a ghost town is more than just a few forms. I think of it in these terms: first a town loses its ability, then its vitality, and shortly after that it becomes a ghost
Here's another practical example, inspired by various internet posts but particularly this one.
Goussainville, Val-d'Oise is close to Paris and was at one time an ordinary place. Then someone built an airport next door. Air and noise pollution was bad enough, but then a Russian aircraft crashed during a show killing several residents, all the air crew, and destroying a portion of the town. What was already a steady decrease in population became a flood, and the old town emptied out.
An architectural wrinkle prevents significant regeneration. The 14th century church of St Paul and St Peter at the heart of Goussainville is protected by the state. Neither it nor any building within 500 meters can be altered in any significant way. While parts of Goussainville are thriving, the old town is a graffiti-pocked shell of its former self.
I think of ghost towns in small sandbox terms. There may or may not be a convenient central hub - a general store, an inn, a church - but the town's story is scattered roundabout, which means there will be different kinds of experiences to be had.
That's what we're looking at here. There is a central hub - the church, the abandoned mansion, the old supermarket - but the ghost town's story is scattered across several locations. If they want to follow up on certain angles (the Russian plane crash, eg) they might have to leave the town altogether and go hunting in old archives. Perhaps they'll find old television footage:
Perhaps they'll find first responders or former government employees, now long retired to [somewhere far away from here] who have vivid memories of the event. Perhaps this, perhaps that, but the central point is that the story is large and will be found in several locations, not all of which are obvious.
Let's give this an Esoterror angle.
To The Devil A Daughter: Bundyclub, France
Bundyclub, from the Esoterrorists main book, is a group of otherwise unconnected people who become serial killers under the direction of John Michael Loehr, a ringleader figure who communicates with all of them online. The group began as killer fans, and later, under Loehr's direction, become killers.
Bundyclub acquires an international dimension when Loehr contacts a Frenchman, Gabin Bazin, through the same internet forum.
Bazin's fascinated by killer Marcel Barbeault, aka The Shadow, who Bazin believes committed at least one murder in Goussainville: Bazin's mother, Esme. Bazin believes the murder was never solved, at least in part, because of the plane crash which interrupted the investigation.
Loher's corpsejabber controller 'Maria' perked up when Bazin's dead mother was mentioned in chat. Could Bazin be tempted down the same path as Loehr, becoming the center of a French Esoterror daughter cell?
It's been two years since that initial contact. Now Bazin has a corpse on his back and a murder basement in one of the abandoned buildings in Goussainville. Like Loher, Bazin has been gathering like-minded individuals online. They plan their first killing soon. A target in Paris has been picked out.
However, unlike Loher Bazin hasn't quite mastered the dark arts of internet security, and the French authorities have picked up his trail. The OV is dropped a hint: somewhere in Goussainville a dark secret is hid, but where exactly - and what?
OK, last week it was all about the books and blu-ray. This week it's the RPG stuff.
Cranfield was ... odd ... in the vendor hall department. I mean, the establishment's huge. But the vendor section was a room behind the bar. Nice room. It got a little hot in there, not much air flowing through. I wouldn't want to be in there all day. Drifted in and out a couple times, was tempted by this and that, thought of my suitcase with tears in its nonexistent eyes, that sort of thing.
Yes, I know. I know! But some temptations can't be resisted. I really admire Aaronovich's work. That's why I agreed to write for the setting, but I never did get the physical of the main book and Underground/Overground collects all the short scenarios including the one I wrote. I already have the physical of Liberty's Shadow. That's enough for now.
Plus, Underground/Overground has variant spell rules and a system for playing foxes. How hard can any gamer's heart be? Could you resist those soulful brown eyes? I remember seeing Reynard all over London, when I lived there. A natural fit for the game.
I wasn't that tempted by the pleather version. Granted, pretty. But our climate is death to that sort of thing. That said, your milage (and climate) may vary.
OK, this one had to sell itself. I enjoy a bit of nonsense. But this was setting off alarm bells. Honestly, if several of the organizers hadn't turned up in full Scouting rig (mentioning no names, in part because I can't remember them) I might have turned my head. I shan't say they inspired me. I shall say they caught my attention, and the book did the rest.
This is meant to be a more survivable kind of BRP, which I think probably suits it best to an in-between kind of game. A relaxing change of pace between more grueling adventures. But I could be selling it short. A campaign of this might be what the doctor ordered.
