The Northwater Anomaly

Present And Unaccounted For

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Sketched On The Fly

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Baine Leopold

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Verge Hamlet

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The Nugatory Gazetteer

The following is an excerpt from The Nugatory Gazetteer, which was to be the first in a series of directories intended to shine a spotlight on aspects of overlooked American geography. It was contrived by a group of high-school graduates who had spent their school years too “distracted” to navigate college preparation. They had looked forward to a slack-off Summer, then a gap year before kicking off college careers where they would major in subjects such as Urban Decrosion; Forensics Focusing On Missing Persons Last Seen Lost In A Cemetery; Manmade Body-of-Water Design; Fallen-Angel Grudges; Ambiguous Subtext; Shade; Selective Ouija-Boarding; and Creative Math. A little way into their manufactured downtime, however, they started feeling that they should appear busy as they observed their families orchestrate the most sadistic ways to throw them to a rapacious society.

With The Nugatory Gazetteer, the collaborators offered a modest volume highlighting Ohio’s tiniest bits. They embarked on an aggressive guerilla-marketing campaign, believing that a pattern of confrontation and browbeating would move product and slingshot them into the publishing world.

Instead, they vanished. Random speculation suggests that they perished one-by-one, but some attention-seekers argue that a number of them could have fallen off the radar in clusters. One theory that will not go away is that the Gazetteer brain trust were subject to some sort of twisted wanderlust that involved taking an experimental approach to Nature’s challenges, and probably got eaten by something. Further, a separate conspiracy theory posits that go-to person of interest, Northwater local, unnerving presence, and self-anointed historical researcher Baine Leopold was not only the sole survivor of whatever caused the group’s fate but may have triggered the events that sent them on a one-way trip to Nowheresville.

The Nugatory Gazetteer sold out of its only run, is out of print and is all but forgotten, so the purported claims within the work remain undisputed.

Verge Hamlet:

One hardly can reflect on custom-crafted settlements without considering Verge Hamlet, Ohio. Conjured in the shadow of the Second Industrial Revolution, it sprung from the minds of the steampunk set—the original gritty lot of yore, not the adorkable pop-culture bunch who we all know and who some love today.

Developed as a convenience on a handy slab of land, the burg bonded a southeast slice of Northwater to the Cleveland border. Factories and plants arose, lonesome alphas in the newborn community’s hierarchy. When the area’s working men weren’t shaving years off their lives striving to keep up with the demands of their overseers, they were raising homesteads out of flat earth like witches sourcing thin air to satisfy their whims. Though the routine of their labors afforded them a certain sense of contentment, they couldn’t feel the same about their houses. They yearned for everyday luxuries that they would consider blessings until the novelty wore off.

Drained by their toils and lacking the will to craft creature comforts on their own time, they submitted to the draw of retail. Setting up an emporium and pressing one of their own into service as a merchant sealed them into a hive of their own making. Self-sufficiency, though, only brought boredom. Their options for wanton diversion was limited to one venue, some alleys and whatever gutters they could wallow in. They ran amok until they wound down and began to wonder whether they could suss out better debauchery if they expanded their reach.

Cleveland seemed the obvious choice for a hang, but the burgeoning city overwhelmed their microcosmic sensibilities. So Northwater it was. The instant the Verge Hamletarians rumbled over the border and commenced carrying on, certain community influencers assumed a defensive position and closed ranks. When they broke out of their clutch, they seized a tract of Verge Hamlet land that wasn’t for sale and plotted a thing that they believed would stanch the flow of rabble.

Although the Delano clan flaunted their might in Northwater, they had yet to elbow their way into other communities. Storming Verge Hamlet would be a fresh undertaking, but they soon realized that aggression was transferrable. They were anything but coy about trampling the boundary and establishing a presence that would punctuate every formidable act they had committed up to that point.

Horatio Pucker

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Horatio Pucker exceeded the requirements necessary to be considered a model citizen in Verge Hamlet. After some early work that included exposing children to the most Gothic aspects of the grayscale 19^thCentury and experimenting with antics that came to be associated with the unfortunate side of Hallowe’en, he emerged as uptight, judgmental and outspoken. Unflinchingly confrontational, he earned notoriety for manufacturing opportunities to upbraid whippersnappers, give oafs what-for, and knock louts down a peg or two. After an alarming number of public episodes, his curdling nature bubbled up from his inner being to ooze all over his face. He expressed condemnation handily and usually in the form of the hairy eyeball.

