Arc 5 | Dead Pacifica (Part 19)
DEAD PACIFICA
Part 19
Dead Pacifica posted three videos for their first official day in Point Hope.
The first upload was a vlog-style video, mainly carried by Retto Kearns and Emily Jurek. It was about the road trip from Portland to Point Hope the previous night. It included their short visit to the fancy vineyard and ended with quick snippets from the dinner party at the hotel with the rest of the crew. The video garnered tons of views and generated even more hype and excitement for the upcoming livestream.
Oracle and I read the comments, of course, which, in hindsight, I probably shouldn't have done. Many viewers couldn’t stop talking about the creepy encounter they had at the gas station in Brighton with the gas station attendant, the harbinger, who warned them not to go into the woods. The cast laughed it off, but many in the comments joked and teased them that they should cancel the show and leave while they still could.
In reality, though, the audience’s morbid fascination of the stream urged them to see the whole thing through to the end; these little voices whispering at the back of their brain-rotted minds hoped something would go wrong. At least they could brag to their friends they had front-row seats if such an event happened. I was disappointed that a small percentage of their audience hoped that Dylan Griffin would find another dead body.
The second video was uploaded early that morning and much shorter than the others. It covered the satanic murders that occurred last year, mostly skimming over the perpetrators and other victims, but instead centered the video on me, the first victim.
It was also where Charlie Castle’s interview debuted.
The interview was pre-taped almost a week ago, and it wasn’t Dylan or Retto who interviewed him behind the camera, but Heidi and Owen. Given he was the only one on screen, they weren’t concerned with having the stars of the podcast in front of Charlie. He sat in front of a dark background and in a dimly lit room; the production utilized one of the conference rooms at the hotel. Instead, they pretended Dylan was the one asking the questions by digitally adding his voice behind the camera.
For the first half, they talked about my childhood, how well I performed in school, my many friends, my future dreams, and my family’s reputation and relationship with Point Hope. It portrayed a normal, happy family with deep roots nestled in this small, quiet town. They had friends. They had support from the whole community. They were loved by almost everyone they met.
The very epitome of the saying: bad things happen to good people.
I didn’t want to see what my parents thought about this, but they were probably ignoring it. They weren’t very tech-savvy or into social media, unlike the rest of my family. My aunts and uncles had been shielding them from this Dead Pacifica nonsense since they rolled into town. It was very easy to do since my parents only had Facebook, which they barely touched, and work had kept them busy.
However, Charlie couldn’t stop the rest of the family from seeing this video. Except for my parents and my cousins, none of my aunts and uncles knew that Charlie was going to do this, and I reckoned several of them felt betrayed. Even though Charlie asked my mom and dad if they would like to be interviewed, the memory of me and of what happened was still a fresh wound too raw to open, but they gave their blessings for Charlie to tell my story.
To be honest, I didn't know what to expect when they uploaded the video, but I found it surprisingly respectful toward my family and me. That caught me off guard, especially considering we were talking about Dylan Griffin and Retto Kearns here. I felt a tiny bit guilty for what I was about to do to them. They had the video prepared before they flew to Portland, and Oracle offered to screen it for me in advance. I refused. It was very weird seeing my human life discussed by total strangers. But were we really strangers at this point, knowing I had delved into their memories? Knew their likes and dislikes? Knew their darkest secrets? Their embarrassing moments?
Anyway, I decided to watch it for the first time alongside the other archetypes. I didn’t expect them to feel sad right afterward. That surprised me more than the video itself, and I was a little peeved to discover that it had received fewer views than the other two, probably because it was just a rehash of what the podcast already discussed about my life. They already had three episode spotlights about me on the show.
The second half of the video delved into several theories about why the cult targeted me for the sacrifice. The cover story I added with [Rumors] to support the FBI and the local police concluded that the others were also kidnapped victims and that I was unfortunately chosen to be the first. Retto didn’t think so. Given how elaborate and, let’s say, graphic and meticulous my death had been, the cult truly intended for me to be the big sacrifice that night. All the other victims were shrouded in mystery, with their deaths rather messy, which Dylan quickly explained was because the kidnapped victims escaped and fought back (a pretty well-known theory that was corroborated heavily by the police).
