spectral_fm: (Default)
[personal profile] spectral_fm
The adverts were still playing. Beth using the time to out her guest at ease and test sound levels. A microphone was situated in front of their respective seats, but both had to wear a set of headphones - especially if there were callers later.

And as soon as her guest was ready?

"Bump In The Night... With Beth Watkins!"

A music began to fade down with a wolf's howl and the brunette began speaking before silence was properly reached. A gradual style of segue always sounded better.

"Tonight, we've got more of a local flavour for the show. She writes a blog, 'Dorchester After Dark' - which we've got linked up on the site, for anyone who's eager to take a bite. But y'know what? We've got Major Jules Bishop, herself, in the studio, sooo... Major? For any listeners out there who aren't familiar, how about you tell us about 'After Dark' and how it all came about?"
hauntingboston: (demonic)
[personal profile] hauntingboston
A week after Ruby visited the wealthy part of town with a paint brush in hand, Amelia Steigler -- young socialite, intended target of demonic mischief -- remained curiously void of any negative symptoms. Perhaps it was her strong religious faith that protected her, along with a plethora of catholic artifacts in her bedroom. Maybe it was the ivory statuette in the grand foyer of the family's home, a keepsake from a vacation on another continent. It could have been that demons don't always follow simple directions, preferring the element of chaos.

Whatever the reason, Ruby's invited guest had turned its attention elsewhere.

It landed on a brick building a few meters southwest of the Steigler property, which housed an independent bookstore and an antique parlor. The owners of both shops often worked in tandem, offering sales and open houses to attract customers.

So on Saturday, the sign out front read, 'SALE! 25% OF ENTIRE STOCK! SALE!' A wonderful aroma of coffee and cinnamon buns called to passersby, who had no idea what dark things might transpire if they entered...

[Thread: Open to Anyone]
hauntingboston: (reaching hand)
[personal profile] hauntingboston
The Old Granary Burial Ground, listed as one of Boston's top spots for tourists with a love of history and Instagram photo ops, sits on Tremont Street in modern day downtown. Founded in 1660, the grounds hold thousands of Boston's dead, both ordinary and famous. Its colonial roots make it the final resting spot for men such as Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and Paul Revere. Its macabre gravestones, some featuring death's winged head, make it a favorite for lovers of a dark aesthetic.

Boston's flourishing, paranormal enthusiast groups often use the Granary as a meet-up location, and so it is quite ordinary for a series of announcements to be posted on social media inviting those with a love of all things spooky to meet for free hot cocoa and conversation at sundown by the Franklin obelisk, monument to Benjamin Franklin's parents.

A few colorful candles offer a welcoming environment for those who wander close enough to join conversation.

[Thread: Open to Anyone]
thetrapper: (Flannel)
[personal profile] thetrapper
“It’ll be thirty-one degrees tonight, but no rain is predicted, so the streets will likely be safe in the morning. Clear and cold, that’s the prediction for the next few days.”

Jules left the television in the store window behind, having caught the last of the weather forecast as she paused under the awning to get out of the sudden gust of wind. Cold, the girl with the too-big hair had said. More like frigid, above freezing or not. And McQueen refused to do his business, although Weasel had done his. The dog’s badly-chewed left ear twitched as he snuffled at yet another newspaper kiosk.

She’d quit smoking for the third time - or was it the fourth? - so maybe that wasn’t helping her mood. The money she’d save might make her feel better if she thought about that instead. A bus rumbled past on the street, the lighted interior revealing commuters on their way home from work. Jules watched it turn the corner and disappear, pulled a plastic bag from her coat pocket as the pit bull mercifully elected to do what she’d brought him out here to do. The city had elected to announce a fine for keeping the sidewalks tidy, so she’d brought along clean-up tools.

Danny had once hated the winter, cold grey skies and chill in the air enough to seep down to your bones, but it had started to grown on him. It was mild for this time of year, the night hovering just below freezing and the skies clear and bright; the dim yellow light of the streetlamps helped drown out most of the stars, but the moon was there, pale and staring and nearly full. Walking helped drown out the sort of thoughts that would keep him awake at night, so when the needling little whispers would begin in the back of his mind, Danny took to the stretching his legs over miles of sidewalk.

