May 2, 2023 12:13 am
Jimmy Cartright looks up at Norma Jean with a start and then sheepishly stands to make room for another child. He moves near to his parents and glowers at the older woman.
People continue to trickle in as the sun fully disappears from view and nighttime takes ahold. By thirty minutes passed sundown, there are no further late arrivals, and the church's big brown doors slam shut with finality. Candles and lanterns illuminate the interior of the church, though what light they provide is dim at best, leaving lingering shadows throughout the nave. There is a mildly unpleasant odor in the air that is unnervingly similar to burned meat. The culprit seems to be the wall candles - the tallow comprising them likely wasn't rendered enough. You glimpse more than a few people in the crowd crinkle their noses in disgust.
A number of attendees are dressed in their work outfits. Presumably, many of them have just finished their shifts and didn't have time to stop home to clean up. Based on their apparel, it's not difficult to deduce people's occupations. The loggers and woodcutters are sporting plaid buttoned down shirts and suspenders. The millhands are wearing slim-fitted trousers and shirts with rolled-up sleeves (to keep their garb from getting caught in the textile machines). The farmers are clad in coveralls or overalls that betray tan lines along the arms and neck. And then there are the coal miners, whose vocation is the most obvious of all: dark shirts and pants, hard hats, and bandanas. It's all but impossible to miss their blackened, soot-stained faces staring from the crowd. A scan of the room reveals that a sizeable majority of the men (and some of the older children) work in mining.
With Mine Number Eight having long closed down, the community's remaining coal miners commute to either Gilmer or Danville to work those other mines. Each morning at 4:30am, the Big Boys send several flat-bed trucks to Waller Hole to transport the men to their work sites and then back home after a twelve hour shift. The drive is thirty minutes each way along a winding mountain road of packed dirt. The transportation is regarded as a billable service by the Big Boys. Thus, the money for the drivers and gasoline is taken out of the miners' pay. This is the best option available for workers who wish to stay with their families in Waller Hole. The only alternative is to leave their loved ones and move to a mining camp.Seated at the head of the room are the six oldest people in Waller Hole, whom the townsfolk have respectfully dubbed "the Elders". Each of the elders looks ancient; decades of hard living have taken their toll. They are copiously wrinkled, gray or white-haired, and nearly all are missing some (if not all) of their teeth. With inhabitants of Holler having an average life expectancy of 55, it's considered an accomplishment to reach one's 60s or older. Waller Hole doesn't have elected leaders, but the community's oldest residents are accorded a degree of implicit authority not too dissimilar. The oldest among the townsfolk are greatly esteemed, as though they possess some secret wisdom that has allowed them to live so long. While their words are in no way law, the elders are shown tremendous deference by the rest of the population.
Pastor Caleb sits to the side of the altar, having conceded his headship of the room to the elders. A middle-aged man of unremarkable height and weight, the pastor has a long face and hawkish nose, upon which rests a pair of wire frame spectacles. The glasses have the effect of making him seem bookish and shrewd. He stands out as perhaps being the most formally dressed person, next to Reverend Hackett. Caleb sports pleated brown trousers and a white dress shirt. He's the only one in the room wearing a straight necktie rather than the bowties more common in Holler.
With a grunt, one of the elders begins to rise carefully from his chair. Abner Bechtel is the most verbose of the elders and tends to speak on their behalf. Pastor Caleb moves to assist Abner, but the old man motions him away in irritation. Coming on 83 years of age, he stands with a slightly stopped posture, dressed in his usual white long johns and farmer's overalls. His thinning, winter-white hair is slicked back, and you can smell the old-time hair tonic that he rubs into his scalp every morning. Once a man of impressive physical strength, the old sharecropper is now a time-worn shadow of his former self. The skin on his arms sags and hangs loosely as he moves.
Abner takes several slow steps to the nearby podium, and as he does so, much of the room begins to quiet down. He takes the ratty straw hat in his hands and waves it several times to get people's attention. Within a moment, all conversations cease and the church becomes silent enough to hear a pin drop.
"Thank y'all fer takin' the time to be here on such a short notice," says Abner. He places his hat down on the podium in front of him.
"Hey, what's this all about, Abner? Why we here?" calls out a man standing along one of the walls.
Abner looks in the direction of the interruption and frowns. "I'm gettin' to it, I'm gettin' to it. Bite yer tongue fer a minute, Will Haskell. Ain't a-needin' none o' yer lip right now," snaps Abner. Though the old man was never a jovial sort, he seems more ornery than usual. He exhales loudly through his nose and redirects his attention the rest of the room. "I'll keep this quick so y'all can get home fer yer suppers."
