Candied Hearts

[Psycho]

(Hello, this is to be my first little RP adventure, and while I am not too sure how it will turn out, I shall try my best to make it... Interesting for everyone. You don't have to be an epic paragrapher player to participate. Just have fun, and don't expect things to go your way. Because my main – I won't spoil my plans for her for you, but she won't be getting out of this Storyline in one complete whole. The best characters, are always the one that get the Bad End. There will be Goods Ends, too, I am sure. On that note, if you are interested and what not in what I am trying/attempting to do and want to put a character into it, throw me a message, attack me in that shout-box thing, or whatever means of intimidation you deem befitting, and we'll talk


Alternatively:


Candied Hearts Info/OOC Thread: INSERT LINK LAZY PSYCHO


Candied Hearts Character Sheet Thread: INSERT LINK LAZY PSYCHO




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Candied Hearts


Introduction


Part 1 of 2: Death Is Inevitable


They should not had come here.


But they knew that anyway.


We all do things like that, don't we? When we're young, in love, and stupid. We cast aside situations that could result in a swift and painful death, all to impress someone; to make them think that you are fearless, proud, and a man or woman of your word. That you would do anything for them.


'Nothing scares you,' you say ever so confidentially to yourself. 'This is nothing – it's just a creepy old building, what could possibly go wrong? Besides...I have the love of my life with me, so what could possibly go wrong?'


Everything... Could go wrong.


Ignorant mortal fools – the human mind, is such a cocky and arrogant device when it came to dealings with its own mortality. They never think of the worst. Only the best of the minor total of the possibilities...


The foundations of the old hotel – a six story cement coloured domino that looked to be slanting on one side, was obviously at risk of a complete, catastrophic structural cascade. One crack on the many exposed wooden beams; a single old oak door closed too hard in whatever part of this old and abandoned place, could had probably spelt the doom of the couple that climbed in through the broken window on the ground floor, all too prematurely. Tons and tons of debris could tumble all down and crush them, like an ant under the shoe of a heartless child who knew no better.


But they knew about those dangers. And feared them not. Regardless of the warnings their friends had given them about the place – some of which that were a little too unbelievable, this mindlessly in love couple had did this a hundred times already over the past few years.


They had been doing out for so, so long now – five years wasn't it? Something like that.


They chose not to remember a time when they were not together. They looked to the future – for the brighter horizon. They trusted each other more than life itself. They were childhood sweethearts, you see, and they barely have hit their twenties yet. But already, they were doing the dirty deed, inside a dirty, rat infested hotel. And that is why, ladies and gentlemen, they crept into this monolithic death trap every night.


To hide from their parents, and indulge themselves in illicit acts of flesh and romantic depravity.


They had a specific place in mind – they had their own special room, on the fourth floor. It was unlike the other rooms; where the king-sized beds were dusty and damp, the furniture rotten and collapsing, the atmosphere dark, foreboding and unwelcoming. Cold, and lifeless...


No. Their place, had a warmth to it. Almost like home.


This room was unlike the graveyard of abandoned furniture and forgotten memories; this room had life. It had slow burning candles dotted all around, it had fresh bedsheets and a relatively new – and somewhat comfortable – mattress to enjoy themselves upon. Even the carpet was washed, and cleaned – the vibrant red, as clear and as deep as the young ones' blood that trespasses nightly upon its sacred ground.


“... Hey, ever wondered what is in the other rooms?” The elder teen girl inquiredas they passed one of the many rotten, closed doors along the hallway onwards towards their sanctuary; the last door on the left, rightdown the other end of the corridor – room Twenty-Seven. It's door, peculiarly immaculate and untouched by the decay of time.


“Not really...” The boy muttered back, as his arm about the girl's waist drew her closer into his embrace, his head leaning against the other's in an affectionate gesture. Maybe it was because he could smell the coconut scent of her shampoo, or the intense mango aroma in her body wash. It made an average-looking red headed girl into a foreign beauty of delicious fruits.


Juicy, succulent fruits...


Of course, that thought of his quickly slammed a smug grin across his youthful, freckled face. Because he knew damn well what he was getting tonight. A bite, into that ripe, mouth-watering apple.


Unfortunately for him however, that was the last thing on her mind. Her bladder felt like it was about to implode if for a second, then explode outwards. She really needed to find a toilet, and fast. She had yet the heart to tell her smugly-grinning boyfriend of the situation, right up until they were both in front of the door of the aforementioned room Twenty-Seven, when she could not stand it any longer.


