4AM Jitters Report by Bayou Earl: Case File #1926-07A and the Kitchen Table Briefing
Captain’s Log: 3:30 AM, The Kitchen Window
By the early hours of the morning, the humidity outside isn't just hanging in the air—it is pressing against the cabin windowpanes like a wet blanket. The 12-Mile Bayou has a different kind of quiet at this hour, the kind where you can hear a twig snap a mile away. Uncle Bill was already moving around the kitchen, getting the skillet seasoned, and the fresh coffee was just starting to brew.
I was standing at the kitchen window, staring out into the pitch-black swamp and trying to shake off those 4 AM jitters, when I saw it. A shadow separated itself from the thick fog, illuminated faintly by the yellow glow of the porch light. I recognized the carved walking stick and that deliberate, slow stride immediately. It was Doctor John, our resident voodoo doctor.
I walked over and pulled the front door open before he even had to knock. He stepped inside, leaning heavily on his stick, and looked dead at us.
"The bayou says to be here for breakfast this morning," Doctor John said, his voice as smooth and dark as the water outside.
Uncle Bill and I just looked at each other, sharing a silent "what the?" across the kitchen.
Bill slowly set down the cast-iron skillet and wiped his hands on a towel. "I've had a real bad feeling about today," Bill muttered, looking out the black window. "I knew this wasn't going to be an easy day of sitting around. Something is coming, and we better be ready for it."
The 4:00 AM Briefing
We didn't have to wait long to find out what that something was. Exactly thirty minutes later, at 4:00 AM, heavy boots stomped up the wooden steps of the front porch, followed by three sharp, rhythmic knocks.
It was Detective Jones. He stepped inside, wiping the bayou mist off his hat. Taking in the kitchen and seeing the whole team already assembled, he let out a heavy sigh of relief.
"I am glad to find all of you here," Jones said, his voice rough. "I need your help."
Looking like he hadn't slept a wink all night, he pulled up a chair right next to Doctor John at the kitchen table. Working out of the local FBI field office meant Jones saw a lot of strange things, but the tense set of his jaw told me this one fell under our specific jurisdiction. He loosened his tie and laid a thick manila folder on the wood.
"Earl, Bill, Doc," Jones began, his voice low. "I've got a situation brewing out on the water. A report came across my desk from Vance Miller over at the Shreveport Police Department, and it has your names written all over it."
Jones flipped the file open to a page covered in crime scene notes.
"A string of bizarre thefts has targeted the historic houseboats and fishing camps deep within the cypress swamp," Jones explained, tapping the paper. "Victims are reporting the loss of highly specific, valuable tools and personal items. Oddly, there are no signs of forced entry, broken windows, or muddy footprints."
He slid a report on Captain Jean-Luc Broussard's houseboat across the table to me.
"Broussard is the latest target. He lost a solid brass ship's compass, a heavy iron-bound footlocker containing old navigation charts, and three cast-iron cooking pots. Miller noted zero footprints and no tool marks on the door locks. But here is the kicker..."
Jones leaned in close. The smell of the brewing coffee was mixing with the damp, earthy scent of the swamp clinging to his coat and Doctor John's herbs.
"The wooden floorboards near the missing footlocker were unusually damp. Miller's team discovered a thick, clear, highly viscous adhesive trailing from the floorboards, out the back door, and dripping directly into the swamp water. The substance smells faintly of rotting wood and vinegar."
Uncle Bill picked up his coffee mug, locking eyes with me over the rim.
"The SPD thinks it is just some swamp-rat stealing copper," Jones continued, "but they aren't looking at the facts. A human thief would need a boat to transport a hundred pounds of cast iron and a heavy footlocker. No boats were seen on the bayou, and no wake was recorded by the wildlife cameras downriver. It is as if the stolen items walked out on their own. The trail goes cold right at the deepest, darkest patch of the cypress grove."
Jones leaned back in the wooden kitchen chair, crossing his arms and looking between the three of us.
"Whatever took those items secretes a glue that can hold a gator's jaws shut. My guys aren't equipped for the weird stuff, Earl. I need people who know how to handle what is really out there in the muck. I need your thoughts on this, because we are heading into that grove."
I turned to Uncle Bill, the pieces clicking into place. "Well, now we know why you're getting that feeling, as well as why you, Doctor John, were summoned here. We better come up with a plan before we leave here today!"
Uncle Bill crossed his arms. "Right, agree. But I am hungry. First we eat breakfast and discuss our plan while we eat. We can't go hunting on empty stomachs."
Without missing a beat, the three of us looked right at the exhausted detective and said at once, "Detective Jones, you're invited to eat with us. We'll come up with a plan and go with you, alright!"
Jones nodded his head, the fatigue finally catching up with him. "Alright," he said. "Mind if I use the couch for a nap while we wait for Earl to finish breakfast?"
"Go right ahead," I told him. "Coffee is ready if you want a cup first."
He nodded again. I grabbed four mugs from the cupboard and poured. The first pot held exactly eight cups—just enough to fill all four mugs. I handed them out to the crew.
"One pot down, I'll make another," I said, taking my coffee and heading back into the kitchen to finish up the cooking.
Behind me, the cabin settled into a comfortable quiet. Uncle Bill got in his recliner with his mug. Doctor John decided to meditate in the corner, getting in tune with the swamp. Detective Jones stretched out on the couch. Between the early hour and the heavy bayou air, it didn't take long before they all fell fast asleep.
Catch you all in the next post at the 5 AM wakeup call. Have a good morning everyone!
— Bayou Earl
Product Identity & Legal
The following items are designated Product Identity of Arthur Earl C. Hedges Jr. / The Adventures of Captain Hedges: The specific "Hedge Wizard of the Shreveport Cabin" persona, the "Bayou Earl" persona, and the 12 Mile Bayou Cypress Swamp setting. The game mechanics provided herein are designated as unofficial playtest material for the 12 Mile Bayou campaign setting. This work utilizes the Open D6 system; mechanics referenced from the D6 System are Open Game Content used under the Open Game License (OGL) v1.0a. © 2026 Arthur Earl C. Hedges Jr. All rights reserved.
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