Haskell could be any small town, it’s distinguished less by what sets it apart than what makes it blend in with every other pocket of civilization that dots the country. Only three things stand out about it: the giant rocking horse tourist trap by the highway, the fact that it sits directly on a state border and the Haskell P.D Witchcraft Squad.
It’s not an official designation and is by no means beloved by the municipality’s frustrated administrators but there’s a certain inertia and town pride in having something that sets them apart from everyone else. It’s like a highly localised version of the Blue Line that half the town is in on but nobody talks about, a minor aberration in the otherwise incredibly mundane lifestyles of Haskell’s residents. Magick is a vanishingly minor fact of life that is accepted but shunned.
Witchcraft laws haven’t been on the books for years, generally using superstition to take advantage of people is considered fraud, and otherwise paganism and related practices are considered covered by freedom of religion. But the squad doesn’t exist to bust tarot readers, it’s there to keep the peace among the weirdos and entities drawn to the border-straddling town as a symbolic ingredient in their occult machinations. A storied secret history of people using it to contact the departed, access otherspaces and bridge other unthinkable gaps has worn furrows in the universal firmament that make it all the more appetizing. If someone checks in to the local motel driving a van with a bunch of annunaki propaganda spray-painted on the side then one of them will get a call.
They are currently without an objective, but have the following concerns on their plate:
- Keep people away from the ol’ Wydell place. The original owner disappeared back in the 80s and no one has lasted more than 6 months in residence since, all dead, missing or as far away as possible. This used to be pretty easy but a property trader from the nearest major city got ahold of it and is hellbent on renovating and reselling the dump.
- Mama Juno and her boys have been barely tolerated for years, in and out of prison for petty crime, assault and drug-related crimes like a revolving door. Practically impossible to dig out and resentful of their more well-off neighbours the current rumour is that they’ve turned to magick to get their way. It might not be true but if it is it could upset the town’s equilibrium.
Nancy Shoffner is a well-meaning manipulator. The youngest member of the Haskell P.D doesn’t see herself that way, having grown up as the middle child in an unstable family it seems normal to her that she should use any means necessary to keep the peace. Accordingly it was a natural transition to doing the same as police work and made her a solid fit for the finagling of the witchcraft squad's unofficial remit. Small and doe-eyed she looks younger than she is, it’s something she leans on but it’s also been a hassle she’s had to be fearsome to compensate for when it comes to being taken seriously.
She’s pretty sure Tony is up to something and acknowledges Eric as a confidant, he’s the only one who seems to see straight through the way she deals with people.
Tony Siebert is a recent transplant to the town. He moved here last year when his wife got pregnant to be closer with her family. Tony is lanky, broad shouldered and pale, strong despite looking as though his uniform is stretched across a wireframe. In manner he is studious, officious and ill-suited to the close knit realities of small town policing. He’s also fascinated by revelations of the occult despite playing the skeptic. Unbeknownst to his wife the back shed has become a secondary evidence locker for the things the witchcraft squad picks up as part of its unofficial duties. She does wonder what he’s doing out there all night though and the other officers would be dismayed to find out its contents hadn’t been burned after all.
Tony thinks Nancy is a bit too naive for police work, that she’s only survived because Haskell is an insulated community, and marvels at Eric’s career longevity but respects his experience.
Eric Richter should have retired years ago. The fossilized sergeant has outlived 2 mayors, 3 police chiefs and outsiders assume he must have some sort of pull to still be in a job. In truth it’s that no one local sees him as the rickety old man that he is and he knows the town better than the lines that criss-cross the back of his hand. Threatening to call on someone’s family can often be more compelling than any official punishment and the same connection is something he’s used to develop the communities' trust.
Not that it’s been all roses. It’s an open secret that Eric shot Mama Juno’s eldest in the back 15 years ago after some sordid business with Eric’s niece. No one outside her family blamed him after what the man did to Wanda Richter and the coroner quietly massaged the autopsy, so there was no official resolution. It’s a sore point that has been snowed over by the years and inertia but occasionally rises to the surface to draw blood. He thinks about it more and more as his time rolls to a close.
Eric thinks Nancy could be good police but wishes she didn’t think she knew what people needed better than they did, he likes Tony well enough but can see the boy going stir crazy in close confines of small town living. It might be time to take him aside for a talk.
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