Allyn shuffles past the bulletin board. The island may be just starting to wake, but he has been up for hours. His teeth are furry with coffee and smoke, and even as he makes his way down the picturesque main drag, he pulls a crumpled, handrolled cigarette from behind his ear and lights it with a cheap Bic. (He doesn't remember putting it there, but a surprise smoke is one of the few things in life he doesn't question.)

He takes a long drag, steadily eyeing the "No Smoking Within 25 Feet" sign plastered on the pub's front window from about ten feet away. Right now the expression is more tired than annoyed; a tenth cup of coffee is going to be prerequisite to his usual levels of disdain for signs, regulations, and directives of all kinds. He could have it at the little studio apartment he has here in town, but he has it in his head that a change of scenery is just the thing to get his punch-drunk brain working again.

He doesn't have to wait long; after a minute, the [OPEN] sign in the window flickers to life. Allyn pinches the cherry onto the sidewalk, rubs it out with the toe of his boot, and puts the half-smoked cigarette back behind his ear before he heads inside.

The bells chime as he walks in the door. He has already staked out his preferred spot, and engages in the age-old ritual of dibs, using a bag half-bursting with loose papers as his implement and token. To the waitstaff, he makes a series of noises that they have learned to interpret as an order for coffee--cream, no sugar--then crumples into the seat.

His eyes are bloodshot, but tired as he is they still bounce from point to point in the little dining room, as if it would take yet more effort to keep them still. His brain is the same way.

Someone took one of the slips on the flyer. The realization comes belatedly. Maybe someone here is finally willing to talk to me. The dark, roasty smell of brewing coffee hits his nose, and he unlimbers in his seat, spine popping. Or maybe some of the kids are getting bored.

His cell phone rang, suddenly!

When he picked it up, a somewhat gravelly, but definitely old voice spoke up. "Mr. Pilgrim? My name is Marcus, I'm the keeper at the Old Cemetery, and I think I have an... 'Odd job', of sorts, that should interest you..."

"I don’t intend to waste your time, so I’ll get to the point: The Old Cemetery, as it's known, has been here for a long time; longer than you might guess. Many keepers have watched over it, this has been my role for more than 40 years, and I don’t intend for that to change, any time soon. However, some, what you might call 'extenuating circumstances' have dictated that I leave my post for a day, to tend to another matter, and those who I might normally call on, in these type of situations, are unavailable. The job I’m offering is simple: Act as it’s keeper, for 1 night, and 1 night only. A night that just so happens to be tonight!”

A pause, before this "Marcus" continued, “-I’m offering $2000 dollars cash, upfront, off the books, entirely!”

((make a Notice roll, please, and post your result at the top of your next post))

Allyn has rolled a 7 to Notice.

He attemps to say something snappy when he answers the phone, but all he can manage is a mumbled greeting. That doesn't dissuade Marcus, though--as the old man begins to ramble, Allyn fumbles with his coat pockets until he finds a dog-eared notepad and pen. He continues to make "mmm" and "mmm-hmm" noises as he jots down the details.

- Marcus = gravetender
- Needs sub. keeper; 'ext. circumstances'?
- Usual sub. (who?) not avail.
- Tonight
- $2k cash???

He underlines that last item a couple more times, letting silence fill the line. That's... a lot of money.

On the one hand, the whole situation strikes him as suspicious. He hasn't exactly made himself popular in town over the last few months; the locals haven't run him out or anything, but no one is tripping over themselves to invite him to their house for dinner--or hire him for part-time work.

On the other hand, this is about the most anyone has reached out to him since he came to town and started asking questions. Even if Marcus doesn't know anything interesting, it couldn't hurt to improve his relationship with someone who's been here for over forty years. (And, frankly, his inability to find anything intersting to report on so far hasn't helped his viewership numbers--$2,000 cash would be a nice cushion all on its own.)

"Well, Marcus," he finally responds, "I'm interested. But why me?" It's a fair enough question, he figures.