The duo left plenty of open-ended questions they hoped to answer for the livestream, urging viewers to join them in finding these answers in two days. I realized the video was also a blatant ad for the livestream.
The third video, the longest one, had to be split into two parts. With the sheer number of people they had interviewed, Dylan, Owen, and Retto decided to split the footage into two parts. The first would go up in the evening, and the rest would be uploaded tomorrow morning.
I watched them run around town and film, interviewing one person after another, and I was honestly impressed that they managed to get the first half ready for upload that same day. Owen’s production team had three on-staff editors back in LA, so whatever they filmed up here was immediately sent down to them. The editors would splice everything together into a twenty-seven-minute video and have it ready for upload by six that evening. I knew next to nothing about filming and uploading videos online professionally, but I noticed Owen’s staff back in LA looked fucking miserable. They were probably relieved that Owen wasn’t there personally to hover over their shoulders.
Owen and Heidi had already given the whole crew the schedule for the next two days, down to the hour. Nothing must be delayed, or else it would throw everything out of whack. Dylan, Retto, Owen, and Emily would go around interviewing the people they had already paid in advance to be on camera. The rest of the on-screen cast had the day to themselves to provide content for Point Hope, explore some of the tourist spots, and post it online. It was one of Mayor Warrick’s requests that they be granted the permit to film around Point Hope and in McLaren Forest. Several of the older folks were already dissatisfied with their presence here. As for the rest, Heidi, Big Mac, and the rest of the production crew went back to the cabin to finish the set. They were way behind schedule already.
The nightmares were not helping their situation; drained of energy when they got up this morning. Heidi pushed on, tried to ignore it, and got everyone up before seven so they could finish everything on the agenda. Surprisingly, most of them never mentioned the nightmares to each other except for Emily and Retto. They didn’t have enough time to discuss it before “Constable Heidi,” as the couple jokingly called her behind her back, got them out of the hotel to start filming the interviews.
They went to City Hall first thing after breakfast and met with Mayor Terry Warrick, her husband, Douglas, and her teenage children, Cassian and Nerida.
Terry was a small woman with pretty blonde hair in a chic bob, wearing glasses that perfectly framed her heart-shaped face. I knew full well that Terry Warrick had no need for glasses, but they made her look smart and professional. Made her look like she was going to scold you for stealing a book from the library, or she was about to be a keynote speaker at a university conference. She had to play such stupid games to be taken seriously in her line of work. After all, she was the second woman to become mayor of Point Hope. The last one took office in the early eighties—a forty-year gap. Many people in town already hated her guts four years into her administration, with a loaded man-child like Tim Crothers trying to take it for this upcoming reelection.
For an hour, Douglas Warrick, a local historian and a professor at Rothwell, led a tour of City Hall. Unlike his wife, Douglas didn't care much about appearances, and he always looked more like a high school English teacher than a college professor. At the same time, Mayor Warrick attended to her other duties before her scheduled interview after the tour. Dead Pacifica filmed Douglas narrating the local history, the various paintings, and local artifacts all the way back to 1857 when the town was established. All of these were on display at the museum, which was attached to City Hall’s main building. It was good filler content for the video that Owen already planned to splice and edit into a six-minute segment, until they stumbled upon a well-preserved newspaper from 1879 displayed on the back corner.
The hanging of a suspected witch. It read:
THE PORTLAND OREGONIAN
October 19, 1879
A CASE OF MASS HYSTERIA
LOCAL WOMAN HANGED BY ANGRY MOB
FOR WITCHCRAFT,
AUTHORITIES FIND NO SUSPECTS.
“Oh? What happened there?” Retto asked, also seeing it behind a glass display of a painting depicting the town’s settlers finding the valley that would eventually be the home of Point Hope.
Douglas frowned deeply, which I noticed was also caught on camera. The man wanted to tell the crew the rose-tinted version of the town’s history, probably ordered by his wife and the city council. Just like plenty of the other towns’ stories, we had our dark secrets, too. Now, this witchcraft tabloid thing? I didn’t invent that. It actually happened. A pretty famous legend when I was growing up about a witch who killed and ate babies because she was jealous of them and poisoned men if they refused her advances.
