Starting, 0800 7th January 2012

Lyam Benson woke slowly, as was his normal ritual. There was no breakfast waiting for him, no sound of a child running about the house. Only silence. His house in Yuma was small, only suiting a family of one. A bedroom, a kitchen, a living room, and a latrine. It was all he needed.

Lyam made a fair amount of money. The revenues of his books brought him in plenty to live on. He was a successful writer. Sure, he was no Steven King, but he had made himself a niche in the world of published fiction. He was noteworthy. It was all he could ask for. His revenue along with his wife's life insurance... he could pretty much do whatever he wanted.

Unfortunately, Lyam no longer had a clue what he wanted anymore. The loss of his wife and daughter had destroyed him. Most people think of the genre of Horror as the absence of normal, or life. But it takes a person like Lyam to understand what we crave and what we fear to truly write something that sends chills down our spine.

That is Lyam Benson. Nearly a psychologist, a master in history and old pagan writes. He views life as more of a mystery story than a mathematical problem, like so many scientists. He craves the why? And not the How?

Lyam's early wakening was not of his own choosing. His agent wanted him to start writing again.

It had been a few years since he had written anything. Not since the accident. His publishers were desperate for him to write... anything. Lyam had conceded that it was about time he wrote something worthwhile, but nothing had stuck.

Finally, his agent Kyle Anderson had told him about a local mystery in Colorado. A John Ferguson had died, trapped in the bottom of a mine. He had been reminded about a song by Black Stone Cherry. A man named Floyd Collins. It had intrigued him, and he agreed to travel to the small town of Crestview. It was a town somewhat near to Denver, but about two to three hours away from Yuma.

Lyam set out early that morning. He needed something. Maybe he would write something as a tribute to the men who had died there, based on the knowledge of the people in the town. Such old tales tended to last long in these little towns. Either way, he needed something to write if he was to keep his publisher.

Lyam arrived at the Stagger Inn about mid day. It was a decent place, a man with the nametag Chris was there to greet him. The boy seemed out of place almost with the warm solace of the small inn. He had almost a morose quality about him. Professional, but down trodden.

"Thanks for the room. I'll be needing it for a while." Lyam eyed the boy behind the counter. "You alright Mate? You seem to have a tid bit of the blues." (Psychology check) Lyam knew people. Furthermore, people who are depressed know their own kind, this one definately was one of his own. To the naked eye, he wasn't that impressive. A faded work jacket and jeans, some kicks and a baseball cap. Anyone with an eye for clothes would know that they were all designer, and even his t-shirt would have ran in the area of fifty dollars.

[Psych check 47/66]Chris looked up from the bar where he had been absently cleaning to lock eyes with his new guest. "Just life, boss. As long as your check clears, the room is yours. As for me, I'm -" He took a deep sigh and tossed the bar towel to the other end of the bar lazily. "I'm hanging in there. But I'm sure you don't need depressing stories to start your day off, and I'm not fond of telling them. Doesn't push the bar sales.: Chris glanced around, noting that only himself and Lyam were in the bar at the moment. "Although I doubt that's much of a problem. I'm just grieving at this point. My wife went missing three weeks ago, and there's been no sign of her. I guess it's possible that she up and left with another man - we had our fights, sure as hell. But the wounds still fresh." Chris's head lowered again as he made busy work at the bartop, keeping himself distracted. "What brings you out here? Not exactly Aspen, not even close to a resort town.....I mean, there's what, a foot of snow out there right now? We tend to get lucky at avoiding the Colorado winters. But this isn't really a tourist destination, so if you don't mind my question, what makes you wanna stay here?" Chris pushed to get away from his own hurt and continue the conversation.

He smiled softly at the young man. Not a smug smile, but a smile of understanding, a smile of a man who understands loss. For the briefest moment, Lyam's eyes reflected an unfathomable emptiness. A man who had seen Eden and had been turned away.

"Surely you've put in a Police report for her?" He asked softly, before realizing this towns police force was no better than an untrained militia.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure these things don't happen much in your town. If I hear anything about her Friend, I'll let you know." Lyam's voice was heavily accented by his British influences, but never spoke loudly. Instead, his voice carried far and had the quality where you paid attention, no matter what. His voice has the quality of importance. "As for me... I'm a writer. Lyam Benson. I came here for inspiration." He gave a small unassuming shrug, he never expected people to know who he was. "I was hoping to learn more about the legend of Jon Ferguson while I was here." The man himself didn't matter so much as the details of the accident. Names were always changed and histories were always embelished.

