Mirror Mondays: The Witches of 1986, The Final Girl and the Adventuring Party

Candy and Denise, in trouble again.

Jackson, IL is a place where 1980s horror rules apply.

I just finished watching "In Search of Darkness" on Tubi, and it was wonderful. It is about 4 and a half hours long and covers movies from every year of the 1980s. There are some fantastic movies, wonderful interviews (Barbara Crampton and Cassandra Peterson still look amazing!), and just a wonderful romp through some of my favorite VHS, and now Tubi, memories. 

They talked a lot about the "rules" of horror movies and how more recent movies still abide by them and/or try to send them up. They are useful and a lot of fun. 

I have no desire to go by the book on every one of those rules, though. Some of them are better left broken or put into question. Others ought to be hauled out behind the old school and put in the ground where the football field lights can’t find them.

Then there is the matter of the Final Girl. She still has her place.

She matters in that she is the one who spots the pattern. The locked door, the photograph that isn’t there, a name you keep hearing, a song in the wrong room, some sound the rest of them don’t pick up. She puts two and two together before the adults do and lives to see how the horror is done. When the game is well played, she will act on it.

Mina Murray Harker is still my favorite example of a Final Girl. It might seem an odd choice for a discussion of 80s horror, but she is the root of it for me. More than simply being the one to outlast Dracula, she makes sense of things. She organizes the evidence, types up the journals, and turns fear into something you can act on. I find that more to my liking than the "last girl alive" trope.

For the 1980s, we have Nancy Thompson. She is a prime case. She stops waiting for the grown-ups to come to her rescue and starts making ready for the fight herself, having learned Freddy’s rules. Or take Kirsty Cotton in Hellraiser; she doesn’t survive by overmatching the Cenobites but by knowing their rules well enough to make a better bargain than the one they offer. Or  Laurie Strode in Halloween, or Ellen Ripley in Alien (ok, 1979, but she still counts). 

That is what I want in my games. None of the lazy notion that survival is a form of moral superiority, no purity or punishment for its own sake. The Final Girl endures because she learns and adapts and won’t let the monster have all the upper hand. That is good horror design and good adventure design.

In Jackson, the title of Final Girl does not belong to the witches. My playtests have shown it is usually Denise and Candy who are best at it. And that is as it should be.

They are NPCs, certainly, but they stand in for the kind of characters Jackson should be able to support. They are not here to supplant the ones at the table but to demonstrate the sort of arc you can get from the game. YOUR characters should feel like the Final Girl. At least that is my desire. 

Denise and Candy are not the stars of every Jackson game, but they are the proof of concept: ordinary people can stand in the center of the horror and still matter. In fact they can sometimes have the best clarity.

Denise and Candy are always in some kind of trouble. Not from any weakness or foolishness on their part, but because they are right in the human center of the horror. They are tied to the town and its consequences. The witches may spot the occult angles first, but Denise and Candy will see the human side of it. Who is being lied to? Who is missing? Who is afraid? Plus they just have a knack of being exactly where they shouldn't be. More Horror Movie logic.

What am I getting at? Survival is not always about power. It should be about noticing what is going on. 

It is what makes them targets and what makes them valuable.

The horror in this part of Illinois is not just about who wields the magic. It is about who comes through an encounter and doesn’t leave the vulnerable behind, the one you can run to later. That is where Denise and Candy count for most. They don’t just get through a bad night and disappear. 

I would call that a Final Girl arc, and I want one at my table. In a ways it is like The Hero's Journey, just with more AquaNet.

With this logic then there can be more than one "Final Girl." You will not find that in a film. A Slasher is built to whittle things down to a single survivor; a role-playing game has no need for such assumptions. The Game Master ought not to view the rest of the cast as so many bodies laid out to flatter one character’s significance. This is not a screenplay. It is a room full of people making their choices and rolling the dice to see if they can get through the scenario.

In Jackson, the Final Girl might be Final Girls. Or a boy. Or a coven. Or a whole lot of furious, battered teenagers who put up with the haunted school and then have to be in class on Monday. That makes for better play. The archetype is there, but the table is what counts.

And this is where we look at Advanced Witches & Warlocks.

In Gothic Horror, the Final Girl is often the helpless last victim. Mina Harker broke this mold. She is last, but she was never helpless. She was the hero.

In AD&D the Final Girl is the adventuring hero. To make her only the Witch would be too self-serving, too narrow. The Witch has her part to play: she is the one who knows the monster’s true name or reads the omen the others missed. But let the Fighter hold the door. Let the Cleric be the one who won’t abandon the dead. The Thief can spot the way out, the Magic-User the spell that turns the tide, the Ranger can follow the horror to its lair, while the Paladin stands at the threshold. The Gallowglass, the Warlock, the Magus, they all get their due.

The adventuring party in AD&D are all potential Final Girls. Fantasy and horror mix well because the dungeon is a haunted house with rules you have to learn or die by. D&D is different in that it allows your characters to be more than mere survivors. They become the ones who go back in.

You have Nancy setting traps for Freddy, or Kirsty haggling with Hell and coming out the other side. Mina is the one who collects the evidence to put Dracula to the sword. Laurie and Ellen telling the monster, "No." Then the party comes to the crypt with lanterns and spells, and someone says to the monster: "We know what you are now. And we know how to fight you."

That's D&D for "Get away from her, you bitch!"

That is the moment I am after. Not because I want to make horror easy. If the creature is reduced to a bag of hit points, you have lost the tone. But if the characters have put in the work, survived the first pass, and figured out the pattern, then acting on that is no betrayal. It is their reward for paying attention.

The Final Girl isn’t the one the scenario lets off the hook. She is the one who has learned how it works. She knows the rules. And at the table, that can be anyone, or all of them.

Mirror Shard: The Survivor’s Rule

There are times in an adventure, be it in Jackson, IL, or with Advanced Witches & Warlocks, or with your own horror game, when the horror is thick, and the characters have come face to face with the main threat and put up with it. In those cases, put this rule into play.

Let a player who has just survived a run-in with the central horror put in one question to the Game Master about the creature’s weakness, its limits or how it operates. You must give a straight answer. It doesn’t need to be exhaustive, but it has to be true. The character has been there and seen what the rest of the party has not. This is their reward for paying attention. For surviving. 

Some good ones to ask might be:

• What does it invariably do before making an attack?
• Is there a name that will make it pause?
• What has it left in its wake?
• Who is it after, really?
• Where won’t it go?
• What old mistake has it made?
• What compels it to follow a certain rule?

In Jackson, you can think of it as genre knowledge born of fear. The survivor has picked up on the rhythm of things; she knows the hallway is quiet when it should not be, or what tune precedes the ghost. She can tell the adult is lying because she has heard the lie from him before. With the Advanced Witches and Warlocks, it is more of an old-school affair. They have put themselves in harm’s way to see how the monster behaves, to watch it choose or reveal itself.

But don’t let the rule be a way of handing them the answer. Make it the basis for their next dangerous decision.

It is horror movie logic, gamified. 

It is the desire to survive against terrible odds, certain death, or worse. 

The "or worse" is important. In AD&D, death is something that happens a lot, and there are ways to raise the dead. In Jackson, death is a much bigger deal. A death can shut down a community, and there are no Raise Dead spells here. Dead is dead.

But Player Characters are not Horror Movie Characters. So the fear may never be as real to them. I keep thinking about "A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors". Those kids are still in terrible danger. Freddy is still Freddy. But once they understand that the dream gives them a kind of power, the game changes. They are not safe. They are not invincible. They are just no longer completely helpless.  That is what the Survivor’s Rule is meant to do. It gives the players a small edge, earned through fear and attention. The Big Bad can still be bigger and badder. In fact, it probably should be. In the end Freddy still gets most of them. 