I'm not sure how much use I shall have for Westhaven, the setting in the book. I mean, this is Cthulhu. Arkham's right there. Kingsport too. It makes more sense to my addled mind to use those locations. But your milage may vary.
Malleus Monstrorum. Because you need something with tentacles in your life. Plus, it was on sale. It did force the Arkham book out of my hands, though. There wasn't a chance I'd squeeze both this and the Arkham book in the case. Hard decisions had to be made. Over 150 entities gruesome and otherwise? OK, sold. I didn't pick up the cards, though. Again, suitcase. There are limits to any creature's endurance and I knew I'd be going to Birmingham later.
Speaking of.
That is the queue for badges and entry passes, Thursday afternoon. Good night. The picture does not convey the heat. There was very little air down there and no air conditioning. It was no joke. I flat out do not understand how anyone thought building an Expo center like that without functioning HVAC was a good idea. You might as well fling gunpowder into a furnace.
But!
The queue moved quickly. I picked up the bits for myself and a mate, and we braved the nonsense on Friday from the moment the halls opened.
Did I buy books? I did not.
Was I severely tempted? Yes. But not by books, so much. I did get a small pile of other stuff, special dice, mats, that sort of thing. You can't find these down here. Cons are the only chance I have to get them.
Now, this might in part be because I was with an old tabletop buddy (Keiran, you villain!) but I felt the tabletop urge again. I used to be an enthusiast. No good at painting, mind, which is about 90% of the hobby as far as I can make out. Much like about 90% of tabletop RPG is talking about playing, rather than actually getting around a table and playing. But it was a big part of my life. Skirmish gaming is always easier to find a group for than Napoleonics because, although the Napolean crowd is dedicated, it takes a lot of time to set up and play. I still shudder at the memory of one dark day when we spent the better part of an hour setting up and placing units, only for the other player to concede two turns in. No, the other player did not help put the terrain back.
Whereas a brief skirmish between two or more factions on the streets of Rome (or in my case back in the day, a gunfight in a nameless Western town) is much quicker to arrange and play.
Pictures like these are the crack in the cocaine. You look at something like this and inspiration hits. Never mind that my painting skills are not up to the task. I can see this, in my minds eye, spread across a table at gaming night.
I did not buy it. Nor did I buy any of the solid, paintable Bloodbowl (or possibly Bloodbowl knock-off) stadium sets I saw on sale. I still have a team hiding in a box somewhere. Two, actually. Nor did I buy any of the Chicago Way stuff, tempted though I am by its setting. I think I still have the ruleset somewhere, though that may have changed.
That's the rub, honestly. You get to a point in your collecting career where you look the temptation square in the eye and say, I haven't the space or the time. Other things bring me joy. I shall pay attention to the other things.
There will be a period, about a month, where I wonder whether I ought to have done thus or so.
Then the image will fade and I shall go on to other things.
For years I've been wheeling a carry-on secure in the knowledge I can get off the plane straight away and walk out of the airport. I avoid paying the fee of [whatever it may be]. Score! So clever am I!
This was a good rule. Then everyone started following it. This trip to the UK started with a mad scramble to get everyone's bags in the overhead. I genuinely thought someone might die, probably one of the flight attendants from an aneurism. We left a few minutes behind schedule; by the grace of God it wasn't much more than half an hour. Opening the containers up again was like Russian roulette with carry-ons. That's before you consider that for a lot of folks it wasn't carry-ons; it was duty free, it was duffle bags, it was this, it was that, but it wasn't the standard size bag. Which makes a huge difference when the overheads can only take two or three standard size.
No, no. Never again. I'm going to get a larger bag (because why not) and whenever I fly long haul, that bag gets checked. I don't care if the airline charges me. It is worth the cost to avoid the pain. Short haul is different. If I'm only going to be out of country for a few days, it makes sense to use a smaller bag. But long haul, with a larger bag, I can carry more books. Which are duty free. Alleluia!
Now, the conventions.
Chaosium UK was an eye-opener. I'd forgotten how desolate UK villages can be; there's nothing in Cranfield beyond a couple pubs, a chippie, a Chinese, and one decent restaurant. Allegedly decent. I never saw it because it wasn't in walking distance and Cranfield's Uber drivers are double-charging weasels.
