Assorted grunts and groans fill the alleyway. The raccoons in the trash cans scatter. But the citizens have no time to check their bumps and bruises — quickly, the healthiest citizens (those that were on top so that their friends broke their falls, no doubt) are pulling the others to their feet.
“Come on, come on!” they shout. “We have to get to Town Hall before Miss Bloom brings those memories to Lewis Carroll —
When the citizens arrive at Town Hall, the sun has not yet risen; the city is filled with a purple, dusky haze. In this light, everything so quiet and so simple, it’s hard not to think about everything there is to love about Indieville:
Its diverse population.
Everyone’s love for one another.
The adventure — and yes, even the danger.
The kick-ass local food.
It would
not all come to ruin thanks to one
bitch-ass skeleton! A djinn kicks down the front door to the Town Hall building — a quite dramatic move that, surprisingly, falls flat. It’s quiet and empty in the lobby. The citizens exchange looks as they head for the Mayor’s office. Right outside the door, they pause — is that…
is that the sound of… muffled yelling? “In here,” a lamia says cautiously, pointing to the janitor’s closet. After mouthing
one, two, THREE — they break down that door as well!
Inside is Ex-Mayor Moncraine, bound and gagged with their own ugly ties. Quickly, the bindings are pulled off — but Merry Moncraine doesn’t get up. Instead, they stay on the floor, trembling.
“Oh, hello, fellows!” they say. “What a lovely coinci —
You have to stop her! She’s gone for the — sorry, friends, don’t know what came over me there, ha ha! As I was saying —
It’s Shoggoth! It’s Shogg — As I was
saying —” Then they clamped their own tentacles over their mouth and wouldn’t say another word.
The citizens exchanged glances. “Sooo…,” said someone, “
it’s pretty clear that they’re under some sort of spell or possession, right? I’m not the only one getting that vibe?”
The lamia shakes her head grimly. “Unfortunately not.”
“Well, we can’t just
leave them here… somebody pick ’em up and bring ’em with!”
A yeti throws Moncraine over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and they continue on their way.
The Mayor’s office is…!
Empty.
“Hm,” says a citizen. There’s a yelp and a thump as the yeti drops Moncraine onto the carpet.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” argues the djinn. “The office was locked from the inside — that’s why we had to break down the door!”
(The djinn, who quite enjoys breaking down doors, got quite a kick out of that.)
The citizens pinch their foreheads, close their eyes, and take deep breaths. “Alright…,” a citizen replies, “alright, there
has to be some clue around here! Where could Mayor Bloom have go—”
KER-CHUUUUNK. The citizens turn around. Merry Moncraine is standing by the bookshelf, looking pleasantly befuddled —
and a huge tunnel has opened up in the wall. Moncraine points. “I helped!” they say.
The citizens glance at each other before descending into the darkness!
One thing is obvious: this tunnel was definitely once meant to lead somewhere different. But clearly, work has been done, carving a
new path into the stone. As you follow it under the town, you get a sense that you know exactly where it’s heading: Lewis Carroll’s crypt.
The hunch seems to be accurate. Before long, the secret passage empties out into
the underground cavern from the last incident with the hooded figures. The citizens begin to rush toward the entrance to the crypt—
“Oh,
no,” says a witch.
Sure enough, the crypt is empty.
Lewis Carroll is gone—presumably with all of his memories and, presumably, once again hell-bent on releasing torment upon the cryptid population with his platoon of hooded cryptid-haters. Nausea and despair turns your stomach.
“I—I probably shouldn’t go in there.”
The citizens turn. Ex-Mayor Moncraine hovers at the entrance to the crypt, looking hesitant.
“Oh, no you don’t,” a citizen says harshly. “Clearly you’re a part of this somehow. Come tell us if you notice any clues.”
But Moncraine is edging away. “No—no, really, I shouldn’t, you know what, I’ll just meet you back at Town—
hurry! Someone grab me! Don’t let me get away, I’m trying to hel—o-oh, dearie me, not sure what came over me, I’ll just be waiting over he—
no, I won’t! Argh!” And with a sudden movement, Moncraine hurls themself past the threshold of the crypt—
—and, almost immediately, collapses.