That is why I keep coming back to the Final Girl. Not as a fixed role, and certainly not as a body count waiting to happen, but as a way to think about play. Horror gaming works best when the characters are frightened, outmatched, and still paying attention. Jackson, IL gives me Denise and Candy as my working examples of that. Advanced Witches & Warlocks gives me the adventuring party as the fantasy version of the same idea. Different clothes, different weapons, different rules, but the same moment at the table: the monster has shown itself, the players have survived long enough to understand it, and now someone gets to say, "We know what you are." That is when horror becomes adventure.

Tales of Jackson, IL: Not-so Mystic Locales

 One of the things I really wanted when I began putting together Jackson was it to feel real. I wanted places these characters could hang out and locations that felt like something from the Midwest in the mid 1980s. 

So while I love my haunted houses, hidden underground tunnels, and everything else the "bad land" has to offer, there are far more "normal" places to visit that will come into play. 

Colleges

In addition to two High Schools (Jackson Public High and Saint Michael's Catholic), Jackson has two small four-year colleges offering full bachelor's degrees in a variety of subjects, along with technical degrees and, at MacAlister, a robust RN program and an RN-to-BSN program.

While the colleges have their ghosts and their own stories, they are to most people mundane institutions of higher learning. 

MacAlister College
The East Side College, "Mac"

Founded in the early 1830s, MacAlister College for Women broke ground before Talcott College did, but did not begin enrolling students until after Talcott was established. It began with a group of Scottish immigrants looking to provide a strong Presbyterian education for young women. Its School of Nursing began strongly in its first years and continues to provide one of the best medical educations outside of the University of Illinois. After struggling somewhat in the 1870s, Mac (as it is known) opened its doors to men and women, competing with the more successful Talcott College, which had begun offering degrees in accounting and chemistry. The chemistry classrooms became the first co-ed classrooms in the entire Midwest. 

Now more than 150 years old, MacAlister is showing its age, but is beloved by students, faculty, and alumni alike. Since the 1970s, enrollment has been declining, rarely reaching its cap of 900 students. 

Illinois Beecher College 
The West Side College, The Harvard of the Heartland

Founded in the mid-19th century, what is now Illinois Beecher College began as Talcott Collegiate Institute in 1856, an ambitious attempt to establish a center of higher learning on the Illinois frontier. Its founders were educators, reformers, and idealists, some with quiet but firm ties to abolitionist networks moving through the region. They came to Jackson with one goal in mind: to provide a world-class, Protestant education to the new frontier, and in particular, the "Thebes of the West," as Jackson had been called. They even went as far as to proclaim the new college as the "Harvard of the Heartland!" Indeed, for several decades, Talcott College produced several notable scholars, orators, and political figures who would shape the state through to the 20th century. 

Talcott was renamed Illinois Beecher College in 1918, during a period of reorganization backed by Chicago financiers, railroad money, and several prominent alumni families. Talcott Hall remained the main campus building until 1975, when the new Harriet Tubman Hall was built to house the college’s expanding computer lab and business programs. The name was not an attempt to curry favor with changing times, but a concrete statement acknowledging the college’s strong abolitionist sympathies dating back to its foundation.

Stores

Lots of places to spend money in town, but only a few are of interest to our characters, and some places are better than others to find some NPCs.

El Espejo Oscuro - Illinois Ave, near Illinois Beecher College

Owner and Propriator Sylvia Velasco. 

El Espejo Oscuro sits on Illinois Avenue, not far from Illinois Beecher College, though most students are careful to say they only go there "as a joke." The name means "The Dark Mirror," and the shop lives up to it: black-painted shelves, old mirrors, candles that smell too sweet, imported books, tarot decks, silver jewelry, saints’ medals, dried herbs, and occult titles that no one in Jackson admits to buying. The owner, Sylvia Velasco, claims to be from Spain, dresses like she stepped out of a perfume ad, and somehow affords a brand-new red Ferrari despite the fact that the store never seems to have any customers. El Espejo Oscuro is both a resource and a warning. People who need answers can find them there, but Sylvia never gives anything away for free, even when she is smiling.

This is also a good place to find Vera Rook and Renee Jäneläinen, though not usually at the same time.

Paula's Bookstore - Downtown Square

Paula’s Bookstore sits on the northwest side of the Square, with a faded sign, crowded front windows, and more books than the building has any reasonable right to hold. Paula Belakis sells new books, used paperbacks, magazines, comics, local histories, poetry, study guides, and the occasional odd volume that no one remembers ordering. Unlike Strawberry Fields, Paula’s is not trying to be cool, and unlike El Espejo Oscuro, it is not trying to be dangerous. It is just a bookstore, or at least that is what everyone says. Students from Jackson Public, Saint Michael’s, Beecher, and MacAlister drift in looking for paperbacks, textbooks, horror novels, fantasy trilogies, romance novels, GED guides, and a place to hide for twenty minutes. The store has a harmless ghost, or maybe a helpful one, depending on whom you ask, and Paula has learned not to question why certain books fall off certain shelves when certain customers walk in.

This is also where you will find Larina most Saturday mornings or Roderick Morgan on Friday nights.

Paula does not have a very high opinion of Sylvia Velasco. And the feeling is mutual. But they at least respect each other as women business owners, so they try not to make things difficult for each other and try to cater to different clientele. 

Strawberry Fields - Jackson Town Mall

Located on the near west side of town, on Morgan Street, Strawberry Fields is a cramped record/head shop selling records, tapes, incense, posters, tarot decks, used books, magazines, cheap occult novelties, and dull display weapons. Parents think it is dangerous. Teens think it is magic. PASS thinks it is proof of moral collapse. The rumor that it sells weed is false, but the rumor never dies. For years the rumor has been if you ask at the counter for "Mellow Yellow" they will sell you something made from "bannana peels." The owners, finding the rumor funny, will just tell them, "Sorry, we only have Mt. Dew." 

This is one of the places where the PCs can also find Faye Thorne. She works here to avoid, well, pretty much everyone, but mostly her two strict aunts. Faye knows a lot about music, but still thinks your choices suck.

Places to Eat

Jackson has its own collection of fast food staples, including McDonald's, Hardee's, IHOP, and one of the few remaining Burger Chefs. 

Salvatore's Pizzeria ("Sal's Pizza") - Near Downtown Square

Owner, Operator, head pizza chef, and sometimes waiter, Salvatore Vitale is full of old-school charm and work ethic, and he yells at anyone who doesn't share his desire to work 80 hours a week. This is THE pizza place in town, and with good reason. Sal's puts his heart into everything, and a lot of garlic. The place is usually packed every Friday night and Saturday all day. Forget getting a table during any homecoming weekend for any of the schools in town. Yes, the food is that good. You can't get deep-dish style pizza here, only thin crust, but no one ever complains.

This is also one of the places where the PCs can run into Denise. Largely because she is the only one who can deal with Sal. In truth, they actually like each other because they can deal with each other's yelling.

Sal: "You should fire you!"
Denise: "You can't fire me, no one else will work here!"
Sal: "Sei proprio una ragazza pigra!"
Denise: "Ugh! We are in America! Speak American!"

Later on, when Denise Carver wins recognition for her work as a social worker, Sal puts up a framed copy of the newspaper article about her in his restaurant, where he tells everyone that Denise was "the best waitress he ever had!"  

There are more places. Many I am leaving purposefully vague until I need them. Others are a little too haunted to deal with right now. Case in point, I have plans for the Court House and the old Governor's Mansion. I still have the hospitals to detail as well.

I have already talked about the Library as both a place of adventure and a Mystic Locale. I have already figured out that there is a copy of "A Wrinkle in Time" where Larina can leave a note, and her alternate universe self in the Dark Places & Demogorgons universe will find it in the copy in her library. One of the notes Jackson Larina "Nix" sends to Cabon Vale, IL, Larina "Creepy", is "watch out for Moria."

I might get a map of my old hometown and start putting "X"s on it, marking these locations. 

Mirror Mondays: The Witches of 1986. The Familiar Is Not a Pet

Calling a witch’s familiar a pet is like calling a spellbook a notebook. It is technically close enough to be wrong.

