Researcher's Notes
Handwritten
Undated

The question of the beak is paramount. Initially, I had supposed it a mask, fashioned from the scavenged detritus the creature holds so dear, a theory supported by the fact that the beak's composition does not resemble that of any bird yet catalogued by man. However, dissection reveals that the periphery of the beak-structure is fused with the bone of the skull, though the mandibles and the surrounding musculature are curiously positioned, non-functional, and show extensive scarring. The scar tissue is singular, exhibiting attributes of both keloid and hypertrophic tissue, and marked in such a way as to suggest a violently expediated healing process.

From this, I must conclude that the beak was not part of the beast's original physiognomy, but rather a more recent addition – an addition that could only have been made through a most gruesome surgical procedure – and that the healing process was accelerated and warped by the transformation process of which I still, maddeningly, know so little. I shudder to think of it, for I can imagine no circumstance under which a man might agree, of his own free will, to allow such a surgery to take place, or the physician willing to perform it. Finding that physician - possibly under the influence of the corruption themselves - would give the most valuable insight into this creature. Perhaps the Sculptor is not, in the end, the most egregious being in the Bayou. One must only read the headlines of the daily papers to know the staggering capacity for cruelty of the human specimen.

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Researcher's Notes
Handwritten
Undated

Rumor – though a mixture of fantasy and fact - has provided me with several interesting directions of inquiry, putting word to stories untold by physiognomy and flesh. Even when rumors provide little concrete insight into a specimen, they often illuminate the state of our own collective mind.

There are two distinct interpretations repeated among the Hunters who gather to exchange stories over their meager evening refreshments. Those who have faced Scrapbeak in combat place great emphasis on his behavior – the piercing, pain-ridden howls; the obsession with birds; and the hoarding of scrap and other objects both morbid and banal. It is these Hunters who gave him the name that has become parlance, and the same group suggest the creature is more bird than man – whether through close observation or a desire to still their conscience. It is far easier to kill a bird than to kill a man. Though perhaps I am naive.

Those who have only seen Scrapbeak from afar or heard tell of his ghastly silhouette are convinced that it is Death Himself, come to wander the Bayou. Though I could be convinced of many strange things, I believe this tale says more about the teller than about the beaked beast. Having lived amongst the corruption and seen the causalities wrought by the Sculptor these many months, they see Death everywhere they look. Though factually incorrect, the metaphor holds. Death does haunt the Bayou, hungry and untiring, picking off all those who greet him with relentless regularity. Death walks among us, though this beaked visage is only one of many masks he deigns show to all who will know him.

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From the office of Charles Burke, Attorney
Typewritten, interview transcript
IN ATTENDANCE: Charles Burke (Attorney), Avis Wyndham, Jr. (Defendant), Mary May Sterling (Transcription)
Page 1

CB: Good morning Mr. Wyndham.

AW: (silent) (nods)

CB: A quiet type. I see. Well, we might be able to make that work for us in court. Let's start with the charges: 25 counts of first-degree murder, including the murder of your own father, Avis Wyndham Sr., and with additional charges pending that tie you to a dozen other missing persons cases. And you intend to plead not guilty?

AW: (nods)

CB: I see. Now, son, as your Attorney, I am under a strict oath to keep whatever you say between us – well you, me, and Mary here. So, I need to know for certain. Did you kill any of those men?

AW: No, sir, I did not. I didn't kill a single one of them.

CB: The evidence seems to suggest that you knew or had met many of them. Is that true?

AW: Yes, sir.

CB: Were you involved in their deaths in any way?

AW: I think it's safe to say they had it coming.

CB: Had it coming how, Mr Wyndham? Don't beat around the bush.

AW: Everybody knows what's out in the Bayou, Mr. Burke. Everybody talks around it. Don't want to admit it. But you all know what's out there. I reckon anybody who chooses to go looking for it wants to die. Death is waiting out there, waiting for us all. I reckon showing them where he's hiding's just the same as selling somebody a gun. Ain't no harm in it. Ain't illegal. Ain't me pulled any triggers.

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Researcher's Notes
Handwritten
Undated

But what of the birds? They arrived before the beaked beast first appeared! They are drawn to the Scrapbeak specifically - not just the so-called Sculptor's power - that is evident in their behavior. But the timing of their appearance indicates foreknowledge of what – and who – would come.

This is a great cause for concern, and does not follow the established pattern. Which is to say: the patterns I had previously identified were but wishful thinking on my part. My mind races, and I grow uneasy. What troublesome future does the sudden arrival of this new foe foreshadow? Will we be compelled to face an ever-increasing cast of hideous foes? How long will there be men enough to keep fighting this ghastly war?

Other instances suggest that the Sculptor does not create from scratch, but rather takes that which is present, twisting and molding it until a new form emerges, one more suited to its errands. (Or perhaps, more familiar?) I cannot guess at the purpose of this new monstrosity, but the early appearance of the birds seems to me to indicate there was more than one pawn at play this time.

