John’s got his own gang of merry men. Fred is a close friend, very much like a twin brother to the shit-stirrer John. He’s got a sense of fashion with premium footwear, a mohawk and mullet combo with red highlights. There’s Nathen the medium, Gregory is rocking the heart and soul of the 80s - he's taken off his jumper and chosen a long denim jacket with a thousand badges on the front and back, his bandana, sungsses and buckled leather boots remain in pce. James the spot creator and Barry the comedian. The one simirity they all share is a bright red t-shirt with bold text - ‘Project Terror’ looking like a bck skull with tape going around it.

  “Are you sure you should be wearing that?” Amber asks gently.

  “What? Are you scared? There’s nothing to fear out here.” James points out, with a motley bag full of bells and whistles. He’s like a dragon, hoarding precious jewels and gold. “The red shirts aren’t going to cause a problem.”

  Great. They’re all putting a target on their backs. Vukosava hates it.

  “You’ve got such good specs, Greg. Top notch.” Marcus, Vukosava’s cameraman, is having fun with his new fidget.

  “We’re back on track, Vics.”

  “Good, Marcus.”

  Marcus looks up at Vukosava. “Do you have to say it like that? I feel like I’m either getting a lecture or my mother’s disappointed in me.”

  As they’re getting familiar, John jogs up, spping his hands together with some vigor. “So, who’s ready for the film to start rolling again?”

  This loud and boisterous dispy of energy rallies his team. He keeps his gaze on Vukosava, challenging her to step forwards. Being an outlier is no fun. History repeats itself – differing views and differing perspectives. It’s like trying to force water and oil to work in harmony. Last time she went against someone –

  Amber could tell right away. “You still on board with going ahead, Vukosava?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m on board.”

  The ds around John are getting into position.

  “Okay, okay. Let’s just get this show on the road, shall we?” Vukosava grumbles out a reply.

  With everyone eventually getting on the same page, they start to make their way through the ancient ruin. It’s hard to get anything through to them when their charismatic rooster is squawking away like no one’s business. She’ll have to see how this goes.

  He doesn’t care for the facts of the cases; his focus is on the algorithm and viewership numbers. Facts are the bedrock to any great mystery, be it natural or supernatural. There’s a procedure to follow and jokes didn’t go with the territory. They’re ughing at his wit and dancing to his praise. Only Amber seems free of his influence.

  “I know it hasn't been easy.” Amber says softly.

  “Yeah, that’s the story of life. Growing up invites new challenges.” Vukosava can feel her face contorting with her honest opinion. “Along with problems. Do you want to know anything else about what we’re sticking our nose into?”

  “I know we’re going into the territory of a mad prince.”

  Vukosava busies herself on her notebook, pushing up the gsses on her long nose. “Mad is one word for it. He was forgotten and removed from his familial ties completely. But the legend didn’t fade.”

  “Do you think we’ll be safe, Vukosava?” Amber is a firm believer in knowledge over bravado.

  “We’ll be safe. I’m sure of it.”

  Amber nods slowly. “That makes me feel a lot better when it comes from you.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t be the info-dumper if I wasn’t qualified.” Vukosava smirks. Amber doesn’t mind her spiels at all; she takes a liking to the deep dives into historical accountings that took pce centuries ago. They stray away from the group for a bit, having a peaceful moment together, before John goes back to check on them.

  Vukosava mutters. “Oh great, he’s back.”

  John walks up to Amber and Vukosava. “Well. I think we’re about ready to start our venture into the deep, dark and mysterious. You want to do the honours?”

  “Sure.” Vukosava gives a nod for the cameras to start rolling.

  “Hey, guys! It’s John and the gang back with another video – starring the one and only Eternal Castle. For the history freaks out there – this one’s got a bit of everything. A horrifying lord with a thing for brushes and paint, and a secret retinue of dogmen.”

  Everyone jumps forwards, dropping the hammer and jumping at the camera. Mark is catching all of it. John is bright and jovial for the limelight, pying it up to the max. “You can see that me and the boys have got it on right now! If you want a piece of this action, click on the link Project: Merch in the description below, to get some of this swag, because before you know it. It’s gone!”

  “Now, we’re going to find some little pooches.” John gets a chuckle out of his group.

  “I got a nastier bite than those pansies.” Fred adds. “I got a wolf in me for real, for real.”

  That gets a ugh out of the crew.

  “So, you’re going to start feasting on us, is that it?” Harley snorts loudly. “Who are you going to go after first?”

  “Mark looks good, he’s got a bit of a pork roll on the front.”

  It’s not surprising when Mark flips him off. “Says the walking advert for dogs to stop by and lift their legs – with those red, elf shoes. I mean – look at those things.”

  Mark aims the camera down at Fred’s shoes, it’s the same as his other ones. Except it’s got a red tinge and white ces, they look fancier than anything we wear. “These are JJs, man, now, the rest of you in the comments, make sure you leave a like for this godly drip.”

  “If we did a commentary on your drip, we’d be here all night, Fredrick.” Harley grumbles.

  “What about you guys?” Fredrick asks. “Do you guys have anything?”

