Ricky

The following documents had all been taken from the casefiles of paranormal investigator Everett Moore, generously provided to us by his wife Elizabeth after his unfortunate passing. We believe that digitalizing Moore’s cases will help us in keeping his legacy and impact he has had on the paranormal investigation community in the United States as a whole alive and that preserving them will keep them from falling into obscurity as has been the case with many brave men and women in his profession. The following notes and excerpts come to us from case files labeled Case no. 005 (referred to as The Ghoul) and Case no. 006 (referred to as Ricky), which Moore describes as being connected in some way. For more information visit www.themoorelegacy.com.

Excerpt from The Walton Weekly, July 10th 2022
Walton General Almost Perishes! Potential Assailant Caught on Tape!
By: H. W. Nelson
Yesterday evening, at around 10 PM EST, a fire broke out in the records storage of Walton General Hospital, destroying vast amounts of files and documents, with some dating all the way back to the founding of the institution.
Fortunately, however, it’s presence was quickly identified and the threat was extinguished before it could spread to the rest of the facility. According to fire chief Wilson, there’s reasons to suspect that the fire might have been the result of human interference, possibly further confirmed by police chief Larsson’s statement that a strange figure was seen climbing out of the records storage window moments before the start of the disaster.
The aforementioned individual had been captured on the hospital’s CCTV feed and appears to be a rather tall man wearing a dark raincoat obscuring his face. The footage itself clearly shows the individual in question breaking the window with a rock and climbing in and out of the building in rapid succession, afterwards, fleeing the scene in a green Honda Civic. The WPD had issued a search warrant for said John Doe and generously asks the public to come forward with any potential leads on the subject.
The fire in question seems to have coincided with a failed break-in into the records storage of the sheriff’s department of the neighboring town of Campfire Grove, however, whether or not the perpetrator of the two acts of vandalism is the same is, as of yet, unknown.

Excerpt from The Campfire Courier, July 10th 2022
Sheriff’s Department Turned Crime Scene! CCTV Captures Perpetrator!
By: S. S. Rhymes
Sunday, July 9th 2022, a date that shall live in in infamy and memory, as the friendship between the counties of Campfire Grove and Walton is both strengthened and marked by terrible tragedy.
Mere minutes after the horrific fire in the records storage of Walton General Hospital, an unknown individual appears to have also tried their hand at a break-in into the records storage of the Sherrif’s Department. The assailant quickly fled the scene after his actions had been thwarted by the efforts of the janitor, Cisco Quirosa, whose surprise appearance seems to have stumped the vandal and forced him to flee, leaving behind the tools of his trade, including an icepick, a gold-platted lighter and a box Dog Series 1969 standard issue matches.
The building’s CCTV also appears to have caught the mysterious individual a mere minute before the the act itself, although, from what we had been told by the sheriff Price, the footage appears way too corrupt to offer any definitive conclusions as to the identity of the vandal and the individual in question appears to have been clever enough to destroy the camera itself upon his arrival. From the material at hand, however, the officers had deduced that the individual in question had been wearing some sort off a dark raincoat, most likely black or misty green, which also obscured any and all facial features.
Due to the similarities with the incident of the fire in WGH, the CGSD are willing to offer up a partnership between them and the WPD in regards to identifying and apprehending the vandal. On top of that, however, the sheriff encourages the public to speak up in case anyone had witnessed any oddities within the borders of the two counties.

A replica of the incident report form issued by deputy Frank Burns of the Campfire Grove Sheriff’s Department, transcribed from the original by E. D. Moore.
Case Number: 36822A
Date: Saturday, July 10th 2022
Reporting officer: deputy F. Burns
Prepared by: sheriff M. Price
Incident/Issue:
On 07/19/2022 at approximately 22:15 EST, patrolling officer, deputy F. Burns, had been notified via radio of 911 call regarding a potential incident occurring on the grounds of the Black Hill Public Cemetery, situated at the crossing of Tussauds and Armstrong, Campfire Grove. The deputy was informed that the incident at hand might be an instance of Code 22-3303.
Description of the incident/issue:
Upon arrival at the above address, I noted a vehicle swiftly fleeing the scene. From what I was able to see, the vehicle in question was a green Honda Civic with Georgia license plates, albeit, I had been unable to successfully determine the details regarding the plate itself, as the vehicle, which I now believe to be the mode of transportation driven by the perpetrator, had sped off at an alarming rate down Tussauds towards the village of Black Lodge. If it weren’t for the case at hand I would have given chase, although, if I’m honest, I hadn’t even given it much thought at that point. As seen in the attached photos taken by the CSIs (note: although both the transcript and, we assume, the original, both mention the photos, it appears as though Moore was unable to access them or atleast their replicas, as they don’t show up anywhere within his files) the plate on the tomb had been moved, leaving the grave itself to be open. The lid of the ordained wooden coffin (most likely oak), had been smashed in, and the corpse (belonging to Angela Perry) had been taken.
Actions taken:
Upon the discovery of the desecrated grave, the crime scene had been subjected to the following procedures:
Interrogation of Donald Lofts (age 45), witness
Forensic investigation conducted with the assistance of the Walton County Police Department’s Crime Scene Investigation squad
A search warrant had been issues for all green Honda Civics within the county borders of both Walton and Campfire Grove
Sheriff M. Price of the CGSD, in association with police chief E. Larson of the WPD, officially declared to be an instance of Code 594 and Code 22-3303.