"Yeah, I put in a report. But they haven't found her yet." Chris managed a small and weak attempt at a smile. "Benson...Lyam Benson....I think Isaac has a book of yours back here somewhere. He reads it when it gets slow. I've never been much of a horror guy myself, but Isaac reads everything. As far as Ferguson....not much to tell. According to legend, and Isaac, back in the thirties they had the mine out there as far as three miles deep. Jon was one of the foremen, and while he was descending he slipped. He fell to the bottom, and when they tried to get to him, they couldn't find a way to move him without killing him or risking themselves. So they left him down there. Rumor has it that the last man down brought him a fifth of bourbon and a handgun, but nobody had the courage to kill him themselves. Not while he was still aware of everything. Shortly after they came back up to try and stabilize everything, there was a collapse that clogged two miles of the shaft up. Never found Jons body, and you can't get back to that level of the mine - too much rubble, still. Hopes that he got the gunshot out before the mine did him in. And that's what I know of it. Galt company tries not to talk much about it."

“Woodward!”
“Jameson?”
“We're throwing you something to right the ship with here son. Get your ass up to Crestview, talk to Dante Tanner. He runs the Galt mining Company up there. Do a positive industry piece on him and the company. Higher ups are telling us to make Colorado's economy look revitalized and brought up by fresh ideas. Don't fuck this up, we want it as part of a series on start-up business.” *click*

That was one of the more unexpected calls Carl Woodward had ever received. He was positive that he had blown it at the Denver Post when Jameson, his editor, had told him to fuck off for a while after his last labor of love piece that simply chronicled some of the strange occurrences around Barr lake over the past century. Carl had been careful to leave out some of the crazier elements where locals talked about seeing shadowy figures and just make it sound like a history of the lake piece, but Jameson saw through it and Carl had thought he had lost his job. He almost wished he had, then he could move, try a new paper. Now he was stuck doing a story in the middle of nowhere that nobody who got a place in the office wanted to do. Carl had heard that some weird obsidian orbs had been found, so maybe there would be something interesting there.

The first order of business before he went to Crestview was to get anything he could about Galt co. and this Dante guy. Maybe there would be some fun skeletons to spook up. He was supposed to make them look good, but fuck it, bad press always moved more copies. (Library use)

It was late by the time Carl got into Crestview, making the Stagger Inn's name seem all the more appropriate. The man at the counter said his name was Isaac.
“Hi Isaac, I need a room, probably only for a day or two,” he let him fill out the paperwork then sat down at the bar. “Pour me whatever the special is here. I'm with the Denver Post, you mind telling me about the Galt co.?”

[Library Use 50/45 - failed to find out more than base information, and a handful of articles regarding the mine collapse.]

The changing of the proverbial guard had come and gone, with Isaac taking over for Chris and aimlessly cleaning around, in between reading. He was keeping an eye out for the author to try and get it autographed. He was about thirty pages in when the bell over the door rang. He helped to get the man set with a room, made sure that papers were right, then sat back down. "Denver Post, a'yuh?" He shrugged and pulled out a bottle of scotch, pouring a scotch and soda for the customer and sliding it to him. "Well, what is there to know about the Galt company? They started off doing coal mining, now they provide to the Treasury. Almost every coin you touch could be traced back to them in some way. This used to be the deepest mine in the known world. Then it collapsed and fell in on itself, has never quite been the same. Real self starters. But now....now it's just kind of there. Locals used to call it Hadestown, because of the stench and smoke coming outta the ground. Anything else you wanna know?"

Ahh. The weekends. Niall Curran lived for them. Now, he loved his job, don't get him wrong - he remembered being in that position as a kid, absolutely gobsmacked to learn what was going on barely noticeable all around him, and he delighted in being able to give that to those few University of Colorado students who actually gave a damn - but dealing with bratty 101 kids all week took its toll on a man. Niall just wanted to sit back, relax, and enjoy a quiet Saturday with Rebekah.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and opened up his laptop to check his email. Spam, spam, kids begging for extensions on papers that had been due a week ago... He opened the first of the few emails that actually looked worth his time, from one of his grad student research assistants.

