Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: Euclid
Euclid Daganfort was every night watchman stereotype Marshall had ever seen combined into one dishevelled package. He was very small and very old, and every part of him was crumpled and squashed as if he was slowly buckling beneath the weight of the passing years. He smoked rolled-up cigarettes and his wiry white hair stood out in jagged bursts beneath his disreputable yellow rain hat. He wore heavy work-boots that always sported a thick crust of mud and his eyebrows grew thick and wild and disapproving. He had a ramshackle work-shed at the far end of the Eerie Cemetery, butting up against the tumble-down stone wall that marked the end of the burial grounds.
One rainy afternoon, Marshall and Simon watched through the high wrought-iron gates as Mister Daganfort retrieved a fishing rod and tackle box from the little wooden hut and stumped down to the river that bordered two sides of the graveyard. When he was safely on the other side of the wall, the boys slipped ’round to the western entrance. Keeping the rows of high mausoleums between them and the river, they snuck inside the cemetery walls and peeked in through the grimy windows of Mister Daganfort’s hideaway.
There were rakes and shovels stacked in one corner and an easy chair covered in a stained tarpaulin facing a portable heater. A chipped and battered mug sat alongside a kerosene stove on a fold-out table. There was also a horseshoe hung over the doorway and a chainsaw mounted on the wall. The blades of the chainsaw were stained and dented, and Mars wondered if tree branches or ambulatory corpses were responsible for the damage. Not all of the dark, sticky smears on the blades looked like sap.
Local legend, at least local legend according to Simon, was that Euclid Daganfort had refused to attend the Tornado Day picnic after Old Bob had flattened a section of cemetery wall where a climbing rose had begun to bloom. The Eerie rumour mill held that Old Bob had picked up the groundskeeper as he was raking the gravel paths between graves and carried him off, shouting his defiance at the rushing air around him. Certainly he had not been seen for a few days in the immediate aftermath of the celebration.
His presumed return had come a week later, when a cotillion gathered for group photos outside the Eerie Bus Terminal and Supper Club had inadvertently captured the old man’s image as he disembarked a GreyHound bus. Out of focus and with the subject partially turned away, the photographer had nevertheless caught his gritted teeth and the white-knuckled grip in which he clasped his walking stick. The picture had appeared in the Eerie Examiner’s Lifestyle section and a neatly clipped and laminated copy now occupied space in the Evidence Locker.
Mars became aware that Simon was tugging on his coat sleeve, trying to attract his attention without speaking. He looked down, then followed Simon’s outstretched finger to where a pile of small propane tanks had been fitted with shoulder-straps and a length of hose outfitted with what looked like Velcro fasteners.
“Flamethrower,” mouthed Simon, his eyes huge and bright.
“For zombies?” Marshall mouthed back. Simon made an uncomprehending face, and Marshall held his arms out in front of him and mimed a shuffling walk. Simon’s expression cleared and he nodded enthusiastically.
There was a toolkit beneath the fold-out table. Marshall pulled it out and shone his flashlight on the jumbled contents within. Drill-bits and screws, hammers of various sizes, a tray of wrenches with interchangeable heads. Jars of salt, a plastic water bottle, a handgun next to a box of bullets that smelled of old blood... Simon shut the lid with a snap.
They backed out of the little shack, moving as quietly as possible. As they emerged into the darkening afternoon, Marshall put his torch away. Around them, the rows of headstones loomed black and featureless against the grey sky. There was no breeze, and the only noise was the sound of cars moving up on Main Street. It seemed very far away.
There was a splash and a cry from the direction of the river. Without saying a word, the two took off running in that direction. They headed for the collapsed section of wall which could be stepped over by a tall man, or scrambled over by a couple of kids.
When they arrived on the muddy banks, sweating and panting and trembling with a mixture of exertion and adrenaline, it was to see Mister Daganfort beating an old woman about the head with a heavy waterlogged length of wood. The old woman had marsh-weeds in her hair and she snapped her long green teeth at the groundskeeper, raking the air with her claw-like fingernails.
Marshall raised the camera and both combatants turned at the flash. The old woman reached for them, and the waning light glimmered on layers of translucent webbing between her fingers. Mister Daganforth shoved at her with the splintery end of the rotting log and she tumbled backwards, into the water. She snarled and bubbled, then turned and disappeared beneath the rippling surface with a flick of what appeared to be a long serpentine tail.