In Advanced Witches & Warlocks, the familiar is one of the key things that separates the Witch from the Magic-User. A Magic-User might have a familiar as an arcane aid. A Witch’s familiar is a relationship. It is part ally, part omen, part witness, part magical bond, part eyes and ears of their patron, and sometimes part debt.

A magic-user has access to the Find Familiar spell at 1st level, but few in practice take it at 1st level. It uses up a spell that could have been Magic Missile or Sleep. And as someone with typically the lowest hit points in the party, the loss of a familiar is a dangerous prospect. Though for AD&D, the spell is a good choice. Wizards are associated with familiars, but not as much as witches are. 

In Jackson, IL, the familiar becomes even more personal. It is the cat that keeps showing up outside the school. The crow on the power line. The dog that growls at a teacher no one else distrusts. The thing under the porch that only one girl can understand. The familiar is proof that the witch is no longer alone, but also proof that something has noticed her.  In Jackson, having magic means you can see things, but things can also see you. 

I will be honest. I have not thought a lot about familiars for my Jackson, IL game. I suppose technically my three witch NPCs (and stand-ins for your characters) have familiars. Larina very often has her white cat "Cotton-ball" and I have jotted down some ideas for him, but that is really about it. NIGHT SHIFT does have familiar rules, and with the Arcane Bond power, I can make them really special, but I just haven't yet.

If I had Elowen in Jackson, she would have Mirepoix. But I have not added her, and I am not likely to, since in my mind she always plays the role of Larina's adopted daughter. That is fine, she plays a bigger role in my West Haven games anyway.

Like everything else I have been talking about here, familiars are a relationship.

The familiar is not just a cute (or weird) animal that sits on the witch’s shoulder while she casts spells. It is not an accessory. It is not a mascot. It is not there to make the character look more witchy.

The familiar is a sign that the supernatural world has seen the witch.

Familiars are an extension of their patron. In Advanced Witches & Warlocks, patrons are often active and known to the witch. They have traditions, they beseech their Patrons. In Jackson, though, they may not be known at all. In fact this is one of the features of the Jackson setting; witches are never 100% sure where their power comes from. A familiar is proof that the patrons are there, but not very forthcoming. 

OR

Maybe the familiar was already there waiting. That animal is always there where it shouldn't be. The one that shows up right before things get really, really strange. 

Of course, it isn't really an animal at all. Not really. It is a spirit wearing the shape of an animal. This is why it can't really be a pet. A pet loves you. A familiar knows who you are.  

A pet will sleep by the witch's bed. A familiar sleeps by her bed because it knows that the Night Hag visits every night at 3:33 am. 

In fantasy, the familiar is part of the witch’s mythic presentation. The black cat on the shoulder. The raven in the tree. The toad in the garden. The serpent in the sleeve. The owl watching from the rafters.

In Jackson, the familiar has to live in the ordinary world.

That makes it stranger.

A cat can enter a teenager’s bedroom in a way a demon never could. A crow can watch the school from the football field lights. A dog can follow the characters down a street and make everyone think nothing odd is happening. A mouse can live in the walls of the library. A spider can listen in the girls’ bathroom.

A demon or a monster in the school hallway changes what the adventure is about in a rather dramatic way. A cat? That is different, but which one is more "supernatural?" Which one is a larger portent of what is going on here?  A cat in the hallway changes nothing, until it turns to look at the witch and she hears it say, "Not that door."

Most of all familiars tell me two things.

First, while AW&W and Jackson, IL as projects feature witches (and in a couple of cases the same witch), they can take on very different tones and be very different sorts of witches.

Secondly, while I have a lot figured out, I still don't have it all figured out yet. Familiars are a perfect example. 

Mirror Shard: Cotton-ball, the Mirror-Cat

On the surface, Cotton-ball in Jackson is an unremarkable white cat. Which is as it should be; it is his finest defense. He is small and soft with bright eyes, and he has no objection to being underestimated. The characters will find him where he has no business being, or gone in an instant when the adults come looking for him. He has a way of putting himself to sleep on top of whatever book or hand mirror Larina (or your characters) needs at the moment.

The majority of folks are under the impression he is nothing more than a cat. Yeah. That is exactly what I want.

Cotton-ball is Larina’s familiar in Jackson, though whether she understands that at first is another matter. He begins as the cat that follows her home, waits outside the school, appears on the library steps, or watches her from the cemetery fence. He is not dramatic. He does not arrive in lightning. He arrives like a cat.

Cotton-ball has an affinity for mirrors. He knows which ones are ordinary and which ones are pretending. He will not look into some mirrors at all. Others he stares into for long minutes, tail twitching, as if something on the other side is talking to him. When a mirror is about to show more than a reflection, Cotton-ball is often already in the room. Waiting and watching.

When you are running a game in Jackson, make of him what you will: a guide, an omen, a little agent of the Veil. But don’t have him laying things out for you. He is a cat. Let him communicate by knocking something off a shelf, by the way he looks at you, or by refusing to go through a doorway. He will be there at the worst possible time.

He can put Larina on notice that magic is in the air. He has a nose for ghosts, hags, and other witches, and can put himself in places she has only seen in her dreams. 

There are things he doesn't like: church bells, wet shoes, cheap perfume, or anyone who has been making deals with the things under the town. Give him cream and warm laundry and moonlight and old books, and he will be happy enough, particularly if there are secrets being told and he can listen in.

In Advanced Witches & Warlocks, the Mirror-Cat can be used as a special familiar. It appears most often to witches with mirror magic, moon magic, spirit sight, or ties to other selves. A Mirror-Cat grants the witch an instinctive awareness of false reflections, glamours, scrying attempts, and spirits using reflective surfaces.

The Mirror-Cat cannot answer every question. It can tell the witch where to look. And that is usually enough. Or, more to the point, that is usually all you are going to get. 

Again. I still a lot more work to do on this idea. 

Witchcraft Wednesdays: It Takes Three to Make A Thing Go Right

 With all apologies to MC Rod Base and DJ EZ Rock (nobody rocked harder dressed like a pack of Newports, RIP), there is a reason you see covens of witches vs solitaries. 

I have said it here before, but witches are social. They see patterns in social dynamics and in social constructs. A cleric might ask why someone read a book on demonology. A wizard might ask why they read this particular book on demons. A witch will notice why the book is grouped with local maps and notes on when the graveyard was first used. They seek out the connections between people and each other; the living and the dead, people and the divine, and people and the arcane. 

And there is a reason that NIGHT SHIFT is called "Veterans of the Supernatural Wars."

People who fight the darkness rarely get to retire, and when they do, it is only to pass the fight down to the next generation. 

Today I want to talk a bit about Stephanie, Faye, and Larina in Jackson, or not really them specifically, what and who they are in the game. For me, they are the stand-ins for the PCs as I playtest and write. If and/or when I am able to move this from my computer and game table to yours, they might not even be there; your characters will. They will have their own organization and social dynamic, and they will have one, but more importantly, they will have a history. Not a backstory per se, but a history, things that went on before them. The people who fought this battle before they did. Some won. Most lost.

Let's look into how this plays out in my game.

So, before these witches walked the halls of Jackson,

Stephanie, Faye, and Larina (1986)

These witches did.

Lena, Alyssa, and Keely (1983)

Selene "Lena" Marquette, Alyssa Argent, and Keely "Q" Ellison were Jackson's witch protectors in the time before Larina got here and before Faye started paying attention. Lena was smart, popular, and already one foot out the door to study at MacAlister the summer of 83. Keely was popular, had a smile for everyone, and was on the cheerleading, dance, gymnastics teams, and the choir. Everyone loved her. Not liked, loved. And Alyssa. She wasn't the smartest girl in the room. She was the smartest person in the whole damn town. Brilliant, chaotic, she read theoretical physics for fun, translated languages in her spare time, and had a full-ride scholarship to pretty much every Ivy League school. 

And their story is tragic. I normally don't like to make characters fail, but sometimes they do, and that is the horror. In Jackson, horror is everywhere.