He began intimidating folks to the point where he was tacitly challenging them for merely existing. His antisocial folly sparked a current of resentment. Ears ever to the ground trying to suss out peak scandal, the titans of local news mongering at Canard debated whether Horatio could be an asset. Since he had so much in common with them, they rationalized, he might be worth a leap of faith. So they offered him a casual reporting gig. They felt their broadsheet had stagnated, and supposed even hard facts could be dynamic when infused with opinionated aggression. Tamed by a sense of purpose that narrowed his focus (part of which was on getting paid), Horatio more or less complied with the guidelines that the publishers of Canard laid out for him. On his path to becoming a marginally productive member of society, Horatio mustered the discipline to keep a journal of his observations so he could weave all the burrs in his saddle and the thorns in his side into insight for the ages. See below for an excerpt, whereby he was crabbing about the construction of Verge Hamlet’s most enduring travesty, The Delano Cluster. The text of his subsequent Canardarticle follows, along with the corpse of the piece that appeared in print in May of 1895.

Horatio Pucker expressed his first stirrings of dread privately.

An Unstoppable Effrontery

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From Verge Hamlet's broadsheet, Canard (May 1895):

Trouble From The Ground Up: Verge Hamlet’s Contemptible Gash

By Horatio Pucker, CanardJudgementarian

The notorious Delano clan have dived off their pedestal of arrogated privilege to despoil Verge Hamlet. Their latest act of belligerence finds them seizing a plot that was not even for sale, and gouging the earth to mount who knows what kind of monstrosity. For those whom may be inexplicably unfamiliar, the Delanos are a mob of goons who would have us believe that they are a clever lot of moguls who have achieved an embarrassment of riches with some kind of straight-shooting manner and above-board methodology. To the contrary, however, they are common racketeers whose truculence is unmatched in the region. If our attempts to settle The Western Reserve are thrown back to the most savage age of The Wild American West, the Delano syndicate will be to blame.

Those in the know—or, more likely, those who know better— remain mum, thus details about the architectural outrage are impossible to come by. We are certain beyond the shadow of a doubt, though, that, one way or another, it will be a carbuncle on our landscape and bring to pass the downfall of our good name.

Reporter Horatio Pucker recalls Verge Hamlet pre-intrusion

The Delano Cluster: A Monument to Disgrace

The Delano Cluster: The Tour

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Not long after the settling of Verge Hamlet, its occupants started taking notice of who was living amongst them. After several rounds of casual side-eyeing, they started full-on looking at each other in disbelief. Following some boil-overs, some took it upon themselves to suggest who the town was and was not big enough for. Just when it felt as though the very air could have shattered from tension and folks began pushing for an end to the madness, the pacifists stepped up as they were the only ones who could still think clearly. They organized a resistance movement they hoped would alleviate some of the friction that was brewing. Having brought together a loose underground movement, they considered that an affirmative form of expression might be in the best interest of the common good. So they launched a publication that would be crowdsourced. Anyone could contribute news, commentary or announcements that might benefit the community. They would publish as frequently as possible, budget permitting. It happened that each issue came out quarterly on average. The first few releases were airy, entertaining and encouraging. They took some of the bite out of daily life. However, a few issues in, the project imploded. Artwork turned to editorial cartoons and other forms of japery, and helpful hints and informative tidbits were eclipsed by gossip, shade and other strains of backstabbing. The original name of the periodical has been disdained and relegated to the underbelly of local lore. Thanks to a steep downgrade in the once appreciated social asset, the last known title was Deprecation Quarterly.

The page displayed here, from October 1895, is the only known fragment of Deprecation Quarterly that has survived the ado in the age since its circulation. The image comes courtesy of the descendants of Zebulon Hobart, one of the original settlers of Verge Hamlet. The piece, cobbled together into an editorial from hearsay and unattributed written remarks, obsesses on the construction of—then, a tour of!—an intrusion that was mockingly nicknamed “The Delano Cluster”.

Text of the attached article:

The unsettling force derisively dubbed The Delano Cluster doesn’t invite one in so much as it dares one ever to be seen again or reintegrate into society after entering. Despite the structure being held aloft by rumor and whisperings instead of by the embrace of the community, occupancy has swelled if only because the Delanos visited themselves upon those beholden to them to exact lease agreements. Nevertheless, the instant they boasted of the full house they forged, and their painstakingly-curated news of a giant box full of iniquity oozed into the streets, the rabble streamed into the abyss. With that, the venues in the complex earned a reputation and commerce flickered to life.

The Cluster’s vestibule feels like a vortex that casts immediate feelings of disorientation, and a potentially irreversible disengagement from everyday life. Though it seems a labyrinth of tight corners and nearly uninhabitable orifices crammed at odd angles, most who go forth into the building find their way around with little distress. They know what lays before them and it motivates them.