But in reality, she was probably just a local medicine woman helping other women abort their fetuses, or giving the town various concoctions for their ailments. No one even knew her name since she was one of the many pioneers who traveled along the Oregon Trail and settled into many villages that cropped up along the way. Back then, there were barely three hundred people living in Point Hope, and superstitions ran rampant. Some said her spirit still haunted the McLaren forest to this day…
And unfortunately, I lived in McLaren Forest, and nope, no witch’s ghost lived here. I would have met her by now if it were the case. It would have been nice to recruit a monster already established here on Earth for my dungeon, but I wasn’t that lucky.
Which was why this folklore was the perfect way to incorporate Mother Gertrude’s lore with [Rumors]. I took several liberties with the legend, starting by giving the suspected witch a name: Gertrude Briar. Better known as Mother Gertrude.
“That’s the hag,” Nerida Warrick answered.
Douglas quickly gave his daughter a look to step away, but she and her brother stayed put. His children had been following the crew around since Cassian was a big fan of the podcast.
“A hag?” Emily asked. “Did the town have a witch trial? I thought the Ipswich case was the last official one.” Douglas raised an eyebrow at that, and Emily smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I had a phase in high school. Did a report about witch trials for my U.S. History class.”
“Do people still believe in witches these days?” Dylan asked condescendingly.
“You’d be surprised,” Douglas said. “It’s not an official one, no. The case was dismissed by the judge, but the poor woman had an angry mob lynch her the following night. It’s a pretty sad tale. Anyway, how about I tell you more about when Elvis Presley visited Point Hope for a whole week? It caused quite a ruckus! There are still some folks who are alive when he rolled into town.”
But Dylan and Retto gravitated around the witch trial display. They filmed every inch of the newspaper so viewers could pause and read along.
“Can you tell us more about this case?” Dylan asked, but he sensed Douglas’s hesitation and added, “Our viewers love all of this mystery stuff.”
“The scarier the better,” Retto chimed in.
Dylan shot him a glare not to make it worse. “I promise, sir. We can cut out anything you don’t want to put on the video. We also don’t want to be demonetized. It’s just the first time we’ve heard about this.”
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“Oh, unfortunately, we’re short on time until my wife’s interview.”
“We’ll be quick. Just give us the spark notes,” Dylan said. He even added a smile at the end.
“Tell them, Dad,” Cassian said excitedly.
Douglas sighed in defeat and told them.
Most of it was my version of the legend, which I was very happy he used. Gertrude Briar was fifty years old when she and her husband settled into Point Hope ten years after it was established, and she became a medicine woman throughout her time there. Her husband’s real name was forgotten in history, who passed away two years after moving into town from an unknown cause. Locals liked to make up how and why he died (probably something very mundane in real life), but you know how people were. They liked to be super dramatic. The most popular story was that her husband’s name was Philip; he was physically abusive, an alcoholic, and a serial cheater, so she killed him and her lover, paralyzing them first before stuffing them in the oven and burning them alive. She then scattered their ashes in the woods and pretended her husband eloped with his mistress and left her. From there, he became Mother Gertrude, a wise woman of Point Hope.
Over the ten years, a rash of infant deaths and inexplicable sickness spread across the village. A beloved local priest accused Mother Gertrude of being a witch when several young girls as young as thirteen had miscarriages under her care, and when that same priest died from a sudden illness, word spread that Mother Gertrude was the culprit. Suddenly, the whole town could vividly recollect the magic she used to heal them from wounds or diseases that would have naturally killed them. Curiously, the locals seemed to have forgotten that the priest was set to be transferred to another town after reports of inappropriate relations with the female members of his congregation. But Gertrude was arrested, then dismissed for lack of evidence, and the judge cited that witchcraft was neither a crime nor illegal per the First Amendment.
The following night, an angry mob took Gertrude from her home on the outskirts of town, dragged her into the woods, and hanged her under an oak tree. Her body was not discovered until eight days later.
I shuddered at the thought of how powerful The System was at rewriting reality, which reminded me of how disappointed I was that I couldn’t just erase The Cult of Astaroth from existence. It’s not that easy, I thought. Unfortunately, [Rumors] only worked on myself and my archetypes.
“But Dad, that’s not all, though,” Cassian said.