Report summary:
Upon further investigation into the identity of the aforementioned car’s owner, three cars matching the description given by deputy Burns, and further corroborated by the instance of the same vehicle being sighted on the CCTV footage at the parking lot of Walton General Hospital. The vehicles in question belong to the following persons of interest: Evelyn Myers (age 30), Stuart Locke (age 56) and William Perry (age 43). Both E. Myers and S. Locke had provided solid alibis as to their whereabouts at the time of the crime. Upon arriving at the residence of W. Perry (Alamo Avenue 14), the police had failed to find the person of interest, as well as his vehicle, making him the primary suspect in the following investigation. A search warrant for the suspect had been issued for the entirety of the state of Georgia for charges of vandalism and grave robbing and his next of kin had been notified.

The following note had been added by Moore underneath the above seen transcript.
Note: I failed to get the tapes of the interview with Lofts (courtesy of Price being a prick again), so I suppose I’ll have to try and ask him myself. I’m not expecting much from that alcoholic waste of air, but, he’s the best lead I’ve got so far.
Further digging into the case, however, has led me to the discovery of an online article published in The Old Well Evening Post, informing the reader of the discovery of a partially eaten corpse of a blonde Jane Doe nearby the Old Well Petrochemical Factory. I feel… obligated to inform Price of this, however, a part of me wishes to continue the investigation on my own.
Supplemental: I tried getting in touch with the Old Well County Coroner’s Office, however, I was told off, for, quote, “not being a licensed member of law enforcement”, even after I tried telling them that I’m doing my best to assist the investigation. I’m not sure if calling them pricks for adhering to protocol makes me an asshole, but, I just can’t stop myself from atleast thinking that to be the case.

The following is a transcript of the contents found on an audiotape recorded by Moore on July 14th 2020, labeled as Case no. 005: An interview with D. Lofts.
DL: Here ya go!
(*sounds of plates clacking against a table)
It ain’t much, but it’s all I got. Don’t get much company, y’know?

EM: Thanks Don, I appreciate it either way.

DL: So, let me get this straight. Ya think you can dig up something that the police can’t?

EM: Well… sort off.

DL: But the police found the bod’, didn’t they? Don’t that mean the case’s closed?

EM: Well… they still haven’t caught the guy, so no.

DL: Ah-huh. And, what? You’ll help them catch him or something? I thought you worked with… y’know, ghosts and stuffs?

EM: I just… I uhh… (*sigh*) I don’t think the guy that did it was human, ok?
DL: I mean… I wouldn’t blame ya. The pigs didn’t really buy into what I was telling them about him either.

EM: Ah, right… that’s what I came here for… so, uhh… care to tell me about it?
(*biting sounds*)
Mmm, this sponge cake is delicious, by the way.

DL: Thanks… glad I picked up all the good shit from Rosie before she left. And, sure, Imma tell ya all ya wanna know.
So, I was home, right? Just watchin’ the game, drinking and crackin’ open a few cold ones. Nuttin’ special, just an average way to spend yer evening if yer me.
So, I’m sittin’ ere, seeing the Bulls absolutely kick the shit outta the Eagles. Ya know what those are, right?

EM: Vaguely… now, please continue.

DL: Right, right. So, yeah, like I said, I was drinkin’ and watchin’ the game when I hear someone speedin’ from the CGSD to Black Hill, right? The engine’s roaring so loud and them tires be screechin’ that I think that motherfucker gonna crash or somethin’. So, when I heard the quick stop the guy behind the wheel made, I was, honestly, kinda relived. Sure, the hood ‘ere ain’t much in terms of living things, but it ain’t like I deliberately want to ‘ear that trumpet again or somethin’. So, ye, I get off mah sofa and go outside and, as I’m walkin’, thinkin’ that it’s most likely to be some of them teenagers who stole their dad’s keys, smoked a bunch of toosh…

EM: You mean koosh?

