Dennis DeWitt


Dennis DeWitt
Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity:
Heterosexual Male
What is your Mask:
I’d describe myself as somewhat average. A bit taller and thinner than some, perhaps, but not remarkably so.
What is your Mein:
At a glance, the same as my Mask. But everything is just off. Almost imperceptibly so, in fact, but enough to creep the Hell out of a person. My smile’s just a bit too wide. My teeth are just a bit too long, just a bit crooked, and just a bit too white. My arms and legs are very lanky, almost spider-like. And so on.
Who were you as a human?
I was an office worker. An accountant. Really, just starting out, but anxious to move up the chain. I was married. We had no children, though we were considering it. I had started a retirement fund as soon as I got a job out of college. I did my level best to be a model of responsibility.

Who were you close to before you were taken? Lovers? Family?
My wife, naturally. Although we also had several friends from college and our respective workplaces we spent time with rather regularly. My wife was a saleswoman at a retail store.
Why did you get taken?
Both of us, my wife and I, that is, tended to be rather gregarious. One night, we were out with our friends. We had some drinks, of course, but nothing to strong or too fast. We met another couple. We all started drinking, together. The night wore on. The friends we came with left, and it was just us and them. A little while later, we left. They followed us out. We drove home. After a while, when we turned down our street, we realized they had followed us. We pulled into our driveway, they came up behind us. A panic gripped us. We ran inside. But they were too fast. We couldn’t get the door closed in time to keep them out.
How long were you in Arcadia? Human time/Fairy time
5 years / 8 years
What happened in Arcadia?
Nothing ever changed, except the people. In a lot of ways, it was like the movie Groundhog Day, but with three important exceptions. First, everyone spoke French. It was a regrettable circumstance, since my wife and I only knew English. Second, while the setting of the nightmare remained constant, the two of us never ran into the same person twice. So not only could we hardly communicate with anyone, but anyone we ever got to know was gone from our lives the next day.
How did you get your contracts?
The third exception took a bit more discovery. A year or two went by. Or thereabouts. We lost track of the days, since it was always the same Tuesday in September. So after a length of time, let’s say, I met a man. He was dark, somehow. As though he took the shadows with him. He approached me. I was polite, at first, but curt. I didn’t introduce the first time we met. Some days later, I saw him again. Of course, seeing a person more the once over a span of days was… noteworthy, to say the least. This time, I did introduce myself. In hindsight, perhaps I was too eager. He just smiled, and told me to meet him next Tuesday. I told my wife. Katherine was her name. I remember that. She didn’t believe me. I told her to come with me to meet him. He wasn’t there. She cried most of that night. I don’t know how long. She apologized in the morning. I didn’t think much of it, anxious as I was to meet the man, again. He wasn’t there. I waited until it was past dark.
Four more days went by like that. On the fifth, the man found me, again. We spoke. He told me that I could have whatever I wanted. All I had to do was take it. I didn’t understand. As we walked that evening we passed a drunkard. The shadow man pushed him down. He produced a knife and slit his throat. Then he gave me his wallet. Take this I remember he said. I put it in my pocket, then I went home. I told Katherine I didn’t find him.
The next day, the wallet was still with me.
What broke you?
Following a week’s worth of Tuesdays, I met the man, again. I asked him what he knew about this place. You can have anything you want. The only rules are that you have to take it, and you have to get away with it.
That’s all he left me with for quite some time. So I practiced. I practiced stealing. I practiced my French, so that I could practice lying. It was troublesome at first. I generally got caught. I’d spend nights in jail. Some nights I’d be out until after Katherine was asleep, but every Tuesday I would wake up in bed next to her. She knew I was out. But never asked where I was. She had grown to leave the house less and less. She said that as long as things were going to stay the way they were, it would only hurt worse if she experienced the abrupt, nightly changes into unique monotony.