Douglas was visibly annoyed and led them to the other sections of the museum. Retto gestured for Emily to stay behind so that she could talk to the kids, and once Douglas was out of sight, she motioned for Nerida and Cassian to come closer.
“I have some follow-up questions about this. It’s a pretty cool story.” Emily pointed at the newspaper clippings. She made sure that she was in the frame while Nerida and Cassian stood a little off to the side. She trusted the editing team to blur their faces later, as she wasn’t sure if they also signed to be on camera like their parents. “You mentioned there might be more to it than what your father said?”
Nerida hesitated to answer, but Emily could tell that Cassian was bursting with energy to tell her more. “She cast a curse,” he said as Nerida rolled her eyes. “Right before she died, she sang a song to summon a demon and cursed the people who hanged her and all of their descendants. Within a month, those people who went after her got fucking destroyed, dude. Oops. Sorry about that.” He looked at the camera.
“Don’t worry. We can bleep it out. How’d they die?”
“Come on, Cass. Dad doesn’t want us talking about this stuff,” Nerida said.
But Cassian ignored his sister. “Oh, it’s very gnarly. Several died in like these freak accidents, Final Destination-style, or got butchered by a wild animal in the woods like what happened to that forest ranger last year. Brian Greeley? I think that’s his name. Anyway, the survivors said they saw the devil come after them.”
“People survived these attacks?”
“Well, yeah. Only a few, I think? Otherwise, we won’t be here. Mom and Dad are quite proud we’re descendants of the first settlers here. Mom likes to think that’s what got her reelected.”
Nerida pinched Cassian’s elbow, glaring at him to step away from the landmine that he just walked into. Cassian’s eyes bulged. “Not that my family was ever involved in the lynching, though. I don’t think we have any part in that,” Cassian nervously added. “Anyway, many years later, lots of people have died under suspicious circumstances around them woods. Not just the mob stuff. Do you know we get plenty of bodies dumped there because of gangs and mobsters? It’s pretty freaky when you think about it. That’s why we call the place Hell’s Peak for a reason. The dead wander there because Mount Selene is a cursed place, and some say that she still lives there to this day, and it all started because we hanged a witch.”
“You’re so unbearable.” Nerida sighed and walked off, annoyed.
Cassian frowned. “Sorry about that. My sister doesn’t believe in this kind of stuff, especially about Mother Gertrude. She’s just a really cool ghost story when we’re kids like Bloody Mary or Skinwalkers, you know? But you’d be surprised that people still believe in these kinds of things around here.”
“Huh. Is that so?”
“Yup. Ask anyone in town. They’ll probably tell you more than I know, and they probably have some crazy stories of their encounters with the witch. Maybe not all of them, but we’ve pulled a lot of bodies from those woods because of accidents or people getting lost and like died from the elements and wild animals or something like that. These types hardly make the news. Makes you wonder, though. Makes you wonder if it’s all real.”
The interview with the mayor went on quickly.
It only took less than half an hour since they already submitted their questions in advance, so Mayor Warrick had some of her answers prepared. They were very safe questions, mostly to guide the narrative Dylan and Retto wanted out of the livestream (about me, the cult, and the massacre).
Terry would just say, “Oh, how very sad. It was a dark day.” Or she would often remark, “I am very close friends with the Castle family. Even now I still have them in my thoughts, and I pray for them often.”
But every time Dylan or Retto would ask her about the other cold cases surrounding McLaren Forest, Terry would smile brightly and pretend that the crime rates in Point Hope, and even the rest of the county, were way below the national average. She ignored the pointed questions about her close relationship with the other members of Coach Hodge’s cult (with proof on Facebook and online that she hung out with them often), and about the percentage of people who had gone missing over the past year alone.
Dylan and Retto didn’t add follow-up questions or really press her on the questions they made. I understood why. They didn’t want to scare her off since they still had a live show to film in two days, and being on her good side was beneficial to the production. After all, this interview was a courtesy to Mayor Warrick, and she was the one who facilitated giving them extra security by having real police officers around the set to prevent some of their bold fans from trespassing. They already got wind of some fans attempting that, and they beefed up the personal security that Owen hired.
After the meeting with the mayor, they cut across town to the Walmart parking lot, where Charlie Castle and his girlfriend, Erica, were already waiting near the far end of the lot.