The citizens rush to the ex-mayor’s side! They are staring up at the stalactites, a dizzy look in their eyes.
“I did it,” they breathe. “God,
finally. I’m free!”
The citizens stare.
“Are you—” someone says. “Do you have a
British accent?!” Moncraine slowly begins to sit up, adjusting their tie. “For the last half century,” they say gravely, “I have been under a dastardly spell.” (Their whole demeanor has changed! Their voice has dropped half an octave, and suddenly they seem much older, much more mature.) “A spell set by none other than my assistant, Miss Bloom herself! Truly, I should have expected foul play ever since she began
signing all of my documents behind my back… but by the time I challenged her, it was too late. She couldn’t get rid of me; I was a beloved public figure. So instead she set a spell on me so that I would be forced to…” They shudder.
“Help them.”
The citizens look at each other, feeling ill. “Help who, Mr. Moncraine?” one of them asks gently.
Moncraine fixes them all with a grim look. “The hooded figures. She was the top dog—Valerie Bloom,
Lewis Carroll’s second-in-command all along. The one they call
the Voice... ...and I know where she and Lewis Carroll will have gone.”

The Wildwoods are particularly dark today. Even at high noon, the deepest parts of the Wildwoods are dim from the massive trees blocking out the light. Upon the forest floor lie trees of yesteryear, fallen in storms long forgotten. Craning your head back, only a few fragments of blue sky remain—like scattered pieces of a cosmic jigsaw puzzle. Moncraine leads the way, his posture straight and tall.
The unnatural, choking mist that swirls and sprawls on the forest floor is the first thing that speaks of a strange sort of… wrongness. The sickly white substance seems to possess liquid properties, maggotlike and undulating.
“Now that
the dais has been activated,” Moncraine whispers, “and Miss Bloom has freed Carroll… there’s nothing stopping him from summoning Shoggoth.”
“Except us,” says a determined faerie.
Moncraine smiles—nods. “Except us.”
But they look nervous.
Eventually they lead the citizens to the top of a clearing, pressing a tentacled finger to their mouth. As silently as possible, the citizens conceal themselves behind trees and bushes to peer down into the small valley.
The hooded figures are everywhere. They stand in a semicircle, where the grass has turned black and dead and brittle, looking up at Skeleton Lewis Carroll, who is… who is…
Oh,
no.
Carroll raises his arms and begins to chant. “It’s too late,” says Mayor Moncraine. They’re pale as a sheet. “The ceremony has already begun. There’s nothing we can do!”

The light in the clearing has begun to seep away. The fog is turning black. Moncraine grabs the arm of the nearest citizen. “We have to go—run! Run, before it’s too late!”

But the citizens aren’t running. “We can’t just—
go,” a werewolf says, appalled. “This is our home. And our families!”
“I’m sorry,” says Moncraine gently. “There’s nothing to be done! I’ve devoted my life to trying to protect Indieville… if you stay and fight, you’ll die.”
“And if we run?” someone challenges. “Do we have a shot?”
Moncraine shifts uncomfortably.
The citizens look at each other—and looking into each others’ eyes… they begin to remember.
They remember how beautiful Indieville is in the mornings—when birds and harpies are singing, and the sun is filtering through the trees…
They remember the gorgeous sights down by the lake, when the sunset is hitting it just right…
...or how the town looks when crusted in snow, shining white, as if wrapped in a silk blanket…
They reminisce about the strange and beautiful creatures here, the new things that you learn every day just by being in close proximity to so many wonderful, different kinds of people…
They think about how it feels to wake up every morning here in Indieville, Indiana, the sun pouring through the window, having no ideas about the adventures that each day will hold…

But no. That’s not
all the citizens remember. More than that… more than the sights, the sounds, the kindness that pervades every inch of Indieville… they remember their
friends. They remember the good times. They remember the bad times! They remember the tears, the laughter, the whispering, the secrets, the giggles, the sweetness and the sorrow… they remember the
wholesomeness, and how it embodies everything Indieville stands for, and they know one thing for sure:
They can’t just run away. “No,” says a citizen, and then another citizen, and then another—even as the ground begins to quake, and Carroll is getting bigger and bigger, and heinous laughter begins to rise from the sea of hooded figures. “No! We won’t leave!”