DL: Did I say it wrong? Hot dang…

EM: You did. Toosh means… something else. Now, please continue.

DL: Where was I again?

EM (*sighs, clearly annoyed*): You assumed that the vehicle that just stopped right outside your house was a bunch of high teenagers, so you went to check it out.

DL: Well of course I did! Didn’t ya see the news? The shit kids are on today! I mean, God. Speakin’ of kids, you and Liz did the… thang?

EM: What? I-I-I mean… oh God.

DL: Hehehe, gotcha.

EM: Ooook Dan. That question is entirely inappropriate to the subject at hand. If you’re not going to help I might as well leave. Don’t wanna waste good magnetic tape on this bullshit.

DL: Now, now, don’t ya get pissy. I’m just teasin’. Ya know me, I was always a jokester.
EM: Damn, I thought jokes were supposed to be funny.

DL (*snickers slightly and sighs loudly*): Well… ok. So, yeah, I got out the door to sort off, ya know, examine the damage. So, I get out the door and look at the car.

EM: Was it a Green Honda Civic?

DL: Yep.

EM: Hmm, alright, continue.

DL: So, ye, the engine was still workin’, the lights were on and even the driver’s side door was open. Ya, know how in old crime movies, when the pigs catch the bad guy as he’s tryn’ to drive away and then stops at a wall and leaves the car runnin’? Ye, that’s about how it looked like. So, I call out, tryin’a see if everything’s ok in there and all that, when I hear the sound of somethin’ breakin’ at the graveyard. Almost as if somebody’s tryin’ to vrakdoom the plate or somethin’. Moments later, I ‘ear the sound of the plate moving and then (*DL smacks his fists against the desk, causing everything on it to begin clacking and vibrating*) boom, just like that, but with the coffin. And then, I swear, the sound I heard was… bitin’. Yee, it was bitin’ alright? Ya know how it sounds when a dog just… sinks it’s teeth into some poor ol’ critter it sniffed out somewhere in its den? Yee, it was like that, but with people. Well… with a person and whatever count Dracula bullshit happened ‘ere.

EM: A-huh… and then?

DL: After some shufflin’ I was pretty much perfectly ready to go back inside, but, somethin’ kept me there. I felt like I was held there and just had to see what fucked up thang will crawl out from behind the gates.

EM: And what you saw was…

DL: It was like a guy. Tall, very skinny, as pale as you, wore a dark green raincoat. He just stood there and starred at me. I ain’t sure how much time passed, he just… watched me. Observed me like a predator. The one good thing that came outta it was that I got to look at his… or, even better, it’s, face. Honestly, now that I’ve actually said it, I ain’t really sure if that was a good thang in the first place. The first thang I noticed were the eyes. They were… grey, almost silver. Ya know how a super old silver penny looks like after it’s been covered in dirt for about 30 years? Yee, that’s it. This super light, almost shinning shade of silver. The kind that blinds ya when ya look directly at it. Then there was the mouth. It remained there, motionless, not emotin’ for even a second. It’s left part of the lip was a bit bloodied. Pretty sure it was the thing’s blood. Dead people don’t bleed, right?

EM: They don’t.

DL: Alright. And there was… somethin’ else there. Kinda scared to say it, but it looked like…

EM: Rotting flesh and skin tissue?
DL: Don’t know what the second thing is, but the first one sure. It was like looking at a rottin’ stake, but a bit more… eh? Ya know? Oh and there was also the smell. I’m lucky not to know how death do be smellin’ like, but, assumin’ the reaper does have a smell, it’d be exactly what I felt in mah nosehole that night.

EM: Ah-huh… and then?

DL: And then nuthin’. I somehow managed to regain control over mah legs and ran back inside mah home and phoned the pigs. And, well, ya probably know the rest.

EM: More than you can imagine (*deep sigh*). Alright, Don, it was pleasure talking to you again. Hope the next time I see you it won’t be in regards to such… distressing subject matter.

DL: Don’t be a stranger.

EM: We’ll see.

