"Always start your day with a fresh newspaper. I find it best to get the bulk of the day's gross mistruths out of the way early."
-A. Umaru
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Special Edition, 1892
BREAKING NEWS: A FALCON GROUNDED
This reporter is still stunned by the sudden closing of the Falconer Foods Factory that's arrival has seemingly ushered in a wellspring of exciting, strange events in our sleepy little slice of the Empire. Seemingly overnight, an array of officials from London swept in and shut the factory down due to what has only been described as "Several operational hazards that jeopardize the safety and well bring of the surrounding area and its citizens." When attempting to discover more in depth information on the subject, lips were sealed rather tightly.
Even more shocked were the employees, who suddenly found themselves out of work, but rewarded with "generous severance packages" that should sustain them until new employment can be found. And to think, all this startling business so close to the holidays! We here at the Dowager assure you that we will not rest until more is uncovered about these sudden developments.
Though, if one would allow a slight bit of editorializing, is this merely a growing pain of the Queen's Empire rushing too quickly into an ever-changing industrial age? Was the sudden influx of strange events, curious weather, and sudden strife some manner of omen? Our...relaxing home of Dirge Hill was a quiet, calm place before Falconer Foods raised its mesh gates and filled our sky with its black smog. Will its sudden departure clear up those clouds and allow us rare and golden rays of sun? Do we have another chance to retain the smallest shred of our Humanity without the grinding gears of industrialization churning our unique and flavorful community into bland, indistinguishable paste?
Time, of course, shall tell its tale.
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Early December Edition, 1892
IMPOSING GALE SWEEPS MIDLANDS
Anyone with a hat to lose has surely noticed the raging winds that have swept through our cozy little town this last week. This most recent violent weather anomaly should be nothing new in these strange times, and while there are far more destructive natural curiosities that could befall a place, this howling surge from the heavens hasn’t been without its brutal consequences.
Tragically, Dirge Hill’s own Grover Arverton suffered a catastrophic loss, as the majestic hay-bail on his farmstead (once lauded as the third tallest in all the Empire) was brutally toppled by the cutting windstorms that have recently rampaged through our beloved English Midlands. Between sobs of grief and crippling loss, Mister Arverton managed to observe, “Too beautiful a monument to stand, it was...a modern tower of Babel...”
Stiff upper lip, Mister Arverton. We here at the Dirge Hill Dowager solemnly grieve with you.
A ROCKY REUNION
In a rare happy ending, pilfered work of art “Bait for the Basilisk” was mysteriously returned to local artist Gedwin Bellner, whose own calloused hands chiseled each and every mortified line of expression in the haunting statue’s face. The macabre work of art was brazenly stolen only the prior week, but now resides with her befuddled creator.
“Strangest thing,” the astonished artist commented, “walked into my studio, and there she was, missing a finger and a tad bit vandalized, but otherwise none the worse for wear. The damage can be fixed quick enough, and my masterwork can be completed! To the good samaritan who returned her to me, you have my thanks!”
The conclusion of this story is suspiciously concurrent to the mysterious drop in crime that has recently swelled like a poison tide throughout the region. Local nefarious activity surged for weeks on end, only to seemingly evaporate, as if swept away by the violent winds that ravage the region.
Enter Chief Constable T. Northcott, who was all too eager to claim credit for the sudden serenity, stating boldly, “Just goes to show you what a good bout of serious Police work can produce, really. Whoever nicked that statue heard that old Chief Northcott was hot on the case and immediately returned it to rightful owner rather than earn my ire. There’s not a thieving band of hoodlums in the Empire that would want to tussle with a raging old lion like Dirge Hill’s vigilant Chief Constable, here!”
Yes, Chief Constable, of course. Long may “The Lion of Dirge Hill” watch over and protect us. Huzzah!
COMMUNITY SPOTLIGHT: MISTER FRANKLIN J. WEIRWOOD
This week, ace reporter Ruthie Blines was granted a sit-down interview with a most fascinating antique-collector (and newcomer to Dirge Hill) that is faithfully transcribed below:
RB: Mister Weirwood, what initially drew you and your astonishing collection of ancient oddities to Dirge Hill?
FW: Simple duty, Miss Blines. You see, I have made it my life’s work to catalogue the past and enlighten the less intellectually inclined of us about the fascinating events that have formed our world. I could discover no purer source of academic stagnation than what resides here in this rather...rural place.
RB: I...see. Well, you do bring with you an impressive assortment of treasures! I see that you’ve purchased a rather large storefront here in Melody Square. Will you make your collection open to the public?
FW: Those that seek to better themselves through historical learning are always welcome. It is, after all, the only way Humanity evolves. As Prometheus gifted the shadow-shrouded baboons of antiquity with precious flame, so shall I illuminate the confounding darkness plaguing my new neighbors. Anyone with genuine intellectual curiosity may arrange an appointment to bask in the golden rays of days gone by. This is acceptable.