I have begun to comb the papers for any sign, any scrap of evidence. In the other cases, I did not form a theory until long after the initial event. But a trial has caught my attention: a man named Avis Wyndham, accused of killing his peaceful, bird-loving father, and several dozen others. It was the detail about the birds that caught my attention. His testimony has been delivered with a disturbing cheer, and an almost prescient smugness, as he insists that he is innocent, and invites the jury to visit the Bayou themselves. He is not currently allowed visitors, and I do not have the funds to bribe the rat-faced attorney who represents him.

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From the office of Charles Burke, Attorney
Typewritten, interview transcript
IN ATTENDANCE: Charles Burke (Attorney), Avis Wyndham, Jr. (Defendant), Mary May Sterling (Transcription)
Page 2

CB: Well, son we have our work cut out for us. The prosecution believes they have evidence placing you at the location of at least 14 of those murders. You have no alibi, no friends, no property, no job, and no surviving close family. Now, considering your history, and your age, I don't know how on this green Earth you got the money together to pay my fees, but you're not on trial for that. Not yet anyway. (laughs) But this is serious, son. If we are going to walk you out of that courtroom a free man, we are going to need a hell - excuse my language - of a story. Let's start with your Father. The prosecution will be sure to use his death against you in any way they can. Tell me about your relationship, what kind of man he was. Save the silent treatment for the courtroom. What I need is a story.

AW: Well, I guess we have to start back at the war. Papa lost the first leg in the war. The arm in what come after. And the other leg, well, that's another story. Maybe we'll get to that later.

He worked as a rag man, and it suited him. He'd drive around in that old cart collecting broken old pots and pans and scraps and rags and things. Seemed the more broken something was, the more he liked it. Meant there was something he could fix. Something he could take apart and put back together again. He loved tinkering around with that old junk.

He come back from the war, met mama, rest her soul, and they had me. Never married, those two. Didn't much like each other. No real animosity between them either, but you know how people are about couples having kids and not getting married. I've had to make my peace with that.

Papa was a nice man. A quiet man. A peaceful man. The neighbors all agreed. But they don't know what happened in that house in the dark hours. Ain't none of them known what he was really like, did they? Well they gonna find out now.

Old Avis, the Rag and Bone Man. (laughs) He didn't have much time for me. Wasn't worth his time. I wasn't worth anybody's time. Neighbors all agreed on that too.

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From the office of Charles Burke, Attorney
Typewritten, interview transcript
IN ATTENDANCE: Charles Burke (Attorney), Avis Wyndham, Jr. (Defendant), Mary May Sterling (Transcription)
Page 3

AW (cont. From page 2): Papa loved birds. Kept a few in a little wooden cage, drove them around with him in that damn cart. Customers loved that. “Bird man's back!" That's what they'd yell when they spotted his cart, start gathering up their scrap for him.

Regular little magpie, daddy was. He'd ride all over the bayous, go where nobody else would. People appreciated that. Liked that he remembered them. Liked his little pet birds. He didn't mind getting a wheel stuck in the mud sometimes, and he liked the stories. They got some real tall tales out there – or I used to think so. Now I know they aren't stories at all. Learned that the hard way. Anyway. One day he let me ride out with him – would have been just near the end of summer and the last time I ever seen him alive - have you ever been out to the Bayou Mr. Burke?

CB: Not recently, no. But that isn't relevant. Tell me about that last day with your father.

AW: It was so hot that last week of August, you remember? Hot and sticky and it just seemed like the air was swarming with insects. Seemed like everybody was on edge. Those disappearances they want to blame me for were already in the papers, and the flu and the rest of it. We'd buried two customers that week – shown up for their scrap and stayed for their funerals - and there was gunfire all the damn time. you could barely sleep for the sound of the gunfire. There were more and more strange folks coming into town too. Coming in on the train and going back out in a coffin.

Anyway, we had a row. I...I was angry with him. Wanted him to pay me mind. Stop talking to those stupid birds. Start remembering he had a son. And I'm ashamed to admit it, but that night I killed his birds. Cracked their necks and left them for him to find. Papa said ain't no good man ever harm an innocent little bird, Avis. What did he know? There ain't no good men. Not me, not you, and most certainly not Papa.

People said Daddy was a good man for what he done fighting in that war. But it's complicated, what happens in a war. No matter what side you're fighting for, war is always a deal with the Devil. And you don't come out of a deal with the Devil like you were before. There's no winners. There's just more cracks opened up in the world for the Devil to come through. Daddy cracked, and the Devil come through him. Daddy cracked, and brought the Devil right into our house. Into me. And so I brought the Devil back to him.

A lot of people mistake quiet for peaceful. Daddy made that mistake. He ain’t quiet now, is he, big mouth like that, no he sure ain’t quiet now.