might be employed by people who genuinely believe there is a difference between sceptical and scientific methodologies, and that the former is superior. If such a position is held, please do explain it to me.

and finally 4. Some people may like calling themselves skeptics because it sounds clever. I have often found skeptics to be fairly intellectually self-assured.   I don’t think advocating Science is any less clever though.

So seriously, this whole skeptic thing, it has got so much baggage attached. Stuff it. You find great papers and poor papers in the journals, and whether written by sceptics or believers is irrelevant. Evidence and sound analysis — good science – is what matters at the end of the day.

cj x

My Christmas Card To You 2012

The shades of Derek & Harry Marloes, calling upon me to repent!

Hey all!

I managed to go a whole year without getting a cold or sick, and was becoming all too smug about it – and now I find myself on Christmas Eve laid up in bed unwell! Well next year I shall do better. Anyway I did not manage to sort out any Christmas cards, apart from a few for my family I shall take home when I visit mum and dad next – because what sibling would not want a Christmas Card in mid-January? Anyhows, I figured I’d make a Christmas card, and then if people want it they can download it and read it, and if they don’t, they don’t have to and I won’t know anyway and we can all live happily ever after.

Now if you know me you have probably guessed that my saving on rewarding Clinton Card’s shareholders and saving Wicked Postmen DC, the lugubrious Postmen Ben and Tom “Christmas Temp” Nowells’ backs as they heft mailbags is not why I did not send cards. I am of course, a notorious Scrooge, and chose to pay the rent rather than do it. That is not the only reason Scrooge appears above though, for this card is about to turn in to an account of the horrors that have recently visited me!

‘Twas three nights ago, and I was soundly sleeping the sleep of the just, having been reading the latest Journal of the Society for Psychical Research (henceforth SPR). “I’ll just read this fascinating article and then…” – and of course I was snoring away. The cats padded around mewling, looking for food: from somewhere in the house came snoring, but in my room all was peaceful. And then it happened – I awakened to find two terrible shades, clanking chains and moaning their guilt, calling upon me to repent and mend my ways! (See illustration above). Yes; I was faced by the shades of Derek and Harry, forever banished in to the outer darkness for their sins against psychical research!!! These former ghosthunting associates of mine wailed upon me to REPENT! REPENT! I was immediately filled with curiosity, sat up, grabbed a pen and started to take notes. Derek (and Harry) were alive: There is no doubt whatever about that.

“Oh Frightful Shades summoned forth from my mis-spent youth” I cried, “you two are still very much with us, which means you have probably not run in to the SPR committee recently. You are therefore clearly ‘Phantasms of the Living’? So are you actually telepathic projections from the appearant, namely yourselves, hallucinated by me as percipient, or are you actually caused as Gurney appears to suggest in some of his later writings telepathically generated by me after I passively survey the environment using ESP powers?”

The two phantoms stopped clanking, and looked extremely annoyed. No one likes a smart arse., especially one who has spent the last 15 years since they gave up on this stuff studying theories of apparitions. The phantasmal Derek wailed a lament “You are supposed to say ‘You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!’”.

I was too interested to remark on how our understanding of hallucinations in the sane had moved on a bit since disordered digestion was commonly blamed, I was now far more interested in learning all I could about the two “Marleys”. ‘Are you consciously aware of your projecting status? Can you supply me with some veridical data, that I can note down and subsequently show to prove that you were external entities not mere dreams? The winner in the 2.15 at Aintree, your current bank accounts details and sort code and security three digit code, that sort of thing?” I inquired hopefully.

The phantom Harry now responded, in good old fashioned Anglo-Saxon, and with a muttered threat about three more ghosts they vanished wailing through the floor.

Oh well, I’d be ready for them now…

The Ghost of Christmas Past never stood a chance. No sooner had he walked through the wall, the blinding flashes of my cameras froze him in terror. I was upon him with a dictaphone. “Right, spook, I’ve waited years for this chance. First question, are you composed of normal matter and energy? That is, are you physical?” I rammed him unapologetically in the bottom with an EMF meter, and the poor spook let out a howl of horror. “Ah fairly physical.” I prodded his ectoplasmic bulk again, and then scraped off some of his beard in to a Petri dish for analysis. “Right, Second question, are you a telepathic projection, or are the discarnate spiritual remnants of a deceased human as Spiritualists suggest?” It seems the question was too much for the poor spook: he turned, and with a truly melodramatic wail launched himself up the chimney. Never mind. Two more to come…

Like any Big Game Hunter, I have patience. And kit. The unquiet shade of Christmas Present was not leaving until I had thoroughly grilled him on the conditions of the hereafter, and advanced parapsychology 200 years and won a Nobel. Ha! Dawkins and Randi will never recover! All thoughts of Goodwill to All Men, Women, Ghosts and Small Fluffy Animals had left. I had my chance and I was going to take it – these ghosts were gonna talk, or else! My only problem was I do not have a Proton Pack, PKE meter or any of that fictional stuff. What I have is vast amounts of peer reviewed parapsychological literature on ghosts, and that seems to be singularly lacking in practical advice in how to grab one and interrogate it. However soon I had a plan!

I have always said Gauld and Cornell’s 1979 magisterial study Poltergeists is a wonderful book, and as the Ghost of Christmas Present came through the wall, I took my chance to finally use it’s 389 page bulk, and deftly clumped the spook over the head with it. To my horror the book just passed straight through it, and the ghost of Christmas Present flailed about horrified as cameras flashed and my webcam recorded every gruesome detail. “Hey” I said “you looked like John Travolta there pulling those dance moves” The spirit looked indignant, and I hastily pursed my advantage. “OK ghostie, I have you on video to show the world. Now we can do this nicely – or I can dub Staying Alive on that little performance of yours, and post it to YouTube? You will be a laughing stock. So sit down and start telling me everything.”

I felt just a tiny bit mean, but this was for Science! The poor old ghost knew when he was beaten, and sat miserably down. “please” he muttered “ just don’t start on about paradigms, phenomenology or the nature of consciousness. I’d prefer to sit through Skeptics In the Pub than that any day!”. Now I had him! I prepared to discover who was right on apparitions – McCreery and Green, Tyrell, Hart, Myers, Podmore or Gurney! Now I could revolutionise the field.

And at that moment, Marmalade came hurtling in the room, chasing Cuddles, in some 3am feline game. I was distracted, and as I turned to shoo the cats out, the Ghost of Christmas Present grabbed my webcam and apported it to another dimension, before leaving up the chimney in a flash of spectral smoke.

I had twenty minutes to modify the hoover, and I used all I know of Paraphysics and Weird Science. This time the spook was not getting away. I have never built a Carnacki Electric Pentacle before, but I have now, and it glowed beautifully in neon colours on the floor, ready to trap and contain the third pesky ghost. This time, I was READY for them! I had donned a set of painter and decorators overalls I keep for when Hugh is called upon to help out (frequently), and had strapped Lisa’s GOBLIN hoover on my back, and looked for all the world like a cut price DIY ghostbuster…

Anyway, you can guess how it all ended. If the Ghost of Christmas Future is not something you have ever seen it, imagine it as a sort of balefully spooky version of Metal Mickey the robot from the 80′s kid’s show. The electric pentacle did its job well, and I was able to suck the ectoplasmic shade up in to the bagless hoover, but then it all went wrong. The hoover became possessed, and even as I struggled Becky up to witness the apparition, so at least it would count as a collective case (she muttered something about “already passed my VIVA” and went back to sleep) the hoover ran around and around in circles, bleeping eerily, and waving its hose in the air in a frighteningly Freudian manner. Even as I prepared to leap upon it and unplug it, prepare dot bear it in triumph to the SPR office at Marloes Road, the blasted thing managed to open a vortex to another dimension.

Now I, being a generous soul, had of course bought an exquisite, expensive and lovely presents for you all. Unfortunately as the ghost and hoover vanished through the TV to another dimension, it took with it all my carefully purchased Christmas gifts. And this is why I don’t have much research to show the SPR for their generous research grant this year, and why I have not given any of you Christmas Presents and Cards – because a spectre telepathic descending from my attic came and spirited them away, hey?

So it simply remains for me to wish you one and all a Wonderful Christmas time, and a truly magical 2013.

All the best

cj x

Via Media: Reflections on the Appointment of Bishop Richard Dawkins

OK, just to make absolutely clear – this was my April Fool’s joke for 2012. No Bishops were harmed in the making of this post.

I expect many people were surprised, not least “New Atheists” and devout members of the Church of England, by last nights announcement from Whitehall that Richard Dawkins has been ordained in to the Church of England, and has in very short (holy) order been appointed to an episcopal see. Bishop Dawkins, as he will become on ascending to the office of Bishop of Bury St. Edmunds later this year, has for many years been an outspoken atheist, and indeed his best selling book “The God Delusion” was an impassioned call for a secular culture and end to traditional religious thought, almost as radical as those by Anglican Divines like Don Cupitt or former Bishop of Woolwich John A. T. Robinson whose “Honest to God” caused such controversy in the 1960′s.

Perhaps the greatest surprise to an Anglican like myself is that the obvious diocese for Dawkins was missed – one would have expected him to become Bishop of Durham. Still, with the lack of vacancy in that diocese Bury St. Edmunds is a good choice. My only fear is that his attitudes on religion may be too moderate and too simplistic and literal-fundamentalist for the average sophisticated pew dweller of the modern Anglican church. While I admire his liberal stance on many social issues, including his defining statement on homosexual marriage — “I don’t think it should be compulsory” — I too feel it should be restricted to non-heterosexual laity and clergy alike and non-mandatory– his rather direct and literal reading of a text as complex as the Bible flies in the face of my Neo-Orthodox reading of the Holy Scripture, and will cause him no doubt to have many problems with those who place Tradition and Experience and Magisterium above Scripture – indeed I don’t think we have seen the spirit of sola scriptura and emphasis on the Bible alone as the basis for the Christian faith so loudly advocated since the time of Luther and Calvin, except by certain Evangelicals. The fact Dawkins chooses to refute the whole book is irrelevant – he still accepts a theological principal that that is all Christianity is that has not been fashionable since the days of Augustine (with a few noted exceptions as mentioned), and that would make Origen blush.

Bury St Edmunds Cathedral

Still, the move to appoint Dawkins as Bishop of Bury St. Edmunds is undoubtedly a courageous one, albeit not unsurprising. I seem to recall he is a good friend of former Bishop of Liverpool Richard Harries, and last month debated the Archbishop of Canterbury Dr. Rowan Williams. During that debate Dawkins made what many saw as a shocking announcement, that he was actually “agnostic”, not entirely excluding the possibility of a god. That this shocked anyone at all was a source of amazement to me, given that his scale of atheism and the words he used were almost verbatim those he has used in The God Delusion many years before. He is comfortably, clearly a pragmatic atheist, while admitting to being a “cultural Christian” — and as such I think he has to be accepted as the perfect candidate to reflect the views of the modern CofE Church attendee.

Of course I fear he may have problems with certain of the defining principles of the Church of England, in particular the first and most crucial of these, The 39 Articles. The first article reads “God is nice: preach this often, but cause no offense to any man, women, child or person of other gender.” In his practically absolute denial of the existence of the deity Dawkins will not got far enough for many Anglican pew sitters, but will outrage others who will ask how the niceness of God can be compatible with His non-existence. I think they should take a moment to reflect on Rorty’s non-representationalism, and non-realism in modern theological language – clearly Cupitt and others blazed a path here, even if Dawkins is slightly too much mired in traditional notions of faith to fully accept their principle that when we say something we don’t actually mean it at all like that, but something quite different, quite sacred, and quite mundane, and quite ineffable, as the word sacred means nothing.

While the new fast tracking system for Anglican ordinands has been controversial, I do like it. I myself am hoping to be raised to be Dean of somewhere one day, or perhaps a Royal Chaplaincy would suit. For too long the Church was a haven for the family idiot, or for Neo-Marxist social liberals who had been thrown out of Outrage for being too outspoken. The new meritocratic system, where merit is measured largely by the colour of ones old school tie promises to bring a reassuring conservatism back to the church, even if it is only a social conservatism not a theological one.