RB: Exquisite! Tell me, what is this lovely piece, here?
FW: Don’t touch that!
RB: Oh, forgive me, Mister Weirwood. It is not often I am surrounded by such studious relics.
FW: That, my girl, is readily apparent.
RB: Do you have a favored piece of your esteemed collection?
FW: You may as well ask a parent to select a favored child. Each artifact I house here holds significance, an essence of eternity in each fractured tablet or fossilized skull fragment. They are the howling ghosts of antiquity, clawing up at us with dusty, skeletal fingers, writing the tale of their lives in the sands of history. We must but read the text to know the tale.
RB: What a vivid portrait you paint, Mister Weirwood!
FW: I prefer mosaics, actually.
RB: Mo who?
FW: Nevermind.
ADVERTISEMENT: WHERE THE ODDS & ENDS NEVER END!
Looking for a one-stop shop where you can pick up a set of hedge clippers AND only the finest, most dependable shoelaces? Seek out Audrey Barroway and her general store THE CLUTTERED PURSE, where your convenience is continually catered to! Within these four wondrous walls, you’ll be able to stockpile all manner of common delights, as well as indulge in some top notch conversation and local scintillating gossip current events with a most attentive proprietor.
So, what are you waiting for? Stop by the Cluttered Purse today! Conveniently located in the heart of Dirge Hill’s Melody Square, Miss Barroway just loaded up on a fresh supply of Falcon’s Finest, the delicious, affordable treat that has taken the tastebuds of the people by storm. Yum, yum, come try some!
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Late November Edition, 1892
DIRGE HILL DERBY DECIDED
It was truly a race for the ages at Trumpeter's Folly Racetrack this week, which saw Sir Gallop-had claim the title of Derby-winner in a stirring spectacle that had all in attendance on their feet throughout each and every lap. The Derby broke all previous attendance records, and one cannot help but wonder if the outcome would have differed had the race's previous favorite, Sweet Dreams, taken to the track.
Following up on the now retired mare, Sweet Dreams is reportedly enjoying her new home in Exeter, finding something of a new lease on life after her explosive exploits in the racing world came to an unexpected end. Long may she trot!
A STONE COLD THEFT
Local sculptor Gedwin Bellner was shocked to find his half-finished statue crassly abducted from his property earlier this week, the door to his studio having been brutally broken into and his most recent work of art perilously plundered.
When reached for comment, the saddened sculptor remarked, "It took me a half-month to chisel her two front teeth in just the right way. I call her, 'Bait for the Basilisk', a terrified woman made stone by a sinister gaze. Whatever brute stole her from me obviously has no respect for the arts."
CRIME WAVE!
This most recent debacle adds to an already impressive list of outrageous crimes that have terrorized Dirge Hill as of late. Rumors report that several of the local gangs in the area have somehow been united under one foul figurehead, and have turned their now-singular focus onto preying upon the residents of our fair home.
Who could it be that has managed to wrangle together the fractious trouble-makers in the area into one ubiquitous unit? We posed the question to Chief Constable T. Northcott, who imparted the following: "We got a massive increase in robberies, beatings, and now stolen statues? Would that technically be considered kidnapping?"
LETTERS FROM THE PUBLIC
We proudly present an assembly of letters addressed to our office from a variety of Dirge Hill's colorful residents below:
Anyone else see a carriage being lugged around by two invisible horses on Capstone Road the other day? Loud as blazes and kicking up all manner of smoke and dust!
-G. Arverton
To whoever stole my bicycle: I hope the Ferryman Fits return and you get a heaping case of it.
-Unsigned
If anyone has a spare quadromatric assembly relay laying about that I could borrow, I'd be most interested in correspondence. Many thanks.
-Dr. M. M. Meltrigger
My dearest Golden-Gaze, I'll be there soon to rekindle our endless love. Nothing on either side of the grave can keep us apart.
-Your Honeysuckle
Laurence, your Mother and I have not heard from you ever since you got that job at Falconer Foods. If you can read this, please send word. We are worried sick.
-Mum & Dad
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Early November Edition, 1892
WISP MYSTERY AT CEMETERY
Our offices were flooded with several reports of strange, blinding lights emanating from the grounds around Eternal Echo Cemetery, the final resting place for all us Dirge-dwellers. With the groundskeeper on indefinite hiatus after a particularly unfortunate bout of “Gravedigger Elbow,” it seems that the Cemetery grounds are left ripe for intrusion.
When pressed for comment, noble Chief Constable Thurmond Northcott stated with some bemusement, “I’ll put in an order for a pair of miniature handcuffs and have these mischievous little Wisps in custody as soon as they are forged.” After a long silence following his...joke, the Chief elaborated, “When strange lights start committing crimes, the Constabulary will investigate the matter further. Something tells me the dead affected won’t be woken from their sleep anytime soon.”