  Harley obliges unzipping her jumper. A bck t-shirt, with an intricately drawn image of a gothic rollercoaster going beneath a gothic castle, with a dark silhouette gring down on the unsuspecting victims with a hungry grin.

  Gregory shakes his head. “Damn. That is good. Are you selling those?”

  “No, we don’t.” Vukosava replies.

  “You should. Who did these for you?”

  “Amber. She’s an artist.” Vukosava gestures over to a humble Amber.

  “Oh, it’s nothing much. I just got a lot of creative ideas rolling around.”

  It’s the one quality Vukosava doesn't like about Amber; she is too good at evoking the otherworldly. Vukosava remembers telling her over and over that she should be an artist, putting her work in a museum and leaving all this nonsense far behind.

  But she didn’t do it – her family were cool with it. As long as she didn’t go home with a heavy dose of depression and sleeping pills. The words - Lore in Tales were written in a loopy fashion.

  Vukosava looks down at her shirt, it is good. It’s taking the plunge that is difficult. Gregory does have a point.

  “A big shoutout to Amber for getting this one done.” Marcus briefly pans the camera over to her, she smiles shyly, and he quickly directs it back to Vukosava then John. There are two cameramen going at it, Vukosava thought, this is going to go so well.

  John catches Vukosava’s eye - doing his best finger-gunning for Vukosava to take centre stage. She does her best to keep a straight face.

  “Now, according to our expert in everything ghostly – we’ll be getting a lot of action tonight. EMFs, low temps, maybe we’ll get a little going away gift from the prince himself.” John rubs his hands together. “Now, before the fun stuff, let's y that boring-ass foundation. Vukosava has come prepared with a stack of textbooks. So, what are we dealing with?”

  Vukosava did her best not to roll her eyes too heavily, she’s got a role to py. She can’t be skipping out of it, flipping off the camera and telling John he can search for earthworms and maggots. Even though the idea is sorely tempting, she buries the resentments deep.

  “Hello guys, welcome back to another historical tour!” She does her best to bury her irritation and be professional for the camera.

  “Currently, we’re making our way through the alleyways of the year 766. Long ago, an investigation was unched into the sudden disappearances of the local popuce that occupied this great city. Particurly of young and beautiful women – according to the records of the policing force during that time.” Marcus is busying himself capturing it all, in sweeping and panning shots, the night and the fickle lights make for good filming opportunities, no doubt they’ll add in some ghosts and sound effects in the mix during the editing and finalising of the video. As the torchlight goes down the alleyways, Vukosava can see the aging masonry of the houses and businesses, musty and reeking of animal waste.

  “Now, outside of spooky locations like this, tales were spun left and right over the years.”

  John interrupts. “Tales of the pce stinking like a sewer? This pce could use an air-freshener.”

  “We're here today to show you the castle once occupied by Prince Zar’va and his family. You may be familiar with his tale. With his murders. It’s been proven that this prince had a violent side, that he would do horrific things night after night. The prince’s greatest rival was Fodor Dresk, a Prussian painter and performer. A little while ter, Fodor and his entourage were considered to be the first victims in a long line of disappearances. After Fodor’s death, the prince disappeared. The story should’ve ended there but it didn’t, the dead were now piling up in the alleyways. But worst of all – no one could identify the new killers who were responsible for it, yet there were suspicions.”

  Vukosava walks ahead of the group, feeling the lens of the camera pressing into her back.

  She casts her hand with educational ease, taking in the scenery with some reluctant, performative zeal. “The case — if you can even call it that — had two main suspects: a member of the city watch by the name of Victor Alberius, and a troubled painter by the name of Charles Derhert. The reasonings for the involvement of Victor was based on prior misbehavior and acts of cruelty. He had a thing for people who wronged him and would keep a ledger of names.”

  “He wanted to get even?” Mark asks. “Man, this guy was a piece of shit.”

  “Whatever he was, the accusations did have weight, names written in his special little hate diary did line up with confirmed killings.” Vukosava continues in a brisk tone. “But Victor Alberius wasn’t a painter, the blood paintings in the alleyways - only one guy had that kind of talent. Charles was a disturbed man through and through, many of his buyers were unnerved when they entered his art space. Ciming that the eyes of the paintings would gleam in the dark and follow them.”

  Amber shakes her head. “That’s horrible, no wonder they didn’t want anything to do with him.”

  “We’ll be visiting these walls in question.” John windmills his arm, summoning the camera his way. Vukosava walks alongside him, nearing the wall that puts forward the notion of an artistic serial killer – there’s marks and scratches in the stone. A silhouette of a woman dancing with grace and joy, drawn with blood.

  “Now, before we jump right into our investigation, we got these goodies right here.”

  Mark chuckles. “What kind of goodies? Do you count the bugs as snacks?”

  “Unless you like chewing on pstic and foam.” John fires back quickly. He holds out cat balls, not little balls of yawn for a cat to tear the shit out of but a movement detector. Then there’s the music box that guards the entrance into the alleyway, a little-winding piano that’s got an infrared sensor and a spooky little tune that runs off when a ghost or spirit passes in front of it. “Don’t worry, dies and gentlemen, we will be doing the Estes method ter on. For now, we’ll see if anyone is around and kicking.”

  It doesn’t take long before they’re all set for the first conversation of the night.