You hear him mutter "Tarnations" under his breath before he continues. "People o' Waller Hole, we got ourselves a right big emergency. As some of ye have heared, the Clanton Boys have gone a-missin'. Hiram and Amos. Bothen been missin' since yesterday evenin'. They went a-huntin' fer possums and never came home. Them boys knowed they suppose to be home 'fore the sun goes down."
Abner's face softens a bit as his gaze fixes on a heavy-set woman sitting in the front row. Maisey Clanton, the boys' mother, is quietly sobbing and wiping away tears with a handkerchief. Women on either side of her are giving her hugs and attempting to console her.
"We need volunteers to look fer them boys." There is a sudden burst of noise as dozens of townsfolk vocalize their desire to help with the search. Abner immediately motions for everyone to quiet back down. "Listen here, there's more. We had the town's best trackers, Big Elroy and his son, tryin' to find them boys this mornin'. Big Elroy's hound dog ketched the boys' trail and followed it up the mountain. It went all the way to the edge o' the Whatleys' land."
At the mention of the Whatleys. all of the previous bravado is instantly drained away. The room again grows quiet. Many of the townsfolk exchange concerned glances, and a few make the sign of the cross.
The Whatleys are a large family clan that lives in isolation far up the mountain. They are one of the oldest families in Holler and supposedly settled Shoehorn Mountain back in the 16th century. The family is very distrusting of outsiders, to the point of xenophobia. Not just those from outside of Holler, but anyone from outside of their family, as well. Those who attempt to treat with the Whatleys are usually met with violence, so most people in the area have learned to leave the family alone.
There are many campfire stories about the Whatleys. One of the most persistent is that centuries of isolation have led to generations of inbreeding, which has resulted in a number of the Whatleys being severely deformed or psychotic. Other stories claim that the Whatleys practice dark magic, or that they aren't Christian - instead worshipping pagan deities as old as the mountains themselves.
While many townsfolk see these tales as nothing more than silly stories, other people aren't so sure. People go missing on Shoehorn Mountain from time to time. Each time the Whatleys get blamed, though in reality, there are many other potential explanations: from cryptids to mundane accidents. In fact, clear-headed individuals understand that people go missing everywhere in Holler.
Most townsfolk have only met a single Whatley: Zebulon. He is a young man who comes to Waller Hole once a month to purchase supplies at the dry goods store. Every time he visits it leads to a flurry or gossip among the residents. He speaks little, and few people in town are brave enough to interact with him more than necessary. As far as anyone can tell, Zebulon is not deformed, crazy, or a devil worshipper.
People continue to trickle in as the sun fully disappears from view and nighttime takes ahold. By thirty minutes passed sundown, there are no further late arrivals, and the church's big brown doors slam shut with finality. Candles and lanterns illuminate the interior of the church, though what light they provide is dim at best, leaving lingering shadows throughout the nave. There is a mildly unpleasant odor in the air that is unnervingly similar to burned meat. The culprit seems to be the wall candles - the tallow comprising them likely wasn't rendered enough. You glimpse more than a few people in the crowd crinkle their noses in disgust.
A number of attendees are dressed in their work outfits. Presumably, many of them have just finished their shifts and didn't have time to stop home to clean up. Based on their apparel, it's not difficult to deduce people's occupations. The loggers and woodcutters are sporting plaid buttoned down shirts and suspenders. The millhands are wearing slim-fitted trousers and shirts with rolled-up sleeves (to keep their garb from getting caught in the textile machines). The farmers are clad in coveralls or overalls that betray tan lines along the arms and neck. And then there are the coal miners, whose vocation is the most obvious of all: dark shirts and pants, hard hats, and bandanas. It's all but impossible to miss their blackened, soot-stained faces staring from the crowd. A scan of the room reveals that a sizeable majority of the men (and some of the older children) work in mining.
OOC:
Those of you who reside in Waller Hole are aware of the following:With Mine Number Eight having long closed down, the community's remaining coal miners commute to either Gilmer or Danville to work those other mines. Each morning at 4:30am, the Big Boys send several flat-bed trucks to Waller Hole to transport the men to their work sites and then back home after a twelve hour shift. The drive is thirty minutes each way along a winding mountain road of packed dirt. The transportation is regarded as a billable service by the Big Boys. Thus, the money for the drivers and gasoline is taken out of the miners' pay. This is the best option available for workers who wish to stay with their families in Waller Hole. The only alternative is to leave their loved ones and move to a mining camp.