Constabulary professionalism aside, what stymies this reporter is who (or what) is responsible for the odd electrical display in the area? Suspicious sorts fear supernatural origin, but we here at the Dowager do not court such brash nonsense! Though, it does give one pause to wonder...
HAY-STORY IN THE MAKING
Lifetime fixture of Dirge Hill Grover Arverton has forever etched his name in the history books earlier this month, when the majestically skilled farmer had local officials measure the mountainous mound of hay the farmer has been meticulously stacking for the better part of the last four years. Officially recorded as the third tallest hay bale in the entirety of the British Empire, this Herculean deed will forever be remembered as an agricultural milestone. Who said nothing exciting ever happens in Dirge Hill?
When reached for comment after his triumphant feat, Mister Arverton (73) eloquently stated, “It’s a bloody high hay bale, that’s for sure.” Longfellow could not have stated it any better.
DERBY DEBACLE!
With the Dirge Hill scant days away at the time of this pressing, the race-world was shocked when newcomer favorite Sweet Dreams and her rising star Jockey Samuel Tollis were removed from entry. Tollis apparently has suffered a massive mental breakdown and has been reportedly committed to neighboring Ravensbourne Asylum for “A lengthy session of mental rest and relaxation.” Indeed, the racing world weeps for his loss, and this little episode showcases just what can occur when someone is so quickly shoved into the spotlight and gains overwhelming notoriety seemingly overnight. We wish Mister Tollis the very best in his recouperation.
Since the loss of her Jockey, it is reported that Sweet Dreams has become a shadow of her former self on the racetrack. It seems that, now separated from her trainer and rider, the poor girl’s lost all her delirious speed and furious moxy! Many puzzled onlookers at the Trumpeter’s Folly Racetrack feared the worse for the old girl, as without a rider and place at the derby, her prospects were looking grim, but our story has a happy ending, as visiting noble and enthusiast of all things equestrian Lord Edgar Wolfden displayed true charity when he purchased Sweet Dreams outright, promising to allow the now-retired Mare the chance to live out the rest of her days on one of his countless private stables in his native Exeter.
Every bit as modest as he is generous, the good Lord Wolfden offered no comment when contacted about his most recent purchase.
COMMUNITY SPOTLIGHT: MISTER LOWELL SPARLAND
We at the Dirge Hill Dowager are not only your loyal source of information and local gossip, but also a friend and neighbor to all residents in the area. And so, we showcase the colorful community of Dirge Hill in this latest installment of Communty Spotlight! Read on, dearest reader, and get to know just a bit about the reclusive (some would say mule-tempered) occupant of #12 Capstone for a rare (read: terse) sit-down interview conducted by our ace reporter, Miss Ruthie Blines:
RB: Mister Sparland, how long have you resided in Dirge Hill?
LS: Not long.
RB: And how do you fancy life here in this simple burg?
LS: It’s fine.
RB: What is your Profession, Mister Sparland?
LS: I’m retired.
RB: And what line of work did you retire from, exactly?
LS: (Long pause) I was a hunter.
RB: My, how exciting! What type of game did you hunt, Mister Sparland?
LS: The sporting kind.
RB: Mysterious! Tell me, Mister Sparland, are you married?
LS: No.
RB: Then the fair maidens of Dirge Hill can rest easy knowing they have a chance with such a fine gentleman!
LS: What’s that supposed to mean?
RB: Ahm...how do you prefer to spend your spare time, Mister Sparland?
LS: In my own company.
RB: I see! A real solitary thinker, eh?
LS: (Indistinguishable grumble)
RB: Who do you predict will win the Dirge Hill Derby, Mister Sparland? Do you follow the horses?
LS: What’s this, now?
RB: Not a race fan, I see. My, would you look at the time! It truly pains me to see our little interview come to an end, Mister Sparland. Thank you for your hospitality, and letting us into your...dwelling! In closing, is there anything you would like to say to the noble readers of the Dirge Hill Dowager?
LS: Yes. I have scant few qualms about shooting trespassers.
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Late October Edition, 1892
A STORM FOR THE AGES
The residents of Dirge Hill are recovering from a violent storm that raged through the area briefly earlier this week. The rotting relic that is Tinbarrel Tower was not even safe, being struck by an errant bolt of lightning and nearly collapsing in on itself as a result! Mild damage was reported throughout the area, but luckily, no one was seriously harmed as a result of this rather freakish meteorological event.
"I just can't figure it," Remarked longtime Dirge Hill resident Grover Arverton, whose farmstead was particularly touched by the rousing storm. "One minute, it's raining buckets, the next, calm as Christmas. During the worst of it, I even saw one of me cows get struck by lightning. Turned it to an ashen husk, it did, right before me eyes."