((Notice roll: Success))

More than one of the staff noticed him, phone in hand, and gave a look of concern, but didn't disturb him.

“Good! I'm sending you directions, just in case- we aren't listed with the township, you see. if it was up to them, this place would be gone a long time ago! They don’t own it, so they don't have a say, and thank god for that!

"Be at the gates at 7 PM! The gates will be open, and the keys will be under the mat at the booth! I will write you a letter; read it before you start; it will tell you everything you need to know. Your money will be in the drawer, beside the chair, inside the booth.

"I assure you, Mr. Pilgrim... It will be a night to remember.”

With that, the call disconnected.

Allyn lays the phone down on the table, frowning. That was... well, all kinds of odd. And the old man hadn't answered his question. Intentionally? If he's honest with himself, this Marcus sounds like he might just be one of all-mouth-no-ears types--he's met enough old men like that. All the same, really strange.

Two thousand dollars, though. And what is it about this graveyard that the township hates so much? He doesn't remember reading anything in the papers about the town trying to get rid of the graveyard, and it's not like Autumn Island generates a lot of news on most days. Is it a behind the scenes effort? Some old-money old-name councilman trying to claim the property for himself? To go through all the effort of delisting it--maybe someone is using the cemetery as a front for something?

The waiter sets the coffee down on the table in front of him, and Allyn looks up at them, blinking bleary eyes. Something is odd about the way the staff is looking at him. Something that only started when he mentioned Marcus's name during his phone call.

"Thanks," he croaks. Clears his throat, then, more audibly: "Hey, uh. You know anything about the Old Cemetery?" He takes his best pass at a friendly smile, meeting the waiter's eyes.

Allyn has rolled a 4 to Research.

((success))

The waiter hesitated, "I mean... Yeah, why? You're not thinking about going there, are you? Nobody goes there..."

Allyn frowned at the waiter. He thought about telling the truth, but they were being more than a little suspicious. Maybe better to keep his cards close to the chest. "No, probably not. But when you say no one goes there, I assume you mean besides the keeper?"

The waiter just looked at him cock-eyed, "I guess, whoever the heck that might be. I wouldn't know."

He moved on abruptly, putting on a smile for other customers coming in.

Staring into his mug, Allyn attempted to process whatever the hell that interaction had been.
Not very helpful, for one. He supposed it at least confirmed what Marcus had said about the town's attitude toward the place.

In any case, it didn't seem like he was going to get anything else out of the waiter. Or get any more work done, for that matter.

Allyn's stomach growled, sour with coffee and stomach acid.

Right. Tonight, the cemetery. Right now, hashbrowns.

Breakfast went on without trouble, as did the day.

The occasional glance in his peripheral vision, throughout the day, also produced the usual. Locals, now and then, had warmed up to him since he moved in, if only slightly. Now they failed to be discreet as they whispered about him, but only when they thought he wouldn't notice.

His midday sleep was, thankfully, undisturbed.

At one point he met eyes with the mayor- an older man, well dressed, and looked like he smelled something offensive whenever he saw Allyn. He feigned polite disinterest when Allyn first came to Autumn Island, the stink-face, if he had to speculate, didn't start until he realized Allyn wasn't going anywhere.

Here and there, in the pale reflection of windows, picture frames, etc., he caught what seemed to be a woman, in a white dress- never clear, he couldn't make out any details. Sometimes it looked like she was trying to speak, but he never heard anything, one time she even reached from behind as if to put a hand on him-

But she was never there when he turned.

The only thing he could ever clearly make out was long, dark hair, with a shock of white that matched the dress.

Another day, come and gone, and Allyn had received the directions. The bus driver looked at him like he was growing a second head, but stopped where he was asked. At that hour, Allyn was the only passenger, on the final run for the day.