One night, when dealing with a monster, Lena and Keely never made it back. Alyssa did, but her mind was no longer intact. The official story is that Lena and Keely were coming back from school late at night and someone grabbed them. Upon hearing the story, Alyssa broke down. But the town's people knew something was not right. Lena and Keely were friends, but there was no reason for them both to be leaving the school that late at night and together. Alyssa had a nervous breakdown, which surprised no one, but it had been a long time coming, and whether it really had anything to do with the official events is anyone's guess.  Alyssa spent the next year at the Illinois State Mental Hospital in town. She didn't even get to go to the funeral of the two girls she called "sisters."

Last page of the Jackson PHS 1983 yearbook

One of the features I have with Jackson is that it is based on my real-life high school. One of those real Jacksonville things was that every year in high school, one or more students would die. Gruesome, right. Yeah, now imagine it is a small school of just over 1,500 students total. We used to say the school was cursed. I have no idea if it is still happening.

You can begin to see why I have so much material for this project.

It's not just that Lena and Q died. It's not even that they died because of Jackson's supernatural elements, or that it left the once-brilliant Alyssa a shell of her former self.

It's when Stephanie, Faye, and Larina (or YOUR characters) are walking the halls, the adults say things like "Oh, Larina, she is just like Alyssa," and then they go quiet. Or even "Stephanie Vale lights up a room, just like Keely used to."  But the worst part is the adults who never say anything at all. They watch the girls walk by laughing conspiratorially, and inside, they are thinking, "No. Please. Not again."

The fight in Jackson is old. It has been going on for a long time. And I want to impress upon the characters and the players that they are not the first here, they won't be the last. These are the Veterans of the Supernatural Wars. Kids that are not even old enough to drink (legally) or, in some cases, vote.

But Lena, Alyssa, and Q hold another lesson too.

You can't do this alone.

I am not sure of the details yet, but I do know this: they failed and died because they were not working together. Look. I don't want to blame them for their deaths. It was a horrible thing, and honestly? I have only had them for a couple of days, and I feel terrible. But they died because, as witches, they were not working together.

I love Stephanie, Faye, and Larina. I do. I want them to live happily ever after in the Jackson Game world for as long as I can. But I also know how I typically play these characters, and honestly, I am a little surprised that Jackson-Larina has not met the same fate as other Larinas on other worlds. 

In the past I have described Larina as "the girl who sets herself on fire to light the way for others," and yes, she has died. Many times on many worlds. I have a binder filled with her character sheets. But here in Jackson, her lesson (and the PC's lesson) is, you can't and should not do this alone. My own rule also says I can't raise her from the dead. Sorry, witches can't raise the dead, and this is an absolute rule in my games. So, Larina, as my iconic witch, cannot break that rule.

For witches and any character, these connections are important. I have not implemented coven casting rules in NIGHT SHIFT outside of the Arcane Bond power, but I really should. 

Coven casting is not just "three witches get together, and the spell gets bigger." That is wizard-thinking. That is math. Witches can do math, but that is not where the magic lives. 

The coven is the circuit for a witch. There is one to name the thing, one to hold the line, and another to mind the human toll. Put in different witches, and you have a different spell. Stephanie, Faye, and Larina are not some interchangeable cogs in a machine. Stephanie will be on to the lies people tell and the social fallout. Faye has her finger on the room’s emotional pulse. Larina spots the occult design. Put them together, and they can pull off things no one of them should be able to do by herself.

More to the point, they can survive it. Or at least they have a better chance.

I want to make that a rule in Jackson. Coven magic can give you an edge on a roll, but it should be more about sharing the danger, the cost, the insight. Let one witch absorb the psychic backlash while another steadies the ritual or makes sure the door does not shut. Or let one put her foot down and say "No, we’re done," and have it count for something in the mechanics. 

Lena, Alyssa, and Q lost that. Or perhaps they never really had it to begin with. I don't know, and niether will the players or characters.

Alyssa had power. Terrible power that made everyone stop and look. She was capable of more than Larina ever could be. But there is a difference between brilliance and wisdom, between power and the connection of a coven. On her own, a witch is a weapon, a flame, or a ghost story to be told in hushed tones in the hallways. A coven puts the humanity back in her. A coven gives that power a focus and meaning.

Jackson is full of monsters, of course. Haunted colleges, the bad land, old tragedies, and the odd book in the library where the Veil is thin. But it is also about the girl in the hallway beside you. The one who knows your real name and your worst ideas, and when you are lying or afraid. The one who will take your hand and tell you, "No, you are not alone."

That is witchcraft. I love my circles, candles, and athamés as much as the next person (ok, maybe more so than the next person), but this is more than spells or familiars. It is true connection made dangerous. Friendship with teeth. Love in a circle aimed at the dark.

I want Jackson to remember that. Lena, Alyssa, and Q are a reminder that the fight was here before your characters got to it. Stephanie, Faye, and Larina show us you don’t get to just assume you will make it. Your characters ought to feel the weight of all those names when they walk these halls.

The defeated and dead aren’t there to put a damper on the game. They are there to remind the living how to stand together.

Mirror Mondays: The Witches of 1986. The Public Library as Dungeon

 There is a very good reason my main witch character, Larina, is often cast as a librarian.

My introduction to “real” witches was in the library. Not the kind made of flesh and blood, but the ones you find in the pages of a book, in history, or in mythology. You could say libraries are where witches live, and I am not using that as some kind of metaphor all these years on. That is simply how it was for me.

The public library was among the first places where the world seemed to expand and grow stranger at once. You would come in off a perfectly ordinary Midwestern afternoon, make your way past the desk and the new books and whatever they had on display for the month, and then in the stacks you were liable to run across ghosts, demons, gods, vampires, lost cities, ancient rites, and other things your school teachers never thought to mention and certainly never on the "staff picks" section. 

There is a trick to a library. It is meant to be safe. Quiet, ordered, respectable. It has its rules and its due dates and its card catalogs. The librarians know where everything is. But this is precisely what makes for a fine dungeon.

Because a dungeon is more than a hole in the ground with monsters in it. It is a place of hidden knowledge, danger, and memory, with its maps, keys, locked doors, old names, and false leads. A good one will have treasures that alter the person who brings them out. An old public library has all of that.

Take my fictional Jackson, which is rooted in the real Jacksonville, Illinois. The Public Library there has the right bones for it. As a Carnegie library, built in 1902 and put to use in 1903, it has the sort of grand Classical Revival air about it that suggests books are of consequence, and perhaps a touch perilous if you give them any thought. It feels like it is holding secrets even before you start making any up. A building like this isn’t holding just ordinary books; it has something special. 

I don’t want the library in Jackson to be sinister, though. There is a difference between "evil" and being "important". It is not a haunted mansion in disguise. It is doing what it does: preserving, collecting, cataloging, remembering. There is enough danger in just that.  I mean, didn't the Satanic Panic try to teach us that books were dangerous?

A town or a local family can tell you lies, or what they want you to hear. A church can. A newspaper will be careful with what it puts in print. But the library keeps things. Not without fault; you will find things misfiled or stolen or damaged or just plain forgotten. But in a game, that is useful. A missing book means someone saw fit to put it away. A yearbook with a face marked out says more than the picture alone.

For the purposes of Advanced Witches & Warlocks, the library is the old occult archive. A Magic-user will be after his spellbooks and grimoires, a Cleric his demonologies and forbidden heresies. But a Witch? She sees relationships. The volume on local flora sitting beside one on funeral rites. A genealogy that seems to orbit the same three names over and over. Consider the old map with a road that curves for no reason. Well. No apparent reason. The church record is missing a winter. A travel diary, making note of a hill nobody goes to anymore. Or a trial transcript where they all seem to be talking around one particular fact.

This is what we call occult knowledge. It is not just about fireballs and lightning. It is the kind of thing you can see if you know how to read the shape of it, right in plain view.

Which explains the witch’s affinity for libraries. She is after more than spells; she wants to find the pattern that runs under the town, the detail everyone has overlooked because they haven’t asked the right question about it yet. In Jackson, IL, this is all the more pressing.