Bishop Richard Dawkins

Most surprising to me was that while I can see Lambeth Palace would be enthusiastic for this move, that 10 Downing Street assented. Prime Minister David Cameron must have known that it would make the church relevant to 90% more modern British people than it currently is, and it is clearly a huge coup for the Anglican Communion – Dawkins book sales far outweigh all the Bishops combined since the Colenso affair in the 19th century, and the incorporation of the schismatic “New Atheists” back in to the Anglican Communion albeit with the new “Skeptical Rite” will do huge amounts to to boost church attendance and take pressure on hard pressed roof repairs off jumble sales and bailiffs enforcing Chancel tax. So why did Cameron agree?

Well, in the words of senior civil servant Sir Humphrey Appleby the Church of England is primarily a social organisation, not a religious one, and one must maintain the balance, the Anglican Via Media, between those who believe in God and those who do not. Cameron clearly took this important lesson to heart, and Lambeth, with a long tradition on its side, have appointed the best man to the post. I fear that next month some long haired ex-acid head Graham Kendrick’s chorus singing loon will be appointed to balance the balance: but it for best perhaps, and at long last the CofE has learned from our current government – it is bad to look both heartless and feeble, so do both alternately?

Best wishes to Richard Dawkins on his ecclesiastical preferment. Further reportage here.
cj x

Fiction: Ethel — A Christmas Ghost Story

I wrote a little Christmas ghost story, which may amuse some of my friends. It’s a story I have been trying to write on and off since the Most Haunted days, when it came to me one Christmas Eve in a dream. It’s a little unfair, because to really understand it relies on you getting the joke, and spotting the references — which I suspect very few of you are likely to know. Still if you do it may amuse, and even if not I hope it is mildly spooky. This is in lieu of a Christmas card or Christmas message, and yes I know it’s not very good, but some stories just demand to be written…

Ethel – A Christmas Ghost Story

There has been much speculation in the press over the disappearance of my dear friend, while in the act of “ghost hunting”.

While sceptics groups have taken the tragedy as a warning to the curious of the hazards of engaging in the infantile pursuit of the impossible, and believers have made many strange and curious speculations about spontaneous combustion, the police have taken the line that he left, perhaps deranged by his recent illness, of his own accord, and will turn up somewhere.

It seems quite probable he did meet a young woman holidaymaker, and has set off to make a new life for himself. Those of us who knew him knew he was at the time of his disappearance both financially burdened and saddened by the end of his media career, but do find it out of character he has not been in touch with anyone.

Temporary amnesia, a romance, or perhaps sadly severe illness seem more likely explanations than the foul play suggested by sceptics or the paranormal end suggested by the woo crowd.

Whatever the truth, his possessions were found by myself when I arrived, two days after his last email and concerned by the rambling bizarre nature of his last message to me.

All of his possessions barring his wallet, clothing he was wearing, laptop satchel and mobile phone were found, as his email suggests, neatly placed in the pantry.

Enough time has now passed for me to share with the interested public his last emails, in the hope they may shed light upon the curious case,and help bring him back to his friends and family. Do contact me or the police if you have any idea of his current whereabouts – young and romantic, he showed great promise in the field of psychical research, and was a good friend to me for many years.

Here are his emails, in order.

***********************************************

Dear CJ.

Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. I stepped off the train in to a scene from a Christmas card; snow had fallen, snow on snow, and while miraculously it was exactly the right kind of snow, everyone had made tracks for home. I walked down a few steps to view the tawdry holiday lights of Marley High Street. An American might have been taken by the quaint charm, but I just felt light headed – my recent flu has not quite left, and the wooziness flushed from my floaty brow to my tingling toes. I felt like I was walking in the Christmas of my childhood, in a magical world, where the ghosts of Christmas Past were near.

A few folk wrapped staggered by, hard wrapped against the winter cold; even The White Horse pub appeared to be a derelict floating on a sea of ice, despite the chalkboard promise of big prizes for the pub quiz tonight. Yes, Marley really was dead tonight.

Still, I’m not here for the holiday spirit; I’m here to work, and the very fact that the place seems to be little more than a dormitory town with all the charm of off-season Great Yarmouth makes it all the more appealing. The icy wind actually seemed to clear my head, and the walk through the centre (a rather wonderful art deco cinema – you really should check it out!) and then out along Compton Lane to the house did much to improve my spirits.

It’s about three miles from Marley town centre to the house. Seems that until the ribbon development of the thirties led to houses growing out along the roads, it was a separate village, and the district still holds its old name of Compton. Not a taxi to be had in this Christmas Card scene, so I trudged the whole way, rucksack on my back passed shiny new build estates filled with delightful children and advert-ready families. Or so I imagine: I did not stop to peek through whatever-has-replaced Laura Ashley curtains.

By the edges of Compton I was dizzy and tired, and despite the cold had broken a most unseasonal sweat. I think I told you in my last email; the Letting Agent had three tenants leave, citing “ghosts”, and the landlord who lives abroad finally agreed to my visit, on the understanding there is no publicity. I expect damp or noisy neighbours are the real issue, but a week over Christmas to get over the flu and think about where my career would take me next. Downhill fast probably, without brakes – is that not the definition of “career”? Still my reputation as a “ghost expert” has finally got me something worthwhile, a little holiday not far from town.

When I saw the house I was a little taken a back – on the train my feverish fantasies had been of a little thatched cottage, roof pristine with glistening snow awaiting only the soft thud of Santa’s sleigh, or a crumbling gothic manor set back from the road. In fact there is such a place – Bott Hall, once the home to a man who made his fortune manufacturing some condiment considered quite delicious in the inter-war period – big enough to get a mention in the guidebook, devoid of any charm, it now serves as a conference centre or some such.

Anyway the house I had come to evict the spooks from is quite ordinary; Edwardian middle class home, according to my notes once home to a successful stockbroker, since the early seventies owned by the current landlord (who now lives in France), and let to a succession of tenants, none of whom complained until he had some much needed renovations done a couple of years back. Since that time no one had stayed long, and some had fled well within the six months they were required to pay for. The stories seemed hazy, contradictory – voices, the roar of a motorbike when none could be seen, a black almost shapeless “thing” that scurried around the kitchen, and much more besides.

I passed the village school, now yuppie apartments, the Norman Church and the bookies – which still preserved the antique sign in glistening gold paint of a former occupier, “Theobald the Barbers.” Nothing about the tiny suburb of Marley suggested spooks, and as I walked up the path I was ready to put on a lemsip and settle down for an uneventful week of reading – I brought the book you bought me on Roman religion along, and Simpson & Westwood too.

Suddenly my attention was drawn to something quite ordinary, yet strangely unsettling. I can’t put my finger on why I found it worthy of attention at all, but across the snowy fields I saw an old wooden barn, broken down, indeed barely standing. Something about the silhouette of the ancient structure seemed malignant, like a hunched beast waiting to creep, as son as the curtains were shut, close to the house, and reach out for…

The milk bottles on the doorstep broke my reverie – empty of course, but as I slid on the icy step I kicked them, and cursing struggled to find the right key. And then I noticed something odd – one was not empty, but contained a murky grey liquid, not frozen despite the temperature. I fumbled with mittens, and picked it up, and the secret was revealed – someone had dropped a stick of licorice in it, and seemingly shaken it. Odd, but hardly eerie, so I left it there and went in.

OK, the layout is prosaic enough – a sitting room, dining room, what used to be called a “morning room” and a bookshelf lined study on the ground floor, the kitchen and pantry and a couple of small rooms, perhaps once servants quarter in the basement, with a coal hole and a kitchen door opening on to steps. There are four bedrooms – one was clearly the master bedroom, one had a vaguely feminine air, and their was a smaller room, probably a child’s, overlooking an ancient tree. Cosy enough, I turned on the electric, fired up the boiler – pilot lit first time, and placing a Carbon Monoxide meter in position (could the answer to the ghosts be that simple?) I set out looking for the best place to sleep. Given the fact it’s let unfurnished, I chose to place my sleeping bag in the kitchen, and thanked the landlords foresight in installing gas central heating, even if it had stirred up the ghosts. Anyway I have managed to get a wifi connection, and have fixed some food – there is both a kettle and microwave down here, together with a lot of other stuff seemingly half packed. I’m thanking the ghosts for scaring the last tenants away so well they could not be bothered to collect their possessions!

Have a good night, and if I don’t have time to write or get eaten by the beasties a great Xmas! Will email tomorrow if the Horrors have not got me…

x

**********************************************

Hullo CJ!

I sent my last about twenty minutes ago, but something quite extraordinary happened. I ate a bit – helps with the fever, and then I thought I heard the sound of a motorbike pass by. I’m not sure what it is – probably just the central heating warming up – but it sounded for all the world like a really badly tuned bike driving in, coasting on the gravel, and being lent against the wall with a clank. I was looking at the boiler when I heard what sounded like the back door opening, and someone creeping in, wearing socks and trying to be stealthy.

I have been set up on ghost hunts before, so I slipped my shoes off, and quietly keeping to the sides crept upstairs. Nothing: except an old fashioned tennis racket leaning against a wall, just inside the back door. I never saw it on my first tour, but I neglected to take photos then. Yeah, I know, some “ghost expert” I am. Obviously it was there before and I overlooked it, but it was still a bit odd. I would have paid more attention, but I got a whiff of cologne, and convinced someone was in the house hiding from me I dashed up the stairs, only to freeze in terror.

In the door of the child’s room I thought I saw the thing – perhaps a giant rat, a beady eyed thing. On reflection it perhaps looked more like a dog than a rat, but the scruffiest most outrageous jumble of breeds you can imagine, a disreputable animal. I was standing there looking at it, and it was looking at me – but neither of us moved. Then suddenly it was gone, and I advanced in to the room cautiously, still clutching that absurd old tennis bat.

Nothing – bare boards, moonlight, and the swaying of the apple tree branches, heavy laden with snow. Suddenly I realized – it was just a shadow, and the glistening reflection of ice. How stupid I am! I went round the whole house just to be certain, and apart from a faint whiff of pipe tobacco in the study, which may well have just been my imagination, nothing. In the morning I’ll make sense of this place, and lay the ghosts for good.

X

Hi CJ,

I hope you are having a wonderful Christmas Day. I have had a fairly dull time, but that is how I like it. The fever has now nearly gone, though I think last night played a strain on my nerves, and I’m still a little shaky. I’m annoyed I shall miss Dr Who, but I’ll catch it later on I-Player. I hope you enjoyed The Ladykillers, and dinner was good and DC wicked, or vice-versa.

Not much of interest occurred in the morning – I woke after a strange dream, in which a woman’s voice called repeatedly to someone called Ellen to “get the pudding on to steam”. I did not open my eyes, but lay in a reverie in which I imagined a kitchen bustling with the clank of pots and festive preparation of a century ago. I wonder if they used Bott’s sauce? I seem to recall somewhere that if you consumed too much it was so rich it made you vomit!

The floorboards settled overhead, and I imagined a family sitting for lunch – a stern father, his head in The Times, a tired looking mother dealing with a tousled haired lad, forcing him to go wash his horribly stained hands, and an older boy and his sister filled with excitement about their holiday plans. After an hour or more of vivid dreams and fitful sleep, I forced myself up, had a quick wash, and emerged blinking in to the brilliant sunshine reflecting off the snowy garden.

I had intended to explore the village, but instead I slipped through a gap in the fence, and went off to have a look a look at that run down old barn, determined to exorcise the vague unease it had conjured up in me last night. As I approached I saw that the door had long since fallen, but someone had tacked a notice to the framework: I expected a notice advising demolition and an application for planning permission – it’s right on the edge of town, in unspoilt countryside, you know what barn conversions go for!

Instead I found the most remarkable document, a ink stained piece of paper apparently torn from an exercise book, and scrawled in the most awful hand. It read

Chrismuss Paygent here today 10am.

Admisshun tuppence.

No Hubert Lainites.

By kind permisshun The Outlaws.

Orl Welcum.”

Stopping only to think what text talk and the X box have done to the new generation, I slipped in. Whatever had occurred, I had missed it – I realized it was nearly noon anyway. A smoky fire of wet twigs still burned, and a semi circle of ancient packing crates showed where the “audience” had sat, but of them and the performers there was no trace. Just a single discarded bottle, with a trace of grey disgusting water and a tiny piece of partially dissolved licorice. Something about the scene seemed wrong – I can’t put my finger on it – but for some reason I turned and hurried away, towards the village. I had the strongest impression I was being watched, and jeered at, by some local kids. For a moment I thought I saw them, four tousle haired youths crouched in a ditch across on the field boundary, with a small yapping dog, but when I looked again they were not there. Bloody fever.