Make no mis-steak about it, we here at the Dirge Hill Dowager lend our most serious condolences to Mister Arverton and deeply moourn his loss. (Medium) Rarely has such a heart-wrenching story graced this Reporter's desk.
ADVERTISEMENT: GOOD WORKS, BETTER FOODS
Shall we not strive to better ourselves in all things? Is there not a natural process at work in this world, guided by the wings of our sovereign betters? At Falconer Foods, we believe that it is the duty of all peoples to give of themselves and contribute to the perfect cycle of life. The smallest of us shall nourish the greater, and thus comes order. Thus comes harmony in its truest sense.
Our most recent delectable canned delight, Falcon's Finest, is a potted meat product that blends only the freshest ingredients, as well as the utmost care and pride, in each protein-packed container. Every bit as affordable as it is delicious, we dare you to deny yourself a beak-full!
DREAM A SADDLE DREAM
Excitement builds daily as we get ever-nearer to the famed Dirge Hill Derby, where the finest specimens to ever set hoof on a racetrack will race for supremacy to the delight of a throng of cheering fans!
The talk of the racing world is the astounding newcomer who has seemingly burst from out of nowhere to become an odds-on favorite for the race. The gorgeous jet-black steed with a distinctive blood-red mane who is garnering all the attention this year is called Sweet Dreams, and promises to make this race historic. I know who I'm betting on come race-day!
NICKING THE PAST
A bizarre theft occurred earlier this week, when a shipment of ancient artifacts was brazenly hijacked from a caravan en-route to a historical museum.
Caravan Driver Milton Berrand gave us a few brief words about the curious incident: "They came from out of nowhere! A group of ruffians--one being rather large and frightening, and all of them led by some outrageously dressed woman in pink. Nearly drove me off the road, they did. The big one konked me on the head and knocked me out cold. When I awoke and checked my shipment, I found that an entire suit of armor was absconded with, as well as two antique longswords! My boss is gonna sack me, for sure!"
If any observant readers out there happen to stumble upon an armor clad individual wielding two longswords, please notify the nearest fire-breathing Dragon immediately.
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Early October Edition, 1892
EDITORIAL: WELCOME TO TOMORROW
Anyone with eyes to see has surely noticed the massive and imposing presence of the indomitable factory erected at the edge of our plucky little town. Many of us rejoice at the prospect of plentiful jobs at bountiful pay, but is that all that we crave in this life? Yes, a pocket full of Shillings and a better future is the hopeful birthright of all men, but at what cost does that lofty dream materialize?
Often times, I have heard Dirge Hill be spoken of in hushed, awed whispers as the last hold-out in an ever-changing, industrialized England. We were the last remnant of blissful soul in an automaton-assembly line of massive, maze-like warehouses and belching smokestacks. Our history is curious, yes, but our air is crisp and our hearts true! And now, does this coming tempest of technological advancement threaten to sweep all of that away?
OINK NO MORE
A hideous find was discovered the other morning near the famed center of Dirge Hill. A lone and rotting pig’s head(!) was stabbed onto the end of a jagged wooden fence-pike near the old Arverton Farmstead. Recent reports have seen the area a popular locale for local children in the throes of mischief and merrymaking.
We contacted esteemed Chief Constable Thurmond Northcott and asked for his professional opinion on the gruesome matter, “It’s them kids finding themselves a proper riot here in the middle of nowhere, is all. I’m sure of it!” A casual investigation of the area was later conducted, and no further clues produced. When asked if the rotted head would be confiscated for evidence, the good Chief Constable made no further comment.
ADVERTISEMENT: FEELING OUT OF TUNE?
We’ve all been there, friends. Sometimes, your pluck is just gone and the sizzle in your step is a fading ghost of the past. Whenever you need to recharge your coils and get back in the proper melody of things, take a trip to The Off-Note Tavern, run by your estimable host, Archibald “Archy” Owensby, whose impressive knowledge of spirits and lagers will set you right and proper in a major way.
This friendly drinking hall is a fixture in our curious little town, and is the first landmark those new to the area should visit to get the full flavor of what Dirge Hill has to offer. So, step in for a drink, a chat, and get back to your melody-making ways today!
LETTERS FROM THE PUBLIC
In this puzzling installment, our office received a bit of a strange correspondence from one of our industrious readers. This note came with explicit instruction to print the letter precisely as written (grammar be damned) and without correction. We judge not, and merely print what is presented (and paid for) below:
m.e.,
deCided to take a little jaunt overseas. have you joined me? i’m up for a bit of fun, as alwAys, and Prefer to Share the wealTh with old friends. it’s been a long bOat ride and, my, how my legs yearN for pulling (the left one, particularly). if you’re up for it, we should catch up and hang out. i'm thinking of making my solo act a partnership.
let’s see what’s in the cards, shall we?
-f. TEller
(The following was also enclosed)
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