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Rejected Dissertation presentation by Artimus Hier 2019, Boudica’s Legacy

Whilst the details of Boudica’s rebellion and cruel treatment by the Roman Empire have been well documented and argued in the hall of academia, my research has uncovered a possible legacy that has gone unexamined. I speak of Boudica’s Legacy, whilst the famous statue of her daughters conjures images of a powerful and wrathful force, the true scar she left upon the Roman Empire lasts far longer than she or her daughters did. With my findings so far, I have every reason to believe that her famous toppling and beheading of statues was in fact a year’s long guerilla war, that the children of children fought. Once funding is granted and access to the Vatican’s Restricted Library is granted, I will be able to uncover the darker side of the rebellion and the measures a desperate monarch is willing to take to retain power. 

Dissertation proposal rejected by the committee, reason given, conspiracy and lack of reliable source material prevents any credible ability.

Additional notes, Artimus Hier is no longer with the university program and has not responded to any communications regarding revised proposals. A forwarding address to a post box has been provided, the post box is sublet by PMC Black Lake.

This Spirt is a wandering Demon or perhaps a lesser god. It feeds off of fear and delights in torment and pain. Be cruel in its psychological attacks and horrific in its physical attacks. It will make an attack scene as gruesome as possible. This is a sanity killing opponent, use it in this way. It is happy to leave madness instead of death, but needs fresh corpses.

This asshole has Xeno Tier 3 written all over him. Intel believes he may have been a commandant at Auschwitz, but that hasn’t been confirmed. We do know he’s a powerful sorcerer with undead servants and spends time on the other side of sleep.

We’ll have to make sanitizing him a surgical op as he rarely leaves his offices. International businessman and philanthropist my ass.—Cpl. Franklin Miller, Team Leader, Project Star Team 3.

Müeller’s dangerous with a capital D. Project Star has shared with us they have a team going in tonight. I wish them luck, and I hope we don’t have to fight their animated corpses later.—Marcus Johnson, Wizard of the Manchester Foundation.

The guy’s a total freak. Usually some flunky answers the door and accepts the packages, but every now and then it’s him. He’s like the main bad guy in a Weird War Two B-movie.—Jimmy McPherson, Driver for United Package Courier.

Weeping Larva

“The season changing seems to draw people here to the bridge.  Is it the view of the wooded landscape or is it something else?  The Spring brings winds of new hopes and opportunities; the Autumn slowly closes the door on the year, and one remembers loved ones and reflects inward. 

“This rural county has one well-known bridge, where people swear, they hear the wailing cries of a baby said to have perished decades ago.  It hides on this abandoned road located in the west of the county, now taken over by age and the elements, and here lays the remains of a rusted bridge crossing the creek in the hills.  The changes of the seasons draw them here where people claim to hear the eerie cries of a child late at night; hence, the name the Crybaby Bridge or Wailing’s Crossing.  Cries reportedly can be heard late in the night and wailing can bring a person to tears and the trees begin to sway in despair.  

“The legend can be traced back to the 1920’s when the newly constructed bridge was the scene of tragedy.  A family of 3, father, mother and daughter were picnicking in a field near the newly constructed bridge.  The family never returned home, eventually the father and mother were found just outside the picnicking area both were horribly slaughtered and tied to the base of the bridge.  The daughter was never found.

“Rumors also have it that every 3 or 4 years a person or a couple visit the bridge and never return.  Investigations suggest they may have fallen into the creek and were washed away downstream.  Yet, every year this area draws new visitors to view the hillside, hope and reflect.”

*—Jane Wickens, WCTH (last recorded message before leaving to investigate the county bridge)

The detective asked, “You expect us to believe you have no memory of the last five days? You were found sleeping in your car, with a gun, that’s been tied to five murders in the last two days. We have eye witnesses AND video of you entering and exiting the homes of three of the victims. You have gun residue on your hands and clothing. You also tested positive for methamphetamine. All this, and the story you’re going with is I don’t remember?”

The suspect replied, “It’s true detective. It wasn’t me. I’ve never fired a gun in my life, I don’t know any of those people. I’ve never even been to Wisconsin! I was in the lab, working late, cataloging the new samples, and then I was here, lying in this hospital bed. I swear.”  

“What kind of samples?” the detective asked, “Drugs? Meth maybe?

“No,” the suspect replied, “Brains, a half dozen preserved human brains.” 

The reporter, from Paranormal Quarterly, who’d been ordered to not speak asked. “Would one of those brains happen to belong to Betty-Ann Gilroy, the recently executed serial killer?”

Lurking the vast wastelands of Yucca Flats, a major nuclear test site in the state of Nevada, is The Beast of Yucca Flats. They are rarely seen as they live in a highly restricted area. However, every once in a while hunger drives one into more civilized areas in search of prey. 

I swear it was Jerry. After he got lost, we searched for him for over a day. He, it, came walking out of the woods. He was made of grass, like a naked scarecrow, and he shambled toward Mike.

Henry ran off screaming, who can blame him, and I seriously thought I was going to shit myself. The sun was coming up, and I could see Mike glistening with sweat. His eyes were huge. He was crying, and talking to Jerry–asking him what happened, what was wrong with him–that kind of stuff.

The Jerry thing stopped a few feet in front of him and blades of grass shot out from all over its body, really long ones, and they stabbed right into Mike’s body, sliding right in. There wasn’t any blood and he didn’t seem like it even hurt.

I screamed at him to run away, but I don’t think he could, it was like he was hypnotized. I ran up behind him and grabbed his shoulders, but several of those blades of grass slid right through the skin on my hands and face. No pain, no blood, and I instantly felt weirdly sleepy.

It really pissed me off, and I jerked away, long grass sticking out from me like I was turning into a plant porcupine. While I fell on my ass, grass was already growing out of Mike’s back–the shit had skewered him–and the Jerry thing shot out a bunch more that cut right into Mike and started wrapping around him like a green cocoon. That’s when I ran like a bitch.—Lyle Morris, giving a statement in Interview Room 1 at the Peyton County Sheriff’s Office.

Legends tell of a body of water where the voices of the dead whisper and mutter, with those hearing them never to be seen alive again. Called The Haunted Sea with various stories placing it in the south pacific, the Caribbean, the Indian Ocean or the Mediterranean. In truth all of these places qualifies, as they’re the hunting ground the creature responsible for these stories. he infamous creature who dwells there.  

These creatures dwell in the deep jungles and remote mountains of Central America. According to folklore a Mona is created when a witch performs a ritual which grants her to permanently transform her appearance. This new form, that of a large and powerful monkey, is far better suited to survive and remain unnoticed in the wilds. Other tales say these creatures were once normal human women who were abandoned by their husbands or lover. These unfortunate souls then picked a flower from the chilamate tree at midnight and recited a forbidden pledge thus gaining this transformation. No matter what their true origins Mona are a dangerous adversity.