The inside of the station was filled with the mementos of past cases and adventures. Most of the Poeists’ trophies were kept back at their main station in New Jersey, far to the East on the coast of the Atlantic, but the Arizona territory station had a few marvels all its own.
There was the feather of a Thunderbird, a great and mighty prince of the realm of Fairy, and so large was the feather that its glass case took up an entire wall. The feather was a gift from the Thunderbird Nanabush, though he more often took the form of a horned rabbit called a jackalope, who befriended the American Manesology Society after they helped an Ottawa trader by the name of Neyas Petosega, who was a fairy on his father’s side and a shapeshifter on his mother’s side, and ran into difficulties due to his mixed parentage.
The feather was the color of lightning, white at the center and blue around the edges. There was a glow to it, and those unfamiliar with Thunderbirds often assumed that the feather was a long window made out of ghostly ectoplasm at first glance.
On the opposite wall was a mouth-tentacle from the infamous shapeshifter known as the Snallygaster. Though not as long as the feather, it was still twice the height of a man. The slimy red appendage was claimed when little Adeline Bisclavret put her dainty hand on the tentacle, transformed it into a burly loup-garou claw, and pulled.
That didn’t kill the Snallygaster, his death came later when Adeline’s brother Etienne wrestled the shapeshifter into a firepit. Fire was one of the few things that could truly destroy a shapeshifter.
Below the tentacle was a gray canvas sack once used by a ghost known as Bloody Bones to carry away any wayward children that crossed his path. The sack was empty, but the sobs of children still echoed softly within its dark interior.
Hanging by the fireplace was a case containing a white bandana and two pearl handled Colt revolvers. These were tools used by a mysterious vigilante known only as the Sunrise Kid, for that was when he appeared to outlaws and desperados. The Sunrise Kid, due to his superhuman exploits, such as when he disarmed the entire Clayton Gang by shooting their revolvers out of their hands, was commonly believed to be a ghost, but he was not. He was a living man, albeit one with superhuman abilities. He was, like ghosts, a representative of a race that was becoming more and more common by the day. The mask and guns were spares, gifted to the American Manesology Society by the Sunrise Kid as a way to apologize for them having to investigate him and waste their time with a being that, while peculiar, was not a ghost.
“I’ve always loved how you put up trophies in your buildings.” Joseph said. “I think we made a mistake putting all our interesting memorabilia in the basement.”
Joseph gestured to a strange creature stuffed and displaced crouching on a rock. “This one’s new. What is it? It looks like someone crossed a monkey with a lizard.”
The creature indeed looked like what Joseph described. Its body was hairless and scaled, but the head was rounded unlike anything reptilian. On its back were triangular spikes which ran down its spine and tail. Its eyes were black and shaped like beans. Its mouth was open, and Joseph could see small, but sharp, teeth and a red, forked tongue.
A plaque below the creature read 1883--Cholula Rivadavia.
“They call this little fellow a goat-sucker, though it sounds better in the original Spanish--chupacabra.” Mr. Reeves said.
“That sounds far too pretty to be “goat-sucker.””
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“I put holes in this poor devil back when John-a-Doors sent us south on some nagual business. I didn’t want to do it, because these little critters are rare, nuisances to ranchers though they may be, but it jumped at me, and my reflexes being what they are, I put two in its little head before it got its claws to me.”
“Excellent reflexes.” Joseph said. “Age has done nothing to you, I’m jealous!”
“Thank you. I wouldn’t be here today if they were any less. Outlaws would have put me under decades ago if I slacked even an inch.”
Joseph looked closely at the goat sucker’s scaly, yellow head. “Excellent taxidermy as well. You have to look close to see the stitches.”
“Thank you again. Did it myself. These hands of mine are good for more than pulling triggers. Chupacabras, according to John-a-Doors, are fairy kin. They mostly populate South America, though a few have been sighted in the United States. Apparently, they came about when a nagual made a deal with a fairy, which they call nunnehi in these parts.”
“Oh, I already don’t like the sound of this.” Joseph said.
“Nagual are not natural shapeshifters, like the Bisclavret clan and their kinfolk back in France. They have to make a bond with an animal they call a tonal before they can turn into that animal. Well, one nagual wanted to break the trend of bonding with crows and coyotes and typical things like that. He wanted a tonal that was unique, and the fairy promised to show him an animal that had never before walked the Earth. The problem was, the way the deal was worded, it allowed the fairy to bring over an entire mess of goat suckers, an entire herd.”
“That’s how they get you.” Joseph said. “It’s always word games with them.”
“It was something like “Show me animals that have never walked the Earth.””
“Yeah, that would do it.”
“Apparently, goat suckers are a kind of pest over in Fairy. They’re like rats or weevils. Fairies are always looking for a way to get rid of them because they keep cattle just like humans do and dislike lizard monkeys feeding on them. The poor things though, they’re likely to be wiped out soon. Not only do ranchers shoot them on sight, but the nagual, he was ripped off and he knew it, and he made it his life’s mission to hunt down and kill every single goat sucker.”
Mr. Reeves looked down at the goat sucker and patted its head. “I wish I didn’t kill the poor thing.”
“It charged at you.” Joseph said. “What else could you have done?”
“True, true. Anyway, enough gawking at the trophies, let’s go talk to Mr. Leeds, gentlemen.” Mr. Reeves led the three manesologists to a door. “He’s right through here.”
Mr. Reeves opened the door and led the three into a simply furnished office. There was a desk and three chairs. It was all the little office had room for, and so Mr. Reeves stood by the door while his guests took their seats.
Behind the desk was a figure shrouded by a long, white cloak and wide-brimmed hat. Everything about the man was hidden by fabric or shadows.
He held up a stiff, gloved hand to greet the trio. “Good day.” he spoke from a shadowed cavity below his hat.
Mr. Leeds was an old friend of Ernst, Morton, and Glass. They had met him far back in 1867 on the East Coast of the United States, in a place called the Pine Barrens, and they helped him overcome his physical abnormalities. Mr. Leeds then supplanted Dirk Peters as leader of the American Manesological Society, which Mr. Peters didn’t mind at all given that Mr. Leeds’ great age made him incredibly wise.
Mr. Leeds was born in 1735. He was 148 years old.
He was, surprisingly, not the oldest man to walk the Earth today.
“Welcome back to the states, Gentlemen.” Mr. Leeds’ voice was slow and awkward and came in slurping whispers. It was the fault of what Ernst, Morton, and Glass recorded as “birth defects” in their notes back in their Blackwall library. His neck was too long, like a pipe, and air whistled going in and out of it. His tongue was too long, and sloshed around his cavernous mouth to make syllables.
But none of that, of course, could be seen through the cloak.
“You don’t need that coat and hat, Mr. Leeds.” Joseph said. “Not with us around. And isn’t it awfully hot here compared to the East Coast?”
“It’s an ingrained habit, Joseph.” Mr. Leeds said. “I feel as if these clothes are my own skin.”
“It’s true.” Mr. Reeves said. “He doesn’t even like us seeing him without his clothes. Though I doubt any of us would be comfortable if one of us suddenly stripped down.”
“I still think you should try the John Tenniel clothes.” Joseph said to Mr. Leeds. “I think the clothes would look smart on you.”
“I’ll decline, though I have considered something like a harness to help take the weight off my wings. But let us to business.” Mr. Leeds moved a corner of his cloak over the table, and when he removed it, photographs were left behind.
The photographs showed a horribly mangled corpse from several angles.