I tell you, these places are deserts where you park your 2.4 kids until they're old enough to feck off to uni. I cannot imagine living there. You'd start to see the walls move in and out after a while. Which is very odd, for a university village. I can only think the students make their own fun. Or get the hell out to Milton Keynes as soon as possible, but that would involve functional public transport or a willingness to get robbed blind by the aforementioned Uber weasels.
Cranfield School of Management was great and the staff did their best, though I did feel as if I'd gone back in time and was a student again. At least this time the bar had a decent selection of non-alcoholic beer! Food was British Stodge, and while I do not mind a bit of Stodge I can't imagine living on the bloody stuff. You'd need a cast iron stomach and the epicurean incuriousness of a billy goat.
Another thing I had forgotten: UK cons are mostly about gaming. I've become used to the North American version, where there's a much larger vendor presence, film, guests, panels, the whole schmeer. As a result I didn't sign up for anything like as much gaming as I could have, though I did enjoy dipping into a Rivers of London game, Route 66, and was able to sit in on the start of a Jimmy's Last Dance session. Plus, Miskatonic Playhouse! Ahh, fun times. I did spend money. One of these days I should also claim the .pdf version of some of those games I bought. I tell you, it's easy to get sidetracked in a dozen different directions if you're not careful.
Then there was the Birmingham Expo.
Yes, there is a vendor presence at the Expo. However did you guess?
One thing Birmingham does not know how to deal with: heat. It was baking in there. Thank God it was high ceilings at the Expo centre for the heat to bleed out or I think there would have been a couple heatstroke cases.
I went to one panel - Off With Your Head, a ton of fun, my allegiance remains with King Non-Copyright Mouse - in something called Piazza Five, which is a tiny brick oven at the heart of the Expo centre. I think I caught a breath of fresh air once, briefly, at the start of the show, when the aircon wrote its will and collapsed. I was in the front row, because I like to be in the splash zone. If someone on stage spontaneously combusted and burnt to ashes on the spot, I would not have been surprised. Credit to Sam See, the Vizier and Master of Ceremonies. He did not wilt. Which must have been a temptation.
For the love of God, put in more water stations at least, inside the halls. Better yet functional HVAC, but water stations, por favor.
Coming Up For Air, George Orwell. I haven't cracked this one yet but I'm looking forward to it. A nostalgia tour of the world before the Great War. 1960s paperback reprint of the 1939 original.
Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi, edited and rewritten by Charles Dickens. I love the stage and I admire Dickens' writing style. I haven't finished this one yet but am working on it. My God, Grimaldi had a punishing father.
Death In Captivity. Michael Gilbert. Chewed this down within a day. A prisoner is found dead inside a second world war internment camp. Why was he killed? Who's responsible?
Crook O'Lune, E.C.R. Lorac. A remote farmhouse is set ablaze and a woman dies of smoke inhalation. Why do this? Is it to distract attention from sheep smuggling or is there something more sinister at root?
Impact of Evidence, Carol Carnac A car wreck in the Welsh Borders kills a retired doctor, and a second body is found. Who's the extra dead man? Why was he in the doctor's car?
Both these last are technically cozy crime, but they're as far from cozy as it is possible to get. Ate these within 24 hours of purchase.
Deadly Dolls: Midnight Tales of Uncanny Playthings, short story collection. Because how could I resist? Bought on the Saturday, finished same day. Highly recommended to horror fans, there are some interesting pieces here you won't see elsewhere.
Farmer Giles of Ham, J.R.R. Tolkien. See, this is why you go to places like the BFI bookstalls. Lovely little 1979 imprint of the 1949 original. I've read this before. it was a treat to read it again.
The Chinese Nail Murders and The Phantom of the Temple, both Robert Van Gulik, both BFI bookstalls. Lovely 1960s Panther paperbacks. I've a lot of time for Van Gulik. He tackles his subject with aplomb. I look forward to reading these.
She Walks At Night, Seiko Yokomizo. Pretty sure I picked this up at Foyles the first day I was there. Brilliant stuff, with an ending that subverts all that has come before.
Suspicion and Inspector Imanishi Investigates, both Seicho Matsumoto, bought at Heathrow Airport. Because all the other books were in my case and that had been checked in. Finished Suspicion as I was waiting to board the plane.
Film! Yes, I did buy some blu-ray, mostly from the BFI but also from Fopp. Which, you ask?