Take a teenage witch in 1986 like Larina. There is no internet to comb through at midnight, no way to put ten sources side by side in half a minute, or access some digital archive. If she wants to understand why the cemetery has an empty grave, or why a teacher’s name is in a yearbook from two decades back, or what happened to the old road’s name, she has to make the trip. She has to go down into the dungeon.

The public library provides something modern games are too quick to discard: a place for your information. And that is a big deal. If the answer is in the library, your characters have to be there. They have to put in the work to be seen, to ask for help, to charm the librarian or wait for the building to quiet down so the ghosts can move between the shelves. They have to get their hands on the old book.

It makes research physical. Gameable.

You can have encounters in a library. Not necessarily combat, but the real sort. The librarian who holds her tongue when she knows better. The classmate watching which book you check out. Some old man with his newspaper who puts you on the spot about your family. A child tells you there is a lady in the local history room, but you see nothing. You might come across a locked cabinet, a missing index card, a book out of place in the children’s section, or the smell of candle smoke by the microfilm.

Sometimes the library is of more use than a haunted house. One will give you a secret; the other gives you the town’s secrets, all sorted by subject. I put them in my own witch work for that reason. My Appendix O is littered with books on everything from vampires and monsters to Jung and the supernatural. Some were dubious (ok, more than some), some were serious, and some you would be a fool to call scholarship, but all are worth mining for a game.

A library does not just put facts in your head. It teaches you to wander. You start out for one title and end up with three. You put down a tome on mythology and pick up one on ghosts. You are looking into witchcraft, and before you know it, you are in demonology, then horror films, then local history, until you have found something that nags at you and becomes a character or a spell years down the line.

That is how you build a witch. Shelf by shelf. Book by book.

You won’t find much of an accident in Larina’s vocation as a librarian. If anything, it is one of the most honest things about her. She is meant to be with books because that is where you will find the doors; the doors to rooms in your mind. Some are opened with a sword, some with a spell, but a library card will open more than either of those if you have the patience and curiosity for it and are just a little reckless.

It is also where Jackson, IL, and Advanced Witches & Warlocks come together.

In Advanced Witches & Warlocks, the occult library is your hoard. Not of gold, but something better: names, maps, rituals, marginalia, correspondences, the weaknesses of monsters, forgotten gods, and that single bit of information which makes a hopeless fight a dangerous proposition. In Jackson, the public library is all that and then some, only with fluorescent lights, carpet, and summer reading posters. You won’t be in a ruined tower; you’ll be downtown. Your mother could drive by while you are in there, or your English teacher might be at the desk. Someone from school may well notice what you are holding.

There is a danger to a forbidden book in a fantasy dungeon, sure. It might call a demon. The same book in Jackson is dangerous because it can do that and get you grounded into the bargain. Both are problems you don’t want.

Then there is the matter of democracy. A wizard’s tower is his, for the cleric the temple is the god’s, and a witch has her house. The library claims to belong to the town. Anyone can put in an appearance and make a private discovery. The smart girl, the jock with nothing to do, the kid skulking from bullies, the would-be warlock after a shortcut, the old woman with her genealogy, the teacher who has put in too many hours. Even the monster in human skin who comes in on Thursdays to read the obituaries. For a horror game, it is hard to beat a public place like that. Harder still in 1986.

The card catalog has the feel of a summoning machine. You can tell who had a book before you by the checkout card in the front. The microfilm reader puts out a hum like some kind of artifact; the local paper archive is a time tunnel, and the yearbooks are grimoires of social magic with their dedications and signatures and people making an effort to look normal for posterity. The library holds these like a silent guardian of bygone truths. 

It keeps the version of the town that wants to be remembered and the one it couldn’t quite put away. That is where the witches fit in. She will spot the failure. The crack in the catalog, the year with an odd number of obituaries, a family name that vanishes and reappears under a different spelling. She will see the photograph was cut, not torn, and the map folded so often along one road the paper is thinning.

I don’t want a magic shop or a wizard school for the Jackson Public Library. I want a building with a long memory where you can walk in broad daylight and sense the dungeon beneath you. Where the ghosts are to be found under Local History. A place of better questions than answers. There is an occult section, not a big one, but you will somehow come across the very book you were dreading to put your hands on. For the Advanced Witches & Warlocks crowd, it is the same with the fantasy game. Any town that has a witch in it ought to have its library.

It could be a shelf in the priest’s study or a chest of scrolls under the wise woman’s bed. A ruined scriptorium. A set of bones with names carved in them. Or perhaps a ring of old women who commit nothing to paper and remember everything; I would call that the most dangerous library of all. The Witch doesn’t just read the book. She reads the silence about it, the hand that made the note in the margin, the missing page, the town trying to put it out of mind. In that sense the public library is a dungeon. The doors are open, the treasure is there for the taking and so are the monsters, who can read as well as anyone.

The Mirror Shard: The Locked History Room

Take the case of the Locked Local History Room. Every haunted town has one. It needn’t be locked in any literal sense. It may be behind the desk or in the basement. Maybe they only let you in during certain hours, which is its own kind of lock. Or maybe it is wide open, but no one under eighteen is to go in uninvited. That suffices.

Jackson uses this room for the things that don’t make the official tour: the old yearbooks, the church histories, the funeral cards and maps, the donated family papers and clippings. There are photographs in here no one bothered to label because at the time you knew who they were. And horror has a way of living in “at the time.”

In your game, this is the village archive, the temple record room, the witch’s cabinet of names. This is where you get the first true account of the curse, not the tavern version. In Jackson, IL, a young witch discovers that the town has been lying by omission.

The room is quiet in a way that feels wrong. It is not empty, it is listening. You can smell the dust and old print on the carpet. The file cabinets are stiff, and the table bears pencil marks from the long dead. On a shelf are yearbooks with cracked spines and an excess of smiling faces.

A good clue from this place should make the mystery personal, not put an end to it. A young witch comes across her own surname in a clipping from before she was born. A player spots his grandmother next to a man who was dead by 1935. They find a map of Mauvaisterre that someone has tried to rub out, or a yearbook with the words “You heard the bell too” scrawled in it.

There is usually a guardian to the room, though not always a monster. It could be the librarian, a retired teacher, a ghost, or a rule in red ink on an index card. He won’t tell you, “you can’t come in,” that is too simple. He will ask, “What are you looking for?” which is far worse. In a room like this, the wrong answer can still give you exactly what you are looking for. Just maybe not in the way you expect it should.

Happy Birthday to me!

 Yesterday (June 13) was my birthday! We went out to eat, I got some more parts for my various computer projects, including a new GPU for my main game computer. But I also got some other RPG-related gifts.

The new Star Trek Adventures Starter Set.

I am disappointed that Starfleet Academy was canceled and that Doctor Who is on an extended hiatus. So I am planning a Star Trek/Doctor Who crossover. And just to be "that guy" I want to set it during the Later Discovery/Starfleet Academy era after the Burn (32nd Century) and in the Ncuti Gatwa/Fifteenth Doctor era. I adore both Sylvia Tilly and Ruby Sunday.

In fact, I really like this idea. It also gives me a chance to do something that the Fifteenth Doctor never got the chance to do...fight some Daleks. 

And a REAL Trapper Keeper for all my Jackson, IL, notes and character sheets. 

So the birthday was good, and I still have Father's Day coming up.

Jackson, IL: NPCs, The Ones Who Know

One of the big hooks in the Jackson, IL NIGHT SHIFT game I am using is that the adults in the game know a little bit of what is going on. That is to say they know Jackson has more than its fair share of weirdness going on. 

Case in point. Devil Chairs or Witch Chairs. These are chairs found in many cemeteries across the Midwest. If a cemetery has one they typically have one, or maybe two. My real hometown of Jacksonville, IL (which Jackson is based on) has five. That town isn't normal. (Normal is about 120 miles NE of Jacksonville!)

There are also other teens who have figured out what is going on. These NPCs will interact with the PCs but may or may not get involved for their own reasons. 

