Ihpkmn's Talebox 2

Take it from me: You don't have much to brag about if you'r from Wisconsin, other than the cheese. Go to Illinois, you have Chicago and the birthplace of Lincoln. Go to Ohio, you have an absolute crapton of astronauts and serial killers and Edison and god knows what else. Indiana has the Indy 500. Wisconsin has dick.

Wisconsin has August Derleth.

Who the fuck is that?

—Conversation overheard in Site-87's rec room.

Malcolm Guillard made his way down the stairs, and into the restricted section of the Sloth's Pit Public Library. In the center of the room, amongst a series of cages holding back dozens of anomalous manuscripts, a body laid, face-down, a smear of blood where his throat should be. One of the cages was torn open, a volume clearly missing from the shelf.

"Hell," Guillard whistled, fiddling with his moustache. "What's the vic's name?"

"William Gilton. Out-of-towner, as far as we can tell."