Mild or not, the cold would eventually wear on anyone out in it, and he shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his brown leather jacket, clenching and unclenching his fingers in an attempt to alleviate the stiffness the cold brought out in his hands. Danny watched his breath form into steam in the air, eyes following the rhythm of each exhale and not really seeing the world around him. He didn’t notice the woman and her dogs, sidestepping all three at the last moment and nearly landing himself in the gutter for his trouble.

“Whoa,” he muttered, more to himself than to the stranger, and stumbled a moment on broken pavement before righting his boots on the sidewalk.

If you treat ‘em gentle, they’ll follow you anywhere )
christianmedinamusic: (pic#9953159)
[personal profile] christianmedinamusic
Christian found the ad while searching for gigs. Money was tight and the nest egg from his summer job was looking lean. When he came across the ad looking for an administrative assistant, his eyebrow furrowed. It wasn't the perfect job - but then he saw it was an overnight shift.

What the hell kind of company has an overnight administrative assistant? he thought as he pulled his blazer out of his backpack. He shook it out and frowned at the wrinkle. A T bathroom wasn't the best place to prep for a job interview, but it was cleaner than the gas station.

Chris booked it out of the bathroom after attempting one last time to tame his hair. Shrugging, he shoved his hat back onto his head, hoping that whoever was hiring would think that his impromptu blazer, khaki, and dress shirt interview outfit would think it was quirky and outside the box. He could hear his father's voice in his head tsk-ing him for not bringing his suit up to college with him. Cringing, he shook his head to quell the judgmental Spanglish and checked his phone for the address.

Looking up, Christian realized he was at the place. A shiver traveled up his back and radiated through his body. It was super creepy, but hey, it was a job. The twilight didn't help his nerves and he cleared his throat as he walked up to the front door. Shaking himself all over like he was shaking it out before a performance, Christian rolled his shoulders, shouldered his bag, and knocked.

[Open to G]

Red Maple

Feb. 7th, 2016 09:39 pm
serpent1ne: (skeptical)
[personal profile] serpent1ne
The day after the Superbowl was generally quiet at the Red Maple Saloon. Most people had blown their cash and at least a week’s worth of calories on the championship game. A few fans might wander in to lick their wounds, but Boston was light on both Broncos and Panthers enthusiasts. As such, Ruby had plenty of time to lean on the bar and crack open peanuts. The bartender’s uniform consisted of a black tank top with a tree screen-printed on the front, jeans, and pair of cowgirl boots. A silver feather pendant dangled in her cleavage. An expensive jukebox played a medley of classic rock hits in the corner. The opening notes of the Eagles’ hit “I Can’t Tell You Why” added to her sense of lethargy.
serpent1ne: (bitchy)
[personal profile] serpent1ne
The paint was a dull, matte red, nearly the same color as the bricks that formed a low wall around the Steigler property. That was the whole idea. If anyone noticed the graffiti, they would have it removed, and this little bit of labor would be for naught. Ruby had discovered that the tree limbs over the back of the property were low enough to throw the brick wall into shadow. No one frequented the northeast corner. If they had, they might have noticed the foundation of the wall crumbling into the alley and had it repaired.

She crouched and connected lines and circles with her thin paintbrush, taking time to keep the tip sharp so that her lines didn’t blur on a sickle shape. If done correctly, her piece would serve as a honing beacon, not for Bostonian art lovers but a certain spiritual patron. And what would he see, were he to light upon this world and have a look around?

Amelia Steigler’s bedroom, just up and to the left.

Amelia Steigler: Socialite, Facebook Activist, Berklee Undergraduate, Natural Blonde.

Ruby stood up and surveyed her progress. The cold, morning air lifted her hair into a writhing crown of curls. Her eyes were curiously bright. “Close enough for government work,” she said, popping the top onto her small paint can. She blew a kiss at the wet paint and left the alley in search of a cup of hot coffee.

“Next time, leave a tip. Bitch.”
melodymagic: (Default)
[personal profile] melodymagic
It had been a few weeks since she'd met Brian. She sat in a coffee shop, his card lying on the open face of her purse as she sipped at the large chai latte. Since she'd met him she'd done a lot more reading on both her ability, and had started practicing, trying to do it without having a fright, or elevated heart rate for whatever reason.