Pastor Caleb sits to the side of the altar, having conceded his headship of the room to the elders. A middle-aged man of unremarkable height and weight, the pastor has a long face and hawkish nose, upon which rests a pair of wire frame spectacles. The glasses have the effect of making him seem bookish and shrewd. He stands out as perhaps being the most formally dressed person, next to Reverend Hackett. Caleb sports pleated brown trousers and a white dress shirt. He's the only one in the room wearing a straight necktie rather than the bowties more common in Holler.
With a grunt, one of the elders begins to rise carefully from his chair. Abner Bechtel is the most verbose of the elders and tends to speak on their behalf. Pastor Caleb moves to assist Abner, but the old man motions him away in irritation. Coming on 83 years of age, he stands with a slightly stopped posture, dressed in his usual white long johns and farmer's overalls. His thinning, winter-white hair is slicked back, and you can smell the old-time hair tonic that he rubs into his scalp every morning. Once a man of impressive physical strength, the old sharecropper is now a time-worn shadow of his former self. The skin on his arms sags and hangs loosely as he moves.
Abner takes several slow steps to the nearby podium, and as he does so, much of the room begins to quiet down. He takes the ratty straw hat in his hands and waves it several times to get people's attention. Within a moment, all conversations cease and the church becomes silent enough to hear a pin drop.
"Thank y'all fer takin' the time to be here on such a short notice," says Abner. He places his hat down on the podium in front of him.
"Hey, what's this all about, Abner? Why we here?" calls out a man standing along one of the walls.
Abner looks in the direction of the interruption and frowns. "I'm gettin' to it, I'm gettin' to it. Bite yer tongue fer a minute, Will Haskell. Ain't a-needin' none o' yer lip right now," snaps Abner. Though the old man was never a jovial sort, he seems more ornery than usual. He exhales loudly through his nose and redirects his attention the rest of the room. "I'll keep this quick so y'all can get home fer yer suppers."
You hear him mutter "Tarnations" under his breath before he continues. "People o' Waller Hole, we got ourselves a right big emergency. As some of ye have heared, the Clanton Boys have gone a-missin'. Hiram and Amos. Bothen been missin' since yesterday evenin'. They went a-huntin' fer possums and never came home. Them boys knowed they suppose to be home 'fore the sun goes down."
Abner's face softens a bit as his gaze fixes on a heavy-set woman sitting in the front row. Maisey Clanton, the boys' mother, is quietly sobbing and wiping away tears with a handkerchief. Women on either side of her are giving her hugs and attempting to console her.
"We need volunteers to look fer them boys." There is a sudden burst of noise as dozens of townsfolk vocalize their desire to help with the search. Abner immediately motions for everyone to quiet back down. "Listen here, there's more. We had the town's best trackers, Big Elroy and his son, tryin' to find them boys this mornin'. Big Elroy's hound dog ketched the boys' trail and followed it up the mountain. It went all the way to the edge o' the Whatleys' land."
At the mention of the Whatleys. all of the previous bravado is instantly drained away. The room again grows quiet. Many of the townsfolk exchange concerned glances, and a few make the sign of the cross.
OOC:
Characters who are native to Waller Hole will automatically know the following information. For those not from the town, please give me a Common Knowledge check. If you succeed, then you also know the following information; the reputation of the Whatley family has spread throughout the Great Craggy Mountains. The Whatleys are a large family clan that lives in isolation far up the mountain. They are one of the oldest families in Holler and supposedly settled Shoehorn Mountain back in the 16th century. The family is very distrusting of outsiders, to the point of xenophobia. Not just those from outside of Holler, but anyone from outside of their family, as well. Those who attempt to treat with the Whatleys are usually met with violence, so most people in the area have learned to leave the family alone.
There are many campfire stories about the Whatleys. One of the most persistent is that centuries of isolation have led to generations of inbreeding, which has resulted in a number of the Whatleys being severely deformed or psychotic. Other stories claim that the Whatleys practice dark magic, or that they aren't Christian - instead worshipping pagan deities as old as the mountains themselves.
While many townsfolk see these tales as nothing more than silly stories, other people aren't so sure. People go missing on Shoehorn Mountain from time to time. Each time the Whatleys get blamed, though in reality, there are many other potential explanations: from cryptids to mundane accidents. In fact, clear-headed individuals understand that people go missing everywhere in Holler.
Most townsfolk have only met a single Whatley: Zebulon. He is a young man who comes to Waller Hole once a month to purchase supplies at the dry goods store. Every time he visits it leads to a flurry or gossip among the residents. He speaks little, and few people in town are brave enough to interact with him more than necessary. As far as anyone can tell, Zebulon is not deformed, crazy, or a devil worshipper.