A mist had risen in the area, somewhere in the middle of the more heavily wooded parts of The Homestead, visible only in the headlights of the bus, a flashlight/lantern, and the light of the moon. 100 feet from the side of the road, the tree line opened into a foot trail, so deep in the wood one couldn't see the clearing he was looking for...

He stood at the entrance of the trail for a minute, just looking at the point where the path faded into the forest. He'd had some time to think since that morning, and the more he thought about it, the more rancid the vibes of this whole thing seemed. When he'd been thinking on it during breakfast, he'd chalked a lot of that up to having been away for over twenty-four hours straight.

Now, he'd had a solid seven hours of sleep, and the can of Red Bull in his hand was empty, and he was starting to feel a twisting in his stomach that had nothing to do with caffeine.

But there was no way he was backing down now. Even if the money weren't on the line, people were acting too weird about this graveyard for him not to at least check it out.

Would he see that woman there?

Allyn shook his head, as if he were shrugging off a fly. He stuffed his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket--one hand touching the knife he carried, more for reassurance than anything--and set off down the trail.

Allyn made it down the path without any trouble. Just as soon as he was completely surrounded by the darkness, his eyes were able to adjust (the pinpoints of moonlight shining through the branches helped).

It took him about ten minutes before he saw the light at the end of the trail- the clearing! As he got closer, he could see a brick and mortar wall, and a wrought iron gate, that stood wide open...

Once in the clearing, it was plain to see that the brick went on in either direction. The trees clustered too close to see where the actual corners were, but the were presumably just beneath the rather large stone gargoyles, perched on the wall! They were fairly typical, not especially grotesque or gruesome, but there was a pronounced... Severity to them, visible even from a distance. Something about them...

((Notice and Research Roll, share results in OOC, edits to follow results))

EDIT:
((Success, and Success with a Raise))
Wait a minute... Gargoyles are supposed to ward off bad spirits... So why are they facing INSIDE the walls?

The office is visible from the gate.

Allyn stopped just inside the gates of the cemetery, meeting the dead stone eyes of one of the gargoyles from a distance. It didn't react--of course--but he spent a long moment examining it, from its fang-filled snarl to the sharp talons with which it gripped its perch. The whole aesthetic was very different from the cemeteries he had seen growing up. Those had always felt like... not nice places, per se, but places of quiet conte mplation, where on a fall day like this a parent might take their child to witness the blessing of the tombs.

He had a hard time imagining any children coming here.

The office, thankfully, wasn't far, and Allyn headed over. First things first was to get the money--and the letter that would presumably enumerate his duties for the night. With any luck, they would be mostly perfunctory, and he could spend a few quiet hours working on his research.

The office interior wasn't much. A desk, a file cabinet, and a wide, tall locker.

Allyn spotted the envelope on the desk; he opened it,unfolded the letter within, and pocketed the envelope and cash.

Though the job offered to you may seem like nothing more than an opportunity to make a quick buck, the responsibility is far greater than you can imagine.

He rolled his eyes.

Below, I have left a list of rules; each is to be followed with extreme care and attention.

There are few burial sites in the world as special as this one.

"Laying it on kind of thick, my guy..." Allyn muttered to himself.

The most important thing to remember is this: No one good has ever been buried here.

"...what the fuck?"

Rule #1- The Gate

This cemetery has 1 gate, the only way in or out. This gate must be shut by 8 PM, and kept shut until sunrise. Feel free to shut it sooner.

No admittance by anyone, including law enforcement or emergency services, is to be permitted, during this time.

Oh, that's sketchy as hell.

You, as the temporary keeper if this cemetery, are not allowed to leave these grounds, until the sun has risen.

The largest key, amongst the set you have been given, is for this gate.

He had forgotten about the keys--sure enough, they were under the mat, where Marcus had told him they would be. He noted the big gate key, then stuffed the whole ring in his pocket.

#2- The Suit

Another key on your chain unlocks the wooden closet next to you. Inside are numerous items, 1 such being a suit, much like mine, and a pair of shoes to accompany them!