I spent the whole afternoon in the house, and nothing untoward happened. I’m heading down the pub now – will email tomorrow.

X

*****************************************************

I thought I saw those bloody kids again. They were following me, but all dressed up in suits, scrubbed pink and shiny, in best shoes. Was down by the church. The dog was skulking nearby, and it looked like the shadow I saw last night. If they are hoaxing me I’ll tell their parents. Getting to me, and my head is swimming. Pub lunch here. Merry Christmas.

Sent by Android

***********************************************

Hey CJ,

Of all the things I thought of when I cam here I never expected this. I have met a girl, and she is adorable. Not in the pub, as you might expect – as I was walking home. She is slender, adorable, has red hair, in a very stylish bob, and was dressed in old fashioned clothes. When I commented on her 1920′s outfit and how well she pulled it off she laughed and asked if I had been at the Christmas Pageant too, and then I understood! Fancy dress!

We met just outside the pub in the street, and she joked when I made a passing comment about how good she looked and she said I looked quite remarkable as well. She really is very attractive, and Ethel – that’s her name, rather sweet hey – Ethel Brown, well we stood and talked for ages, and eventually wandered down to the Churchyard, and sat and talked in the church porch. I mentioned what I had seen at the barn, and she said it was just a copy of the adult pageant put on by her dreadful little brother William and his awful friends. Apparently he is quite the little savage, and eleven years old. I thought by eleven nowadays kids were all about playing Skyrim, GTA or whatever else is fashionable on the consoles. I swiftly changed the subject, that boy gives me the creeps.

And then another mystery was solved – we heard the roar of a motorbike, and Ethel said it must be her brother Robert, on his way home, and she must go. We have agreed to meet again tomorrow, at sunset, in the churchyard. I hope to be invited to dinner by Mr and Mrs Brown, they obviously live nearby. I walked home light headed, and I’m not convinced it was the fever. Did I mention Ethel is adorable? I should have told her where I was staying…

x

*********************************************

CJ

Dreadful night. Voices kept whispering, and people creeping about. Ellen the maid nearly fell over me with a plate of pies, and leftover cabbage smells vile, I have moved in to the pantry so as not to get in the way. But Ethel is here, I heard her at breakfast above, talking to her parents and Robert. Oh and William, her little brother, and his gang. I was nice to him, gave him a fiver, but he just said it was funny “furrin” money. They took me to the barn, and I had to drink some of that licorice water and pretend it was the best thing ever. I keep promising William stuff, and I heard him tell Ginger, Henry and Douglas I’m “soft” on his sister. Jumble tore my trousers while trying to worry my sneakers laces. Awful mutt!

Still soon will be sunset, and I am meeting Ethel at the churchyard, and plan to be introduced to the family. I went in to Theobalds and got my hair cut, and boy I look like a freak, but judging by Robert and his mate Hector the ridiculous hairstyle is fashionable round here.

The sun is setting, and I’m sitting shivering, teeth chattering, whether with cold or fever I know not. Laptop is working again, was unable to get a signal most of the day. I’m sitting on the garden wall now and hope this gets through. Oh, one thing. As the sun sets, the chinks in the old burn make it glow red, as it slips below the horizon behind it. Did you not once tell me that the Red Barn at Polstead got it’s name that way, and in Suffolk such places are associated with the supernatural?

Anyway must go, signal getting intermittent, and soon will be with Ethel. She really is adorable you know…

x

CJ’s Strange Games: Cthulhu Live 2000, “To Play The King”

This Sunday I will be playing in a freeform Live Action Roleplaying Game set in the thirteenth century. Given how geeky I am, and how much I love roleplaying games a lot of readers of my blog may be surprised to  discover I have ever only played in two or three LARPs, though  I have written and run as referee more than  a dozen now. However, given my interest in the paranormal, and the writings of HP Lovecraft, it will surprise few of you to find that I have written quite a few games with those themes central to them, and one that holds a special place in my heart took place over seven weekends in 2000, culminating in January 2001.

When I moved from Suffolk to Gloucestershire a lot of my friends moved down with me – 16 people I knew in Suffolk have ended up living here over the years. Back in 2000 it was slightly less, and this game series was born when I wondered what would happen if the people I knew in Suffolk came and played a game here in unfamiliar territory, with the town serving as a backdrop for an X-Files influenced espionage thriller game set in the world of Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos.

I had up to 24 willing assistants from the Student Parapsychology Society, who played bit parts, major non-player roles and in fact almost everyone the players interacted with through the game. The players were supposed to be members of the British X Files team, unfortunates who had experienced something supernatural in their lives and had been recruited in to a mysterious agency called Cassandra 23, devoted to protecting the Nation from occult hazards. The field agents team were they guys from Bury who drove down having designed characters using the “Cthulhu Live” roleplaying game rules, and remained in character for the whole game, investigating “crime scenes”, breaking in to houses and reading prop books etc we had made specially for the game.

What followed was fun, and deeply atmospheric, indeed at times almost genuinely frightening! The two teams, the players and the actors and games staff, bit had a fantastic time. The “script” was a branching scenario, and there was no right or wrong way to solve it, and as in reality certain events happened at certain times, and indeed player characters could be killed or driven mad and forced to sit out of the rest of the game if they messed up badly.  It was “murder mystery” gone mad – instead of occurring at a single dinner party, it took place over a whole town, and  a whole weekend ( or in the case of the first two games one day and night)  and the players had to piece together clues, shadow villains, do computer research, read old books and work out what was really happening in the game, and come up with a plan to solve it.

Armed with a thirty page script and pages of notes on their characters the actors had to act out their roles, and work out how to foil the players. The players had to solve the mystery.  They had a few resources to call on, and each players character had unique skills like lock picking, forensics or occultism they could bring to bear on the mystery. But they did not know which skills they would need when they designed their character, and the whole game was played in real time, so they had to improvise when they lacked a vital skill.

It’s all a game, and nothing more, needless to say. But it was huge fun, and while in today’s more paranoid world we might not be able to do it, as even blatantly fake guns and people dressed as monsters may upset the public, back then the police just laughed out loud and were happy we warned them where and when it would all occur. They were fantastic, and we went to huge lengths to ensure the public were not disturbed: something many larp groups have failed badly, indeed potentially tragically at.  I won’t name the players, as many of them are now “respectable”: I doubt anyone can recognize them from these pictures, but if you want to be removed just let me know. What follows is a piece written by one of the players after the first game, in character — it should give you a very real idea of how it all worked out! Although it looks terribly amateurish it’s actually a lot more intense than it sounds.

Cassandra 23: To Play The King

January 21^st, 2000 – South West England

To: section 9, records

Subject: Transcript of audio recording made by subject Savage, 23-01-2000

Note: certain references made while subject was in rem sleep may impair efficiency as field operative. As per regulation 13/a/lambda surveillance operatives deleted portions of recording before returning to subject. Low probability of tampering being detected.

Excised portions have been presented in different font for emphasis.

It was a typical January morning, cold and grey. As arranged I’d met up with the other Cassandra 23 agents in a small Suffolk town and then the four of us, using a pool car provided by the agency, began heading west as instructed. We knew that we would meet up with a fifth member of our cell on arrival at our destination.

Previously I’d only done some unclassified research work for Cassandra and I was surprised to be selected for a field operation – my surprise only grew when I discovered that my new colleagues professed to have no field experience either. At the time I suspected that Cassandra 23 preferred to use operatives who had no connection with the fields of security and intelligence but events were to prove that supposition untrue. Although we were all somewhat tight – lipped about ourselves it was clear that we were an eclectic bunch. The driver, Jones, was apparently a “Rock Ape”; I took this to refer to the RAF regiment as he bore only a passing resemblance to a simian. The other two agents seemed to come as a matched pair, one, Patrick Harper, was a historian from Northern Ireland and his fellow Irishman, Billy claimed to be a psychic. I would like to say that an immediate rapport developed amongst the Cell but the truth was that the two Irishmen took it upon themselves to bate Jones, who replied to their good-natured taunts with equally good-natured threats of death or serious disfigurement. I was silent, unsure what to make of my new companions.

During the journey we played a briefing tape which Jones had been provided with – it was as useful as any other piece of government information I’ve come across.

We arrived at our destination just before three that afternoon. Outside the climate had improved, the oppressive clouds had been left behind and the weather was now clearer but still January cold. The others had some knowledge of Cheltenham, our destination, and navigated us through the outskirts with unerring skill. The city was bigger than I expected and had an air of slightly faded grandeur, an impression reinforced by the imposing nature of our ultimate destination, the Queens Hotel – a proud apparition in white.

The Cell had been told that we would meet up with our briefing officer inside the Hotel so, leaving the car in a safe locale, we made our way there. Awaiting our arrival outside the Queens was the final member of our select group. The man, whom we later knew as Agent Fox, stood out, dressed smartly in a dinner jacket and tie more suited to the gaming tables of Monte Carlo than the wind–blown streets of Cheltenham. It later transpired that he had indeed been called away from the Riviera to join the investigation.

It wasn’t Fox who felt out of place when we entered but the rest of us, who were wearing gear designed to protect us from the cutting wind and, consequently were under-dressed for our surrounding.

 Mr Johnson

Our briefing officer awaited us in the bar, where drinks were purchased by those with a mood to partake. Mr Johnson (or Mr J as he would otherwise be known) cut an imposing figure, tall and lean with a neatly trimmed beard and metal–rimmed glasses. He awaited our arrival at a small corner table and sat with his back to the wall, a habit gained from years in the field I have no doubt. As we sat down and arranged ourselves he introduced himself as Mr Johnson (or Mr. J) and handed out our identity cards. After a brief exchange of pleasantries he then provided us with a brief summary of the mission.

We had been summoned to Cheltenham to clear up discrepancies which had arisen in the routine security vetting of one Alec West, a high-ranking scientist at the Gilman Foundation, a local research institute which did a good deal of classified research. In the course of the vetting a possible link was established between West and the mysterious leader of a local religious cult, the Church of the Amber Light, one Sebastian Lux. Two operatives from another agency, Agents Scott and Baines, were assigned to carry out a routine surveillance on Lux. This routine operation became anything but when Baines died in unusual circumstances while following the cult head. Our task was to discover what happened to Baines, what the link between West and Lux was and if Lux had compromised the security of the Gilman Foundation. Mr J warned us that the work carried out at the Foundation was of a highly sensitive nature, so sensitive that we were to make no inquiries about it and were to report anything we learnt to him immediately. The rest of the briefing would have to wait until we reached a more secure location.

Led by the efficient Mr J. we departed the Queens. Our first stop was the safe house on [DELETED FOR SECURITY REASONS] Road, which would act as our ‘home base’ for the rest of the mission. On the way I quizzed Fox on his role and was somewhat gratified to learn that he at least was a professional, who normally worked for one of the nation’s more regular intelligence organisations. I gathered that he was a little ‘miffed’ at having been dragged away from sunny climes of the south of France for the bracing winter air of Cheltenham.

Mr J & the players!

When we arrived at our destination we found that it boasted all the facilities necessary for the task, namely a sizable library and a powerful mainframe computer with immediate access to the World Wide Web. The Cell was introduced to Agent Scott, Baines’ partner who was to assist us during the operation. She seemed capable but a little distracted – I took this to be grief at the death of Baines. Mr J. then issued firearms to the team, explaining that, as this was primarily a surveillance operation, they were not to be used except in the most exceptional situations. Furthermore, to avoid entanglements with the local authorities the standard codeword TOYS should be used when referring to them. Henceforth, when confronted with moments of physical danger it became common practice to send for the TOYmen (Jones and Fox). The basic operational rules having been outlined Mr Johnson took us to one of Cheltenham’s prestigious higher education facilities, apparently the security services made use of it as an inconspicuous base on rare occasions. Tight security was in force on the site and we had to pass through a number of security checks, including an encounter with an efficient but officious guard who delayed us momentarily.

The Briefing

The heart of the facility was a high–tech briefing room where Mr J undertook the remainder of the briefing. In outline the situation was much as we had already been told but further details were now provided. Most notably we were shown a series of security camera photos taken at one city’s parking lots late on the 12th of January which showed the final moments of Agent Baines. Apparently Baines had been trailing Lux when the cult leader turned and confronted him – the images provided no firm evidence of an attack, only showing Lux gesturing towards the agent, who then fell to earth, clutching his chest. The moment of death was apparently accompanied by a burst of unidentified radiation, which badly affected the cameras and remains unexplained. An autopsy revealed that Baines had died of a massive Myocardial Infarction – in laymen’s terms from a devastating heart attack. There were no wounds apparent on the body. !

