Chaos at the Waffle Hut

Hey! Reese's Pieces! Thank you!

Flint was troubled by his discussion with Andy. He’ll have to work that out later. He was the last one to leave the parking lot of the cemetery. He looked at his map memorizing his intended route. Turn right, then take the fourth left. Turn right at the Waffle Hut and take that around to the civic center. Okay, stow the crossbow in his backpack and set out.

The weather was improving. This should be a pleasant ride back. At the third cross street, Flint saw a pale boy in a baseball cap waving at him. Wait, that wasn’t a boy. His pale gray skin and oval dark eyes were a dead giveaway. It was a Gray. He slowed and pulled over. The voice said; ‘Hiya Flint. Long time buddy. Sorry about this.

With that, Flint felt faint. The rest was just a haze. Oh no, not again.

Flint rolled over and opened his eyes. The clock said 5:36 am. Ouch. That’s not a good combination of feelings. His right hand hurt. His head hurt. His rear felt .. different.

What was that on his head? A tin foil hat? A note in his right hand?


Sorry about all that. Um, we thought you’d appreciate this, but there might be a string coming out of your ass. Pull it carefully to retrieve the capsule.

Where to start? Might as well begin with the uncomfortable task. Flint tugged gingerly on the string. Yep, it was attached to something he could only estimate of ping pong ball diameter.

That little adventure required a little wash up.

What? There’s a note under the door. It’s from Andy.


Glad you made it home okay. We have your Vespa in impound. Don’t worry, we won’t charge you anything. The gang was going to get back together for breakfast at the Waffle Hut tomorrow morning at 8am.


Flint looked at the clock by his bed. Two hours. Okay, what does that little capsule hold and why the hat? Once cleaned, the ball opened with a twist. A crystal fell out of the ball and started to pulse blue. The crystal pulsed rapidly, filling the RV with a dense light. Flint fell into a stupor.

Visions raced through Flint’s head.

Aliens, as you call them, are a collection of ancient races that view the earth as a kind of petri dish. The Grays as you call them are foot soldiers of the MiGo.

More information flooded Flint’s mind; the nature of the ‘old ones’ as they are called and that they use rifts and gates to enter our world, not space ships. They took Flint to study the curse. They sampled his tattoo and took a wide variety of fluids. Unfortunately, they couldn’t counteract the curse, but they will keep their eyes on him to see if he dies.

Supposedly this message was programmed by a gray named Bob. He said that he thought that Flint would appreciate the dramatic nature of the information transfer process. Plus, after all the crap that Flint wrote about the Grays, Bob just had to shove something up his ass.

(Flint gains +5 in Cthulhu Mythos, +1 INT, +5 POW, and -10 SAN loss)



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