The main draw is a saloon that is essentially an open-air apothecary. Patrons arrive with the same hopes and dreams that everyone takes into a public house. They exit with a revamped reality that lasts at least as long as their tour of the rest of the building.

The arcade is designed so that the more one roams, the deeper he shall be ensnared. Every time a visitor fancies he has a clear shot at the exit, he is drawn into more turpitude.

The gambling hall crackles with tension generated by card-based free-for-alls and other games of chance whose stakes escalate to unreasonable levels within an astonishingly brief period. Even the corner that the womenfolk took over to carve out a Bingo spot hummed with competition for token prizes such as hair ribbons, hat pins, combs, button hooks and Tijuana bibles. Beyond the wonderland of table games lays more opportunity for boozing and gambling underscored by the joys of loafing and escapism. The billiards parlor is essentially the waiting room for the dance hall, a seamy hole in the wall lousy with taxi dancers who entertain to excess between sets of Burlesque numbers that go up more frequently than any freakshow. For patrons who long to spend quality time with their imaginations, Cluster administration has set up a peep-show gallery that has raked in enough filthy lucre to allow an upgrade to a considerably naughty Nickelodeon Auditorium. Strategically positioned so as to be out in the open, yet alluring only to those meant to see it, is a knot of chambers that has earned the vulgar appellation “The Spirit Grotto.” This den of mysterious goings-on houses practitioners of society’s most defiant Heresies. Fueled around the clock by Palmists, Tarot Readers, Scryers, Psychics, Mediums, and Spirit Photographers, it burns like a beacon summoning the most shattered and gullible.

The drove are captivated making excess their new normal. They are giddy until their remorse creeps over them, radiating from their core a slow, singeing burn that escalates to a sensation not unlike the sting of a sharp slap. Nevertheless, while they idle waiting for their feelings of foolishness to catch up with them, they exhibit no trace of qualm as they fortify Verge Hamlet and the Delano mob with a cinderblock-strong wall of money.

Image courtesy of the family of of Zebulon Hobart, Verge Hamlet settler

Banner and headline from Deprecation Quarterly (October 1895)

because someone put too much effort into its design for it to go unnoticed

The Peerless

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Verge Hamlet’s most distinctive citizens were a set whose education was rumored to have extended to eighth grade. Technically, some only stuck their heads in the schoolhouse door on Day 1 and never went back. But Verge Hamletarians took validation where they could get it. While the smattering of scholars never formally organized, nobody could think about one of them without associating the others, so they were branded “The Peerless”. Even with their limited vocabulary, sometimes their fragmented conversations snowballed and they stumbled into collaboration. When they began to notice that their numbers weren’t increasing, they realized that it might be keen to leave something behind to prove that they existed. Indeed, The Peerless were the closest thing Verge Hamlet had to credible legend, but still they sensed when to err on the side of caution. So they leveraged the presumed mass extinction of the The Nugatory Gazetteer publishers. Instead of simply picking up where the co-op left off and seamlessly completing that lot’s work, they were compelled to put their own spin on it. The project would memorialize locals of noteworthy character whose deeds might otherwise be eclipsed by anything anyone else did ever, thereby leaving them relegated to a smear on the undercarriage of history’s annals.

Although the gang managed to tackle the complexities of setting a goal, they were stumped as to how to follow through. Then, during one of their tonic-infused chats, someone suggested that they should burden the public with driving the book to press. In their limited capacity to research, compose, edit or carry out any other aspects of producing a publication, if they could rally volunteers to slog through the excruciating minutiae necessary for completion, they might be spared a legacy of stoogery. Further, if their scheme succeeded, they could declare the book to be “of the people”. Whether or not they realized the value of the latter as a marketing hook is a mystery for the ages.

As anyone who has ever embarked on any creative venture would attest, the fun is in the naming. Choosing a title out of thin air is among the most counterproductive of all time-wasting procrastinations, but yields the strongest sense of meaningless accomplishment. The Peerless nodded to this tradition by calling their anticipated chronicle Hearsay From Folks Who Claim That They Was There Or Claim To Know Someone Who Said That They Was There. It signaled that the intent of the work would be to capture purported eyewitness or secondhand accounts of disgraceful conduct that scarred reminiscences of days gone by.

Since the premature title that they cobbled together contained more words than The Peerless had ever seen in one place at the same time, the team believed themselves to be unstoppable. Their next task would be to get the word out about submissions. In their estimation, the posting of flyers was the most efficient method of mass communication. Unfortunately, the hopefuls never took into account the literacy levels of the community that they meant to entice for crowdsourcing purposes. While the Verge Hamletarians were captivated by the design and the air of sparkling pomp that the handbills lent to the burg, nobody cold grasp what The Peerless was asking of them.