This college lecture room made for a great briefing room!

Lux was a mystery man, he had no records of any description, no clue to his true identity. During their observation of him Scott and Baines determined that he possessed a considerable knowledge of surveillance and counter surveillance techniques and probably had an intelligence background. He only appeared in his present guise a few months ago, as the founder of the Church of the Amber  Light. Did he come here to make contact with the scientists at the Gilman Foundation. We could only speculate.

The rest of the briefing gave us details about West and his social contacts, featuring most prominently his current girlfriend, a legal secretary called Sally Nichols who also lived in the city and was also a member of the Church of the Amber  Light.

Patrick Harper and Agent Fox asked Mr J. a number of questions concerning our ‘rules of operation’ and our security clearance. It was no great surprise to discover that this mission was being run on a ‘need to know’ basis and we plainly didn’t need to know. The first alarm bells began to ring at this point – in such situations that which you don’t know can well kill you if you’re not very careful.

Our mission objectives were outlined to us and Mr J. made it clear that on no account were we to interfere with West – he was not expendable, we were. He’d probably have been wise not to point that out, professional intelligence operatives might be willing to put their lives on the line for Queen and Country but historians, journalist and psychics have a different take on the matter.

At the end of the briefing Mr J. provided us with dossiers on the central players in this little ‘drama’ and departed, leaving a number if we needed to get in contact with him.

Scott then led us to the mortuary attached to the facility where the deceased agent’s body was being held. An autopsy had already been carried out by a Home Office pathologist but revealed only what we had already heard from Mr J.

Alan played the corpse! This involved laying very still a long time

We were shown into the examination room where the body lay waiting. Agent Scott and the facility director, Mr Benjamin, maintained their composure but the corpse made the rest of us distinctly nervous. Obviously in my time as a journalist I’ve seen many unfortunate sights and dead bodies have been among them but that was with the backdrop of war and distant lands, not laid bare (so to speak) on a sterile slab in the heart of Cheltenham. My comrades seemed equally reluctant to make a close examination of the body, even Agent Jones, whose strong soldier’s stomach wasn’t up to the task. We were preparing to leave when Billy asked if he could be left alone with the body – Fox, Jones and I were a little surprised at this but Patrick persuaded us to leave the Psychic alone while he employed his own special methods.

I questioned Agent Scott about the autopsy while we awaited the quiet Irishman’s return and learned that small particles of a foreign substance had been found on the body. I surmised that Lux must have thrown some powder or dust at Baines, though what its nature was and how it related to the radiation burst was still unclear. We were also given a flyer found on Baines when he died, which indicated that the Church of the Amber Light was holding a meeting at six that very evening. Scott expressed considerable surprise at this, in the past the cult had only met on Sundays.

Alan still holding his breath!

Moments later Billy returned, looking pale and haggard. He needed a few moments to recover before telling us that the unfortunate agent had been destroyed by a terrible occult force that had burnt out his very soul. Billy’s eyes darted furtively about and had clearly been seriously disturbed by the whole event.

A few years ago I would have dismissed this tale as mere gibberish but, having seen what I saw amid those dark stones in the jungles of Borneo, I could not dismiss it out of hand.

Ushered out of the facility by Mr. J we repaired to the college diner to make our plans.

Plans and Plots

In the corner of the large local eating-house we examined the documents which Mr J. had provided us with and laid our plans. The files indicated that West would be at work at the Gilman Institute until seven, a fact which would allow us time to break into his rooms before he returned. There should also be time to get to the Gilman Foundation in time to follow him when he left work. It was also felt that we needed to know more about the Church of the Amber Light and their strangely scheduled meeting would provide the perfect opportunity to discover the nature of the group and Lux’s role within it.

Well even players need to eat sometime!

It seemed logical to split into two groups, one to handle the break–in at West’s and the other to infiltrate this increasingly sinister cult.

Given the allegedly New Age nature of the cult it seemed logical that Billy be the one to infiltrate their meeting. Unfortunately whatever it was he saw when he ‘sensed’ the body still had him seriously upset and more than a little frightened. He would only agree to go in if he had company and this would logically be provided by Patrick, the two of them having been thick as thieves throughout the day so far. The jittery Billy was still not reassured so it was decided that Agent Jones should wait outside the meeting place, ready to leap to their assistance should anything go seriously wrong.

That left Agent Fox and I to deal with the break-in and the tailing of West. In order to balance out the teams Agent Scott agreed to assist us. It was clear that with my skill at electronics and Fox’s array of intelligence techniques we should have had what it took to get the job done.

As the Light meeting was taking place quite close to the hostelry Patrick, Billy and Jones remained there. Meanwhile Karl, Heather and I made our way back to the safe house to pick up the pool car which had been issued to Fox and collect the first aid kit which had been provided.

Before we set out for West’s apartment I made use of the computer at ‘base’ to check out West and the Gilman Foundation. It was obvious that we wouldn’t find anything on either on official Website so I made a quick check of ‘conspiracy theorist’ ‘sites. I could find nothing on West but mention was made of links between the Gilman Foundation and the [[Censored]] a covert project dedicated to the development and exploitation of psychic abilities. In view of what had already occurred a very disturbing pattern was beginning to appear.

The Church of the  Amber Light

While Fox, Scott and I did our work amid the shadows the others made their way to the meeting of the Church of the Amber Light. Their plan was for Patrick and Billy to attend the cult meeting in the guise of interested newcomers while Jones remained outside, ready to rush in and help or make a quick getaway as the situation required.

The two Irishmen arrived fashionably late at the ‘Church’ meeting, which was also located on the college campus. On entering they found a group of cultists, including the chief suspect, Sebastian Lux, and West’s girlfriend, Miss Nichols. There were four others, two of whom appeared to be regulars. Lux came across as a quiet, reasonable individual who led his group of followers through a combination of charisma and sheer force of will.

Chris as Sebastian Lux made a superbly sinister cult leader!

Billy used his psychic gifts to investigate the other cultists, learning that one of the regulars had a dark aura that indicated a terrible history of abusing the innocent and other such foul acts. Nichols was also interesting for Billy could sense in her a kindred spirit – a young lady possessed of psychic gifts similar to his own. Unfortunately her aura was also twisted and bore the marks of recent corruption and deviance – indications that would become clearer when we knew more of her history.

The two agents listened as Lux expounded the philosophy of his Church, explaining that they believed in total freedom. It quickly became clear to my colleagues that this meant not merely personal or political freedom but total freedom from the constraints enforced by society and the morality of the common man. The investigators could tell that the seductive lure of this code, combined with church leader’s own sinister presence created followers who were dedicated to this later day Mephistopheles.

At this juncture Lux asked if the two agents would like to take place in one of the cult’s meditations, which involved the use of what appeared to be New Age crystals. Both men were distinctly wary of Lux’s invitation and politely refused, asking if they could watch instead. As the meditation went on Billy could detect the flow of precious soul energy leaching out of the Church’s initiates and into the crystals, a sight which disturbed the psychic considerably.

After the meditation the Church meeting wound down but Lux extended an invitation to the agents to join, informing them that the  Light already had branches all over Europe. After that he departed and the Irishman lost sight of him. Sergeant Jones saw him as he entered the college car park but the ‘rock ape’ could do nothing, he had no gun and couldn’t leave before joining up with Patrick and Billy.

Misdemeanours and Misdirection

While Billy, Patrick and Jones infiltrated the cult Fox, Scott and I made our way to West’s apartment. We had to make use of the pool car issued to Fox, a serviceable enough vehicle but a far cry from the BMWs and Aston Martins which he was more familiar with. Agent Scott recommended leaving the car a short distance away and proceeding on foot, partly due to the mundane problems of parking and partly to avoid linking us with the car, should we need it to avoid pursuit.

A short walk through the city’s night enshrouded streets brought us to our objective, West’s apartment building. As befitted the home of a well – paid government scientist the security was formidable – indeed Fox had a great deal of trouble with the sophisticated door locks. Fortunately I’ve been called on to defeat such things in the past and our combined efforts gained access to the building.

Luck remained with us, for we didn’t encounter any of the building’s other residents as we quickly made our way to his first floor flat. The security on the flat wasn’t as formidable as that at the building entrance and was easily bypassed. The three of us entered the flat and began a quick but thorough search. Agent Fox quickly discovered a collection of badly damaged papers in the top of West’s waste paper bin. They appeared to be the text of a play, “The King in Yellow”, and were covered with scrawled notes, equations and diagrams. We were in two minds whether we should take the notes, if we did then West would certainly know someone had been in his flat but ultimately we had no choice – there was simply to much information to assimilate quickly. I did consider taking photos of them but there would be no time to develop the pictures and so dismissed that plan. A further search revealed a hastily scribbled message on a pad by the phone which indicated that Lux and West were due to meet up at Taylors at eight that evening. Although no further immediately relevant information was found we did discover further notes referring to Bonisagus, Tremere, Tytalus etc – apparently the names of medieval hermetic orders. West’s bookcase was also stocked with tomes on the Undead and other tomes which indicated an interest in the occult unusual for a physicist with his apparently high reputation. I paused briefly to place a bug under West’s sofa and we then departed.

Fox passed the information about the meeting at Taylors to Jones and the others and we returned to the car to see what we could make of the tattered notes that had been discovered. In the limited time we had available we could make out little concerning the play itself but the scribbled sidenotes proved a revelation. Many of them were complex mathematical equations whose meaning proved impossible to fathom but others referred to a ‘summoning’ and seemed to indicate that it would occur sometime between eleven and midnight. A chill ran down my spine, for I could not help remembering the terrible rituals used by the witchdoctors of Borneo to summon their dark gods. Much of what appeared on the tattered pages before me reminded me of those madmen and the bloody horrors they practised. References to Schrodinger’s Cat indicated that West’s field of work involved exploration of the Quantum universe. This presented the terrible possibility that a brilliant scientist whose field of work was multi– dimensional physics might be devoting his twisted intellect to breaching the barriers between our world and more alien realms.

A number of diagrams were also present, they meant little to me but Fox divined some occult significance in them. Patrick would later identify them as a representation of the Cabalistic Tree of Life and then that same pattern reversed. Other marginalia contained astronomical references and the phrase “Goodbye Norma Jean” appeared more than once. It took me some time to realise that this may be a veiled reference to psychic phenomena … Goodbye Norma Jean … Candle in the Wind …  – a tenuous connection but not too far fetched given the muddy waters which we were now navigating.

There was more to be discovered but Agent Scott pointed out that time was marching on and West would soon be leaving work and we’d have to hurry to be in place to follow him.

The three of us abandoned the car once again and made our way out onto the darkened streets of Cheltenham, rapidly making our way to the Gilman Foundation. Scott felt that the research centre might have valuable secrets to reveal and suggested we try to gain entrance. I was dubious, it was only a little before seven and West would be emerging shortly – there didn’t seem to be the time to learn anything before our target appeared. Not daunted by these difficulties Karl Fox strode boldly up to the Foundation’s entrance and tried to bluff his way past the two security guards who barred his way. He tried to persuade them that he was making an important delivery but the lack of any appropriate paperwork, not to say any form of package, made this story a good deal less credible. He rejoined me having failed to gain entrance.

We were continuing our watch on the building when we saw a beautiful young woman leave. She approached us as we loitered by a strategically placed phone box, ostensibly looking for a light for her cigarette. Both Fox and I realised that this was an ideal opportunity to find out more about the work carried out at the Foundation – therefore Karl rushed over the road to buy her a box of matches while I made small talk. It was at this point that West emerged from work and managed to evade our eagle – eyed surveillance. His ability to slip by us so easily proved that he was a master of disguise, a veritable man of a thousand faces, clearly possessing a formidable range of counter- espionage skills.

Although our target had eluded us initially I regret to say that we allowed ourselves to become side-tracked by the female stranger from the Foundation. In a distinctive American accent we were informed that her name was Alice and she was one of Alec West’s co-workers. Posing as old college friends of West’s from Cambridge we attempted to discover what she knew.