Over time, over the course of years, I got better. I remember when I successfully stole my first wallet. The first time I convinced the police that I wasn’t the culprit, it was a man in a black coat. Like the one the gent who was mopping up in the tavern had on. I got so much better, in fact, that before long I had everything I could ever want. I took money, I took food. I took whatever I could, mostly just for a challenge. For something to do. So I could develop a skill that would carry over from one day to the next. And, for some reason I couldn’t properly explain, to impress the shadowman.
That’s when the man found me, again. He told me he had grown bored with the rules of the game. That it had grown too easy. So he was changing them. Now, to get anything, I had to kill for it. Like the drunkard and his wallet. I agreed. At the time, it wasn’t as difficult a decision as it probably ought to have been, but since then I’ve grown more comfortable with the idea. I know it’s wrong, of course, but it’s easy, anymore.
Anyway, my wife, she had grown worse. By now, we had probably been there for at least five years. But, again, it’s impossible to say. She was lonely. I was gone most of the time. She stayed in. I didn’t realize it, but in hindsight it’s apparent that she saw me changing. As I grew more comfortable stealing and lying, for sport, more or less, we grew further apart. Then, the night I decided to start killing folks to please the shadowman, I was too distracted to see it.
The next morning, Katherine wasn’t in bed next to me. I found her in the kitchen. Her wrists were open.
How did you escape?
A week went by. I found the shadowman. He had a silly grin on his face. I attacked him. That’s all I remember before waking up again, the next day. I didn’t see him after that. Nor did I carry through with his game. I didn’t lock myself in. I saw the result of that course of action. I just went about my Tuesdays, as though I were back home. I learned French. I became familiar with every corner of every street in the town.
For years, I did that. But the game was always in the back of my mind, and a day never went by that I didn’t have a day- dream or mare about the shadowman who was behind it.
Eventually, I decided I wanted to kill the shadowman. And to do that, I would have to get him to reveal himself. And to do that, I knew I would have to continue the game. But a vagrant wouldn’t do. I knew that, somehow. I would have to accomplish something.
So one day, I followed a woman. I found her in the morning. She was on foot. I trailed behind. She went into a café, ordered tea. I sat nearby, reading a paper with a cup of black coffee. I remember that scene clear enough. As though I’m reliving it. The lights were bright. The girl behind the counter was young. Probably in high school. She smiled at everyone, even though practically no one left a tip. There was an employee at the other register, as well. A man, and much older. Maybe even retired from full-time work. When there was no line, they would chat. I couldn’t hear what about.
When she left, I left too. She got into her car. I thought I’d lost her. That I’d have to find someone else the next day. But as I was walking home, I saw the car in a driveway. It was in the evening, by now. She was outside, on the porch, reading. She looked up as I passed. Made eye contact. Smiled. Went back to her book. I smiled to, but for a different reason.
I snuck around back. The door was unlocked. The lights were off. I waited. I don’t know how long I was there. Long enough for what light was left outside to recede. Eventually, she came inside. She was humming a song. A cheery little ditty. “La Petite Poule Grise,” I’ve since discovered. I’ve never had the heart to look up the words. But I remember the tune. She didn’t turn on the light right away, instead coming into the house. As though she knew the layout. Had lived there forever, even though, to my knowledge, she only existed here, today. She walked past me. The humming abruptly stopped, then. It couldn’t continue, because she couldn’t breathe.
The next morning, I woke up. But it was different. The room was different. The house was different. Outside, it was snowing. I looked out a window and saw the Eiffel Tower. I was in Paris.
How have you dealt with the horror?

What have you done since you got back?
What do humans think you do?
What is your relationship with your court?
Where do you live?
Why did you join your Entitlement?
Explain any flaws you have.
Explain your merits?
What do you know about your fetch?
1 wish- what would it be?
What changelings are you close to?
What humans do you contact?
What are you most proud of?
What is your worst memory pre-Arcadia?
What 3 languages do you speak?
What would your spirit animal be and why?
Who has influenced you most in your life?
What did you want to be when you grew up?
If you had a D&D alignment what would it be?
How do you deal with problems?
Favorite book/movie/folktale?
What famous historical or literary figure is your role model?
Describe yourself in a phrase.
NEW QUESTION!!!!!!! Do you go to the changeling Festivals? Is there one kind that you skip, or one that you always go to?

Dennis DeWitt

Changelings in Paris RustyJack