Somehow, though, before the dust of confoundment and degradation settled, one earnest contribution found its way to The Peerless. They assigned value to it—cherished it, truth be told—and handled it in the spirit in which it was given. Hastily typed up, but never fact-checked (so as to not dilute the earnestness), it’s now preserved in Northwater’s Verge Hamlet archives. A simple keyword search along the lines of “crotchety neurotics native to America’s northerly coast” or “humorless mummies, spoilsports and other scallywags of America’s northerly coast” is all it takes to unleash the magic of this particular narrative.

The Peerless' sincere but ineffectual flier

A hastily typed submission in response the The Peerless' call for help
"finishing [their] assinment" (sic). (Page 1 of 3)

The sense of urgency around this submission remains inexplicable
(Page 2 of 3)

(Page 3 of 3)
The full text of this document appears in the next post

Aggravated Rule

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Phineas Monocle, Verge Hamlet’s mayor, was devoted to exterminating joy. Its source, conventional or otherwise, didn’t matter. He wouldn’t rest until every thing that came into contact with his grim manner was airless and saturated gray. He was a tiny emperor in a land that had had its fill of him. So the timing of The Delano Cluster build was ideal for Phineas. He was like a child who got a toy that he wanted for no reason other than to destroy it.

Though the deviates who frequented the complex indulged to excess, their debauchery wasn’t unlawful. This was a technicality that should have foiled the mayor. Instead he took it as a personal challenge, exhilarated that he could conjure up a Cross to bear. Verge Hamlet’s Justices of the Peace (a slave catcher who, somehow, considered himself semi-retired and his feeble-minded dog) refused to validate his arguments that the property was a nuisance. This vexed Phineas no end. During alternating bouts of antagonism-related lightheadedness and blackouts, he received inspiration and ideations. Bolstered by the force of a morality ordinance that everyone believed was a prank, he fabricated a vulnerability that he could placate himself with. He assigned an infraction and leaned into it. In his opinion, there was no place for the impiety of Spiritualist profanity in Verge Hamlet.

In this, his time of manufactured tribulation, Phineas Monocle insisted that he had the support of the clergy. He was confident in his delusion, but selling it to the town would require some fancy talk.

Phineas made a spectacle of his attendance at weekly church services, and drooled his claims of Earthbound sainthood and unparalleled godliness into every ear he could latch onto. He reckoned that if the exemplary behavior that he carried out for the benefit of eyewitnesses placed him in God’s good graces, The Lord’s representatives on Earth should accept his every divinity-driven judgment call without question.Behind the scenes, though, chicanery was afoot. Verge Hamlet’s community leader cornered each man of the cloth and told them he knew what they were up to. The vague nature of Phineas’ claims combined with the powerful forces of isolation and stealth created weighty words that bore down on burdened minds. All of the holy men who were subjected to his mutterings were already saturated with the shame of Original Sin. A few dwelled upon their willful transgressions and began to second-guess their adroitness at locking down their secrets. Since the dread of creeping doubt left some wondering whether they were one well-placed whisper away from professional downfall and personal scandal, the consecrated souls of the village publicly backed their secular authority figure. The hatred in their hearts, though—contempt that they would never acknowledge as an affront against the Heavens—incited them to craft insurmountable barriers for Phineas and his cause. So, further wizened by the effects of the resistance, Phineas went on the warpath and drew up a Writ of Eminent Domain. By the close of business on the day that he filed it, custody of The Delano Cluster had transferred to Verge Hamlet and skidded directly into the clutches of Mayor Monocle. It was life-changing for him, and for Cluster tenants and the dues-paying patrons of their enterprises. Business owners were subject to a cessation order that abruptly halted their revenues. Burgomeister Phineas, however, stopped short of crowning himself Kaiser in celebration of his coup. He spent the remainder of his days bloviating about how he upgraded Verge Hamlet by re-inventing the face of commerce. Spaces that had been dedicated to the pursuit of harmless fun were converted into abominations such as a chapel, library, reading room, and the administrative headquarters of the local arms of the Temperance and anti-Suffragette movements.