Euclid Daganfort turned his rheumy eyes to his audience and scowled.
“Thirty years I’ve tried to catch me a jennygreenteeth,” he rasped. “That was the closest I ever came, til you fool kids showed up and distracted me.”
He picked up his fishing rod and tacklebox and stamped angrily away, heading back towards the graveyard, muttering to himself as he went.
The boys watched him go, then turned back to regard the stream with a new-found trepidation. Marshall picked up a long thin branch and gave the water an experimental poke. Nothing surfaced, though something dark slithered across the pale stones on the riverbed.
“So,” said Simon. “Jenny Greenteeth.”
“And the local gravedigger is a monster hunter,” said Mars. “Or at least some kind of extreme-sports fisherman.” He pushed his hair out of his face - it was getting long again - and made a thoughtful face.
Simon rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a small notebook. He flipped to the page headed “MR. DAGANFORT” and began crossing items off the list below.
“Not a vampire,” he muttered. “He was out in daylight, and he had that holy water in his shed. Not a zombie - he talks. Probably not a ghoul - a ghoul wouldn’t be bothered about fresh meat, monster or otherwise. Clearly corporeal, so night-ghasts and grave-gaunts are out.” He tapped the stub of pencil thoughtfully against his lower lip, then turned to a fresh page and wrote “HUMAN?” in large block capitals.
“A regular guy who works the night shift in a cemetery?” said Marshall. He looked disappointed. “But he looks so... weird and creepy.”
“He did just fight off a river monster,” Simon pointed out.
Marshall made a face.
“He was fishing,” he said. “I mean, monster-fishing, okay, but it’s Eerie, there’s not a body of water in town without something horrifying and murderous lurking in there.” He picked up a handful of small stones from the muddy bank and began tossing them one at a time into the stream. “Plenty of old people fish. They organise group outings to the lake down at the Bingo Parlour, and the Bait Shop has a senior-citizen discount.” He sighed and dropped the remaining stones to the ground.
“Do you want to go look in the mausoleums?” asked Simon. “The sun’s going down, there’s bound to be some malevolent spirits lurking about.”
Marshall perked up instantly. He’d been looking for an excuse to try a salt and silver canister grenade that Mister Radford had finally gotten back in stock, and a life-sucking spectre or wraith was just what he needed.
“Let’s go!” he said, already pulling out the spook-stopping bomb and feeling for the pin.
Trusted Associates, Inc.
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Surprise by froodle, in which Mars tries to make sure Simon's birthday goes a little better this year
The Glade by froodle, in which Simon and Mars visit a place that only exists on February 29th
Egg Hunt by froodle, in which Simon and Mars partake of some traditional Easter activities
Boardwalk by froodle, in which Simon and Mars are swayed by radio advertising
Lady in Red by froodle, in which Simon experiments on the old-fashioned radio in the Secret Spot, and horror ensues
Seafoam by froodle, in which Simon and Marshall go to the seaside
Taking a Break by froodle, in which Simon and Marshall enjoy some much-needed R&R
Shoreline by froodle, in which Simon and Marshall investigate strange happenings on the shores of Lake Eerie
Parade by froodle, in which Mars takes issue with the Eerie Beekeepers Association's choice of mascot
Homestead by froodle, in which Marshall finally gets something useful out of shop class
Slyboots by froodle, in which a certain corporal of the infernal regions comes to Eerie. Crossover with Johannes Cabal the Necromancer.
Waterlogged by froodle, in which Eerie experiences heavy rainfall
Facilities by froodle, in which the Eerie Bus Station and Supper Club has a problem with the men's toilet
Castle by froodle, in which there is unexpected architecture in Eerie
Visitor in which Marshall's grandma comes to stay
Phonebooth by froodle, in which someone goes to great lengths to ensure a certain call does not go through
Festival by froodle, in which Eerie's local businesses celebrate the summer
Strawberry by froodle, in which there is unauthorised hubbub in Eerie
World Chocolate Day by froodle, in which even chocolate can be weird in Eerie
Shrubbery by froodle, in which there is malevolent greenery in Eerie. Maybe.
A Night at the Circus by froodle, in which a carnivale comes to town, and Marshall and Simon do not enjoy themselves
Hound by froodle, in which Simon makes a friend
Errands by froodle, in which Simon has a to-do list