Karl used his suave charms to try and pry information out of the young American but every question was parried with a cunning counter-thrust. I must say that I had no greater luck with my queries, although Alice did hint that she might see West later. While we questioned her, trying to discover what she knew about Alec West and his work, we were led away from the man we were actually supposed to be following. The dark–haired American asked if we would like to go for a drink and Karl, motivated only by a desire to further our investigation I’m sure, accepted on our behalf. We were on our way to a nearby pub when Agent Fox received a desperate message from Billy, warning us that we were in terrible danger from whoever we were with and imploring us to get away from whoever it was immediately. Given the direction the investigation had taken we were in no mood to question Billy’s mysterious hunches so we made our apologies to a slightly puzzled Alice and departed.

It later occurred to me that we had been the victims of a cunning piece of misdirection, a classic honey-trap with the alluring Alice tasked with drawing us away to discover what we knew while West made his escape. I also realised that I’d missed an opportunity to gain more information by bugging the matchbox, which Fox could then have given to the young woman.

We decided to meet up with the other team back at the safehouse in order to compare notes and make further plans.

Taylors and Tailing

When we arrived at the safehouse we found Billy, Patrick and Jones awaiting our return. They’d apparently been there for some time, employing the comprehensive library for the purposes of research. Their diligence had unearthed a number of important facts, in particular that the College campus where we had received our briefing had been the site of a Neolithic temple to an ancient deity called Hazzur. The site had been adorned with pillars in a layout that closely resembled that which West had scawled on the back of his copy of “The King in Yellow”. It seemed possible that this could be the site where this midnight ritual may occur.

We still didn’t possess enough information to work out what was going on – clearly West was heavily involved with Lux and his cult but their overall objective was still shrouded in mystery. To try and pierce this shroud we decided to split up again. We realised that we must observe the meeting between Lux and West at Taylors but the task of close observation must fall on Sergeant Jones. Lux had seen Billy and Patrick and West might well be accompanied by Alice, who would definitely recognise Karl and I and probably wonder why we hadn’t approached our old college friend.

Trying to piece it all together!

Billy and Patrick decided to go along with Jones in case he got into difficulties. Meanwhile Karl, and I decided to take this opportunity to check out the home of West’s girlfriend, Susie Nichols, rejoining the others at Taylors in time to follow West and Lux when they left. Agent Scott concurred with this plan but warned us that, although Susie Nichols shouldn’t be home there was a good chance her flatmate, Sheena, would be. This could have presented difficulties so I suggested making our way to their flat and ringing them while we waited nearby, telling Sheena that her flatmate had been in a terrible accident and had been taken to hospital. When she left to rush to her friend’s side we’d break in and search the place. Unfortunately it seemed that their phone was ex-directory, so that plan had to be abandoned.

As we made our way along the city’s night-enfolded highways Karl and I continued to work on a coherent approach to the problem of the flatmate. We eventually settled on a solution close to the truth.

On arrival at the flat we knocked and waited for a reply, the moment it was opened Karl and I quickly presented our Cassandra 23 credentials. Karl informed the alarmed young lady that we were government representatives and needed to talk to her about her flatmate. Ushered into a comfortable living room the smooth-talking secret agent explained that we had reason to believe that her flatmate, Susie had been involved in a possible breach of national security and we needed to search her room. Not unnaturally Sheena was unhappy about letting total strangers gain access to her friend’s belongings but was ultimately persuaded that the consequences of denying our request would be serious indeed.

We were led up a short flight of stairs and shown into Susie’s room. The room was then searched by Karl, I assisted with suggestions but didn’t want to get in the way of the professional. Our search was a little tentative, neither Karl nor I were entirely comfortable examining the belongings of a woman who might well be totally innocent of any wrongdoing. The initial examination revealed nothing of relevance to the case so Fox decided, after a helpful suggestion from Agent Scott, to search around Susie’s bed. A glance under her pillow revealed a neatly kept diary, which, after only a moment’s reading, promised to be a valuable piece of evidence against West.

Sheena protested when we tried to remove the diary but was cowed into submission by Fox who warned her that her friend was in serious trouble and she would be too if she stood in the way of our investigation. As we prepared to leave I took a last glance around the bedroom and realised that the banner affixed to the wall above the bed was very familiar. The sign on it was almost identical to one which West had drawn on the back of the “King in Yellow” play notes. I began to feel dizzy as I gazed at the strange ideogram and I remember nothing else for some time.

At this point subject savage appears to have lapsed into sleep. The following is a transcript of the incoherent babblings he made during this period of rest.

The Yellow sign. THE YELLOW SIGN.THE YELLOW SIGN Lost CARCOSSA. HAzzUR, HAZTAR, HASTUR ………… THE STARS ARE RIGHT, THE STARS are RIGHT. Hail the KING in YELLOW. Fortunate are those who will serve the Yellow King.

Subject Savage appeared to regain consciousness and the transcript becomes more lucid.

Apparently the mere sight of the … Yellow Sign … temporarily unhinged my mind. According to Karl I spent the next ten minutes or so babbling incoherently to him as he and Scott led me towards Taylors where we were to rendezvous with the others.

Eventually I shook off the madness that had gripped me and regained my senses. I had not, however, emerged unscathed from the experience, for the world around seemed colder and more hostile and casual looks from strangers sent shivers down my spine. Memories of Borneo came flooding back and with them a feeling of dread that I should encounter such madness in the urbane streets of Cheltenham.

Karl told me that diary we had found contained disturbing material concerning Lux and West but he felt it would be better to read it through carefully when we met up with the others. That decided we hurried to the rendezvous at Taylors bar.

While we were searching Susie’s flat the others had made their way to Taylors and a later meeting with the other three agents allowed me to fill in the details of what occurred before we arrived.

While we continued our careers as burglars the other agents made their way to Taylors to await the arrival of Lux and his compatriots. The plan was for Jones to wait in the main area of the bar, watching the door for the Cult leader’s arrival, while the other Cassandra 23 agents would go to a side area and wait for Jones to fill them in on what was occurring.

While Patrick and Billy were waiting two strangers, one a seductive young American girl and the other a personable local, joined them at their table. The Irishmen quickly struck up a rapport with the two newcomers and Billy in particular was taken with the young woman, who seemed very taken with him, continually taking hold of his arm and stroking his hand.

Meanwhile Jones had decided that the best way to blend into the background was to get a drink in hand and watch the bar’s television. Unfortunately the RAF soldier became so engrossed in his role that he failed to notice Lux and the others entering the bar.

The first the two other agents knew of the cult’s arrival was when they sat down at a table directly behind the two of them. This caused a good deal of alarm as both Patrick and Billy had assumed that Jones would warn them of Lux’s arrival in good time.

Shortly after this their conversation with the two newcomers also took a disturbing turn, when Patrick asked the woman her name. She replied that she was called Alice. Patrick realised that this might be the same woman who had sparred with Karl and I only an hour earlier – Billy seemed oblivious to this fact as he continued to chat with the two strangers. Not wishing to raise a false alarm the cautious historian used their mobile to contact Karl, gaining a description of Alice from the spy. It confirmed Patrick’s worst fears and he quickly extricated Billy and himself from a situation that was becoming very disturbing. He phoned Karl and I to inform us of their plans and then the three of them left Taylor’s.

It was after eight when Karl and I arrived outside the plush exterior of Taylors and out arrival was timely for moments after Billy, Patrick and Jones emerged from the bar, closely followed by Lux, West and a number of others whom I later learned were other cultists. After a quick conference we decided to follow them, splitting into two teams to watch from either side of the road as they moved off. It was at this point that Agent Jones tried to get in front of them by cutting down a side street, unfortunately his limited knowledge of the city’s streets played him false and he became lost for a short while.

Left short handed the remainder of the cell continued to tail the cultists, using what cover there was to avoid being seen. Although our quarry made no effort to lose us the wide and well–lit streets of Cheltenham provided little cover for the pursuers and we were often at risk of losing them as we dropped back to avoid being observed. Our numbers decreased further when Karl had to go back to locate Jones and re-unite him with the rest of the Cell, leaving only Billy, Patrick, Heather and I to continue the pursuit. Heather and I kept as close as possible to the cultists as they followed their winding path through the darkened streets while the two Irishmen hung back. At a corner they turned down a narrow alleyway and I hurried to catch them.

Given the shock I had already received I was beginning to feel a little on edge and the site of this narrow alleyway with ample spots for anyone waiting in ambush began to worry me intensely. My fears grew when it appeared that Patrick and Billy, who had been only a little behind Heather and I apparently disappeared – we waited as long as we could but were eventually forced to renew our pursuit, now unaware of the location of the rest of the Cell.

It was past nine and darkness surrounded us but as the cultists past through the pools of light thrown by pathside lamp posts I was aware of how many of them there were and the fact that Heather and I were the only members of Cassandra 23 left on their tail. My fears grew when they crossed a large open area that I took to be wasteland until Scott told me that it was in fact the very spot where Agent Baines had perished, not ten days ago. I didn’t fully trust her and the fact that she was my only help if the cultists turned to attack was cold comfort indeed. As Lux and his followers reached the edge of the ‘wasteland’ they appeared to meet up with two figures that passed them by and began walking straight towards Heather and I. For a brief moment I feared that we were about to be attacked by further servitors of the sinister Lux but, as they came closer, we could plainly see that the two figures were none other than the missing Irishmen.

Apparently Patrick and Billy had decided to try the same ploy as Jones, reasoning that they should be able to get ahead of the cultists by cutting up the road rather than turning down the alley after Heather and I. They planned to take the first right turn they came to, believing that this would put them in front of our quarry – unfortunately there were no right turns. Nonetheless they persevered, racing up the road and eventually walking straight into Lux and the others and they turned the corner from the Wasteland onto the main drag. The two Irishmen congratulated themselves on their brilliant ploy, I personally felt that they been very lucky but, on reflection, it may have been Billy’s psychic abilities leading him along the correct path.

After ascertaining which of the houses the cultists were headed to we awaited the arrival of Jones and Fox.

When we all got back together Karl got out Susie Nichol’s diary and read it out to us. It was a revelation, confirming our suspicions about the Church of the Light and its leader. The journal was a shocking account of an innocent’s descent into degradation and sexual depravity and proved beyond doubt that West was involved in these dubious activities up to his well-educated eyes. The diary also made mention of Alice, whose role seemed to be that of acolyte or priestess to Lux’s Pontifex Maximus. It ended with the once innocent legal secretary apparently praying devoutly for the coming of a person or creature called the Yellow King who would release her from her worldly cares and change everything. The Cell was, to a man, sure that the arrival of this King in Yellow must be halted at all costs.

The diary showed that we had entered some Conradian heart of darkness, where the promise of forbidden desires sated and terrible lusts fulfilled had stripped away the veneer of civilisation from a group of seemingly normal people. Is that all it took to regress these individuals five thousand years and send them screaming chants of worship to the dark powers that dwelt in an unforgiving sky? What a terrible thought!

Pondering these disturbing thoughts we were led by Agent Scott back across the car park. She pointed out to us the spot where Baines had been slain by the mysterious Sebastian Lux. While Billy meditated in an attempt to regain some of his composure the rest of us examined the scene. Unfortunately the fact that we had neglected to bring torches with us made a detailed search difficult but we did eventually discover that the ground had a fine covering of some form of dust, presumably the foreign substance found on Baines’ body. It seemed clear that this was a component of some form of weapon that had been hurled or projected at the unfortunate agent in order to bring on a massive heart attack.

Guns in the Darkness

Agent Scott had assured us that the cultists’ house was under surveillance while we examined the crime scene but when we turned to check Lux and his followers had apparently made their getaway. Both Patrick and I were now very suspicious of Scott and resolved to keep a careful eye on her.

Having missed the cult the Cell decided to break into their meeting place and see if they’d left any clues to their intentions. We approached the building cautiously with the TOYmen to the fore. Sergeant Jones led the way with Agent Fox dogging his steps. While Patrick, Billy and I watched the street the two other Cassandra operatives entered the darkened terraced house that was apparently acting as the cult’s temporary headquarters. A narrow hallway opened out beyond the door, with stairs straight ahead and two doors on the left – Jones made his way down the dimly lit passageway, followed a little distance behind by Fox. A brief glance into the first room revealed nothing. Upon opening the second door, Jones was met by the sight of strangely garbed man and a room, illuminated by ceremonial candles and decorated in a most disturbing fashion. The robed figure demanded to know why his house had been broken into and who we were, receiving know answer he picked up a wicked looking blade and charged at Jones.