(*Recording ends*)

A note from Moore’s casebook regarding his final thoughts on the case.
Final comments: Yep, seems pretty open and shut to me.
The physical description and photos clearly match the appearance of William Perry, a known Campfire Grove resident for almost a decade, as well as an employee at Halifax Computers, who seems to have skipped town ever since the date of the incident (or should I say incidents) at hand. According to Eric Montauk, an acquaintance of mine, as well as an employee at HC, Perry was a rather sweet, open and jovial guy. Doesn’t really seem like someone like that would want to try and burn down two separate buildings in one night, as well as eat his sister’s corpse, but, hey, not all heroes wear capes and not all villains twirl their mustaches it seems. Although, I have to admit, whatever the police end up finding when the chase is over won’t be Perry. It’ll be… something, I just don’t know what exactly.
Judging by Loft’s description of this “new” William and the state of Angela Perry’s corpse, I’m tempted to deem this to be a mere case of wendigo psychosis, a psychiatric disorder which causes an individual to develop a taste for human flesh, however, as far as I’m aware, cases of wendigo psychosis never resulted in grave desecration and consumption of continuously decaying flesh.
What it does remind me of, however, are the accounts regarding a supernatural creature that goes by the name of ghoul. According to Arabian folktales, ghouls are monstrous and repulsive beings that dwell in cemeteries, ravage through the dirt and feast upon the flesh of the deceased, although they aren’t completely against killing a living being if they so desire. They’re the closest thing in traditional oral folklore that resembles the traditional pop-culture depiction of a zombie, heck, even the late great George Romero acknowledged that.
A question still lingers on my mind though… what turned Perry into a ghoul? My sources on the exact origin of these beings is rather slim. Are they born this way? Do people turn into them, as is the case with, say, wendigos? Are both options true and, if so, are there different subspecies of ghouls? Was Perry cursed? Or did he simply go insane? I tried getting access to his apartment, but, it’s apparently, still an active crime scene and I’m not allowed to enter unless I want to spend the night at the SD’s correctional facility. Guess only a miracle can help me now, but, hey, atleast I know the truth… sort off.
Case status: solved.

The following is a transcript of the contents of an audiotape recorded by Moore on July 20th 2020, labeled as Case no. 006: An interview with Lionel Perry, brother of what was formerly known as W. Perry.
EM: So, Lionel, right?

LP: Yes, sir.

EM: Oh, now, don’t you “sir”, me. You’re, what, 30? That’s only a few years below myself.

LP: I’m sorry si-… Everett.

EM: Call me Ev, if it’s easier.

LP: Alright… Ev… yeah, I think I’ll get used to that.

EM: Alright, now, when you came in, you said that you have some information regarding your brother’s… insanity?

LP: I can’t think of another way to call it, really. Maybe psychosis? A really intense fit? Madness?

EM: So, if you’re so sure of this being something… clinical, why not take it up with a licensed expert? I understand that the old Walton Mental Hospital had been shut down over three decades ago, but there are still some great shrinks over at Hansville I can hook you up with if you’d like. Why come to me? Unless if it’s to mock me of course, in which case…

LP: No!
(*stunned silence at both fronts, with only Perry’s breathing filling the empty air*)
I-I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.

EM: It’s alright… I feel the same sometimes. Now, I believe you were about to explain me why do you believe the real cause of your brother’s actions is something beyond our understanding?

LP: You can use the word supernatural if you like… I don’t mind it.

EM: Oh, good, thank you… people usually look down at me when I use it. They end up thinking I’m some aggressive religious Ed and Lorraine Warren-worshipping nut bag (*Moore snickers to himself*)
Pardon me, mr. Perry, I uhh… got a little carried away.

LP: That’s alright, I don’t mind.

EM: So, the cause?

LP: Ah, right.

(*a heavy thud*)

EM: Jesus…

LP: Actually, it’s Ricky.

EM: Ah-huh. Khm. If it’s alright with you, care to, uhh… put it away? I, uhh… am not very found of dolls. Or dummies in this case.

LP: Certainly. Wouldn’t want to look at the damned thing myself either for longer than I have to.

EM: Right. So, uhh… what exactly is wrong with… it?

LP: I was hoping you’ll tell me.

EM: Mr. Perry, with all due respect, I apologize, but, I rarely deal with objects of power, as they’re called. (*sounds of ripping paper and scribbling can be heard*) Here, this is the address and phone number of a friend of mine. His name’s Damien Locke. He runs a… similar business to mine up in Chicago, although his work is significantly more geared towards research than straight up investigation.

LP: Aha… I see…

EM: Mr. Perry, I sincerely apologize. I just… I… urghhh, I’ll still be more than happy to take your statement regarding the subject if you’ll be willing to tell me.

LP: It’s ok, Mr. Moore. I-uhh… I’ll look your friend up, give him a call and all of that. But, sure, why not give you another spooky story for your gallery of horrors?

EM: Is that really how people call it?

LP: Some. Not all though. I heard some people say that Fear has a home and that home is Abolition Road 13, Campfire Grove.

EM: I am not sure if I should be proud of that or not.

LP: I couldn’t tell you that either. I apologize for the inconvenience either way.

EM: That’s alright, I’ve had far… worse things happen to me during this investigation. So, uhh… tell me about Ricky.