“Hey, I need to use the bathroom, I won't be long.”


The boy groaned. “You could had went before we left the college...”


“Well, that was then, and this is now – and besides, it's really cold in this place and, cold places make me want to pee more.” She pulled back from his embrace, and gave him a quick wink, and a kiss on the cheek, “Go inside, and... Get ready. I won't be two minutes... Promise!”


With that, he was left alone to watch the fading image of his love, walking off into the distance, back the way they came. There was a set of bathrooms on the opposite end you see, more than likely once used by the staff. For all rooms in this hotel had en suite and were – once – luxuriously fashioned. Unfortunately, the toilet in their room doesn't quite work. It is blocked up with some kind of murky, thick, oily substance that neither of them wanted to attempt to clean up.


It stunk like rotten fish.


With a firm grip on the doorknob and a sharp twist and shoulder barge into the not so sturdy woodwork of the portal, it finally gave way, and the old rusty hinges screamed a banshee's howl as it slid on open before him, creak by crack. He reminded himself to get that thing fixed. That unnatural, metallic screeching sound always gave him the goosebumps, and always scared the hell out of his beloved.


At this point, he had not been paying too much attention to his surroundings. He was far more interested in getting over that horrible sensation creeping slowly up his spine – that feeling of a thousand spiders, biting their way up to his neck. He shivered again. “Uuuurhgghh...” He rubbed his arms frantically to comfort himself, and rid the offending, unnatural icy air thattickled his skin's bumpy surface.


“... Strange, it's not normally this cold.” Each word released a mist of arm air from his lungs. He considered the window to be open. But no, it's not. The moon shined right through into the room, so everything was quite well illuminated in an eerie pale whitewash, so he had no problem seeing. On closer inspection, he can clearly see the latches still rusted into the same place they had always been, and were undisturbed.


Maybe that was why he liked it here?


The moon made his love's skin so pale, that, when she was naked, she appeared almost ethereal and nymph-like. With wild, fiery red hair and deep emerald green eyes that turned almost a glowing sapphire in the unnatural light – it was no wonder he fell for her pretty hard after their first encounter here. He had seen nothing as beautiful, ever since.


A stupid grin occupied his features. A love sickness that often makes most men look like all kinds of ridiculous. He turned, upon hearing a shuffle from behind, his smile only growing wider as he witnessed the shadow of his love, standing in front of the doorway.


“Hey, you took your time. Hope the door didn't scare you... Again.” He secretly hoped it did. Nonetheless, he held out his arms towards her, and smiled,“Come on, I'll light the candles and... We can talk first and then, you know... Have fun?”


She did not move. Not even flinch.


He squinted his eyes to search through the darkness of the hallway, trying to see his lover's face, wondering why she would not step into the moonlit filled space of their treasured paradise amongst ruin. “... Is something wrong? You okay? You're not scared of the door again, are you? Heh, don't be silly, you know there's nothing here to... Too-”


The boy's words trailed off as his eyes dropped down to the divide between the light and the dark, between room Twenty-Seven, and the hallway. The light of the moon, outstretched with its illuminant fingers, revealed the blood soaked condition of a pair of feet, that took a single, shambling step forward towards him.


...It sounded like a leaky tap.


You know the one.


Drip... Drip... Drip...


Constant; forever, relentless.


Drip... Drip... Drip...


The sound of blood, crashing into a carpet.


Drip... by, drip...


Then a voice.


Sweet and candy-like, innocent, chaste and gleeful... But somehow...?


Terrifying.

 

[Psycho]

Candied Hearts


Introduction


Part 2 of 2: Room With A View


It was a good thing Yasmin was on the toilet at the time when room Twenty-Seven's door released its horrible wail. It indicated or implied to Yasmin that her one true love had entered to prepare for her arrival. Chances were, he was already naked upon that bed, trying out various 'sexy poses;' as he likes to call them, to entice and tempt her.


He did not need to do those things. His very presence stirred her most carnal, and darkest of desires, even without his effort.


Yasmin wanted nothing more than for them to become one – a feeling she could not get enough of, as of late. Her desire was as truthful and passionate as their first time, but recently? It had become obsessive. They did it once, maybe twice a day – at her demanding requests. Even at school and in the female lavatory, of all places. And much to her own surprise, Yasmin had even started to harmlessly plot to get them both very, very drunk at some point in the future, just so she could take advantage of him.


