Twins Brandon and Brenda Walsh are transfer students to this New England school of brick and mortar and blood, hoping to find love and laughter, and means to vex the megalithic Wild Huntsmen for centuries of skinning the parents to every offspring of their cursed bloodline. Aaron Spelling most assuredly does not present Miskatonic U, class of 1692.
Donna Martin is of the wealthy family owning much of the lands surrounding the greater village of Arkham, her father a diplomat gone unseen since the day her mother died in labor. Confining himself to the familial estate, it is whispered he consorts with dark elements, conspiring to remake the world again and again until his love is returned.
Kelly Taylor is most comely of girls in Arkham, dating back to its founding haunted centuries past. Eternally crone, mother and daughter, for when she begins to show signs of age, her supple flesh creeps through the night to find a new body to wear.
Steve Sanders has long suffered nightmares of a mysterious era late in his life obscenely spent as a blue-skin’d devil, nightmares that prompt him into obsessive athleticism so to stave off any physical threat toward his diminishing sanity.
Andrea Zuckerman is a bookish young maid, employed by the school to assist with her tuition by sitting in their archives each and every night. Not to protect the tomes from theft, but to watch them, to always watch them.
Dylan McKay is no student but a local outsider, his brute father hung years prior for drowning women in service to a voice from the sea, a voice like cacophonous screeching multitudes of insect wings. Now his father’s son sits by the sea all his days, smirking.
David Silver is younger step-brother to Kelly, eager to win the esteem of his betters by indulging a growing bedevilment with arcane rhythms of the Dark Continent, continuing a maddening pulse beating and bleating from before mankind’s oldest ancestors had crawled up from the primordial mystery of creation itself, when Eldritch beings carved their incomprehensible cyclopean constructs of imponderable fetishes.
One such labyrinthine tomb of late frequented by the motley friends when seeking solitude from their games of pomp and circumstance, the cavernous pit well and below the skeletal fields of once-lush peach orchards. After the day’s labors in study, the group often conjoins to hear blasphemous musics echoing about the cavern walls, amidst strange lights and invisible audience across space and time.