Dr. C -

Saw this article on ScienceDaily this morning. Apparently they discovered some obsidian orbs in this old mining town in Paradise Alley (as far as I can recall from what you told us, obsidian is only found in a few places in Colorado, and Paradise Alley isn't one of them). Could just be a hoax, but I thought you might find it interesting.

-Ashleigh

He clicked on the article, sipping his coffee. It did seem geologically improbable to find obsidian that far north in Colorado. Like Ashleigh had said, it could just be a hoax, but Niall's curiousity was piqued. Apparently, the orbs were being displayed in the Crestview offices of the Galt Mining Corporation, who was likely using the discovery as a bit of free publicity for their flagging operations in the town. Not to mention the fact that the town was located over what had once been one of the deepest mines in the world; hell, he'd learned about it in his doctoral studies back in Ireland.

Crestview... Google Maps told him that it was only a couple of hours away.

He grinned at his wife as she walked into the living room, yawning and clutching her coffee mug. "Hey, Becks! Wanna go on a trip?"

--

Two and a half hours later, their car rolled onto Main Street in Crestview. Rebekah was unimpressed. "Niall, it's so...sad. It's like every picture I ever saw of the Great Depression in fifth grade. Do you think there's really anything going on here?"

"There very well could be," Niall replied. "I mean, even if the obsidian doesn't pan out, this is a geologically fascinating site for the sheer fact that the surrounding area hasn't completely collapsed into the mine."

Rebekah rolled her eyes. "That makes me feel so much better."

Niall laughed and kissed her on the cheek as they pulled into the Crestview Gas and Dash. "Excuse me!" he called to the heavyset man examining the pump. "Sorry to trouble you, but could you possibly direct us to the the Galt Mining offices?" (Persuade check)

[[Persuade check - 35/55]

Tommy peaked his head up, adjusting a suspender slightly. "Yussir, yussir, sure can." He set down the wrench he had been fiddling with and walked towards the car, standing outside Nialls window. "Certainly can. But unless you've got business with 'em, they aren't the most talkative folks. And a word of warning, this here is the only gas station for bout forty miles either way, and I close up at night to sleep and supper, so if you'll need anything you best not wait too late. They get long-winded up in Galts country." He coughed and grinned quickly. "But I'm just rambling. I presume you wanna see the bigwigs, not the working boys. Take a right a block ahead, follow it through the woods and such until you can see the mining pit. There's a handful of trailers and mobiles there. Dante Tanner is the man in charge, but he's normally pretty booked. Uses the Stagger as a meeting room if you can get it - nicer than freezing in a trailer. There's also a bunch of boys from The Hill up there, taking samples and whatnot. Hope that helps."

"Thanks so much! I'll be sure to get back before you close, I don't expect to stay too long." Niall rolled up the window and backed out of the Gas and Dash. He hadn't really known what to expect from the small town, but the warm reception was definitely appreciated.

He followed the directions the man had given him, driving some miles down through the woods, finally slowing upon seeing an assortment of trailers that he assumed to be Galt's, considering that they surrounded...well, simply put, one of the weirdest things he had ever seen. The pit began deep within the earth like a crack straight to hell, and Niall was well aware that the mine itself extended far beyond what was visible from his vantage point. It was awe-inspiring, for lack of a better word.

"Wow," Rebekah said in a low voice. "That's, uh, that's pretty crazy, honey. You know I'm not as familiar with this stuff as you are, is this something that's normal, or...?"

Niall shook his head. "This is most definitely not normal. Like I said - should have collapsed years ago." Managing to draw his attention away from the mine, he noticed someone walking across the site who seemed to know what they were doing. "Uh, excuse me!" he called. "Do you know where we could view the orbs that were found?"

Alexander Marquette looked out of place on the edge of the mine. It wasn't just the finely pressed suit, but also the air of self-importance that he carried about him. He turned to look at the new arrival, taking a moment to think before approaching Niall. "The orbs, sir, are currently property of Sinai Hill research. Might I ask your interest in them? I'm just making sure that they aren't damaged in any way shape or form." And that this guy wasn't a wackjob who believed that they had found God's testicles or some such nonsense. They had come out of the woodwork recently. And this was not in Alexander's job - he was here to buy the mine property from Galt, not to babysit some rocks. "You have to understand, we are very interested in these items. Or so say the boys running the tests. And they asked me to make sure they don't get disturbed if we can help it. You likely understand, mister....." Alexander let the sentence trail off, rotating his hand as if waiting for the name.