Alan again, this time playing an evil cultist!

The cultist’s blade flashed in the candlelight as he rushed forward … Fox’s gun roared but a single bullet could not still the mad intent of the attacker … a blade honed to razor sharpness sliced through flesh and muscle, a scarlet rain fell to the floor … Jones’ fired, committing the madman’s soul into the care of the dark creatures he worshipped … faint from loss of blood the Sergeant slumped to the ground.

The first screams sent Billy and Patrick rushing into the house to help – the sight of the bloodstained bodies and the terrible Yellow Signs, which adorned the walls, proved too much for Patrick’s overstrained psyche. He swept up Jones’ gun and, speaking an unintelligible gibberish, emptied the clip into the supine form of the corpse.

By the time I entered the room the others had already begun to search. I assisted them but the Yellow Signs exerted an oppressive menace and somewhat clouded my thoughts. The other decorations were no more comforting … the works of De Sade, the Devil’s Bible, a human skull, all spoke of minds broken by prolonged exposure to the monstrous, to the unearthly. Agent Fox stumbled on a more complete copy of the “King in Yellow” but found its contents so disturbing that, within moments of reading it, he was shacking uncontrollably, apparently afflicted by delirium tremens. Fortunately Patrick managed to control the affliction by striking the quaking Fox about the face a number of times.

The others were more successful in their searches, discovering a number of documents, apparently written in blood, which indicated that the Cult planned to carry out some ritual or other within an hour on Crickley Hill, overlooking the city.

At the time the obvious course seemed to be to get up to the Hill and prevent them from carrying out their sinister plans. Unfortunately, because we’d tailed the cultists for quite a time we were now some distance from the pool cars, which would probably prevent us from stealing a march on our foes. Without the first aid kit it was impossible to treat Jones’ wound so we decided that he and the two Irishmen should leave first to give them enough time for the crippled soldier to get to their car. As Jones shuffled off we three remaining agents examined the remaining documents which were scattered around the Cultist’s hideout. None of them were immediately relevant to our investigation but they were, nonetheless, most disturbing. I read through the diary of a child who apparently lived in the West Virginia coalfields in the early 1920s, at about the time of Coalfield Wars. Much of it seemed innocuous but there were certain passages … certain passages that …

At this point subject savage apparently lapsed into unconsciousness again. The following is a transcript of what he said while he slept.

Mother took her AXE and gave the MINERS forty whacks … WhoSE fOr DINNER TONight MuMmy ???
The DaRk OnE watCHES over us ALL … The thOUsand FACed MAN …
ThE ST A RS AR E Right … The STARS a r e Right !!!

Subject regains consciousness at this point.

Ehm … Er … Where was I? Oh yes … the diary … very disturbing indeed … that poor child.

… Unfortunately although the diary spoke of the Cult’s interest in the macabre it was of little use to us at that moment, but I did take it with me for further perusal. There were many disturbing images found between the covers.

Having given the others a little time to get on their way Agents Scott, Fox and I made our way back to our own pool car and Fox began the drive towards Crickley Hill.

Hills of Madness

On our way to the Crickley Hill rendezvous Fox and I discussed what we had learnt and it struck us that the cultists had probably been aware of our interest in their activities ever since we burgled West’s flat. Therefore anything we had learnt since then might be a plant, an attempt to trap us by drawing us to a location of their choosing for a confrontation. This belief was reinforced by the fact the all of the earlier information we had pointed to a ceremony being held much closer to midnight and probably down at the ancient Neolithic site beneath the college’s student bar. The more we thought about it the more sure we were that there was something suspicious about the ease with which we’d discovered their hilltop meeting place. However we ultimately decided that, although it would be worth mentioning it to our fellow agents when we got together again, we couldn’t ignore this meeting because we would risk loosing track of them if our guess about the college was wrong.

Agent Scott suggested that we meet up with the others at a pub called the “Air Balloon” before we actually made our way to the hillside. When we did meet up Fox and I outlined our fears concerning the possibility that a trap awaited us. The others were not convinced, Billy in particular felt drawn to the hill by some mystic guide and was sure that terrible things might occur if we didn’t intervene. Fox and I agreed but felt that some sort of plan might be in order, but the others didn’t share this view so we settled on the “muddling through” policy once again.

A short drive took us to a viewpoint high above Cheltenham and its near neighbour Gloucester. The constellations of warm yellow street lights provided a welcome link to civilisation but they were mocked from above by the naked stars, continually emerging and fading back into the scudding grey white clouds. I had never looked at the heavens with more trepidation than I did now, knowing that once sane men and women believed that forces dwelt among those distant suns, forces god-like and terrible. Still less comforting was the baleful, unblinking gaze of Aldeberaan, located exactly where West had predicted.

Our unease turned to dread when faint plaintive cries were carried to us on the wind. We made our way towards them but as we did so they changed their tone and became a strange, inhuman chant. Speed was now of the essence so we made our way over small hillocks and around obstructing trees, ever following that terrible sound. Creeping over a low rise we could see them at last. The cult was clustered together on a strange wooden platform and were screaming blasphemies into the night sky. From the distance I was it was difficult to make out numbers but, silhouetted against the star filled sky, with their arms and voices raised in praise of dark things there seemed all too many.

Equipped only with my trusty Kodak there was little I could do but once again the TOYmen came to the fore. Jones, Fox and Scott used the nearby bushes as cover to creep closer to the cultists. As they did so the cult’s ceremony seemed to reach a crescendo and indescribable alien sound echoed across the lonely English hilltop.

Jones later told me that it was at this point that he, Fox and Scott were waylaid by an “alien” who seemed to emerge from nowhere, almost within touching distance of Jones. They described a terrible beast, vaguely anthropomorphic but with long ropy tentacles in place of arms and a huge bestial head. This horror shuffled slowly towards the wounded Jones, reaching towards him with its terrible limbs but, with a supreme effort of will the Welshman ignored his maimed leg and ran from this apparition. As he fled the hillside echoed to the crack of pistols being rapidly fired, for both Fox and Scott pumped round after round into the shambling creature, with little initial effect. The horror absorbed enough punishment to stop ten men but, thankfully, the bullets began to have some effect, first slowly it and eventually dropping the creature in its tracks. Its haunting alien cry sounded once again as it faded slowly from sight.

Bernard the Dimensional Shambler - not the best monster costume we ever made, but in that lonely spot at night, the cries of terror from the players were real enough!

While the TOYmen battled the Shambler the other cultists scuttled off, having successfully sprung their trap. Before the Cultists could escape they were waylaid by Billy who hurled a psychic attack at Alice, who was among their number. Unfortunately Alice was apparently no mere cult member but some form of priestess or high acolyte for her own occult might was more than a match for the plucky young Irishman and she sent him away, momentarily stunned by the backlash from his failed assault. As Patrick dragged Billy away I saw the cultists departing in a tightly packed group, I considered waylaying them but didn’t like the odds so I watched as they departed and then went to join the others.

Although we had triumphed over the creature it was obvious that our devious opponents had led us into a trap. Luckily we’d managed to survive their terrifying hunting beast and were now more resolved than ever to stop these deluded lunatics before they could do any more damage.

Quickly making our way back to the cars it was decided that we should head back to the safehouse to prepare for our final confrontation with Lux and his followers. The climax to this evening of terror would come at midnight, where we were now sure the cult leader and his followers would attempt to stage the “King in Yellow” in order to summon one of these terrible star creatures from whatever distant hell it hailed. They must be stopped!!! Billy and Patrick believed that disrupting the ceremonial aspects of the play would be even more important than incapacitating the participants … an assumption that seemed reasonable enough.

The Play’s the Thing

As the midnight hour approached the Agents of Cassandra 23 gathered their courage and strode out into the cold, clear night for their rendezvous with destiny. Fortunately the college was only a short walk from the safehouse so we arrived in time to foil their dreadful scheme.

As we approached the curtain clad exterior wall of their makeshift theatre we could see that they must already be within, for shafts of yellow light escaped from chinks in the curtains and the rhythmic metre of that play could be heard. We crept in through a sidedoor and surveyed the scene before us. The student bar had been converted into a cross between a temple and a theatre, with a black, shroud bedecked stage at the back and seven pillars decorated with the mark of the Yellow Sign.

Staguing a fictional cursed play is harder than it sounds, but Amanda wrote the music, I did the script, and it was bloody weird and freaky to watch!

Creeping forward Jones and I went down the shadowed left side of the area while Billy and Patrick moved onto the central stairway which faced the stage, hoping to distract the players from their purpose. Across on the other side of the room Fox and Scott were moving towards the stages. As we moved forward we tore the Yellow Signs from their places, our actions accompanied by the eerie cadences of some sinister chant and the play’s haunting music. The players were clad in costume as befitted their roles and had their faces covered with theatrical masks, which made them seemed even more detached from the normal people we actually knew them to be. Despite our efforts the play seemed to have a life of its own and the players moved like automata, simply fulfilling their parts…

All of the Signs had been cast aside but the play still moved inexorably towards its climax … both Jones and Fox believed that the time for quiet action was over and prepared to shoot the cultists off the stage. Fox leapt out into the central aisle, directly in front of the stage and levelled his gun, he warned the cultists to stop but received no reply so once again a gunshot reverberated into the night. One of the players slumped to the floor but the play continued on without a pause, apparently beginning to reach its climax.

In desperation Fox glanced around and saw a pattern of strange crystals arranged on a table just in front of him. He swept his arm down and scattered the crystals and as he did so the summoning collapsed. Some of the weaker cultists collapsed but, before we could apprehend him, Lux pulled off his mask and muttered a few words of an antediluvian tongue then leapt backwards through an mind-numbing ‘tear’ in the air behind him and disappeared.

The Aftermath

We had succeeded in preventing the arrival of the “King in Yellow” but Lux had escaped. Furthermore some comments were made by the local authorities about a number of suspicious deaths in the Cheltenham area that evening but Cassandra 23 dealt with them. Most of us look forward to meeting Mr J. again to express our gratitude for all the help he and the Department had provided.

The fate of the Cultists is not totally clear. We couldn’t prove that they’d committed any serious crimes but most of them were so badly affected by the failure of the summoning that their minds were broken – these we had no difficulty in getting them sectioned. Unfortunately the innocents who had been corrupted by Lux were now beyond saving.

What really concerns me is what happened to West and Alice. They were taken away by the authorities but I’ve been unable to determine their fate. Both of them are cunning and manipulative and could well escape their just deserts if they’re not carefully watched.

Concludes transcript of subject Savage’s recording. Suggest judicious alterations be made to reinforce subject’s paranoia concerning supernatural connections – case study 27a/mu indicates a high level of paranoia increases operative survival rates by 12.5%

File reference: cf23/bse/1 alpha/tptk/22-1-00

Well that was Pete’s excellent write up of the first game. If anyone has read this far and would be interested in playing in a similar game, do drop me a line, and maybe, just maybe, one day we will do it again!

cj x

Booting the Ball in No Man’s Land… A Rant for Sceptics

I should really avoid this topic like the plague, but I’m going to talk about it anyway, and risk upsetting everyone, because that’s what I happen to do!

I nearly used in my title the words ” the sceptics movement”, but as I think the idea of a movement that makes sceptics sounds like a creed or religious group is a  misnomer I avoided that term; one thing is certain, sceptics always argue, disagree and often strongly, over all kinds of things. Where the evidence is solid they tend to agree, but on moral issues, tactical issues, social or political issues, or scientific  areas where the evidence is weak sceptics hold strongly divergent opinions. And that is good and healthy.

I self-identify as a sceptic, as most of you know: my scepticism is often sharply turned towards to the claims of my fellow sceptics, owing to the ridiculously partisan Sceptics versus Believers binary opposition one often sees, which prevents any meaningful critique of sceptical writings from those perhaps best qualified to be sceptical about them. I am often pained by the emotive responses one sees from sceptics and believers alike, where mudslinging and vitriol obscure rational debate – but until we break down the “us versus them” herd mentality” it will be hard to make progress. Anyone who knows me knows I am a harsh critic of my fellow Christians; I am a virulently harsh critic of my fellow sceptics and paranormal believers, and a ferociously harsh critic of my own beliefs, which I attempt to dissect as best I can on a continual basis. That’s not easy, so I post and debate on forums, and wherever possible engage with the best arguments and thinkers I can who sharply oppose me; I have learned a lot, and modified many beliefs as a result.  I’m still wrong on many things i know, and hopeless ignorant and misguided at times, but I make an effort to try and cast a critical eye over my own stuff as much as everyone elses. I despise bullies cock sure of themselves and filled with self importance – and regularly get my own ego punctured when someone hands my hat to me in a debate or discussion, and am glad of it. We all need a little doubt, a little humility.

