The Cecilnomicon: Salem Uncommon

So this past Saturday, I’m making my rounds through the city and I come across a strange gathering on Salem Common. A circle of people in strange garb sat together, talking and laughing. Normally, I’m used to being the most unconventional dresser in the area (why launder clothes when there is spraypaint about?) but these people put me to shame. First of all, they seemed to have actually paid attention to detail when they made their clothes. Second, they were uniformly young and attractive.

My first thought, obviously, was “Pixies!” My second was “I must stomp them to get their Pixie Juice!”

After the scene calmed down and several of the circle members revealed that their canes, hairpins, and decorative katana-like wall hangings were bludgeon-y, point-y, and rather bend-y, it was explained to me that no, they were not pixies and thus free game for stomping, but were instead fans of Japanese animation and culture who liked to dress as the subjects of their fandom. I immediately apologised for introducing myself via a screaming jump-stomp (luckily my aim was off due to freshly cleaning my shirt not fifteen minutes beforehand).

For a group of people who were happily accepting of others wearing tuxedos in the summer heat, dresses from made-up far away lands, and anything with gears randomly hotglued to it, you’d think they’d have been more accepting of my heartfelt mea culpa. I mean, my confusion was entirely reasonable (as my confusions normally are): they were a group of beautiful youth in strange garb sitting in a sacred circle on one of the most powerful psychic nodes in all of New England!

Then it occurred to me - these kids knew nothing about the strange and mystical history of Salem Common! I tried to explain some of the history of the Common to them, but a few subtle signals via heavy knobbed cane and a fighting technique called “Gum Gum Rocket” suggested I run for my life before it was too late. I’m a student of people after all, so after an hour or so, I know when I’m not wanted. I needed to clean my shirt to hide the bloodstains anyways.

We all know the basic story of the Common: it was a communal field that local farmers could send their livestock to graze on the local grasses or fall into the local swamps. It is also a psychic node, a place where multiple ley lines intersect, making it a place of great power. This is why Santa visits every year, to collect the psychic power from the node in order to power his terrible, elf-forged toy fabricators. Overwhelmed by the strange energies of Salem, Santa invariably needs to be fished off the roof of the nearby Hawthorne Hotel.

The presence of the node also lead to the formation of the United Stated military.

Why else would so many local citizen gather to “practise shooting” at a single location? Surely they could shoot stuff in the privacy of their own homes. I blame the Puritans and their totalitarian ways. That’s why we have the Second Amendment now, people, so that our right to bear arms in our own homes so that we can practise for the eventual New World Order/Alien invasion would not be infringed. (Note: Until the outcome of my upcoming trial is known, I would not suggest anyone else attempting this line of reasoning with the police) The price of freedom is a totally destroyed sofa!

Anyways, the early settlers of Salem did not line up on Salem Common to practise their marksmanship. They gathered to put their training into good use, lining up as was the military style of the time, to turn back the vicious Herne the Hunter and his Wild Hunt from crossing through the barrier between worlds. Every fortnight, Herne and his savage forces would gather on the other side of the World Barrier and attempt to invade our reality. This is also where the word ‘fortnight’ comes from, by the way, owing to the fort the citizens of Salem would build every two weeks in order to repel his attack.

Long story short, you can tell by the absence of twelve foot high slavering wolves outside your window that we Salemites prevailed. The raids took their toll, however. Not only was the area on the Common’s Otherside reduced to the blackened waste we’re all familiar with in out restless dreams, but the early citizens of Salem became very, very twitchy when it came to any mention of the supernatural. Still, it was the experience and martial rigor of the Salem militia that planted the seeds of the National Guard, seeds whose roots have grown long and deep even to this day.

Despite turning back the Wild Hunt, the threat from the Common’s Otherside remained. In order to reduce the danger of attacks from the strange unseen world, Colonel Elias Hasket Derby improved the Common’s defenses by leveling the hills and filling in the swamps in 1801. This cut down on troll attacks drastically, at least until the hired ent mercenaries suddenly abandoned their posts in the middle of The Great Gale of 1815. Now understanding that Poplar trees were not to be trusted, the townsfolk replaced them with inanimate elms equipped with bees, horrible bees. The source of the Great Gale is still unknown. I suspect it was fae involvement, which explains I was so eager to pounce on the anime fans.

Over the years, the surface size of the Common was reduced by encroaching society. Due to ancient Compact, the actual total size of the Common may not be reduced below 8 acres, so much of the Common is now located underground, in hollowed out trees, and on the back of a large flatbed truck that slowly drives around the state, right turn signal blinking for all eternity. You can find this truck, usually on moonless nights when you are in a rush to get somewhere. As you grit your teeth at the long line of traffic ahead of you slowed to just above a crawl by a ramshackle truck looking for a turnoff it will never find, sigh to yourself and know you are, in some way, in Salem.

Anyways, like I said, much of the Common is underground. The hollow trees are now pretty much the sole domain of that eight legged squirrel monarch Lord Skritch and his followers, so are best avoided if you don’t want to be stung by a mysterious dart only to reawaken in his dread nut mines. The Common Underground (We used to call it the Common Ground until some bar in Allston threatened to sue) remains open to all despite Lord Skritch’s dark manipulations. If you can find a way in, you will be welcomed by a Nazareth market that puts all others to shame!

Of course, the best ways into the Common Underground are through the basements of the circle of stately homes that surrounds it - not a great idea to try that unless you want to get shot or arrested or worse, inducted into the Bertram Society where your very youth will be drawn from you and shared amongst other members of the Society. So here’s a hint: look at the door under the gazebo and knock in a pattern pleasing to rock sprites. You’ll have to tip them a bit of hard candy, but it’s easier than the alternatives.

I’ll hold off explaining what to do and how to do it in Salem’s Common Underground for a latter entry - you might want to hold off visiting until I do. Or not. I’m not, like, your boss or anything.

With the introduction of stately homes to the Common’s perimeter came a lot more stability. The wealthy merchant families of Salem had access to a host of spiritualists who were able to bind and command the spirits of the dead to stand watch around the pulsating ball of chaotic weirdness that was the Common, preventing any encroachments from the Otherside. While this approach took a toll on wayward servants and debtors, it did prove surprisingly effective. I wonder what we will do with the spiritual compacts that were forged in the 19th century begin to expire? Already, I’m noticing a thinning of the ranks when I peer through my spirit crystal. We have two, maybe three generations to find an answer to this question or I fear we’ll all be knee deep in writhing tentacles seeking to do us harm.

Huh. That reminds me. I shouted a warning about the writhing tentacles to the anime fans before they ran me off for good, but they claimed not to be worried, being familiar with something called ‘shokushu goukan.’ I should probably Google that.

ARGH. MY EYES. I CAN NOT SCRUB THEM CLEAN. DO NOT DO WHAT I HAVE DONE! THERE IS -NO- SAFE SEARCH FOR SHOKUSHU GOUKAN! I NEED TO GO CLEAN MY SHIRT AGAIN.