🧾 Archive: Pre-Field Notes

"Jess... Jess," a middle-aged man, dressed in a tie and brimmed hat, shouted as he rushed into the kitchen. "I need a drink to celebrate," "Erik..." Jess, his wife, attempted to interject, but Erik is far too excited to even acknowledge the look of concern on his wife's face.

Half a bottle Harold's Dark Whiskey sat in the passenger seat. Having not expected to survive the night, Erik stirred. His eyelids felt too heavy to lift. A heavy thump shook him from his liquor-laden coma. Opening his eyes slightly, his vision blurred. He was barely able to make out the dust covered dashboard of the abandoned car he found himself in.

Erik stood near a pale blue minivan. Its windows blacked out with dirt. He tried the driver’s side sliding door, but it was locked.

“So what’s your plan?” Erik asked Rebecca, as they sat waiting for the mob of thrall to surround them. “First step is to not die.” Rebecca said. “Honestly… and I always try to be honest,” Erik promised. “I’m good with dying. I’ve lived long enough. You wanna stab me and run, do it.” “Liar!” Rebecca shouted. It was a whisper but emotional, triggered by memories.

Erik screamed out toward the thrall. He listened as the towering stems and pig weed broke under the incoming horde. The tentacled Groundling reached out, brushed his ankle. Erik turned, snapped a thick stalk from the ground.

Erik stood behind Sean Garrison. Sean— a large, broad-shouldered man whose very presence commanded attention. He wasn’t just a survivor; he was one-half of the infamous Garrison brothers, the outlaws of Black Lake. For years, Erik watched from the streets as Sean and his brother terrorized the region. Often slipping past the Black Shirts and avoiding persecution, like it was a game. They moved with reckless confidence, fearless and untouchable.

Billy’s face was gray, his eyes pale, his body cold beneath Michael’s hands. He was dead. After several moments, Billy blinked and turned his head. Michael stepped back, his breath catching as the body sat up. A dead body doesn’t do this, he thought—yet Billy rose to his knees, then his feet, staring through him with eyes that no longer belonged to anyone he knew. Related Record: Town Called West Thomas — Field Documents https://broken-archive.com/records/field-documents/town-called-