The Evil Awakens continues...

Saturday finally arrived bright and sunny. It also arrived in 1925 by the looks of things. A newspaper was delivered, looking fresh and new despite the old date. Radio broadcasts carried news bulletins and old-style music. Also someone else was in the house, Henry Boyd, who turned out to be John's great uncle. The family likeness was easily seen.

   Henry didn't seem put out that there were over twenty people lazing around his house and treading mud about the place. Indeed, he assumed we were all friends of Morris, his brother. No one told him any different, mostly because they wanted his porridge.

   Of Morris there was no sign. Henry put it down to the man's wild drinking habits and expected him to be lying down in some ditch somewhere. As an act of politeness a search was put on to find him, but the man wasn't found anywhere; however, during the hunt a coffin was discovered in one of the out-buildings. Henry did not have a clue what it was doing there (either that or he was lying through his teeth). Some people expected Morris to be in it, which would have been a good trick considering it was chained and locked on the outside. Eventually, after a couple of failed attempts to pick the padlock, it was left alone and the search continued, during which a number of bits of paper, with strange messages encoded on them, were found. With more brain power than the entire code-breaking unit of the British army, the group went to work.

   It was then someone noticed we had gained a study during the night.

   More items were found, some strange, some bizarre, some just ... stupid. The Accountant, Michael James, was caught in a trap and injured, both in mind and body. Rattled (all right, out of his brain), he set his own explosives (!) to blow up the house to remedy the possible threat to him and everyone else. There's some sense in that - somewhere. A brave soul attempted to move the case with the bomb but was caught in another trap placed underneath it. As he rolled around in utter agony, Michael showed his caring side by quickly pointing out that the trap had nothing to do with him. It did not make things any better.

   Suddenly the clues started going missing, and for some reason Anthea was suspected immediately. After being extremely evasive (and thus, dodgy) she was shot with a tranquilliser dart that someone (i.e. the Accountant) had on them and frisked in a nice way. The missing clues turned up (the damned thief). After a swift discussion about whether to leave her in the mud or in the lounge (the lounge won), everyone began to settle down to a nice meal. Unfortunately, Mr. Caesar decided otherwise and burst into the kitchen shooting and ordering everyone on the floor. Stealing all the hard-earned clues, he rushed out of the house at speed, taking the now awake Anthea with him (and not by force). Alas, everybody with a gun was none too pleased by this, and as he made his get-away he was shot half a dozen times in the back. Anthea got away, but only with help from ... oh, about twenty(ish) masked men that turned up (so much for it being a private party). They kept the house under siege despite numerous attempts to eradicate them from the premises.

   John Boyd (the git) decided that wearing balaclavas was the life for him and he joined forces with the so-called 'Brotherhood', shouting as he went that he suspected they would win. Ha, what did he know? At one point they stopped the hostilities to exchange information, and Boyd wanted to be their messenger. He suggested a hostage exchanged as a gesture of goodwill because he didn't trust the party. It was reasonable: if he only knew how many guns were trained on him when he said that. The party's offering, Dawn, was sent first despite protests from a few people, and the Brotherhood showed how trustworthy they were by immediately snatching her away. There was much cursing and slapping of foreheads.

   After consoling the loss, the champions of good turned their attentions to an item found earlier and tried to open the coffin with it. As Michael James and Roger Longthrope (the mortician) discovered, the casket was trapped and both men were knocked unconscious by a cloud of smoke. They were dragged back by their heels into the house and eventually woke up. Longthrope seemed unaffected by the experience (oddly enough), but James was in do-lallie land. After hearing what had happened to Dawn, he strode out with his head in the air and his hat at a jaunty angle to grapple the Brotherhood with his bare hands. Strange how no one tried to stop him. Needless to say, he didn't last long.

   John turned up again like a bad smell, remorseful to a degree but still smug. After listening to his comments for a while, China Jones injected him with a tranquilliser and everyone started talking about the best way to give him a damned good beating. When it was realised that no one had a crowbar or a decent pair of knuckle-dusters, he was left slumped in the chair, dribbling. It was the only humane thing to do.

    More clues 'appeared' in the house, and then someone had an idea there might be some outside. As a number of the party ventured outside to look, the few left inside to hold the fort were visited by Dawn, complete with a strange mark on her head. It was reason enough not to trust her and the door was shut in her face (sorry!). Then it was noticed that Boyd had disappeared. No one saw him get up; no one saw him leave. He just ... vanished. It was a good trick, everyone agreed, yet slightly spooky as well.

   Darkness fell, and the rest of the party came back from their outside excursion, minus one or two people who got lost or killed (such is the way). It was while talking about the merits of going to look for them someone noticed the coffin had moved - all the way from the out-building to the front door, where it was wide open. Sanity must have been thin on the ground because George Stephenson volunteered to get in it for an 'insight', as one of the clues offered. Suddenly he looked as if he had seen a ghost and was stunned into a stupor.

As he was sat down in the kitchen and slapped around the face, a member of the Brotherhood turned up and ordered everyone to go home, back to the future. Everybody agreed, and then took his photograph, for which he willingly posed (obviously vanity is a prime requisite for joining the Brotherhood).

   Once he was gone the evening meal was served, the finest fare of baked potatoes that must have been good because even George in his stunned state managed to eat them. It was halfway through dinner when a whirling dervish of a zombie turned up, none other than John Boyd himself, (see Zombies I Have Been). Some were dismayed at the sight of him and ran; others were pleased to see that he got what he deserved. Then they ran.

     It was not long before Boyd was despatched in a frenzied knife attack by members of the party (annoyed at dinner being interrupted no doubt) and the potatoes were finished. It was time to come back to the present. Various items were needed for trip, one being the hair of a woman who had gone round a certain tree three times. The team (looking somewhat depleted) went for a look and quickly found it. Once the deed was done it was a hurried journey back, interrupted by an attack of masked men (which were easily dealt with). A map was found on one of their bodies and eventually another small team was sent to follow it. After a small delay about who was daring enough to put their hand into the freezing, slimy water, a bottle was discovered, something needed for the end ceremony against He Who Should Not Be Uttered (Oh alright, it was Set). Everything was ready to time travel.

   As the ashes, hair, blood and God-know-what-else were burnt, the return to 1997 began. Slowly. A shifting, boiling fog, haunted by screams and cries (and smoke alarms) surrounded the house. Things appeared at windows, but most thought it was their imaginations playing tricks on them, especially when someone said he'd just seen Papa Smurf. The coffin started flashing and smoking, and then a head was found hanging in hallway. The fire alarm went off again.

   Suddenly the door to the lounge was thrown back with a crack of paint, and a menagerie of creatures that would put a Hammer House film to shame burst in, including a bloody tall Mummy. Everyone scattered, and those who didn't were killed in a variety of gruesome ways. Then it got worse: Set himself turned up, looking annoyed. The party, just regrouped, scattered again, almost running to the hills. During the rout a cunning plan was formalised for a way to banish Set back to where he came from, or the nearest compatible dimension (whatever was the closest). It was back to the house again.

   The party took the building hard and fast, bursting back in and straight to ... the bathroom. After a moment of deliberation, there was a brave charge to the items in the lunge, running the gauntlet of creatures wandering about the place. The banishing ceremony was performed, and all hell really broke loose. Set, screaming his agony and fury, was forced back slowly into his coffin; and in a grand and shocking finale, exploded into sparks, smoke and stars. The world, and I fancy the universe, was safe again. Hurrah!