There wasn’t much of an introduction. Charlie had already spent enough time on the phone with Dylan and Retto over the past week to make formal introductions feel unnecessary. They exchanged handshakes, thanked him for coming, introduced his girlfriend, and then Charlie began showing them around town.
Owen and Emily filmed everything. My cousin introduced the crew to several people they had paid to interview, and it quickly became a parade of faces. These were formatted as short, street-style interviews, and they talked to at least fifty people in a day. Knowing Charlie was there, they were more relaxed and comfortable answering Dylan and Retto’s questions about the massacre, about North Cedar Lake, and about the victims of Coach Hodge. Some of them even voiced some choice words that Dylan looked genuinely worried they would get them demonetized when talking about the cult. One old man called Hodge a son of a bitch who should have been drowned in the lake when he was a baby. A woman in her thirties called the entire cult a bunch of fucking lunatics, and their families imprisoned for being complicit. It was some hard stuff.
But it was good TV, and in the end, it was all that mattered.
With Emily’s encouragement, Retto would nudge the conversation toward the infamous local witch, too.
Many laughed it off. The younger crowd treated it like a joke. They played along with Dylan and Retto, mugged for the camera and hammed up their reactions, and seemed delighted by the prospect of appearing in a video that might eventually rack up thousands, maybe millions, of views.
The older folks offered semi-serious answers. Some said she was a young, beautiful woman spurned by her new lover; others, a three-hundred-year-old hag who envied the women who could bear children. A handful swore they had seen her while hiking through the mountains or had heard her song in the woods while camping. Many blamed the witch without saying it for all the horrible things that had happened in the past year—the witch’s curse.
All in all, they had several good pieces of footage that Owen was very happy—almost giddy—to send back to the editing team. They were even a couple of hours ahead of schedule! Sure, there were a few cancellations here and there, but they got enough content to satisfy the audience. He was very pleased that Retto added all that witchy stuff, even when Dylan wanted it to focus on the cult. The audience would still eat that right up!
“I saw the video this morning, by the way. You guys did a really nice job,” Charlie said to Retto as they finished up with the last interview. He extended his hand out, and Retto shook it. “Thank you.”
Retto let out a genuine smile. “I hope it honors your cousin’s memory. I had a hand in most of the editing,” he said proudly. “Despite what you’ve heard about Dylan and I, we’re not assholes all the time.”
“Oh? Were you the one who added Dylan’s voice?” Charlie raised a judgmental eyebrow. “Last I remember, it was some blonde chick who interviewed me. And also that guy over there.” He pointed at Owen.
Retto chuckled. “Yeah, it was mostly Dylan’s idea. Well…more like forced. He wanted to be included in some way. Don’t take it too personally. It’s just a continuation thing with the channel. It’s Dylan’s show after all.”
“And you,” Charlie added. “It’s Dead Pacifica with Dylan Griffin and Retto Kearns, is it not? Isn’t that what’s said at the start of every episode?”
Retto stood straighter and beamed. “Oh, yeah. You’re quite right about that. It is also my show. Dylan can get fucked.”
They laughed, and Dylan noticed his name was mentioned. “You guys called me?”
Retto and Charlie shook their heads and waved him off. He returned to talk to Emily and Owen about whether they should try to interview another person, preferably a resident from Green Hill, hoping they could score one of Tessa Burton’s neighbors. Owen had already argued that he had no luck getting one after knocking on their doors. Most of the residents in the neighborhood were wealthy enough to shut the door in his face. It was too bad the families of the cultists had already moved out of town, or had been run out, which Dylan believed was the most likely scenario.
“Is there any chance that Mark’s parents want to talk to us?” Retto asked, but he already knew the answer.
Charlie shook his head. “You guys already know I tried. My aunt and uncle are not ready for that, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, well. Can’t hurt to ask again.” Retto shrugged. “Well, we gotta get our beauty sleep. Big day tomorrow, you know. Prepare for your life to change, my friend. Make sure you are at the Hyacinth Hotel by 9 AM with the other winners. Owen hates it when people are late. You already know the details from the email Heidi sent you.”
“Um, what other winners?”
“Oh, yeah, Dylan put up this lottery contest for our super-fan members on Patreon. Two lucky winners will join us in the livestream tomorrow night. But don’t worry about them, you are not part of that group. Nah, yours is special. Just don’t be late.”