LP: How far back do I go?
EM: As far back as you think you should.

LP: That’s the thing… I don’t know when this… thing entered my life. My brother says… said that we’ve had it since we were kids and that it was Angie’s favorite toy. But I for the life of me can’t imagine us neither playing with it nor even seeing it anywhere in the house. My memories of it are vacant, empty, yet, at the same time, I vividly remember most of our other childhood toys, the majority of which weren’t nearly as creepy or unsettling as Ricky over here. I don’t think something like this could have possibly slipped my mind.
EM: Hmmm, interesting… so, in that case, what’s the earliest memory you have of… Ricky?
LP: Well, there isn’t much to say really. I’m sure you’re following the news. After all, from what I heard from the sheriff you even tried conducting a little investigation of your own?
EM: My investigation was far removed from any investigatory process conducted by the CGSD. That said, oftentimes I give them a vital clue in solving it but, eh, I never get the credit anywhere. It’s always Sherlock’s beefy American cousin who gets all the praise. Oh… right. My apologies, this was no time for a rant.

LP: Oh, right… sorry if I hit a sore spot.

EM: No, no, it’s ok, I’m used to it by now. Please… continue.

LP: Ah, right (*khm*). Well… the truth is, I know my brother was the July 9th Vandal. Plain and simple. No copper needs to tell me that. It’s not just a hunch I have. I KNOW it. It legitimately can’t be anyone else.

EM: Whilst I do agree with your stance on the matter, I simply have to ask, what does your brother’s felony have to do with that… thing in your bag?

LP: That thing CHANGED my brother. It’s the reason he’s doing all of this. You have to understand. He’s not evil, nor was he ever fully insane. This filthy cretin is the culprit, not him!

EM: Interesting. And what exactly compels you to make such a statement?

LP: Well… it all started a week after Angela died. My brother and her always shared a bond. They were born only a year apart and always got along easily, mostly because they usually liked the same things, had the same ideals along with a dozen or so mutual friends. I was always the younger brother they loved poking fun at, but it was all in good spirits, there were never any serious insults or injuries we’d gain from each other. Was I a little jealous and pissy that they’d oftentimes leave me on the sidelines whilst they hung out on their own or with their fairly large friend group? Maybe… oh, who am I kidding, of course I did! It’s the nature of kids, after all., you know how it is, right?

EM: I uhh… don’t have children.

LP: Oh, my apologies.

EM: No, no, it’s ok. Oddly enough both people I interviewed in the last few weeks have had… questions about my sex life. Don’t know if that makes me laugh or merely confuses me.

LP: (*chuckles*) Khm, so, yeah, umm, anyways, after my brother’s private IT firm up in Chicago crumbled under the mountains of debt and politics, the poor guy had to sell his apartment and guess whom he’d asked first. My sister lives… lived in a rather medium sized apartment up on far end of Alamo Avenue. You know, the grey, imposing apartment complex at the tail end of it? The one that makes everyone depressed just by looking at it? She was living with her boyfriend. His name was… Angus, I think? Yeah, that’s right, Angus Vittery. Pretty smart bloke, very quirky, British, teaches the art class at Campfire Grove Middle School. Honestly, if you ask me, the guy was a bit henpecked. He hung on my sister’s every word, agreed with her on anything, to be honest it was annoying to listen to whenever we’d have a family gathering, but, Angie didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she found it amusing. So, of course, when my dear old failure of a brother asked if he can stay with them until he gets back on his feet, he agreed without a second thought, purely because his absolute goddess was ok with it. I’m surprised he took the idea so well, even after Peter outright stated he’s going to be staying with them for a very long time. When my fiancée, Jill Brooke, heard of the prodigal son’s return she immediately wanted to visit him. They hadn’t seen each other since I first introduced her to the family which was…uhm, let’s see. Oh yeah, a good two years ago. I didn’t object, as, whilst I didn’t really approve of all of my brother’s choices and I did hold a rather biased opinion that it was him and his recklessness that were the sole reasons behind as to why his company ended up down the drain, he was still my brother and, dammit I still loved the bastard. Hell, even after he pulled all this shit, I STILL love him. Can you believe that? God I hope I never have kids or else I’ll accidentally end up teaching them to love their graverobbing vandal with cannibalistic tendencies that just so happens to be related to me by blood. It’s… strange, I know, but, I’m sure everyone feels this way about their family, right?

EM: Could be, wouldn’t know. Me and my kin are on pretty thin ice and we prefer to keep things long distance. There’s individuals there I’d most rather smack with a glow if I’d ever seen them again. But, us humans are, sadly, first and foremost social beings, and the earliest communion we see around us is, in fact, a family, maybe close family friends if we’re being more lenient. So, as sad and strange as it may be, we need them and we’re drawn to them, as much as we wish this wasn’t the case.