Moncraine looks into their eyes. They see the determination there. The spirit—the
fire to protect the people that they all love. And Moncraine sighs… and smiles.
“Alright,” he says. “Then I guess it’s game time.”



As it stands now, there appears to be three possible routes of action:
► Run
► Fight
► Love
Running can only last so long—who can outrun an elder god? Fighting is a possibility—there are some incredibly strong citizens in Indieville whose stats are off the charts. As for that last one…
The citizens have defeated the hooded figures’ magic once before—and it was done with love. Lewis Carroll and his society of hooded figures are fueled by hate—the hatred of cryptids and magic. Or, that is, the
fear of them. But
that doesn’t have to be the case. The only way that the citizens broke free of the hooded figures’ curse last time is through love. So is it possible that
gifts—the gift of love—could save the day? For those who choose to love… who choose to rely on the foundation of empathy and care that built Indieville, the foundation that carried it through for so many centuries and has never failed it… there’s only way to find out.


The dust settles as light returns to the sky... Citizens cough, crawling from beneath debris and fallen trees. The ground has split for miles, ruining buildings, pulling up chasms. Throughout the entire summoning, the depths of the earth had shaken, the sun disappearing...
...but as everything calms, Indieville appears to be ultimately...
...okay.
The closer that Shoggoth came to the town, the more that a strange... pink light enveloped the buildings and the people. In fact, the closer and closer that the elder god came, the stronger the light became, until it was a blinding pink glow. It was the citizens'
love for each other -- love and care more powerful than any spell or charm -- so powerful, in fact, that it became its own ward of protection.
Indieville has stood the test of time for over 200 years. No puny elder god was about to stop that. Now, with Shoggoth evaporated, disappeared, nowhere to be seen, the glow hasn't quite seemed to disappear, however. Citizens look themselves over, awed and confused as they give off faint shimmers of light like a pastel glow stick.
Eventually... slowly... the citizens gather back in Town Square. Ex-Mayor Moncraine is in the area, helping up elderly citizens, passing out water, and letting smaller citizens like fairies and woodland creatures perch on their shoulders. Suddenly, they seem to notice the citizens gathering in the area. The ex-mayor looks left, then right, and then -- as if realizing that nobody else is about to take charge -- seems to make a decision. They step up onto the fountain in the middle of the square.
"Alright, everyone," they say -- and as their eyes scan over the crowd, they seem to dampen with emotion. Then it passes -- and with a deep breath and a proud smile, they say,
"We've got a lot of work to do."
In the next seven days, Mayor Bloom never resurfaces, nor do the other hooded figures -- and the pink glow doesn't subside, either. Merry Moncraine takes a natural leadership role in the ensuing rebuilding, which ends up being a short and rather delightful process. Thanks to magic, there's very little heavy lifting to do -- and besides, the library needed some remodeling anyway! Those who can't work made treats for the town to share, passing around cookies and grilling hamburgers and stirring up lemonade, and frankly the rebuilding would've taken three days
less if everyone didn't keep getting distracted with water balloon fights and pranks and games of tag.
Nevertheless, after the town is back in working order,
Moncraine has a more serious announcement to make. "Citizens of Indieville," they say
(in that rolling British accent that just NO ONE is used to yet), "you have all gone through...
so much in the last year. From that first day at the beach when some of you were trapped beneath the ice, I could see that it was the beginning of something terrible, but... I couldn't do anything to help you. In fact, in some cases, I made it worse.
"As you all know, I was put under a curse several decades ago. I should have known that the root beer float was spiked -- Miss Bloom
never made me floats -- but... I had a crush on her, and so I didn't suspect anything. By the time the magic took hold, it was too late. The Lewis Carroll Society controlled me for...
so many years, making me inept and useless while Miss Bloom ran the show. And I was too weak to fight back except for in some specific moments. For that, I am so sorry.