Unfortunately for Phineas’ attempted legacy, but to the great relief of those who might have suffered its effects, his deeds only made the Cluster more formidable as the years went by. It was steadfast in maintaining its status as a pox by perpetually re-creating itself and reaffirming its resistance to obliteration. Not only did Verge Hamlet’s upstarts lay claim to its innards to sow discord but, somehow, managed to pick at its scabbed reputation until they exposed a launch pad for new generations of depravity. As the 20th Century wore on through societal upheaval of every strain, the entrepreneurs and radicals who infested The Delano Cluster barricaded themselves behind salons and cabals, dissecting and supporting or railing against matters such as daily bathing and casual pube-trimming; women wearing trousers and/or smoking in public; whether incorporating purple into home design was worth the risk of lunacy; how temperamental was too temperamental; whether smiling was for buffoons; the audacity of dime-novel cover-model agencies; and whether the underground press’smugness would be its downfall.

Once this particular clot of northeast Ohio moved past its unease over adolescent libertines, pool halls, cubebs and glimpses of stockings, the path was clear for some grown-ass commerce. By post-midcentury, the complex was a hive of quirky small businesses that defined the neighborhood’s vibe. The Cluster came alive with the likes of bakeries, bookstores, bars, publishing houses and even a museum. Each establishment was infused with the instability of its founders, and so was more blight upon the community than the backbone of it. The air was lousy with personality and character, luring if not the best and the brightest, the most textured and fascinating.

The dark side of lure, though, was what it held down. Vilis Delano, a by-product of the region’s bad old days, orbited The Delano Cluster, his architectural namesake, eager to break his vigilant silence.

Phineas Monocle's church and public-relations base

Phineas Monocle's Writ of Eminent Domain, displaying The Official Seal of Verge Hamlet, Ohio.
"...we hereby seize...The Delano Cluster so we may convert it from a den of Spiritualistic practices and sundry Acts of Dark Nature and other Heresies..."
Latin: "Don't get too attached."

The Anti-Mass Hallucination League

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Northwater townies were knocked off their element by The Northwater Anomaly. Everybody saw it. It shimmered in their peripheries, but vanished by the time they turned to look at it full on. They all needed to talk about it. Rather than be judged and branded by their peers, though, they suffered their doubt and bore their secrets alone together. Their deliverance was in knowing that, amongst themselves, there was a way to broach anything. By simply choosing their moment and finding the perfect balance of browbeating and manipulation, they could compel anyone to talk.

Brooding loner and agitated headcase Baine Leopold was aces at this manner of puppetry. It was the superpower that had the potential to make him less irrelevant if not financially comfortable. His defining quality was that he was persona non grata. Little more than a shadow or a reflection who one day peeled himself off of his backdrop, draped himself in clothes and fell in with the crowd, he was adept at leveraging his Invisible Nothing status. Stock still, like a squirrel who feels that if they don’t move no one can see them, he would take in the sights, sounds and nuances of his environment at any given moment and leech what he needed out of it. Then, in proximity to his target, at a bus stop or in line at a check-cashing operation for instance, he would make his presence known. He was a natural at positioning himself so anyone just close enough would get the willies. When they turned around to see what was making their hairs stand on end, their gaze would slam directly into piercing eye contact. At that point, he would make some droll remark that the other person couldn’t not respond to.

Sometimes giving credit where credit is due isn’t as easy as it sounds. In all fairness, though, Baine Leopold’s disconcerting way was what jumpstarted the town-wide conversation about The Northwater Anomaly. Mumbled admissions turned to check-ins with others, then a ripple of relief that culminated in a light, if stale, breeze comprised of exhaled breath.

As the Northwaterites spoke more freely, though no less easily, about the Anomaly, its presence became more bold. Still visually elusive, some of its mirage-like characteristics fell away. Likewise, as it stabilized, discussions about it gradually escalated from fancy to speculation. The chatter dissolved barriers, and soon a casual investigative brigade formed to rationalize it.

Sundry documentation marginally related to the Anomaly is rumored to be scattered throughout Northwater and, perhaps, beyond. Though no official file clarifying its origin or purpose is known to exist, purported evidence put forth by therapists turned full-time defendants, cagey advice columnists, stressed-out yogis, and twitches of every stripe continue to surface with no end in sight. Some of the self-appointed sleuths who have insinuated themselves into the task force have recorded statements from motley sources regarding the role of one Vilis Delano in the Anomaly’s manifestation. They suspected that Vilis, a remnant of the family responsible for the despised The Delano Cluster, during his attempt at reforming his clan’s architectural transgression, could have stirred up something that somehow factored into to the Anomaly’s presence.

The random and unverified parties who contributed to this brief weren’t known to have taken oath. Further, as far as anyone knows, no one has fact-checked their claims. Like other Anomaly-related accounts, it remains classified a work in progress.

The Delano Clan: Still Turning The Knife

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Vilis Delano

The Official Seal of Northwater