And she'd surprised herself at what she had been able to achieve. As she sat there the couple at the table next to her finished and stood up, the guy tucking his chair back under the table, but the girl leaving hers sitting out in the middle of the aisle. A quick glance either way, and Melody leaned back in her chair, turned her attention on the askance piece of furniture. One hand remained on her mug, the other looked a little like she was brushing some crumbs together on the tabletop in front of her. And if anyone had been looking they might have thought her leg might have reached the chair leg opposite, somehow, and dragged the chair back in beneath the table. Of course if they had bothered to look under the table they would have seen that wasn't the case.

Smiling to herself, and pretty pleased with the results, she finished her drink and left the coffee shop.
ball_is_life: (hand blocking face)
[personal profile] ball_is_life
Elijah Harris stood at the foot of a concrete staircase and looked up. The two-story building, a brick row house in one of Boston’s gentrified neighborhoods, awaited a gut and renovation that would bring it into the current century and secure its owner a premium in rental income. But first the previous tenant had to go.

He was told the house still smelled like the old woman’s decaying corpse, which sat in her armchair for a good month before anybody noticed her overstuffed mailbox and called 9-1-1. The buyer practically stole the place at auction, a decision he might have second-guessed if he'd known that the spirit of Mabel Grizzard hadn't 'gone into the light' when it was suggested to her.

Wearing a black jumpsuit and boots, a neon-green GHC logo emblazoned on the back, Eli hefted his gear-laden pack onto his shoulders and took a deep breath. Time for a pep talk.

"You can do this. You're from DC! You've seen more fucked up shit than this." Still, as he mounted the steps and stuck the key in the door, Eli knew he was supposed to have back-up for situations like this. But back-up required coworkers, and Bev Bathstone couldn't lift a GHC tech-pack if her life depended on it.

[Open to Anyone]
alone_lily: (Listening)
[personal profile] alone_lily
Double checking the address she had written, Lily walked up and down the short length of the block between Old Harbor Street and Gates Street, both of the buildings which sandwiched the Funeral home were residences. She had the correct address as copied from an online forum, 146 Dorchester Street. How morbid? She thought and started up the stairs.

When she walked in she was greeted by a young man wearing a dark suit. “Are you a friend or relative?”

Read more... )

[opened to Beverley]
grace_newsome: (Default)
[personal profile] grace_newsome
Grace had spent the blizzard nestled indoors, and had run out of tasks and productive things to do pretty quickly. She ended up spending a few hours compiling a winter playlist. Specifically titled, Winter Needs To Die. It was mostly depressing 80s songs and shoe gaze.

Once the weather had evened out a bit, Grace decided to visit a little music shop. She had heard about it from a homemade-looking flyer that had gotten stuck to her windshield. And really, that was the best way to hear about anything.

The bell on the door jangled merrily, and she entered the store followed by a blast of cold, lung-invading air. She peeled her gloves off, the fingers turning inside out, and wandered lazily over to the new releases. There weren't many people around, so it was easier to let her carefully constructed guard down. Slightly.

[Open to Brian]
alone_lily: (Default)
[personal profile] alone_lily

“Would you like to have another biscotti, Miss. Delacroix?” offered Eric Tiller, an indicted thief and her newest client, seated across from her. A well-mannered middle aged with a shade of gray hair was a respectable businessman who owned a small coffee shop in Watertown, Massachusetts. The last person you would suspect as a high end art thief.

“No thank you, Mr. Tiller,” said Lily Delacroix Psy.D, forensic psychologist, who was hired by Tiller’s attorney as a consultant. The law firm needed to come up with a viable defense for Tiller, and an insanity plea was an option. “Please, just call me Lily.”

Read more... )
daring_crusoe: (Not Shaved)
[personal profile] daring_crusoe

“Ugh. I still can’t over it,” he said looking up at the flat screen which was showing the highlight of game between the New England Patriots and Denver Broncos. “Two lousy points.” 
“Tell me about it. People have been talking about it all week,” said the bartender. 
“God dammit,” Darren said seeing the replay of the field kick which ended up costing the game in the end. 
“Sounds like you need drink,” said the bartender. “What’s your booze?”
“Sam Adams.” Darren replied. He had enough grief for the day. He looked down the bar toward the front door as someone came through the door for the start of happy hour. 
The bartender returned with his Samuel Adams beer in a mug straight from the tap with the head still overflowing. “Tab, Darren?” 
“Yes, thanks,” he grabbed his beer and took a sip. It was the best, not that he did not enjoy the other home brews from Boston. Samuel Adams was the only taste of New England when he lived in Japan. In a way, having Sam Adams in Boston connected him back to Japan. 