Roderick Morgan, II, aka "Morgan Highstar"

Morgan, as he is known, is the "protector" of St. Michael's Catholic School and Academy. The "Academy" part is the older name and is used by the honor students. Morgan (and never, ever "Rod") is a psychic and covers the same role that Stephanie, Faye, and Larina cover for Jackson Public High School. 

Morgan, though, is a reluctant protector. Not because he can't, he is more than capable. He is reluctant because he doesn't really want to protect anyone. Well...he is doing it to prove his intellectual capabilities and his psychic ability, not because he actually likes any of the students at St. Michaels. On the contrary, he actively dislikes most of them. But it would wound his pride if a poltergeist or a demon got into the school. 

Morgan is a psychic and a rationalist. He doesn't believe in the supernatural. All the phenomena he encounters, he thinks, are the result of psychic interference. So ghosts, demons, hags, and the lot are all manifestations of the townspeople's own fears and psychic garbage. Psychic patterns or matrices. They believe the town is haunted, so they find ways to make it so. He finds it deeply offensive that others can't have the same mental discipline he does.

He also can't stand witches. 

Not hate per se. But they represent everything he thinks is wrong with this town. They feed into the superstitions and believe them themselves. The problem is also is that they are effective. He would argue that they are effective because they contribute to the problem. So it galls him anytime someone with magic shows up. And it destroys his world anytime Larina beats him in chess.

Concept: Psychic and intellectual snob with grades to back it up.
Song: "Subdivisions" by Rush
Quote: "A haunting is not a mystery. It is an unresolved pattern with delusions of personality."

Morgan is a 4th-level Psychic. He is a little more powerful than the other NPCs, but he is also doing all the work on his own. He is based on Morgan Highstar. 

Morgan is related to the Morgan Chemical family. His father, Roderick Morgan I, was not directly involved but is a professor at MacAlister College. They have a name and money.

Vera Rook

Vera is another witch at Jackson Public High. She and Stephanine go way back to Kindergarten together where they have always been rivals. She picked on Faye for loosing her parents and now she has set her sights on Larina as her newest target. 

Very is smart, incredibly cool, and popular. If this were the 2000s she would be described as a "mean girl." In the 1980s, we would have just called her "stuck up." 

Vera's deal is that she is a witch, and she could help, but she won't unless it somehow benefits herself. So there will be times when she pitches in and a lot more times when she just won't.  

While I don't want to make her into a cliché, I do admit I am having fun playing with the clichés. She is the worst qualities of the other witch NPCs distilled into one character with wit and flawless eyeliner.

Concept: Rival witch.
Song: "Cities in Dust" by Siouxsie and the Banshees
Quote: "And I care...why?"

Vera is a 2nd level witch. But don't expect her help or anything. Vera is brand new, but I rolled up her Pathfinder 2nd Ed and AD&D 1st edition character Veyra Shadowraven. Yes, more clichés! Might need to post all three stats one day.

Stephanie: "Ugh! Why is she such a bitch?"
Larina: "Why won't she help?"
Faye: "Why does she look so cool?"
Stephanie and Larina: "What?"
Faye: "What?"

The Rooks are also an old Jackson family. She would be a family tradition witch.

Kyra Bellamy 

Kyra: "There is evil in this town. It's old, and it is angry."

Kyra Bellamy is sharp, watchful, and not nearly as willing to take people at face value as they might hope. She has a serious streak, a cautious intelligence, and the habit of looking at the people around her like she is trying to solve them before they become dangerous. That wariness makes her seem distant, but it is born more from care than cruelty. Kyra wants the truth, even when it is uncomfortable, and she has little patience for sentimentality when the stakes are real. In a town built on secrets, that makes her both valuable and dangerous.

Kyra is the daughter of Rev. Jonah Bellamy, III. Preacher at "The Old Landmark Missionary Baptist Church", a predominantly African-American Baptist church. Kyra loves her church. Sundays are a day of dressing up, singing, worship, and, of course, the Sunday-afternoon cookout her father hosts. Yes, Kyra ends up working, giving out food, and is on her feet all day in a dress, but she still loves it, and when the local children ask "Miss Kyra" really nicely, she gives them extra Mac n Cheese. Ok, she gives them extra even if they don't ask.

The trouble is, Kyra is having a crisis of faith. Jackson is evil. She knows this. And there are witches walking the halls of her school. Some, like Faye and Vera, are easy to spot. Others wear a friendly face like Stephanie, and others look nice, like Larina, but Kyra sees the barely contained magic underneath. She doesn't understand how these girls can be allowed to walk around like they are normal.

Now, please keep in mind, Kyra is a good kid. She is just mistaken about what a witch really is. 

Kyra also likes things she knows her father would never approve of. She is on the track team, and she is quite good. She likes secular music and is enthralled by MTV when she goes over to friends' houses. And what confuses her most of all is she thinks she also likes Meriko in a more than just-friends way.

Concept: The Preacher's Kid
Song: "Dear God" by XTC
Quote: "Just because I’m polite doesn’t mean I agree with you."

Kyra is a 1st-level Theosophist. She is based on the Pathfinder iconic cleric Kyra. Kyra is here to provide some tension. She is not evil, quite the opposite, but she also wants to protect her family, her church, and her town. She isn't 100% sure where the evil is coming from. 

Spoiler: Kyra manages to come to terms with all her doubts. Later on she becomes a preacher of her own church, one that is a little more welcoming. 

Meriko Hayashida

Meriko: "So what is your deal? You are all witches, right?"

Meriko Hayashida is composed, intelligent, and far more perceptive than most of her classmates realize. She comes from a family that values discipline, accomplishment, and maintaining appearances, and she wears that training with quiet elegance. But Meriko is no passive observer. She notices patterns, remembers details, and understands more than she says. There is a calm confidence to her that makes her hard to rattle, and when she finally chooses to speak plainly, it tends to matter. She may not seek the center of the story, but she is far too smart to remain at its edges for long.

Meriko's father is a professor at MacAlister College. She has an older brother at Mac. Her parents want her to be more traditional, like her brother, but that is not Meriko's way. She discovered that dressing in what she calls "Ninja wear" or what Americans think Japanese people wear, she can really get under her parents' skin. She is also a tech junkie and shows off the new CD player "she got from Japan." Actually, she bought it in St. Louis, but since it's a Sony, it technically comes from Japan. 

Meriko is also something of a kleptomaniac and often shoplifts. She doesn't need these things, her family is very well off, but she likes the thrill of it. On the rare times she catches her, she fakes crying and speaking in Japanese, explaining she doesn't understand American customs and don't send her home to her super strict parents, she will dishonor them, and she lays it on so thick that most shop owners tell her to forget it just so they can get this hysterical girl out of their shop. The second she is out, she drops the act and shows the thing she actually stole.

Her best friend is Kyra. They relate because their families are both so strict and conservative. Meriko makes mixtapes for Kyra and labels them "French Lesson 1" and "Chemistry Notes" Kyra doesn't like the lies, but she loves the music Meriko picks for her.

Meriko also feels like Kyra is "more than a friend," but doesn't know how to act on that.

Concept: The Sharp One
Song: "Voices Carry" - 'Til Tuesday
Quote: 仕方がない。 Shikata ga nai. "It can’t be helped."

Meriko is a 2nd-level survivor. She is based on the Pathfinder iconic thief Merisiel.

Renee Sylvi Jäneläinen

Sylvia: "Now there is a face I did not expect to see darkening my threshold."

Renee: "Hello. Godmother."

Renee Jäneläinen is a girl of winter light and long dark nights, carrying with her the sense that she belongs to colder places and older tales. Thoughtful, self-contained, and a little mysterious even when she is being kind, Renee has the air of someone raised to respect things most people would laugh off until it was much too late. She is not dramatic, not loud, and not interested in making herself the center of attention, but there is depth in her that people feel even before they understand it. In Jackson, where so many dangers hide behind familiar faces, Renee stands out precisely because she seems to understand that the world has always been stranger than it looks.