There was no malice behind such thought processes. She just loved him so much; so, so much, that she just has to make him hers, forever...


And the only way to ensure that of course, is to get pregnant.


She has seen it all before on Reality T.V. Shows and Soap Dramas. It was – in her eyes, the only sure fire way to keep him chained to her existence. To have a child with him without his knowing until the very last minute, would allow with absolute certainty, he could never, ever run away...


Yet, she knew, that would had been a very dumb thing to do. How on earth would she raise a child, anyway? She has not got a job to begin with, and she leeches off her parents the best she can as it is. Having a child would only ensure that her parents would force her to give up school, pursue a job, and become just like every other young mother she knows of.


Miserable. With a bratty, crying, snobby little poop-machine to look after every waking moment of every damn day.


“It's not wrong, to think like that... Is it?” Yasmin's voice echoed out from one of the four booths, followed by an exasperated sigh.


The staff lavatory was quite a dark place – having no light source and a solitary window that was boarded up quite tight. Hardly not as creepily unattended as the rest of the hotel, this room was quite well preserved considering how old the hotel was. It was certainly more modernized than the en suite bathrooms attached to all of the customer bedrooms.


The reason as to why that was, never really crossed her mind. As long as there were no spiders, or creepy noises – Yasmin was quite happy to be quite ignorant of itall. The abandoned hotel was merely a vessel to conceal their love – it's fate, past, present or future, really did not matter to her.


By the time this place is finally condemned to becoming a pile of rubble, they will probably be happily married and well within their thirties.


The sound of swooshing water and the toilet booth door unlocking indicated that she was quite ready to return to their room, and... She ceased her thoughts, and a slow smile crept across her face. Maybe, instead of him attempting to surprise her with a provocative and inviting pose... Maybe, she should surprise him, instead?


Well, there was only one way in her mind, since she had very little options open to her.


Bit by bit she undressed, and piled her clothes neatly into the corner of the staff lavatory's floor – which was surprisingly clean at that, and placed each item on top of the other in the exact order she removed them.


Yasmin, was quite the obsessive compulsive when it came to the neatness of everyday things.


An ordered life, was a sane life. That's her motto.


Unaffected by the cold, she took a moment to admire her own naked body. “Wish my boobs would grow more, though... I heard he likes big breasts... Should I, get implants when I'm old enough? Nah, maybe that is a bit too extreme even for me. I mean, I am beautiful, after all. Why else should I improve on perfection?”


Her rambling about herself ceased, and she let out a blood-chilling scream as something within the bathroom made quite the loud and unceremonious THUD, like a body hitting the ground at speed or a sledgehammer striking hard concrete. Quickly she flung her arms about her chest to conceal her breasts, and turned, gawking at lavatory door, which had fallen flat against the ground.


Yasmin, felt like she was going to be sick. The fear that had swollen her chest and caused her heart to thunder all the away up into her throat, had begun to subside as quickly as it developed. She almost even stumbled onto her neatly arranged pile of clothing – and that, would had been a disaster.


After standing there in the darkness for several moments, gazing with wide emerald eyes at the felled door, rationality had started to calm her nerves. Maybe the hinges – so aged with rust, had finally submitted to the weight of the door and the ancient force of gravity.


That had to be it.There was no other explanation.


Right?


Despite the fright, Yasmin told herself that everything was all right and continued with her initial plan; although, she is now a little hesitant. Each cautious step took her across the lavatory, carefully over the door, and out into that expansive hallway.


“Heh, stupid hotel...It's so old, even the doors are falling off the hinges... Heh... It-it's just that. The rumours ain't true. It's just scary stories. T-to make children scared – to make people not come here because the only danger is...” Her self narrative was supposed to soothe her. But her words died away with each passing step, “The o-only danger i-is...” and eventually, ceased, when she spied not two doors away a dim light – as if from a bedside lampshade, shining from under one of the many closed hotel rooms.


She double checked her position, and blinked up and down the hallway, confusion wrecking her quite average looking features. She was no where near room Twenty-Seven.


Approaching the door, her head tilted curiously to one side. She read the room number, and found her mouth, drifting agape.


It was room Twenty-Seven.


Yasmin, took a step back, shaking her head, “That can't be, our room is on the end of the corridor, but... I'm in the middle - I'm... I'm sure of it... This doesn't make any sense-” She turned to glance at another room, opposite this enigma, and found nothing but further mystery, when this very same room...


Was also room Twenty-Seven.


