2. Road Trip

"I'm sorry, but what do you mean by evidence of witches?" Ellis replies, taken aback by Jason's reply. Ellis continues asking questions as quickly as they enter his head. "You mean like historical evidence of occult folk practices? Was the Cobb's Corners area known for having witches in the Salem era?"

Marc's picks up on Louis's reticence and decides to press on. In conversational tone, he says:
"And how about you Louis? Have you also heard about that Professor wanting to stop the trip? Why would they do that, do you think?"

"Wow, I had no idea," replies Ellis, feeling a sense of amazement. Searching for his next words, he follows up with, "So is your specific field of study in Colonial-era history then?" Ellis isn't necessarily what you might call a "people person," but even he can tell that Jason seems to be suffering from a lack of confidence.

"Hey," he says. "You're doing work just by taking this opportunity to see what you can find out. Field work is important in Astronomy, I can only imagine that it's just as important in studying history. It's not nothing."

Hope that raises his spirits a bit, Ellis thinks to himself.

Wilmarth... Wish we'd found out sooner. It would have been interesting to talk to him, he thinks.

To Louis's request for confidentiality, he responds: "Understood, will keep it quiet."

ELLIS

Jason blushes and a smile spreads across his face. He pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Thanks." He says quietly, the smile getting wider.

Will twists in the front seat, his broad face lighting up. "Look at this guy, eh." He reaches back and bats Jason on the shoulder. The smaller man is caught off guard and bounces off the door. "Witches! Let's hope we don't actually come across any - I'd hate to be turned into a toad."

He lets out a full throated laugh and gently pats Jason on the shoulder, as if in apology. "I'm kidding, buddy. Genuinely though - I had no idea about Witch trials up in Vermont."

"Don't be stupid." Terrence finally pipes in, looking into the back seat through the rear-view mirror. "There's no such thing as Witches."

Wilmarth is familiar, though not from the classroom. It's somewhat unlikely that Marcus would have taken his classes in English literature or Folklore, unless it was for extra credit. That said, Marcus has seen him around - a slightly built man, with a clean-shaven, lean face and sharp eyes set behind thick spectacles.

Marcus easily places the professor. He's headed into the Restricted Section of Orne Library more than a few times over the past year or so. Not only did he visit, but Wilmarth and Dr. Armitage appeared to be good friends.

Interesting, Wilmarth and Armitage are in friendly terms. Yet Armitage encouraged Ellis to dig more, while Wilmarth tried to actively stop the trip, and now has his own 'spies' on the expedition... Quite opposed approaches, he thinks.

Not wanting to appear too inquisitive, Marcus shifts the conversation to more mundane matters.

He focuses on the driving.

"You're right, Terrence. Magical powers of flight and curses aren't real. Didn't stop people of the time from believing in those things, though," Ellis replies to Terrence's curt pronouncement.

Ellis then turns to Will. "Well, Will - here's an example of the choice between History and Anthropology. History tells you that there were people practicing witchcraft in the area in past times. Anthropology would tell you what they believed about those rituals and the culture that created them."

After a moment, Ellis smiles and adds, "and if you wanted to read and write about rituals of that type, then you could try Literature." He gives the larger man a friendly light slap on Will's nearby elbow.

The rest of the ride passes without incident. By half past one in the afternoon, the convoy rolls into Cobb’s Corners - a town that looks like a postcard. Neat clapboard houses and shops, maple lined streets, lush green lawns.

The locals don't miss your arrival. A few pause on the sidewalk to watch the procession turn south toward the center of town.

The three vehicles park, one after another, in front of Jim's Grill. Students pile out - stiff legged, dusty and hungry. They stretch and look around, blinking at the bright fall sunlight.

"Alright, everyone. Gather round." Robert says, waving the group to a spot near the door of the diner. "We'll eat, then head to the farmhouse to get settled. The rest of the afternoon is yours." he gives the group a practiced smile. "Interviewing and searching starts tomorrow morning, bright and early."

He's about to lead the group into the diner, when he turns back. "One more thing before we go in." His tone a bit sharper. "I'm responsible for every one of you while we're here. If you're planning to go off anywhere on your own, clear it with me first. Are we understood?"