If asked why she came to Jackson from her hometown of Jakobstad in Finland, she will say something simple like "I wanted to perfect my English," but she is already better than some of the locals. Or something odd like "I LOVE American Rock n' Roll," which is technically true; she has knowledge of classic rock that even impresses Faye.  In truth, Renee is not completely sure why she picked Jackson, other than that she was drawn to it. When she got here and felt the town's magic she knew she had picked the right town. 

AND for reasons I have not 100% figured out myself, I introduced her by having her walk into El Espejo Oscuro, and saying to Sylvia Velasco, "Hello. Godmother." I am not sure what I was thinking, other than it hit me one day, and I could not put it down. I still need to figure this one out.

Concept: The Foreign Exchange Student
Song: "In Silence" by Fra Lippo Lippi.
Quote: "Voin ymmärtää ja kunnioittaa pimeyttä ilman että tulen osaksi sitä."
"I can understand and respect the darkness without becoming a part of it."

Renee is a 2nd-level witch, but she tries to hide it. Renen is a nod to all the great foreign exchange students we used to get and all my friends who also went off to become foreign exchange students as well. Renee is also a witch and has her own reasons to keep her power quiet. Renee is based on Rhiannon. So it is possible that she and Morgan will have some dealings in the future. Likely not positive ones. 

These five NPCs are here to either help or impede the PCs as needed. Their motivations are complex.  While they have basic concepts, they are not basic characters. 

Project Updates. Codex Qliphothica, Advanced Witches, and Jackson IL

 It's a Projects Update Witchcraft Wednesday! So let's get to it.

Codex Qliphothica

This did a LOT better than I expected, so I have turned around and started buying a bunch more art for it, and I am expanding the page count. I just need to make some tweaks to the layout to accommodate it. I am really happy with how it has turned out so far, and I am looking forward to getting it out to everyone.

Advanced Witches & Warlocks

My first *real* "AD&D" book. I mentioned in the past that I am going back to the drawing board on my witch class and challenging all my assumptions about the witch and warlock classes and what they should actually do in an AD&D game. 

So there has been a lot of play-testing. I have stated up witches and warlocks of every level from 1 to 32. Each has slight variations of the rules, and I have been playing them. That's just one binder. The other two are my notes, and the other is a variation of the witch class that I have been playing to see how it feels under the AD&D rules. My goal is to have a witch class that everyone would want to play, regardless of how you want to play her.

I have tried a lot of different ideas too. 

And some ideas didn't make the cut. So no, there won't be any cenobites in this book. In truth I have enough here for a bunch of books, but I don't want a bunch of books. I want one REALLY good one. 

What's that mean?

It means I am NOT going to have this ready for October 2026 like I wanted. More like 2027. I am disappointed. There are so many other projects I want to get done, and this one has to be done first. I also want it done right. So, maybe Walpurgis Night 2027. I *might* still have something for Halloween 2026. I have written so much text here and I just need to get it transcribed (yes, it is in pencil, I REALLY went back to the drawing board) into my word processor and then into layout. It's going to take a bit. 

I want this to be *THE* witch book for AD&D.

Gods. I need a project manager over here. 

Jackson, IL

Ok, this one is still very near and dear to my heart. I have about 46k words written. I have a soft agreement to get this published. But I need to get more done. I have a whole history written for the town, but I need to make it more "gameable" and less like a history textbook with monsters. 

But I am enjoying it a lot. I can't wait to introduce you all to things like the Witch Chairs in Jackson's cemeteries and ponder questions like "what is stealing love in town?" and "who is the thorn-child?"

No game for me this past weekend, but I did create two new NPCs. They are not antagonists, but they are not here to help your PCs either.

Mirror Mondays: The Witches of 1986. The Midwest Witch

Some cold has a way of altering a place. I am not talking about the sort that calls for a heavier coat. I mean the kind of cold that comes sweeping across miles and miles of prairie that only seems to get colder the longer it travels.  The kind of cold where an old house will complain about in its very walls, or that will harden a field to iron under a grey sky and make the road out of town seem a good deal longer, and harder to travel, than it is.

That is where you are likely to find my witch.

She is not from Salem. Nor New Orleans. She is from the Midwest.

If you put "witch" and "America" in the same sentence, most folks will think of Salem (and I don't even need to say "Salem, MA"). It has a way of pulling you in with its gravity. You have the Puritans, the judges, the gallows, the confessions, and the fear. History. The whole national myth of the American witch seems to orbit around this one spot. Say the word "witch", and Salem takes notice.

Then there is New Orleans, which is only natural. That city has a deep magic of its own. Voodoo, Marie Laveau, the Catholic saints, the river fog, jazz funerals, Anne Rice, the heat and the perfume and the blood and the rumor. It is as beautiful and dangerous and theatrical as can be; you hardly need to put in a vampire when the city has already supplied enough ghosts for an entire country. But we do keep adding more.

But not all our witches are from those parts. For what I want to put in Jackson, Illinois, or for Advanced Witches & Warlocks, they won’t do.

I need a witch a bit farther west and north. A touch more stubborn and less given to display. One who lives under a big sky and can tell you what the weather is up to before the man on the television does. She is familiar with spring mud and gravel roads, brick schools and old courthouses, county fairs and church basements, lake fog and potlucks, and the sound an adult makes when they is not going to be honest with you.

That last bit is important.

Salem offers us the witch as a public accusation, a name bellowed in court, the terror of being seen. New Orleans gives you the mystery, the ritual, and the glamour, a sacred performance of sorts.

The Midwest gives you silence.

Not empty silence. The kind that comes over a kitchen at the mention of an uncle no one wants to discuss. The kind on a county road after dark, or in a farmhouse once the furnace has shut down and the wind is blowing across the fields.

You don’t need a castle or a ruined abbey for Midwestern horror. No Carpathian storm required, a storm moving across an Illinois plain is every bit as terrifying. In Illinois, a winter field can be as gothic as Transylvania. An ice-caked creek will keep a secret that a crypt could not. And if your headlights pick something up at the edge of the corn on a lonely road under a full moon, well...may whatever gods you believe in help you. February is enough. 

It is a matter of scale. Too much land, too much sky, a town so small everybody knows their neighbor, but nobody says everything.

Make of it what you will, it is fine "witch country." Which is why the Midwest means something to me in the games I like. Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, holds a spot in my RPG heart for all it did to bring us Dungeons & Dragons. You could call it an impossible little miracle of a game, the one Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson put in our hands. With it came dungeons and dragons, gods and devils, polearms and treasure charts, not to mention the wandering monsters, the maps you would be drawing on graph paper at two in the morning, and the inevitable arguments over rules.

They gave us all that from the Midwest. I find that significant.

It is not some New York or Hollywood affair. You will not find a polished, glamorous origin story here with an air of "look how clever we are." This was from towns in the Midwest where people would make their rulings, settle their disputes, and draw their maps, then do it all over again the following week. There is something right about that.

By 1986, AD&D had long since outgrown its Lake Geneva beginnings, yet it never quite left them. It had gone national and worldwide. You can still sense a fine tension in D&D between the practicalities of a basement sandbox and cosmic myth. Devils and ten-foot poles. Artifacts and encumbrance. That is the sort of space Advanced Witches & Warlocks occupies.

The witch I am after is not the Salem type. She is not the New Orleans type. She is broader and more local than that. Sure, she could be the wise woman on the edge of the village, but she is also the prairie medicine woman, the midwife, the retired teacher or the farmer’s wife. The immigrant grandmother with her own charms the priest would not approve of. The kind of woman who can tell you what this town was called before the town fathers put a name to it, which creek is going to flood, and what sort of winter is coming.

That is where her power lies.

Midwestern witchcraft has its layers. You have your English and French, German farmers, and Irish railroad men, the Scandinavians in town. The African-American communities putting down roots for their churches and businesses in places not always keen on it. And the Indigenous peoples whose history is older than any courthouse or white-painted farmhouse or county line.

Then there are the mounds. 