LP: Riiight…

EM: Oh, crap. Once again, I apologize, I uhh… sometimes go off on overly philosophical rants. My wife’s been complaining that I do it way too often and, as per usual, she’s right.

LP: Hah… aren’t they always? Anyways, may I continue?

EM: If you so wish.

LP: Hmm, alright, where was I? Ah, yes, so Jill and I went to see Will and the rest of the gang up in Angie’s apartment. I remember exactly how my brother looked like when he left for the Windy City. The guy who came back still looked like my brother, sounded like him, talked like him, but it wasn’t him. Ever since he was a child my brother had this quirk where he couldn’t say the letter R properly. It was a hereditary thing, passed down through the generations by our great-great grandmother who moved to the States from France back in the 1920-s. But, when I spoke to… him at Jill’s place he could suddenly speak the letter quite clearly. I asked everyone about it and, sure as Hell, they noticed it too, but attributed it to some willing act of self-change on his part. It pleased Jill and Angie so I decided to keep up the charade of being fine with it and all that. But it just… didn’t feel right. I couldn’t see this man as my brother no matter how much everyone tried to convince me it was him.

EM: All because of the lack of his speech impediment?

LP: I know how it sounds, but, I’m a firm believer that imperfections make people who they are. They’re what makes us individuals, what separates us from the rest of Joe and Jane Schmoes walking down the street. They might not make us whole, but they can certainly make us unique and more… of our own, y’know?

EM: I see…

LP: Yeah, so, anyways, like I said, this was the first sign something was off. At some points during the conversations we’ve had that day I’ve also seemingly noticed that his laugh sounded a bit… off. Like, completely foreign and alien. I’ve known that man for my entire life and that strange, yet seemingly minute addition to the laughter that I’ve known rather well also felt… off. But, then again, it was a lot easier to ignore, as it usually only lasted a second before his actual laugh, the one that followed me since preschool, would fill the room again. It was so easy to overlook that I, legitimately, didn’t even notice it the first few times it happened. Hell, maybe it never happened, maybe I just imagined it all, itching and clamoring for a grander conspiracy being afoot because I so desperately wanted to reject the fact that my brother was now here and not far away with his new friend group, being the family prodigy whose bringing pride to the Perry name, whilst I’m here, stuck with owning a fucking bee farm of all things. And I might have kept assuring myself that this was all in my head… if it weren’t for you know what. When my brother pulled out that thing from his bag, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t feel a slight hint of terror making it’s way up my spinal cord. Now, mind you, I don’t suffer from… urgh, what’s it called?

EM: Pupaphobia?

LP: Yeah that. And sure, if it was just some ordinary dummy he’d fished out of the trash or from the backroom of some shady antique shop, I’d be fine with it. Sure, I wouldn’t exactly call that little wretch cute or even remotely eye-pleasing, but, I reckon I wouldn’t be giving it a second thought if it weren’t for one thing. The eyes. They had an… uncanny look to them, if you know what I mean? They didn’t look fully alive, but, at the same time, they felt like they had the same spark as yours and mine. They didn’t look fully dead either, but I still felt… weird around them. When I was 14, my grandfather passed away. I remember that, on the funeral, I walked up to the casket and decided to lift up one of his eyelids out of, well, I suppose you could call it morbid curiosity. The feeling was… hard to describe. It was like standing at the top of a mountain and you look down and see all of the clouds just… swirling around it in an imposing, yet, also, strangely beautiful composition? That’s how I felt when I locked my eyes on the thing. And, if I’m honest, pretty sure that that day, it locked it’s eyes with me too. I asked my brother where he got it and he looked at me with a puzzled look displayed on his face, then laughed that wrong, cursed laugh and asked me what I was talking about, claiming that it was always Angie’s puppet and we used to play around with it all the time as kids.

EM: Did Angela remember it?