You must change out of your clothes, and wear this suit for the remainder of your shift. I have guessed your measurements as closely as I could, it may not be a perfect fit, but, it will serve.

They must think you’re me.

You may keep the suit, once your shift is over.

Allyn glanced up at the closet, his expression skeptical. This had better not be a sex thing. He pulled the keyring out and started trying the keys, one by one, on the closet.

After a few minutes fumbling, he stripped out of his own clothes and into the suit--making sure to transfer all of his important items (wallet, keys, knife) to its pockets. It was a tolerable fit, which was both appreciated and worrying.

That done, he read through the rest of the letter. As it went on, the instructions made less and less sense. The next rule told him to make salt circles around certain graves--his eyes went to the Morton's container in the closet, and he grabbed that as well. Something about the grave bells, another bit about what to do if the gargoyles moved? And finally, something about an unmarked grave for a man named "Henry".

"This is so fucking weird," he muttered as he folded the letter into his suit jacket's inside pocket. Forget this being a front for anything--this old man must just be cracked. Still, he was good for the money, and this might make for a mildly interesting story anyway. "'Small town leaves mentally ill man in charge of cemetery'... Eh, maybe."

Allyn spun the keyring around his finger as he exited the little booth. Best to get started--he headed over to the front gate, closed it, and locked it with the big key. That done, he pocketed the keys and began walking a circuit around the graveyard, looking for the white roses that apparently indicated which graves needed a salt circle.

The rose graves got salted just fine, and a couple of hours go by without incident...

((ETA: Success))

He hears the unmistakable sound of a bell ringing...

((no roll necessary for following this particular rule, in the following post))

Allyn poked his head out of the caretaker's cabin, listening to make sure he'd heard right. Sure enough, that was a bell. He reached in a pocket and dug out the now-crumpled letter.

Above a few of the graves, you may notice bells hung up, and a string that goes underground. These are remnants of an old practice from hundreds of years ago, invented as a safety measure for those who had been buried alive! The body would move, the string would be pulled, and a watchman, such as yourself, would know to dig them back up!

These bells now serve a different purpose.

If you hear a bell, encircle the headstone of said grave with salt, and then keep away from this grave, too.

Well, he hadn't expected that to actually happen. Had Marcus rigged the bells to go off somehow? What was the "purpose" they were supposed to serve? If they were some kind of security system, Allyn sure wished that the old man had been less cagey about it.

Really, though, there was nothing for it. He wasn't going to just let the thing ring. Allyn set off down the row of graves, headed towards the sound.

"If he uses this much salt every night, he really ought to start keeping a bucket around," he muttered as he walked towards the source of the sound. "Maybe get a driveway salt spreader, or one of those things they use to draw baseball lines."

It didn't take him too long to find the grave; sure enough, the little bell mounted next to it was ringing, the string pulled by some underground force. He stared at it, watching it move. This was some haunted house shit. Allyn did not care for haunted houses, and he was not going to be happy if Marcus had invited him here just to mess with him.

Once again, he made a thick circle of salt around the headstone. That done, he turned his attention back to the bell. He gave it a look-over, not sure what he expected to find, then pulled on the string, testing its weight.

"Fuck!" Allyn fell back from the bell, dropping the salt and falling flat on his ass. He yanked the letter out of his pocket.

There is another possible situation you may face with The Bells; if several start ringing at the same time, in rapid succession, stop where you are and encircle yourself with salt as fast as you can! Give yourself some room, as you will not be able to leave your circle for awhile...

Remain perfectly still, and whatever you do, do not be tricked into leaving or breaking the circle.

Allyn grabbed at the salt and hurriedly began shaking it out in a circle around him. After a second he remembered to be thorough about it, and doubled back in the opposite direction. When he completed the circle, he fell back onto the ground, sitting crosslegged.

Most of his body was still, but the letter in his hand was visibly shaking.