Charlie nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”
“You better! You’re our special guest, after all. Plenty of fans are quite excited to have a Castle on board.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, man! Honestly, Dylan would have loved it if Tessa Burton were also in the show, too, but she kept ignoring our producers. Danny Bird is a minor, so we can’t ask him. We don’t want to traumatize a kid, you know? Do you have any idea how popular the names of the people Coach Hodge murdered are? We’re not the only podcast that covered the massacre, you know.”
Charlie frowned. “I usually don’t make it a habit of looking it up online.”
“Ah, shit. Sorry, man. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just saying that you are not alone. What happened to your cousin is fucking depressing, and we and our fans sympathize with you. You know, a lot of people are looking forward to seeing you on camera. Have you read the comments they leave behind on our latest video? The gays and the girls are like thirsting after you, dude. I’m sure your Instagram is blowing up right now.”
Retto was trying to cheer up, and he meant well, but Charlie couldn’t keep the image of Coach Hodge and the cabin out of his mind. He had already set his accounts to private a year ago when his cousin was found murdered. Several people were being total creeps and assholes and had frankly no respect for the victims’ loved ones’ privacy and personal space.
They soon part ways as the sun was setting. Charlie had ignored most of his mother’s texts all day. There was no doubt she saw the video, and possibly everyone in the family, too. But he was no longer a minor. They couldn’t ground him even if they wanted to, and he wanted to honor his cousin the way he saw fit. Dead Pacifica gave him that chance.
After all, the video was a very lovely tribute.
I jumped back to North Cedar Lake when my many-eyes noticed a van pulling up to the Last Resort manor.
I swept low over the treeline and descended near the manor’s driveway. Duke Henry was already standing there in his imposing figure with Mr. Dunne, his butler and familiar, also standing beside him. Parked right on the gravel before them was an idling white van, its tailpipe spewing faint plumes of exhaust into the cool night air. Xavier Yates climbed out behind the wheel, followed by Cassie, Gordon, Rachel, and Joshua.
“What is the meaning of this uninvited visit, Yates?” Duke Henry’s booming voice rattled. “What are you doing here?”
“What? We were brothers once. Can’t we drop in to say hello? Have a tiki?” Xavier teased.
“You and I are not the same,” Duke Henry said. “Let me remind you that this is my lair, mortal. And I can do what I please here.”
“Put your fangs away, lord duke. We bring a gift,” Xavier said.
I hovered silently on the gravel a few paces behind the Duke, letting my presence fold into the ambient darkness. To the mortal eyes of the cult, I was entirely invisible. But Duke Henry felt my sudden presence. He stiffened, turned his head toward me, and immediately lowered his head in a deep, reverent bow.
Xavier’s eyes widened, and without a second thought, he, Cassie, Rachel, Joshua, and Gordon frantically threw themselves on the ground and bowed toward the empty air where Duke Henry was facing. Xavier raised his head just enough to look up, a wild grin splitting his face.
“My Lord!” Xavier bellowed. “We have done it! We have accomplished the task you asked of me!”
Huh? I had no idea what he was talking about.
Duke Henry read my face and asked, “Er, what task?”
Xavier was confused for a second, like a lost puppy. “Um, to bring my sister here? The delve is tomorrow, right?”
Oh. That task, I sighed.
A lot of things had happened over the past twenty-four hours since I sent them off to draw the coven to the dungeon.
“What did you do?” Duke Henry asked curiously. Even his familiar leaned toward the van.
Xavier scrambled up from the gravel, breathless with the eager desperation to please me, and rushed around to the rear of the white van. His followers also stood up, smiling and pleased with themselves. He grabbed the latch and threw the heavy double doors wide open.
“My Lord! Duke Henry. Um…er, you.” He shrugged at Mr. Dunne as he couldn’t remember his name. “I give you, the coven!”
My blood instantly ran cold.
Lying on the dirty floorboard of the cargo area, bound tightly with heavy nylon rope and staring blankly into nothingness, was an unconscious old woman, still wearing the facility bracelet from whatever care home he kidnapped her from.
It was Margie Yates, Xavier’s and Vivian’s grandmother.