He turns towards the door - and nearly walks into a man coming out the other way.

"Well, now." A grin spreads across his face. "What do we have here?" He thrusts a hand towards Marcus - apparently selecting him at random. "Richard Wendell. Cobb's Corners Gazette." He puts a bit of weight on the name of the paper, as if trying to highlight it's importance. "What brings a crowd like this all the way out here?"

Marcus is taken aback. He shakes the journalist's hand, craning his neck to catch Blaine's attention for help.
But Blaine has already gone.
Damn it... what do I tell this guy? I don't know how discreet Blaine wanted to be about this trip. Not very, judging by the way we paraded through town... Oh, well.

Cautiously, he says, "we are from Miskatonic University. Here to search for the missing students. I'm sure you covered their disappearance, and the death of Boyd Patterson, in your paper?"

He leans in conspiratorially. "And I bet you did a better job than those pretentious hacks at the Arkham Advertiser..."

Oh no... this newshound is looking for a piece at all costs... I'd better omit my name.

"Er... I'd rather not be mentioned in your paper, Mr. Wendell. And I only just arrived, too soon to jump to conclusions," he says in avoidance, with a dismissive gesture.

"Maybe in a few days we could have a more informed conversation."
He walks past the journalist and follows Blaine into the diner, intentionally omitting his name.

THE DINER
As you enter the diner, a slender woman with long blonde hair greets you from behind the counter. Directly across from her, perched on one of the stools is a young teenage boy. The boy is absorbed in a drawing, pencil moving in careful loops. He looks up and smiles as the students file in and offer an earnest smile before returning to his work.

In a far booth, against the window, sit two men in uniform. The younger one - short brown hair with sky-blue eyes - clocks the group immediately. He leans in and whispers something to the large man across from him. The larger man turns in his seat with deliberate slowness and gives the group a long, flat appraisal. His face is craggy, leathery, and aged beyond his years.

Once everyone is settled and perusing their menus, the large man eases himself out of the booth.

He saunters over towards your table, taking his time. The younger deputy, follows a few steps behind. The older man stops at the counter to top off his coffee before turning his attention to the erstwhile adventurers. The deputy loiters nearby, watching but not saying anything.

The sheriff turns and glares down at the students, as if looking at a group of hedonist anarchists. He doesn't sit. He doesn't move closer. "My name’s Sheriff Spencer and this, here, is Deputy Cutter." He pauses, watching. "We are the law in Cobb’s Corners."

What follows is much less a speech, more like a sermon, delivered slowly and deliberately. He's not interested in responses, talks over interruptions, and ramrods through all arguments.

"We will not hesitate to make your stay here most unpleasant if you break the rules. I am aware of how you city kids enjoy your speakeasies, staggering around drunk at all hours of the day and night. I realize there are so many of you delinquents that the authorities in the city let you run amok without a care for your lives or your souls. Well, not here. This is a God-fearing town! There will be no stories of drunken carousing, shoplifting, cow tipping, or any other perversions your idle minds can come up with! Cobb’s Corners has already seen more unwanted attention than it deserves thanks to the last group of inebriated hooligans who rampaged through here and wound up dead or missing in the mountains. We don’t need you stirring up trouble - so watch yourselves, because we’ll be watching you. God bless and have a fine day."

With his speech delivered, Sheriff Spencer drains his coffee. He sets it down with a soft click, and strolls out without a backward glance.

Deputy Cutter watches him go. Then he turns to the table and flashes a grin, warm and a little helpless. "Sorry about that." He says, taking a seat on a nearby stool. "Mind if I join you?"

"As long as you don't mind us being here," Ellis retorts, feeling a bit huffy after getting an unnecessary dressing down from the sheriff. "Sit down."

That was rather... heavy-handed. Talk about setting boundaries! he thinks, after Spencer's tirade. Oh well, at least he gave us his blessing...

Marcus nods at the Deputy in greeting, but stays silent. Is the man here to spy for his boss?

"I didn't," Jocelyn says in a not particularly helpful manner.

She looks at the Deputy for a moment, her head tilted slightly. The anthropologist inside her has got the better of her. "What's cow tipping when it's at home?" she asks.