*Michael Warren POV*
*Location: Melvin Farm, Iowa*
*Date: July 12, 2012*
Looking at the farmhouse I was in front of, my white trenchcoat blown in the wind as my bandages tugged on my skin, with only one part of my face being revealed, except it was covered by a black circle monocle. I held an old brown briefcase in my left hand, one that had seen its fair share of bar brawls as I drank my sorrows away. Why I was here, though, well, the family decided to go the old-fashioned way of contacting me and sent me a letter begging me for help, offering me about...$3,000 in consultation/supernatural fees.
How they got the money, I didn't want to know because, near as I could tell, the farm itself was falling and starting to become overgrown. No cattle or any animal in sight as well, so that rules out meat packages or whatever they did with farm animals. For all I know, they could've sold off this old place in exchange for some quick cash, meaning they were desperate, and the likelihood of this being false lessened.
Sighing, I walked up to the door and saw an old-fashioned door handle, kinda neat to see one of these not attached to a mansion, whoever built this probably thought it'd class up the place, and if it was well taken care of, it probably could've. Grabbing the handle, I banged loud and hard twice, letting the homeowners know I was here.
It took them a minute, but a man, about forty years old, answered the door, opening the screen door first before the outside one, allowing me to get a full view of him. He was wearing some old blue jeans and a striped red shirt, the kind you'd see on farmers who weren't working. Which means this was the man who contacted me, one Richard Melvin, and soon enough, I'd meet their daughter, Rose Melvin, who was suffering from, well, something.
If it wasn't a demon, I don't know what it was because the man was dshieveled and beyond tired, almost like he missed three days of sleep. Then his clothes were dirty and in desperate need of washing, two days' worth at least. I was also able to get a peek/whiff of the inside of his house, and by the many gods in this universe, did the family need to do a deep clean as it was trashed to high heaven.
"You an investigator?" He asked with a tired tone to his voice, like he's seen far too much.
"Yes, I'm with Bandaged Goods Investigators, demonologists, magicians, and well, a technical private investigator in a few states, including this one."
The man sighed, welcoming me into his home, and I nodded my head, taking a step in, and already I could feel the malice from this place. The darkness this entity was putting out was palpable, but it felt strangely... manageable as well, like it wasn't the worst thing in my career that I've faced, but definitely an oddity amongst them. Not surprisgn since its a DC universe, weird shit is its specialty no matter the univrse be it a well known one or lesser known one.
He led me through the place, and the house itself must've been nice once, with a few family photos and some nice vases. Well, possibly nice vases as dust has been gathering on them for quite some time, meaning they probably lost all hope, and I was one of their last chances./Choices for figuring out this problem. Most likely sought psychology help first, if the tipped over medication was anything to go by, and then various religions, well, at least one that knew about possession and the like.
"So wanna explain how this all started, how you lost all hope and had to come to someone like, well, me?" I asked as I waved my hand around before pointing to myself.
The man just turned his head around and looked at me with those dead eyes of his, knowing that I was right on the money.
"It was...it was after my wife died, had a heart attack at the dining table one night, and then after the funeral...the farm hasn't felt right since."
"My youngest, Rose, started getting sicker and sicker both physically and...mentally." He said as he rubbed his hands on his cheeks, as we sat down on the cleanest chairs we could find.
"Then the farm kept on getting worse by the day, animals were dying, the weeds started overtaking everything, then my second youngest, Carl, lost his right hand in an accident." That's when I noticed some tears falling down his face and onto the table, probably the first bit of water it had seen in a long time.
"That same accident put him in a coma, and he still hasn't woken up, had to ask for some help from Richard, my oldest, for help, but even he didn't know what was happening." Richard said as he rubbed his hands together, trying to stop his crying, but I could tell he was doing a poor job of it. It didn't bother me, I've seen this plenty of times in my career so far.
"So I started sending letters to anyone who knew what the fucl is happening here, what's happening to my daughter in this place, to-to-to." He then began sobbing uncontrollably, probably holding it all in till now, but when he was telling me his story, well, it all came bursting out.
While he was doing all this, I began shuffling the tarot deck I brought with me, one of the few things that came with me from my old world. Passed down in my family for quite a while, the thing stank of old magic now that it was here, meaning it could work but only to a certain degree, giving me a leg up on the dark forces at work.
If I pushed any further beyond that and well, I risk having to pay a high price for knowing the future and risk being plagued by some of these entities. The first card to come out of the three was the upright The Tower card, meaning that a disaster probably took place in the past at some point, but at what point would take a bit of research; it could just mean all the strange goings on that happened before I arrived. Next was the reversed The Hermit card, meaning that someone was lost or isolated somehow, a perfect vessel for a dark being to possess, and finally, we had an upright death card, meaning that if I played my cards right, I'd be able to end whatever was happening here.
Putting it all away before he could see, I could tell by the clear marks on his face that he hadn't let himself feel anything for quite some time.
"So yeah, that's my story, that's how my family's life went to hell, so please, if you can help my little girl, my son, I'm willing to pay any price so that they can live normal lives." He said, clutching his hands on the table almost in prayer, begging me to help him or leave him the hell alone if I couldn't.
"I'll do what I can, but please lead me to wherever Rose is, I want to see her condition myself before doing anything else alongside any items you found you or your wife didn't own."
He got up slowly and began going down an old hallway that needed a few repairs, far more than the rest of the house, with some of the wallpaper being torn down or sagging off due to time. Eventually, though we reached a dirty white door that had a name written across it, Rose and I also found out in that moment who the isolated person was.