The Haunting Session One Play Report

Diary of Robert Hollinsworth, Captain (ret.), His Majesty's Armed Forces

June 3, 1920

Boston, United States (former colonial England)

Having attended the offices of Mr. Falstaff after his intriguing invitation a ragtag team of investigators was formed to discern the nature of the troubles plaguing Falstaff’s newly acquired property. Said property fell to him after the death of an acquaintance, one Mr. Barns, who informed him of ill doings associated with the property. Apparently there was some sort of domestic affray there that ended with the incarceration of the parents in an asylum and the children becoming wards of the state. Barns requested that the property not be sold but Falstaff being a man of means intent on acquiring more naturally looks to profit on the property. Such is the nature of our investigation. Find what is amiss and report back so it can be properly felt with.


Our cabal of investigators comprises of three individuals who may not cross paths otherwise. There is a surgeon, a capable man, not at all swayed by the notion of things not of the natural world. We also have a somewhat suave socialite of considerable means who seems to be bored at the moment and has tagged along for some reason , maybe to get life experience, maybe to see how the other half lives, who knows. And of corse there is myself, a former soldier of the Great War turned historian, a man looking for the next intellectual pursuit and, more importantly, the next paying job.


Having formed we headed out and promptly went out separate ways. I to the library, the doctor to the police station, and the socialite for a pleasant morning adventure to the old property. Being comfortable with social interaction, a valuable trait in a doctor, the surgeon headed to the police station and spoke with an old acquaintance to learn more about the tragic tale of the family who lived there. Having found the name of the institution he next set out to speak with the medical staff there and possibly meet the family in question.




The socialite headed to the property. Though it was a fine day, the property close to his lodgings, and he in good health, he took a cab, which give his interaction proved to be a good idea. The property is situated in a neighborhood comprised largely on Italian immigrants and is quite overgrown and obviously vacant. It has not been the subject of vandalism. Either there is a civic pride in this area, or people give the property a wide berth. He did notice one curious element at odds with the surroundings. Someone had graffitied a symbol in yellow on the house. He reproduced it and showed it to us. Odd indeed. Noticing foot prints he followed these around the back to find two men who instead of talking chose to pull a knife and threaten him. He being of weaker fortitude, though probably right in action in the moment, fled back to the safety of the waiting cab.


I contented myself with hours of research in the library where I discovered the house was built pre civil war by a prominent merchant who fell ill and died. It changed ownership and the new person seems to have been sued by his neighbours in relation to untoward behaviour. Though this case was dismissed. In the afternoon we set about our chosen tasks. The surgeon and socialite headed to the institution holding the parents of the locations final residents. Under the guise of study the surgeon met with the director and found more about the situation, helped in the ethically tricky areas of professionalism by the application of money, or rather a generous donation to the institution, offered by our wealthy companion. The couple were by all accounts normal prior to the violent incident that landed them here. The man rambles continuously about red eyes and an old man of some considerable persuasion. The woman could not bee seen, though they did secure the reviewing of her file. The two seem to share with uncanny exactness the same delusion and psychosis. This the surgeon assures us in quite unheard of in the medical field.


Having heard of the street tuffs who threatened our companion I felt a stirring of adventure on though all but extinguished by the war. I decided to confront the tuffs to see what avenues that might lead down. But first I attended Harvard university and engaged the services of three grad students to continue the research. Thankfully a constant in this world is students who need money. I sent the geography doctoral student to the city to find any and all reference to the property and development in the area. The history student was sent to the newspaper to find all references to the said property and the anthropology student to the university archives to find all related to occult or ancient practices in the Massachusetts/Boston area.


The next morning after a good night sleep and a full breakfast we headed out to the property. Our socialite friend indicated there appeared to be more foot prints than on the previous day but as to whether they were made by the same foot or different foot he was completely oblivious, as he informed us, such trifling details mean little to him and his world. Not being one to hide from the enemy I chose to proceed directly to the back. The individuals were still here though apparently they had brought back up. Mustering my old Sergeant’s demeanour I greeted the gentlemen. Of what ethnicity they were we could not determine but their darker complexion, accent, and language suggests they were not originally from the United States. The individuals were clearly not in the mood to converse and pulled small knives. I chose not to draw my webley but to continue to engage, which was a mistake as it turns out as I had woefully underestimated the distance between us. The lead street tuff managed to tag me in the face with his blade. I tried to dodge the blow but my mind is far quicker than my body these days and years of war have taken their toll on my physicality it seem. As the blade sunk in I reached for my weapon. Fortunately the surgeon bravery came to my aid without hesitation. Quick of action but poor of aim he let off the first shot. This startled the lead attacker and gave me time to draw my revolver and blow a lump off of him. He at this all four would be toughs turns tail and ran. The doctor again with a spirited alacrity unleashed a few more rounds. He claims he was trying to injure the opponents legs to preserve them for questioning, but luck was not with him. I, being still on my feet after such a wound, for which I credit my previous service, managed two more shots but the wound to the face played the devil with my accuracy and I too followed the doctor’s path of failure. After the dust settled out fair weather friend returned. It seems when the situation touched off he decided it best to avoid a potential wounding, which as it turns out may not have been a bad course of action, though I am thankful the doctor stayed or it may have been a different story. Mistakes were made, lessons learned, and a new scar gained. The knife that struck me bore the same symbol that was painted on the front of the house. I shall provide this symbol to the student researchers to follow up on. We will need to take some to recuperate. It seems this is more involved than we first thought.