Jan. 27th, 2016 03:22 pm
ghargreaves: (Default)
[personal profile] ghargreaves
To: Beverley Bathstone [beverley.bathstone@ghostco.com]
From: Gerald Hargreaves [gerald.hargreaves@ghostco.com]
Subject: Ad content

Dear Beverley,

Thank you for having the ads for our services placed so efficiently, I appreciate your efforts to help keep things operational during this phase of the company's changes.

I do note that the guarantee is somewhat less than attractive to any potential client. I am quite sure you are already dealing with this with the appropriate individuals at the publication. Please keep me apprised of the response so I can take it further if needed.

Again, thank you for your taking on extra responsibilities at this time.

Kind regards,



Jan. 27th, 2016 02:52 pm
ghargreaves: (Looking down - suit)
[personal profile] ghargreaves
The disappearance of the team who had been carrying out the research into portals into other dimensions had been both a major loss and a major find, or that's the way Gerald Hargreaves had chosen to look at it. After all, if they had discovered a portal and been drawn through it then they had proven that what Gerald had always believed was true, was true.

He drummed his fingers on the desk in the office he had started to frequent more often since the loss of the team. One of the drawbacks of losing the team, other than losing the actual team, was having to replace them. And he had decided that as there was now a good chance his hypothesis had been right, he was going to be a little more hands-on in the management of the business. That and both the manager and receptionist had disappeared at the same time as the team, along with a few other staff.

So the first task he had taken on was the replacement of team members. And today was back to back interviews with potential candidates for a number of positions. The ad had been placed by Elijah, the young man quite adept at turning his hand to anything required at the time, though Gerry thought the young man would probably draw the line at opening mail, and making coffee.

He picked up the elegant china cup that sat on a matching saucer and sipped the freshly brewed coffee, inhaling the aromatic steam as his eyes ran over the list of appointments on the sheet in front of him.
ball_is_life: (Default)
[personal profile] ball_is_life
10:14 PM - "I should get toddler up more often"

10:15 PM - "stools"

10:15 PM - "stood"

10:15 PM - "FML"
wild_hearses: (seriously)
[personal profile] wild_hearses
Ms. Savoy,

I am VERY DISAPPOINTED with the typo in our Classified ad!!!

"Discretion is 10% guaranteed!"


You can just imagine what Mr. Hargreaves thinks about his investment in your publication.

I actively tried to think of a worse way to typo the ad, and all I could come up with is if you had typed 'homo' instead of 'home'. Literally that's it.


wild_hearses: (my eyes are up here)
[personal profile] wild_hearses
Ms. Savoy,

Thanks for helping Eli get our job ad posted so fast. It's like the Rapture around here; we need people! The second ad should go in the Classified section under Miscellaneous Services. I've attached our logo for the pop-up on your home page. Let me know if you need it in another format. My fingers are crossed that we drum up some interest!

* * *

"Is your home or business experiencing an unexplained paranormal phenomenon? Our team of investigators can help. We offer affordable, solutions-based assistance for a variety of concerns. Need privacy? Discretion is 100% guaranteed! Contact us at ghostco@server.com for information and pricing."
ball_is_life: (reaching fingers)
[personal profile] ball_is_life
Ms. Savoy,

Here's the information you requested for the job ad on the Boston Gazette's website. Just to confirm, it should be on the career page from 01/26-02/06:

"G. Host and Company, a reputable business established in the Dorchester neighborhood in 1912, seeks qualified candidates for a variety of positions. Candidates with experience in the fields of medicine, science, investigation, historical research, computer technology, mechanics, religious studies, public relations, and office management are encouraged to apply. Positions open until filled. Full-time and part-time positions available. Successful candidates must possess the ability to work rotating shifts, serve in an on-call rotation, and must have a valid Massachusetts driver's license. Candidates must also possess the ability to manage stress, think critically, and maintain confidential information. Salary is commensurate with experience. Temporary and long-term contract work a possibility. Send resume and cover letter to ghostco@server.com. Some applicants will receive invitations to interview."

I really appreciate it!!!

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