"But now, I think, is the time to start talking about the future of this town. We have no mayor, and it's time to make some hard decisions.
"I know that we had an election recently. It was, of course, ruined by the hooded figures, but there was a vote either way. We can't know the results without a recount, but I might ask..."
At this, the ex-mayor breaks off. They cough, fiddling with their tie, an unusual break in the charming and capable persona.
"I might ask...," they say softly, "for -- well, for another chance. I've spent my whole life serving this town -- caring for it, loving it. Even if I am only a citizen instead of a public servant, it is my honor and delight to live here. But I'd like to be your mayor once again -- if you'd have me. So I'm putting my name on the ballot for the revote."
A gentle murmur of surprise goes throughout the crowd.
Merry shakes themself, takes a deep breath, and smiles. "Sorry for taking up so much of your time, but only one more announcement, if I may:
this pink glow doesn't seem to be going away. Although most of the living creatures in town have now returned to normal, the buildings and the city itself are shining just as brightly, I think we can all agree. So whoever becomes the next mayor of Indieville... I think it's important to face the facts: soon, more mortals and more humans will probably begin to come here. We've had great success in appearing to the world as no more special than regular old Indieville, Indiana, but this will be hard to explain. So I think we need to face the facts --
sooner rather than later, Indieville will probably be known to the world. "Although that may be a frightening idea to some of you, considering what a human like Lewis Carroll almost did... I'm not so sure that it's a bad thing.
"The world has changed a lot. Although there is always darkness and pain, there is so much light as well. There is love and caring and diversity. But if there's one thing we've learned, it's that
this love has to be fought for. It doesn't come out of nowhere, and it doesn't come easily -- it's an every day choice that has to be made by each of us. This glow only proves that!
"So as we move forward and join the rest of the world..." Merry looks at each citizen. "I am optimistic. I can't promise that we'll be okay, but... we'll be together. And I feel... good about that." They smile.
"So, no matter what comes -- we're Indieville! And thank you -- thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart, for your time. They descend off the podium, and in the cheery afternoon sun, the pink glow of love clinging to the buildings, shimmering and dancing, is almost blinding.
[ THE FINAL CHAPTER ]
The citizens race back to Earth, frantic to stop Miss Bloom from returning Lewis Carroll’s memories—but they’re too late! At Town Hall, they pick up Merry Moncraine and head through a secret passageway to Lewis Carroll’s crypt.
There, the spell on Ex-Mayor Moncraine is broken!
Moncraine reveals that they were put under a controlling spell by Miss Bloom half a century ago—around the time when they stopped being a “good mayor.” It turns out that Miss Bloom was a hooded figure all along! Moncraine brings the citizens to the ceremony zone in the Wildwoods… only to discover that Lewis Carroll, in his terrifying final form, is already summoning Shoggoth to destroy Indieville once and for all.
Love was the only thing that broke the spells on the citizens back in Chapter 11, so we know how to attack! Right now the best bet for attack seems to be…
gifts of love.
For every piece of gift art that you make for someone else in the next month, the town will grow stronger! 
Go forth, citizens, filled with your love for your town, your family, your friends, your partners… remember what Indieville was built on. And
SAVE THE DAY!
Thus ends the tale of Indieville! Though some things are unanswered -- where have the hooded figures gone? How will the world react to the existence of cryptids? Who will end up being the mayor? -- life so rarely ends with a perfect, happy bow.
Nevertheless, although some details may never be known, one thing can be absolutely, perfectly sure:
And they all lived happily... ever... after. 
OBJECTIVES
► Draw or write about your character reacting to the event in any way.
► OR draw or write gift art for somebody else in the group!
► Writing or art are both acceptable.
► Submit to the "Event Art" folder, preferably labeling the submission with either the event title or "Chapter 16.”
EXTRA
► Comment below a monologue of your characters’ opinions of current events. +$20 per monologue (on top of normal writing reward.)
DEADLINE
► October 31, 2018
REWARD
► Receive one free SHOP item—yes, ANY SHOP item!—per person that you give art to.