“Wh-wha?!” Disturbed, and unnerved, she turned on the spot again, jerking her head left and right, looking down each expanse the hallway extended to. She had not noticed it before, but the hallway seemed longer than before. Wider, too. The darkness occupying each end appearing almost, infinite.


This had to be a trick.


“Jason?!” She instinctively called out, “Jason?! A-are you there?”


No reply.


“I-I'm scared, J-Jason, pl-please, if thi-this is a joke... I-I'll be so pissed off!” Again, no reply. So she helplessly returned to her original whine, “J-J-Jason...? W-what is going o-on? This is... Is...”If her eyelids had bulged any wider, the eyeballs might had fallen out of their sockets. Her gaze returned to the solitary light spilling forth from under one of the many room Twenty-Sevens, and slowly, dipped her body down to stare through the rusty keyhole, having heard something on the other side of the door.


“Jason...?” She asked, barely above a whimper, half a plea.


The fear that had once gripped her, was gone. The manic desperation that ached her head? Dispelled. What replaced it, was disbelief, and heartbreak. At first, she could not hear it quite so clearly, but now she can hear it as clear as a jack hammer pounding against her head. The sound of a bed creaking, and springs groaning; the sound of flesh, slapping flesh.


The blissful groans of Jason, and another woman's.


Yasmin's trembling fingers reached up to clamp tight around her mouth, to restrain the wail of despair that crawled out from her lungs. She could not believe what she was seeing. She could make out two figures writhing about on the bed, candles lit all around them – the passing features of Jason's face, and... And...


A woman with red hair –a woman with red hair? A woman with a peculiarly familiar feature just above her right butt cheek...


“What...” Yasmin gasped through tears, and reached a hand behind her, and trailed an index finger over the birthmark, located just above her own right butt cheek. “What...?”


Heartache? That was nothing compared to the pain that she felt. It was as if her hearthad been cut out by her own hands, and all she could do was just stare through that keyhole, and witness another Yasmin, do exactly what she wanted to do with Jason.


Everything came all too sudden and all too fast – a rush of emotions she had never felt before in her entire life. Yasmin threw herself back from the door, screaming half in despair, half in rage. She clawed her hands into her hair, and shook her head wildly from side to side, throwing those fiery locks all about her naked frame.


This had to be some kind of dream – some kind of nightmare. This just could not be happening – how could there be two of her – that can't happen – that ain't real!


“This isn't real! This can't be real!” Yasmin stumbled to her feet, clawing her fingers now along the wall - using it for support as she moved to flee; to run and hide from the noises of Jason making love with someone - some thing else.


But she did not get too far.


Not two meters into her run down the hallway, did she meet with a door, blocking her path. It stood in the middle of the hallway and it was not affixed to any partition whatsoever. It was as if the door was just, floating there... And it was none other than the lavatory door that had fallen previously, and, it was slowly starting to creep open.


Something shadowy stood in the doorway. A looming figure – taller than her, with arms wide open as if it were going to reach out and grab her.


The torrent within her mind, simply caused the poor girl to snap.


Like many when faced with an unknown and insanely desperate, Yasmin launched forward through the portal, howling, drawing her fingers around that shadowy thing's neck. As they both stumbled back onto the ground, Yasmin maneuvered herself to mount the creature still with a vice-like grip around that throat, and squeezed.


What came from her lips now, was not a fearful whimper, or a despairing wail in witnessing something so bizarre her mind simply could not comprehend it. What she did instead, was laugh. And she laughed hard.


It was all, just so impossible – so crazy – so, dream-like. It had to be a dream. It had to be some sort of crazy dream!


Her fingers buried deep into that throat, drawing blood, her ears searching for that frog-crocking dry gasp of constriction to animate from this... This thing's mouth, until the very last breath gurgled past, and it - whatever it was, finally, went limp.


It stopped moving.


Everything, is all right now. With all the noise she had made, surely Jason would had heard her – surely he would be coming to her rescue right about now.


If this was a dream – that is what exactly would had happened.


But it was not.


Bringing herself from her giggling madness, her fingers gripped into a... Shirt?


As her ragged breath slowed, and she regained some measure of clear thought; the red mist within her – that fight or flight instinct, gently dissipated, and with what little strength she had left, she gripped into the shirt ever tighter and lifted the thing up, to pull its face into the pale moonlight that spilt into room Twenty-Seven from the only window in the entire room.


The thing she had killed – no, murdered... Was Jason.