I want to be very precise about this because it is important. They are not props for an adventurer to dig up a cursed idol or some spooky "mystery Indian" set dressing. They are the remains of civilizations and ceremonies, of deaths and memories, from long before the American town began to identify itself. A proper supernatural setting in the Midwest, Jackson, IL, for instance, needs to understand that. Or else it is just a haunted town with a couple of eerie names slapped on it. I want better than that. I grew up around mounds of this sort. Prehistoric, ancient. A people who lived, thrived, and died before a white man ever knew who they were. Those ghosts are old.

History is not a single stratum. It is written and oral tradition, things misfiled and buried, old photographs and newspaper clippings, church registers, and the stories your grandmother let drop and then changed her mind about. This is all great material for a witch.

She knows the geography and the history are connected, even if they don’t get along. She knows the street and the road that preceded it. She knows which cemetery is empty of ghosts and which is not as empty as you might think. She knows why nothing is planted on the east side of the field and where the first church was. She knows the old mound is a place of death and should be left be, not treated as a picnic spot for souvenirs.

That is power. And it makes for a very good game.

There is a point in Jackson, IL, where the witch ceases to be an exercise in classification and becomes part of the town’s very machinery. One could say she is part of its immune system. At least that is how she is working in Jackson right now.

Jackson has the proper soil for such a tale. You have the old school and the colleges, the Carnegie library with its surprisingly good occult section, Magical Mystery Lane, the Witch Chairs, and the Crimson Cougar. Then there are the stories people will laugh at until a kid finds a newspaper clipping that shows the adults were either lying or not telling the truth very well.

That is Midwest horror. The thing in the next town. The house on your street. The local cemetery or the abandoned hospital out by the edge of town. A mascot you can’t be sure was ever just a mascot. The road your parents put their foot down about. The local legend they all make fun of until you check the archives.

It is why I have an affinity for Chill.

Pacesetter Games put it out in 1984 as a modern investigative RPG for ordinary folks up against the supernatural. Their S.A.V.E. society gave you a license to go after monsters and poke around where a sensible person would have been home watching Knight Rider. But what I remember is not so much the society or the creatures as the proximity of it all. The feeling that this could happen close by.

And there is something to that. Pacesetter was from Wisconsin; Mayfair, who published 2nd edition, was in the Chicago suburbs. Like Lake Geneva, it made a difference. These were games from places I knew, with basements and long winters and highways and pizza joints and the kind of adults who know more than they let on.

Chill put an idea in my head that I still hold to: local horror works.

You don’t need to dress every hero up as a monster or have some glamorous darkness. I am sure there is room for a nightclub full of immortals in expensive coats quoting poetry at one another, but that is not Jackson. Here, you want ordinary people with the courage to be extraordinary.

Life in Jackson goes on in ways you can put your finger on. Folks work the factories and farms and offices and hospitals, they run the small businesses, they raise a family, and have a slice of pizza after the football game. The librarian can tell you which of her students are in the occult section come October. The old woman next door has known them all since they were born and holds onto memories she ought to let go of. When trouble comes, everyone is in on it more than they will say.

This is the horror experience I want from Jackson. It does not make a noise about it. It is patient.

The Salem witch is public fear and accusation. In New Orleans, she is ritual and reputation. But the Midwest witch is useful, if unsettling. You may not put your trust in her, but you will be at her door. You will call her odd and then ask for the tea. You will whisper and then take the charm. They will tell you she is not right. Then they will want to know: what does it mean when you hear something at the screen door every night at 3:17am?

I also want that kind of witch in Advanced Witches & Warlocks. Not some cleric with a pot of herbs, or a druid who has taken up residence indoors, or a magic-user with a better hat.

She is part of the community in a social and supernatural sense. She is privy to the local dead and the old bargains, to the land spirits and the family curses and the lies people spin when they are half dead with fear.

In Jackson, you won’t find her on the school board or any church committee. There is no sign in the window with “WITCH” on it. She may not even use the word. She could be a retired teacher for all you know. An aunt. A widow. The farmer’s wife. A former nurse or the owner of the bookstore.

You might see her in a white farmhouse out past town, or in a small brick place by the college. Or in an apartment above a shop that is closed up, where the curtains don’t move but the porch light is on. When the creek runs black in June, you have her number.

There is an emotional quality to it I am after.

Salem is public and touristy now. New Orleans is humid, mythic. But the Midwest is cold. It has a way of freezing things. You can be smiling at one another in church and then give each other the wide berth in the grocery store. Grown-ups will say “we don’t talk about that” and leave the children to wonder what “that” was. Old wrongs become like the weather, settling into the walls of the town.

Winters here are not for show; it is a monster. It punishes and isolates. It will trap the poor inside and the careless outside. It breaks roads and pipes and batteries, howls in the old houses, and makes the timbers talk at night.

A witch who puts up with that world knows practical magic. Nothing pretty or for the stage. The sort of magic that turns a fever or keeps the pipes from bursting. To keep despair from taking root. To make sure a spirit doesn’t cross your threshold or to spoil the milk of someone with ill intent.

The Salem witch is bound to a national myth. The one in New Orleans to another. But the Midwest witch is of a dozen smaller ones: the immigrant charms and Protestant superstitions, the Catholic saints and the river ghosts, the prairie weather and the silence of the mounds. The railroad deaths, the school legends, the things kids talk about because the adults won’t.

This is the witch I want.

Photo by Arian Fernandez

Mirror Shard: The Prairie Wise Woman

The Prairie Wise Woman. You will find one in every town.

Try to put a description on her, and you won’t do it justice. Is she a witch? A healer? Or just an old woman with too many cats and nothing better to do with her time? Maybe. Then again, maybe not. You can tell enough by the way the elders of the town don’t so much as say her name unless they are put to it.

She keeps to herself, well away from the center of town, literal and figurative. You might find her where the pavement ends and the gravel begins, or near the creek, or the cemetery. Some would say next to that old mound, the town has no respect for. Her place is hardly a showpiece; in fact, it could be called a mess if you were looking for tidiness, though “dirty” isn’t the word for it. It is simply not put together for other people’s comfort. The porch is swept, the garden is for use and not for show, and the windows have a way of watching you.

In the pages of Advanced Witches & Warlocks, she is defined as the frontier equivalent of the village witch, suited to the plains and borderlands. No royal wizardry here, no temple priestess. She is who you go to when the proper channels have run dry.

Take Jackson, IL. She is the de facto authority on local lore there. One never knows her history: ex-nurse, schoolteacher, farmer’s wife, or maybe she put in some years at the library. She was around when the Old Jackson High was still just a school and not yet haunted like they all seem to get.

She is familiar with the lot of it: fever teas and warding knots, grave dirt and iron nails, red thread and saints’ medals. And the gods that predate the settlers.

She knows who has witch-blood in them and which land is under a curse. She knows what went down on Magical Mystery Lane and why you should leave the Witch Chairs be. She is aware that the Crimson Cougar is more than a bit of school spirit, and she can spot the teenager who has already started to see things.

That makes her useful in Jackson. Don’t expect an answer machine or some NPC to lay out the plot because you missed your clues, and everyone is worn out. She is there to let you know the kids aren’t making it up. Maybe she will help. Maybe not. There is something afoot. Something old and local that knows your name.

Come to see her, and she will hear you out. She might put on the coffee, or make a point of inquiring after your mother. If you are rude in asking for help, she will have you sort out your manners first, and rightly so. Should you bring up the supernatural, she will act as if her ears are full of wax.

But in her own time she will put the question to you: "What did you see, and who put it in your head not to?"

She is the Prairie Wise Woman. She may hand you a charm of iron and red thread, or advise you to keep off the old road once the sun is down. She’ll tell you the ghost is only lost, not mad, and that some spirits are not for you to bind or banish.

If Larina or Faye come by, or any of the young PC witches in training, she might just remark, "You’ve begun to see it." And leave it at that.

There is a difference between what is hidden and what is buried. The former you can find. The latter was put there for good reason. In the Midwest, that is how a witch lives.