The Rise of Dead Billy, or, ‘I’m not dead, just ill!”

Winter-18XX: The workers cleared out the odd equipment found in the Sparrowoood Building in Weatstone, the caretaker, a short stout badger going by the moniker of, ‘The Badger’ had finally filled out the forms marking the property as derelict with the Department of City Reclamation and Distribution. The Clockwinder went out the work crew the next day. Dismantelling the building was the easy part, the dismanteling crews good enough at their jobs to the point they could, brick for brick, remove even the most fortified structure, virtually overnight, making it seem as if there had never been anything there in the first place. The problem they ran into however, was with the machinery and items inside. Once they had gotten pass the brass spiders that flooded out when the main doors were opened, the chatty maid constructs that blockaded them out while babbling insane comments at them, and the large difference engine in the corner that kept sounding off klaxxons, they found they honestly had no idea what to do with the bulk of the equipment, the tank with the apparantly dead, black tentacled thing in it, the glowing machine that made the workers uncomfortable to be near, the books and artifacts that were carefully handled with tongs, The decision was made, the books and artifacts packed up and immediatly shipped to Miskatonic to deal with, and finally the large vats of glowing liquid. The decision was made, the machine brought to the scrapyard as scrap, where it apparantly exploded, the tentacled thing and the liquid was emptied into the canals, at that point, considered a much safer option for them, and,afterall, the factory had already been draining chemicals into them for who knows how long.

April, 18XX:
Most of the serum had been flushed through the canals by now, out into the Vernian, aside from the occasional reanimation of wiggyfish fillets, not too much incident arised, though the diluted serum did flow past the graveyard behind the Mechanix Arms.

In the graveyard, in a small, unmarked grave, large enough for an urchin, the ground upheaved, as a small, rotting hand reached out. The form of an urchin dug its way out of the ground, crawling out and standing, before letting out a moan “UUUhuuuuggghhhh….me back! who buried me?! can’t noone in this town tell when one’s takin’ a nap?” Dead Billy pulled a worm out of his ear and chewed on it. “How long was I buried? looks like spring!” He marched up to where a ghost was sitting on it’s grave. “‘Ey! you! Ghosty! what’s th’ date?!”

The ghost looked up, he was wearing workman’s coveralls, and apparantly had been focused on trying to pick op a wrench left on his grave. “‘Lo Billy!, Didnae think we’d be seein’ you in th flesh again! we had bets on iffin’ you’d be joinin’ us yet! looks like I won!”

Billy shrugged “I ain’t dead! why do people keep thinkin’ that?!”

The ghost shrugged “Yae may not be dead, but yea ain’t looking too lively neither, an’ yae been seein’ an’ speakin’ tae ghosts like you was.”

Billy waved him off, “yeah yeah. so you know what th’ month is or what?”

The ghost began to speak, then shrugged, “don’t have much use for calandars ‘ere, sorry”

Billy nodded and went off to find rum, leaving the ghost to focus on the wrench as the graveyard was quickly lost in shadow.