LP: Yes… somehow. I tried telling her that she never owned something like it, but she would always shut my arguments down with clear, vivid descriptions of her activities with the dummy, how she came into his possession and named him Ricky, how she’d always wanted to try her hand at ventriloquism, but could never quite get the hang of the act, etc. Suffice to say that none of that was true, but I decided to keep going along, y’know? I-I-I thought they were joking. I haven’t seen nor heard from my brother in about two years and I know Angie still stayed in contact with him. Maybe it was just some weird interpersonal joke of theirs? Maybe it was a prank that they thought was oh so funny? Jill and Angus thought it was entertaining though, so I didn’t really feel like spoiling the fun and so I sat through the rest of the, uhh, “event” without saying a word. I tried voicing my concerns with Jill and, whilst she didn’t outright say that she thought I was crazy, she did say that she thinks it’s just me suppressing my childhood fear of dummies or something, which I am manifesting through my denial of its ownership. The perks of dating a psychologist, I suppose. A week later, Will got a job at Halifax Computers so Angie and Angus threw a little party and decided to invite me and Jill. Don’t get me wrong, I was ecstatic to see my brother back in full swing… well, the closest to a full swing he could be in judging by his latest position, but, at the same time, I really didn’t want to be there. His presence was alienating and I’m sure you can guess as to what was the other turnoff. However, Jill insisted I come with her and, well, I just wanted to please here y’know? Guess I’m not better than Angus I suppose. And, whilst my brother speech and behavioral patterns still felt a tad bit odd… for me and he still kept pushing the story that we’ve had always owned the dummy, I tried my best to forget about that little goblin and focus on what truly mattered in this situation; my brother’s newfound success. So, in the end, I’ve finally managed to atleast somewhat pull myself together and the party wasn’t a total waste of time and nerves. Angela… died two weeks later. Hereditary heart condition they said, apparently it affects all women on our mother’s side. Now that I think of it… heh, it’s a little strange y’know? We were never… told that something like this was a part of our family tree, nor was I familiar with any heart related deaths of people on my… our mom’s side. But, back then I didn’t really care. I was trying my best to comfort Will and Angus, and I was in no better shape either. Another perk of dating a psychologist: she can magically make you feel better, although I’m not sure if my mood changes were caused by her talent or me being absolutely smitten and hanging on her every word. Will and Angus let me take care of the funeral arrangements. It made me reasonably upset that they seemed to have no desire to help me to prepare for the final goodbyes, but, I didn’t feel like starting a fight. One emotionally unstable cyclone getting pissy is bad enough, imagine what three could do. Honestly, I thought things would calm down after the funeral. We’ve all said our finale goodbyes, recited the obituaries and buried Angie at Black Hill. Will didn’t even bring the dummy with him, citing that it “didn’t feel like coming”. I decided to ignore it and hope that he’ll finally let it go, put it back in the trunk or the closet and figure out that everybody’s had enough of it. Angus decided to take some time off and visit his parents back in some godforsaken rut across the pond, so I figured Will would be alone. I told Jill I’ll be taking him out for a drink and that I intend on discussing his recent mental state with him. It wasn’t exactly lying, but it wasn’t fully the truth either. You see, my real plan was to tell him to get rid of the dummy and stop with the charade he’d been pulling ever since he came back to town. Not to mention that his boss called and asked me what was up with him and why isn’t he showing up at work. Sure, I did pull out a half-assed excuse that he’s “still not feeling himself”, but, in all honesty, I had no idea as to what my brother was up to or how he’s actually doing. And so, I headed out to the Alamo and knocked on the door of his… their apartment. To my surprise, it was unlocked and slowly and deliberately snuck inside, I myself am not sure as to why. Was I scared of alerting something? Or someone? And who was I gonna scare? A bunch of old women? My brother? Some other schnotz whose enjoying the glory of cheap accommodation? Whatever the case I continued on my merry way inside, almost tip-toeing on the rough grey carpet covering the floor. The TV in the living room was on, but there was no image nor sound coming from it. It was most likely on one of those pay-to-watch networks or something, so I picked up the remote and turned it off. Sure, I was a bit weirded out, but quickly calmed myself down with the suggestion of a possibility that maybe he accidentally stumbled across the channel whilst browsing the TV, got tired, went to take a nap and simply forgot to turn it off. Sure, looking back that logic is completely broken, but, hey, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly at the moment. I instinctively went for the guest room, which, as of his arrival, pretty much became Will’s room, and, as I got closer, noticed that the door was slightly creaked open. I took a peak and saw Will sitting on the bed, caressing the dummy and speaking to him gently about something. Sadly I didn’t exactly get to hear what exactly was the main topic of the conversation, if you can even call it that, but, almost immediately, Will turned his face towards me and began glaring at me, asking me, with a slight hint of anger and annoyance in his voice about what I was doing here. I told him that I was just there to talk, to which he replied that Angus wasn’t here. I was a tad bit puzzled and, honestly, quite annoyed at his response and told him that I wasn’t here to talk to Angus, I was there for him. He looked down at the dummy, stating that it doesn’t wish for me to be here. That was, honestly, the tipping point and I began screaming at him, telling him to cut the crap, stop with the charade, throw the thing away, it’s not doing anyone any favors and does not, in the slightest way, connect him to anything or anyone in the real world, that he’s already lost his sister and is on the brink of loosing his job, yada, yada, yada, all that fun stuff. Only then did I notice that… this wasn’t the William I knew. Not only did his behavior change completely, but this figure became slender, almost emaciated, his skin got paler like he hadn’t exited the apartment in months and, finally… his eyes. They were…

EM: Silver?

