"Most folks drive through Fuller and never stop. That’s by design. The ones who stay? They either know something—or owe someone."
Fuller Park is one of the smallest and most overlooked community areas in Chicago, tucked in a jagged patch between the freight arteries of the South Side and the whispering edges of industrial decay. Sitting just south of the Loop and barely north of the Stockyards, it’s the sort of neighborhood politicians forget until they need it, and city plans always seem to skip. Surveyors wander through with clipboards and smiles, but nothing ever changes—except the people who disappear.
In 1953, Fuller is quiet but bristling—every stoop worn, every lot half-dug, every fence a line someone might cross if they’re not paying attention. The Veil here doesn’t roar. It simmers. Old stories still bubble up in storm drains, and some nights the air feels too tight to breathe. It’s not a place you visit. It’s a place that either lets you stay—or doesn’t.
The old slaughterhouse site is still fenced off, but locals hear tools clanging on cold nights.
CPD presence is minimal—when they do roll through, they keep their lights off and eyes down.
The Arcane Division has flagged Fuller as a Veil drift zone—low volume, high unpredictability.
A fountain in Ellis Park has begun to crack and weep thick black water.
The Red House glows on certain nights, always after someone disappears.
Local kids dare each other to sneak into the old tunnel entrance. Most come back. Most.
Residents leave salt on windowsills and nails in door frames without ever saying why.
An old nun at the St. Ignatius Shelter claims a Veil entity speaks to her through rust.
Neighborhoods
State Street Corridor
Once a main artery for workers and storefronts, the Corridor has become a ghost of its former self. Shuttered shops line the sidewalk, broken neon flickers from forgotten signs, and the rare business still open runs on equal parts stubbornness and protection money. Locals say most of the real commerce now happens between sunset and sunrise. And not all the customers are living.Ellis Yard
Technically no one owns it, but everyone knows who watches it. Ellis Yard is a strip of gravel, track, and ruin that stretches between two viaducts—and it’s where everything gets dumped: junk metal, burned cars, lost deals, and sometimes bodies. It's become a no-man’s land for Veil practitioners, gang kids, and whatever’s been crawling up from under the old tunnels since winter.Notes
Narrow blocks, iron fences, and tension in the concrete. The Veil here doesn’t howl—it waits.
| Wealth | |
| Security & Safety | |
| Criminal Influence | |
| Occult Influence |
| Black American | 60% |
| Irish and Polish American | 25% |
| Mexican American | 10% |
| Other | 5% |
| South Side |
| Southwest Side |
Fuller Park
St. Ignatius Shelter – Run by tired nuns and one janitor who never seems to age
The Red House – Locals swear no one owns it. But someone’s always inside
Old Rail Tunnel Access – Cut open last winter. Still unsealed
Shadows Market Lot – Long-closed grocer’s lot turned underground bartering zone
Fuller Viaduct Bridge – Always damp, always cold. Once showed up in a child’s dream before they vanished
State Street Corridor:
The Cracked Bell (illegal gambling above a closed music store) Geneva’s (diner that sells “favors” out the back kitchen) Price Street Garage (chop shop with Outfit ties) The Radio Store (now cursed—every old speaker whispers prayer) Gerald’s Stairs (people see shapes crawling up wrong-side-out) Corner of 44th & State (Veil-warped time bubble, 3-minute loops) Ellis Yard:
Railman's Pit (dumping site used by Fear Crew) Milton's Fuel Stop (front for Veil-smuggled narcotics) Dead Dog Yard (fighting pit rumored to involve non-human things) The Red Rail (Veil-marked spur that hums like a tuning fork) Tunnel Mouth 3A (glows during thunderstorms) Ellis Yard Switchhouse (flickers between decades)
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