Some of you may remember my old Most Haunted forum signature, taken from Andrew Eldritch’s song Possession? (YouTube link contains sound)

I’ll be your imagination,
Tear apart what you believe,
Make a mess of your conviction,
Take away my pride and leave,
Nothing, but the debris,
Cuts, two ways..

I meant it. I really did. And that doubt, that criticism, I apply indiscriminately. I am not a comfortable person to be around at times..

Now if you are a paranormal believer, expecting another lambasting of sceptics, probably best to stop reading now; this post is not aimed at you. It’s aimed at sceptics, and those who identify as sceptics, and concerns something that puzzles me. Why do they attack their own?

Scepticism is vital, and important, in addressing real issues, of bad science, bad medicine, and quack practices that cost or ruin lives, of that I have no doubt. Sterling work is done in these fields by podcasts, Skeptics in the pub meetings, and conferences up and down the land. I have immense respect for the hard work done by huge numbers of people in these areas.

So what is my beef? Because even the best sceptics in my area, parapsychology, paranormal belief and psychical research, are frequently treated with quiet disdain by their colleagues. While the JREF has obviously always stressed the importance of testing and studying paranormal claims, and in places like Rational Skepticism one sees intelligent comment, while UKSkeptics, BadPsychics and other sites did valuable work in addressing issues,  and their are blogs like Bare Normality and Hayley Steven’s and Ersby’s that deal intelligently with the ssues, skeptics who choose to study paranormal claims are often, unless big names like Chris French, Richard Wiseman, Sue Blackmore or Ray Hyman, treated with disdain by their sceptical colleagues.  “Why bother to study something so pointless?” seems to be the refrain. Fighting homeopathy is seen as real sceptical “work”; trying to actually look at the peer reviewed parapsychological literature is treated with contempt, and trying to investigate yourself these claims, as Hayley, ASKE or Ersby did is met with disdain. People like Dr Braithwaite are ignored; the believers are unhappy with their negative findings, and naturalistic explanations for phenomena in terms of neuroscience or whatever; the sceptics are content at best to point at their work when they meet a “woo”, and run away.

I have immense respect for sceptics who engage with the subject, and offer meaningful critiques. Most of them I would actually classify as parapsychologists however much they would resist the label, as they make a meaningful contribution to the discourse, and many if not the majority of  academic parapsychologists are extremely sceptical of most if not all paranormal claims.  How many are there? Probably as many as there are parapsychologists producing papers in the field — two or three dozen, turning out good quality commentary, doing their own experiments, and speaking at sceptic conferences. Now hardly anyone among the sceptics  dares critique Wiseman for researching this stuff; he s too clever, too charismatic and above all too clearly knows what he is doing — but [people don’t actually read his research papers do they? The APRU did a fascinating series of podcasts  How many folks have listened to them?  From the other “side” (perhaps from the “other side”?) all the Society for Psychical Research lectures and conferences for many many years can be purchased or borrowed from the society on CD (ity says tape on the website, but most are on CD these days) – how many people have listened to them? Prominent sceptics and some of the very best in parapsychology are available to hear — for a free download from the APRU, for a small fee (£5 non-members) or postage if a member from the SPR – and yet who bothers?

Still, people are busy, I understand that. Start investigating paranormal claims outside of say mediums and psychics and you can get caught up in real science issues,a nd philosophy of science issues. Worse than that crazed loonies like me might come after you, and boy am I fierce when woken from my slumbers. But the anti-paranormal camp are not content to ignore the research – they actually often seem to denigrate those among their own who do engage with the subject, and openly ask why stuff on ghosts or ESP actually appears at sceptic conferences. They know, with all the fervour of a fuindamentalist believer, that its all bollocks – so why listen to those who bother to critique it intelligently and sceptically? Their disdain for the subject rubs off on the poor sceptics who do intelligently comment, and while they are lauded when the going gets tough and something like Bem’s habtituative precog paper gets mainstream attention, most of the time they are quietly ignore and sometimes condescended to.

Sometimes I feel I’m playing football in no man’s land. I have come through adversity to gain respect and genuine admiration for those I disagree with, and believe sceptics and believers with a strong interest in paranormal claims can reach out, and boot the ball for a Christmas Day friendly, and who knows, together we might score some goals?

But for the sceptics who actually do engage with the evidence, and who do try to seriously study and address the issues, well they face derision from their peers, and frankly dismissive attitudes from many who should bloody know better. For them it’s more a case of

Shot by both sides….

That’s what happens when you kick that ball over the top. And it is frankly disappointing in people who call themselves rationalists. If you can’t be bothered to do the work, at least respect those who do, and by their intelligent critiques do everyone a favour and advance our knowledge OK?

Almost no one shoots at me, perhaps because they know I’ll come out guns blazing??? Well here is your chance — if you think the serious investigation of paranormal claims does not warrant the effort (and I would be the first to concede there are more vital areas of public finance, advertising and health care needing sceptical engagement) just say so. But don’t denigrate those who dedicate their time freely and graciously to working on these issues, be they “believer” or “sceptic”.  If you think it’s all rot, that is your right — but an argument from ignorance remains an argument from ignorance, and you should be sincerely grateful to those who do the work for you.

So that’s it really. Stop putting down those who study stuff you don’t claim to understand. If like some of the sceptics I have mentioned, or many others – VK, Louie Savva, Sue Blackmore,Matthew Smith, Ciaran O Keefe, fls, Soapy Sam, Campermon the list goes on  you are willing to do the work and have come to a reasoned judgment against these things, that awesome, and I appreciate your work and opinions — but if you are not one of these people, whenther or not i have named you, stop turning on those who do as “second rate sceptics.”

Put up, or STFU.

cj x

Buy my new book and release your inner psychic powers! Out today!

Please note this was my 2011 April Fool’s Joke – it is NOT to be taken seriously!

 

Hello! I am very excited to announce my new book, detailing my spiritual adventures and a guaranteed path to unleashing your full psychic power! Reasonably priced, the book launch today will be accompanied by a book signing and I’ll also be performing auric realignment, spiritual massage and colonic irrigation of the chakras for the lucky few who get to attend the signing!

Just $126.66!

This book has it all, all the accumulated wisdom I have gained from studying at the feet of great masters. Once I doubted the very existence of psychic powers, but years of studying have slowly revealed to me the magical wisdom of my Danish ancestry, the healing power of hops, and the deep secrets of the multiverse. With this book you can master them too!!! Sceptics will laugh and point and write blogs about you, but armed with these powers you can turn Hayley Stevens and her ilk in to a frog. (I turned Susan Blackmore in to a newt…. she got better.)

Learn how to

* Attract women — by spiritual gravity! * Become irresistible to NICE men! * Develop your Auric Armour! * Summon pixies to do your house chores! *Remote Homeopathy! * The Von Juntz formula! * Dream your way to Riches! * Get research funding from the SPR! * Banish Wiseman and other household pests! *Read the Prunes! * Cast a Deadly Spell! * See through peoples clothes with the Intellego Animal rite! * Pass through the gates of Alkoth! *Locate the Holy Grail in Stafford Castle! *The Secret of the Godlearners! *What Olaus Wormius was too scared to translate in the Necronomicon! *Look sharper than a Supermodel! *Turn Sceptics in to Small Amphibians! * The Forbidden Secret of Mazille! * Fly without Ryan Air! * Improve your Quidditch Technique!

Let’s face it, bending spoons is so 1974. With my esoteric training you will be able to bend minds, starting with your own!!!

From the publishers website –

“CJ Romer is undoubtedly among one of the great mystics of our age, and a 7=6 Ineptus Exemptus of the Order of the Silver Twilight. In this book he finally reveals the results of years of occult study at Durenmar, his mastery of the obscure tomes of Bonisagus, and his esoteric heroquest with his friend DC to find the legendary lost treasure of the Cathars. Learn how with a German Secret Master named Axel he rediscovered the lost secret of Remote Homeopathy, and  the terrible  inner secrets of Romerian Witchcraft. A practical Self-Initiation Guide, this book can make you EVERY BIT AS PSYCHIC AS CJ, GUARANTEED!!!!”

I do hope you will all rush out and buy a copy this morning???

cj x

2010 in review

I guess this is my 200th post. I was intending to write something yesterday, on 1/1/11, for a 200th post, but ended up playing the boardgame Agricola with Tom Nowell and Becky Smith for hours, and checking errata for a recent Ars Magica book. Fortunately they were prety minor for my chapter, but it is depressing that I always miss something it seems!   Anyway, a very Happy New Year to you all.  Mine is going well, nearly three weeks now off the fags this time, and I’m recovering from my illness that left me wiped out before and over Christmas — I slept most of it!

And now from WordPress, this arrived this morning. I have just posted it, I never wrote it!

WordPress report –

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

About 3 million people visit the Taj Mahal every year. This blog was viewed about 44,000 times in 2010. If it were the Taj Mahal, it would take about 5 days for that many people to see it.

In 2010, there were 64 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 199 posts. There were 114 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 34mb. That’s about 2 pictures per week.

The busiest day of the year was October 25th with 709 views. The most popular post that day was From Televangelists to Dawkins; the Selfish Genes will prevail?.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were rationalskepticism.org, facebook.com, en.wordpress.com, forums.randi.org, and scienceblogs.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for robin hood, mr blobby, virus, flying pickets, and kelvin.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

1

From Televangelists to Dawkins; the Selfish Genes will prevail? October 2010
6 comments

2

Running Ars Magica – advice for new story guides, part one October 2009
1 comment

3

The Futurist Movement; Italian Art & History – a very short introduction May 2009
2 comments

Why people come here – Top Tens of my blog!

OK, just a short piece as I’m out tonight and snowed under by work. The majority of people who come to my blog look at the home page, and of course those strange loyal souls who have subscribed get all my nonsense in their in-tray, but I thought today it might be interesting to use the WordPress settings to see what people actually read here. So here are my top ten posts to date, not in the little star ratings, but in number of visits…

THE TOP TEN

Number One!

Running Ars Magica – advice for new story guides, part one

A short piece I wrote on the roleplaying game Ars Magica - so far 7,500 visits.  The game is clearly VERY popular!  This is by far and away my most popular piece, making me wonder if I should put up part two which I wrote a long time ago but have never posted

2.

The Futurist Movement; Italian Art & History – a very short introduction

I recall thinking when I posted this that a piece on an Italian Art Movement of the early twentieth century (that had been on my website for ten years) would hardly register ten visitors. I was wrong – 4,827 people have looked at it.

3.

The Myth of the Common Cold

Curious this one; it was just me thinking about viruses and evidence based medicine – well 1,767 readers so far. I guess we all get colds!

4.

Debunking A Modern Myth: the Conflict of Religion & Science – Part One

A heavier article, and I think an important one. 1,397 visitors.

5.

Acceptable in the Eighties?

I don’t write about politics much, but this short piece from just before last years UK General Election got 1,394 views. I’m not sure why!

6.

The End of an Era: Richard Dawkins forum to close

This one does not surprise me at all – a lot of people loved the forum, and it became newsworthy for a few days, as Dawkins argued with his fans.

7.

Boardgame Review: Ticket to Ride Europe

Again, given the popularity of the game no great surprise. Maybe games manufacturers should send me review copies or pdfs?

8.

Not Bronze Age Myths – let’s end this misleading cliche

I was in a good mood, and despaired of ever defeating this atheist forum cliche, so I wrote this. 962 people have read it.

9.

The Reverse Robin Hood: or I Fought the Beast and the Beast Won

Social commentary on the bank charges High Court case – 960 views

 

and finally back to roleplaying games –

10.

Heroquest 2.0 – the first mini-review?

An excellent game, and 910 views.

Not much correlation with my highest rated articles as it happens, and not to my mind my best ones, but that’s what people have looked at! WHat is peculiar to my mind is how badly my articles on psychical research, my main interest, do. Not one hits the top ten. Ditto most of my writings on Science and Religion. It would appear my blog is too esoteric for most people’s tastes?

