All Chapters of Field Team 42: Paranormal Responders: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when we gathered around the dusty, old table in the same cabin in which, just a little over a year ago, Bob and his S.H.A.D.E. squad had brought us and tortured us a bit before introducing us to Dr. Schnell. That seemed a lifetime ago, now. It was quiet, eerily so, as if the weight of the last few days had finally caught up to us all. We were preparing for the last leg of our mission: making sure the Hellgate at Good Rock Mine was sealed shut for good by observing the mine to make sure that nothing from the Neurovores homeworld was going to get through. We thought that the Neurovores had never had a chance to attune the Hellgate to their world and make contact with it, but we needed to be sure. Once we left, Control, if it still existed, would embed undercover watchers in Dust Bowl to keep an eye on it.It had been a few days since the explosion caved in the mine, completely burying the entrance in boulders that would take major excavational

The house smelled of dust, old wood, and something faintly sweet, like leather left too long in the sun. The kind of smells you get from a place that’s seen years of history but hasn’t yet let go of the past. It was one of those old houses that had creaky floors and a thousand hidden corners. The kind where the stories of the past seemed to echo from the walls, a faint hum of what had been.I hadn’t expected much, but as I stood there in the large foyer of the Grimsby House, I felt... something. Like the weight of the town’s history pressed down on me, even as the weight of the future began to form in my mind.“Jonie, could you grab that crate in the corner?” I asked, trying to steady myself as I took in the sight of the house. There were boxes and crates stacked haphazardly throughout the room, piles of old belongings that didn’t belong to us but to the man who had lived here before.The house was large, larger than anyone might expect in a town as small as Dust Bowl. It was the kind

The house smelled of dust, old wood, and something faintly sweet, like leather left too long in the sun. The kind of smells you get from a place that’s seen years of history but hasn’t yet let go of the past. It was one of those old houses that had creaky floors and a thousand hidden corners. The kind where the stories of the past seemed to echo from the walls, a faint hum of what had been.I hadn’t expected much, but as I stood there in the large foyer of the Grimsby House, I felt... something. Like the weight of the town’s history pressed down on me, even as the weight of the future began to form in my mind.The clock on the wall read 3:03am when I got out of bed and padded down the hall toward the bathroom. The house was eerily quiet. As I passed the dining room, I noticed a faint glow coming from the table where Mitch was sitting. A kettle sat steaming in front of him, and I caught the faint, herbal scent wafting through the air.“Mitch?” I called softly, not wanting to startle him

The La Paz County Library wasn’t much to look at from the outside, an unassuming square building that seemed more at home in a dusty, forgotten corner of the world than in a place that actually had books. Still, there was a kind of charm to it, a small town library, the kind where you could lose yourself in rows of forgotten knowledge, tucked away in corners where time slowed down. It was a place where you could find something useful if you were determined enough, and in my line of work, that was often a necessity.Rachelle, Spitfire, and Pastor Brooks were with me today, as the rest of the team had either been busy with other tasks or, in the case of X and J, enjoying some much-needed father-son time away from the chaos. Rachelle was already halfway through the front door, her phone in hand as she pulled up the library’s hours on a digital map. She moved with that purposeful efficiency she was known for, determined to get us the answers we needed without wasting time.Spitfire, as al

Grandfather and I stood on the side of the road near where Grandfather said the accident was going to happen, or had happened, in the 1980s.“This is an echo of the past?” I asked. “This is just a vision, right? We aren’t really here because this has already happened.”“It happens over and over in Victor’s mind. Victor keeps this event alive.”“You called him Victor…”“Instead of simply referring to him as the skinwalker? He is still Victor. He isn’t human anymore, but he was. He made his choices as a human that made him as he is now. It was human pain that drove him to the place where he made those choices, Grandson. Pain, particularly grief, but other kinds of pain as well, can lead to many horrible choices.”The scene before me shimmered like a half-remembered dream, and then, as if it were pulled from the ether itself, the highway came into sharp focus. A two-lane road stretched out before us, a familiar stretch of asphalt I could almost feel beneath my feet. Cars whizzed by in th