LP: Yeah… exactly. And they glared at me. Like those of a hungry animal. He tossed the dummy to the floor and then lunged at me, knocking me against the wall, his fists clenched around my throat and his spit covering my face and causing a burning sensation. And I swear, during those 10 seconds, I could hear him growl and his eyes… they… they lit up like great silver flames, filled with the most passionate hatred that seemed to be coming from his very core. Luckily, I kicked him in the stomach with my foot and he was sent to the ground howling in pain and struggling to catch his breath, reaching for his dummy as he flayed around like a dying fish. I quickly took notice of this, stepping on his hand, causing him to scream… no… not scream. Roar a deep, inhuman sound that I don’t think I’ve ever heard anywhere, even in monster movies. I grabbed the dummy and ran out of the building, not giving the thing that I no longer wish nor dare to call my brother to thrash around on the floor. I got home, told Jill that Will had gotten very aggressive and that she shouldn’t open the door at any cost. I locked the dummy up in an old battered closet in the attic and, well, I’m pretty sure you know the rest.

EM: I see… is there anything you’d like to add?

LP: No, I’m… pretty much done here.

EM: Wonderful. I uhh… hope this was… cathartic for you, in atleast some way.

LP: Eh… I suppose.

EM: Good… I’ll uhh… do my best to try and do some more digging around the case and I’ll inform you about it.

LP: Th-thank you (*sigh*). Thank you for your time. I’ll uhh… follow up with that friend of yours. Damien Locke, was it?

EM: You’re welcome. And, yes, you’re correct.

LP: Thank you once again.

EM: You’re welcome. I hope to see you some other time, under less… unfortunate circumstances.

LP: Well, if you’re ever charged with murder hehe… I’m your guy.

EM: (*laughs*) I’ll consider that. Oh, and don’t forget your bag. Unless you want me to get cursed haha?

LP: Oh, right, almost forgot about it. Thank you, once again.

EM: You’re welcome… once again.

(*Recording ends*)

A note from Moore’s casebook regarding his final thoughts on the case.
Note: Well, I’d be oh so keen to write this one off as a case of an unfortunately broken brilliant mind that cracked under the pressure of loss, disappointment and disbelief, which manifested in the form of hallucinations, which, to an untrained eye, might come across as paranormal phenomena, if it weren’t for one thing. Mr. Perry’s description of his brother’s physically altered, delirious and violent state of body and mind seems to align perfectly with the eyewitness account of Don Lofts regarding his description of the supposed ghoul that has now earned the monicker of the July 9th Vandal, as the similarities in the descriptions are, in fact, rather uncanny. I’ve tried following up on the single lead provided to me by Mr. Perry, that being his sister’s file, supposedly held in the archives of the Walton General Hospital. However, whilst I was able to obtain access to the hospital’s archival storage, I was told that, Angela’s file had perished in the Vandal’s attack, alongside many, many others, so I am unable to fully confirm nor deny Lionel’s account regarding his sister’s passing. Out of pure curiosity, I’ve contacted Dame in regards to the dummy and he said he’s “not quite done with the research, but that, from what his research tells him so far, it’s certainly a very potent object of power, and that he’ll keep me posted in case anything notable pops up. God I love that man. William Perry is still on the large, but, as expected, the case is quickly beginning to fade from the public eye. People here tend to move on from gruesome things quite quickly, it seems. Makes my job a lot easier if I’m honest.
Case status: solved (?)

Willaim Perry was never apprehended. He was found lying dead next to the gates of Chicago’s most famous graveyard, Resurrection Cemetery (oddly enough, a site known for its fair share of hauntings and urban legends) two years after his crimes in Walton and Cold Grove took place. Everett Moore never got to learn of this though, as he had passed away due to complications following a tragic car crash that occurred three months prior to this discovery. Ricky is still a prominent exhibit at Daniel Locke’s Museum Of the Occult, however, it’s true nature and abilities remain unknown to the masses, as Moore never left any follow-up notes on the subject in his casefiles. Not even Locke’s memoir My Best Friend Lives In the Shadows: My Conversations and Friendship with Everett Moore, published earlier this year by Simon and Schuster, provides us with any vital and previously unknown insight into the case (it’s still a very fun read though), so, I suppose, like Moore’s life, and death, this case might just remain a mystery.

Credit: Svarga