THE TOP TEN SEARCH TERMS

OK,  just for fun here are the top ten search terms on this blog –

1 robin hood – 5,365 — well that explains the banking articles views! Shame not what they wanted

2. Lord Kelvin — 2,549 — Lord Kelvin really outdoes Darwin on my search results!

3. mr blobby — 1,415 — well I resemble him I guess!

4. virus -- 1,275 — the common cold, not pc ones

5. Carra -- 1,100 — the futurist artist

6. Boccioni - 879 – another futurist artist

7. Fying Pickets - 635

8. Atheism – 586

9.  Ticket to Ride Europe – 500

10. Jerome23 — 413

Yep, I’m a few dozen ahead of Aleister Crowley as a search term to find my blog

cj x

 

 

Earth Our Home: The Board Game of Life on Earth

Welcome to Earth: Our Home — The Board Game!

For 2-4 players, ages 8+

For the contest this month I decided to do something a bit different, and so I have designed a board game. If you are brave enough you can print it out and play it, and if you do please tell me how it went! Feel free to modify or improve it as you see fit.

You can now download the components at (including much smaller and easier to printversions – read the text file first!)

http://rapidshare.com/files/354314137/Earth_Our_Home.zip

You can see the board, counters and some of the cards here on this article, but if you want to print and play the game, and I really hope you will, then you will find it easier to download the printer friendly zip files and print the files in there which are configured for A4 card or paper.

What’s it about?

The game covers the development of life on Earth from the Cambrian era – c.500 million years ago, with the last turn representing he arrival of the first hominids – Homo Erectus and friends – about 1 million years ago. Even the most fanatical board game player will be pleased to hear that each turn is not a million years! Instead of 500 turns, game play is divided in to five EPOCHS – each epoch covering a lengthy period of Earth’s history.

So what do you do in it?

Well the problem with any game based on evolution is that the process is rather blind and to some extent random – and there is absolutely no guarantee that if we re-ran the tape of Earth’s history we would have human beings here now reading my writing, or indeed any recognisable species, or perhaps any life at all. So in this game we take the viewpoint in each epoch of a GENUS*, a set of beasties related to one another by descent, competing to adapt to and survive (and proliferate). Each turn you lay down 18 counters representing your current SPECIES on the map of the world, trying to control HABITATS. Of course its not just a matter of your species happily filling up these habitats. Other species probably want them too – each habitat can only support three counters (with one exception we will come to later). Given that other players are controlling the other species, and might well be fiercer, hungrier or just plain bigger than your species — well bad things will happen. If a habitat gets too popular, and hence overpopulated, bad things happen.

Tom ponders his move in Earth: our Home

Only the species which is best adapted to life in that area is likely to survive, and many of your beasties will die: in the worst case some of your species may even go extinct, potentially removing you from the game, and certainly meaning you will have to explore other avenues of evolution. In fact given the constant struggle for resources, it may be that your species will have to kill off its relatives (from the same genus, but earlier epochs)just to find space to survive.

Survival of the Fittest

So how do your beasties take over habitats and make sure they don’t die out? By being better adapted to their habitats than their competitors, and that comes down to random luck to some extent – little bundles of chemical information called GENES. Each epoch your species gains new genes – and develops, becoming more effective at taking over territory. Unfortunately you don’t control what new abilities nature grants you – you just pick a gene card, and your new species counters get that added ability, as well as all the ones they have from their ancestors (your previous species).

As you add gene cards at random to your species however where they might prosper and the best strategy for which habitats to try an colonise will shift, causing you to make tough decisions. Not decisions about which genes you get – you can’t control that – but about how your beasties can make best use of the genetic heritage they have to prosper and survive.

Game Components

You should firstly print off the big colourful game board. If you are short on ink, printing 16 pages of A4 (or whatever) and taping them together strikes you as hell, or you otherwise can’t print the map, it’s fine to just draw it on a big bit of card or a wall, so long as you get ti to look roughly the same in terms of areas. Take a look at the board: you will notice it shows two views of planet Earth from space.

The board for “Earth: Our Home” the game: a larger version is included in the zip file, you will need it to play.

Part of the globe is not shown: it’s the Pacific Ocean, and mainly sea, so in this game it’s represented by the little rectangular box labelled “Pacific Ocean”! As you can see the board is divided in to hexagons, some complete, some partial, which represent HABITATS. Some partial ‘hexes’ are too small to be bothered putting counters on so we ignore them, but most of them have one of three symbols – a water drop for a MARINE habitat (the sea!), a palm tree for a TROPICAL habitat and a pine tree for a TEMPERATE habitat. Temperate and Tropical habitats are LAND: marine habitats are, unsurprisingly enough, SEA.

Now take a closer look at the board. Earth is a funny old place, so to handle movement some zones are marked with a letter. A and A, see two of them? B and B? C and C? D & D? The two bits marked with the same letter are the same habitat: all the rules apply as normal (no more than three beasties in each, and so forth). Living on a globe plays hell with inventing rules for “movement”. The Pacific is a huge area where 11 counters can peacefully co-exist – enter from any region marked with a P adjacent.

The counters for Earth: Our Home board game: download the zip file to get printer friendly ones at the right scale.

Next up you should see counters: 100 for each genus, divided in to 5 species representing something about the type of life forms involved. Don’t take them literally – your creature in epoch one lives in the sea, and may well be a fish, but not a modern one, and the frog on the epoch two counter just means your species then is an amphibian, and can go on land. Epoch Three shows an Allosaur, but you might be anything, and Epoch 4 is just a mammoth for the age of mammals – but maybe on ‘your earth’ the dinosaurs never died out, and really it’s a big lizard. Use your imagination, and describe what your species looks like to the other players. That last little man is a Homo Erectus by the way. Still maybe your final species look like super-intelligent jellyfish, or lizardmen, or big birds, or… anyway you get the picture, it’s just an illustration. Now you will need to print the counters off: you use 18 of each species on the map, one is a spare, and one you place on your genes cards – more of which later. Stick them on coins, mount them on card, whatever works for you. You play them to the board by piling them in the appropriate habitat.

Finally there are 32 gene cards. There are four types of gene card, distinguished by the letters A, B, C, & D (in reality we would have the letters A, C, G & T for adenine, cytosine, guanine, and thymine, but I was worried someone might take this too literally.) They are so important they get their own bit of the rules (see below).

GENE CARDS

At the beginning of each epoch comes the MUTATION PHASE. Random variations in offspring born have led to a development in your species: on turn one it will effect your little fishies. So shuffle the genes, and randomly deal each player a gene card, which they put face up in front of them with a spare counter of the current species on. So if it’s turn one, and you get an “A gene”, put the A card in front of you with your spare fish counter on it.

What do they do? Well an A card gives your beastie a +2 in SURVIVAL CONTESTS in temperate habitats, and represents some kind of adaptation (big teeth, camouflage, better brain, improved senses) which give it a big advantage in that type of habitat. A B card does exactly the same in Temperate climates. C & D cards do something similar – they reflect a new adaptation that works well in ANY environment, but if you happen to have the symbol in the corner, say you are playing blue square genus and you get the blue square C, well sheer random luck means it happens to be a very powerful adaptation, worth +2 in ay environment. (Really big teeth, or squirrelly reflexes – at first sign of danger you grab your nuts and run?) No having an A or B gene in Epoch One, when everyone is confined to Marine habitats is pretty useless.

However unlike in individuals today, genes can’t do you any harm: you are a species, only the members with good genes get to mate with the lady or gent beasties as much and have lots of little beasties, so no need to worry about poor genes.

Those fishy genes which only work on land areas (A or B cards) will come in to their own later, because when you take your new species, it draws new card, and adds that to the existing one. Any remaining members of the former species on the board don’t get the advantage of the new gene – only the latest species, but it gets both. So your Epoch 5 creatures will have the advantage of ALL 5 genes (assuming nothing terrible has happened along the way). So ok, they give you +1, or +2, in either certain habitats or anywhere.Why does this matter? Because you add up these bonuses to work out your species counters CONFLICT VALUE. A creature in a temperate environment with genes A, A, C (but no their symbol) gets 2 +2 +1 = 5. Their conflict value is 5. It’s not about fighting: it’s about how well adapted you are to your environment.

Gene cards: You need the A,D and B ones as well to play. Download or message me for a copy – it’s free

GO FORTH AND MULTIPLY

Firstly, if it’s not the first turn, choose one of your counters to mutate. Take it off the board, and replace it with a counter of your new species that has evolved out of the old one. In the first turn you just plonk your six counters down. Each turn after drawing your mutation each player plays counters to the board, representing their species going forth, multiplying, and slowly filling up habitats. In each turn someone is first player, and they MUST PLAY SIX COUNTERS (well five including the one that ‘evolved’ ) ONE AT A TIME to habitats adjacent to that species. You can put up to three counters in any one habitat, or spread out thinly, up to you, but each habitat you enter must be adjacent to, or the same as, a habitat you already have a counter of this species in.

Note species: if you are putting Mammoth counters down they must be adjacent to an existing Mammoth counter, not another older counter of your colour(they may be in the same habitat, and that’s fine, though) Once you have put six counters down, the player to you left plays six counters exactly the same way round their newly evolved species. .After there turn, the next player, and so on till it’s your turn again. You don’t start a new Epoch, you just play your second six counters, and when your turn comes round again your third six, so now hopefully (but not necessarily) you have 18 counters on the board.

In Epoch One your beasties must stay in the sea: In Epoch 2 they can go on sea or land, being amphibians, from Epoch 3 only land zones are used.

SURVIVAL CONTESTS

You have to play all your counters, and once played to the board they never move. Soon you will start to run out of space in habitats, as your giant horned bunnies or whatever eat all the Jurassic cabbage. No habitat (except the Pacific Ocean: it can hold 11) can ever have more than 3 counters of any colour in it.

If at any point, a fourth counter is placed there (or a 12th in the pacific) something has to give, and someone has to die. So who wins out? The better adapted species of course! Add up the CONFLICT VALUE based on your genes for the species counters in that habitat. Which ever species has the lowest value, remove one of their counters. Then continue: if you play another counter there (presumably because your opponents counter got removed not yours) you do it again immediately – remove on of theirs, add one of yours. If yours (or if two opponents are in the spare there) Survival Values are equal, then comes the tragic bit: both remove a counter; Still the habitat has space now for you to play another counter in., even if you lost one.

Note it is the absolute survival value: that matters: you DO NOT multiply the conflict value by the number of counters in that habitat, so if player A has SV 4 for their mammoth, and your hominid has SV 5, but they have two mammoths, doesn’t make any difference 5 beats 4. In human warfare God is on the side of the big battalions, but in this game it’s not really about warfare: it’s about outbreeding, out eating, out thinking and out living your opponents species.

Counters removed are out of the game: you don’t get to play them again.

SCORING POINTS

As soon as you lay your 18th counter on each Epoch, but before the next player takes their go, you need to see how your species is doing. You DO NOT score any points for earlier species of your genus, so killing off your own counters is fine and dandy: eat your ancestors! For every habitat you have a counter of the current species in , even if shared with another players species, you gain points; 2 points for each Land habitat (tropical or temperate), one point for each Marine Habitat. Everyone can ask everyone’s scores at any point: it’s open information.

The first player card– Adam & Eve frightened by a blue butterfly.

GOING EXTINCT

If your former species from a previous Epoch vanishes it’s sad but has no game effect. If your current species fails to make it, that’s a bit more serious. The most likely scenario is that having played some of your species counters other players kill them off before you can get all 18 down: it’s no big deal. Flip over one of your predecessor species, discard your species gene and draw a new one, and lose 5 points off your score. It happens. Another form of your species evolves and continues, except you might not have many of them. If your species is completely wiped out, you do not get to evolve at the beginning of the new Epoch though. You play Mammoths (or whatever) again while the others move on to hominids. Your points are halved now.

WINNING THE GAME

At the VERY end of Epoch 5 everyone indulges in a last round of point scoring, in addition to the one at the end of their turn. Every habitat, land or sea, that they have their (hominid) species in grants 1 additional point. Add to existing scores, and the person with the most wins! If you never evolved to hominid counters you don’t get these bonus points.

* I tried to design a gene viewpoint game, but it was not as attractive visually sadly, nor as readily linked to “Earth Our Home”. It may well appear on the Richard Dawkins forum in the future though if I get it to work.