Realistic or Modern Surreal Estate || Main Thread

[BELIAL.]

valerie kallagher.

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  outfit

  
  
  
  

  mm... work casual minus coat
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  location

  
  
  
  

  tunnels -> playroom?
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  idalie Dover Sear
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

The echoing call seemed to penetrate beneath Val’s skin, edging every hair on her body upward. There was nothing human, or even remotely human, about the voice. Her gut told her, immediately, to err on the side of caution. Val stopped dead in her tracks, phone still poised upward as the rest of her body threatened to lock into place.

She didn’t know what to expect, but surely whatever that thing was that pulled itself from around the corner from another hall was… not at all in her wildest dreams. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw, not even the most lucid of nightmares. There was a sort of fear that came from confrontation that was beyond skin deep, it was bone deep, and it sent hot flushes up and down one’s system.

The fact that she heard Vaughn’s voice, her own voice in it, made it all worse.

It edged a claw out toward Netta, and before Val could really do anything, Netta screamed and hit it fully with the journal. The creature was fully taken by the defense, leaving Val spluttering with eyes wide as she tried to will herself into movement and action.

From the side she saw Vaughn pulling out his gun, followed by the inevitable jam of all things, and the creature seemed keen to turn its way back toward them. Vaughn’s briefcase hit the ground, an uncomfortable mess fluttering all the while the gun finally did go off.

It was enough to snap Val back into life, the shuddering crack of the gun near deafening her in the proximity. Immediately she thought of what to do, given the dark quarters that this creature seemed to call home, and a solution rose quickly to her mind.

Quickly she lurched forward with her phone around Vaughn’s bent over form, intentionally shining and shaking the back camera’s light toward the thing. Grimacing as she did so, all she could let out was a squeak. To her delight, however, the thing seemed to be taken aback by the bright light, stunned and delayed enough for them to get a move.

Sudden arrival of a third, human this time, gave Val a huge relief that swelled into her chest. Harlow’s presence was as much of a positive as it was a negative, when their blade didn’t slash the creature into ribbons immediately.

At the command to run, Val wasn’t one to wait. Scrambling with her phone growing slick in her sweating, panicked hand, she made a gesture toward the available hallway that wasn’t occupied by a creature or leading back to the house. She prayed that the thing would at least follow them, that there would be a clearing somewhere in these tunnels, and that Charlie was okay.

They made haste, winding through dusty and half-beaten tunnels until the Supervisor finally made distance behind them. The shouting, disturbingly clear in tone, was offset by whenever they’d turn a corner the thing seemed to slam itself into a wall. She tried not to look back often, afraid that it would be right on her heels, but between the halls that seemed to lead to debris and ruin, there was only one noticeable path to take.

Claws that reached when it gained on them were met with the quick diving and unstructured pace of the group, able to evade by the skin of their teeth.

Finally, or what Val hoped was finally, she saw a ‘light’ at the end of the tunnel. Stumbling in she hadn’t even the chance to take in the surroundings. The fact that it was a playroom of sorts, coloured in hyper saturation, felt entirely out of place for a home they’d just escaped from and the tunnels they’d also just escaped from.

It was hot on their path, however, bursting into the room as soon as everyone was clear. She was sure it would go running for someone, but even the light of this room seemed enough to stagger it.

“Someone fucking kill it!”

Val begged with a scream, betraying her own usual composure.

What was worse was her sudden realisation, eyes wide and frozen in horror, that the door behind them had seemingly disappeared-- leaving them, solely, with this creature, and without any known escape.

ghosts again

depeche mode

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[mourning star]

/* ------ left side ------ */

/* ------ left side info ------ */

MOOD. Putting the pieces together and damn proud of it.

ADDRESS 289 Fairway Drive.

LOCATION. The Upside-down Living Room.

MENTIONS Guy // elytra .

aamira 'mimi' ismail.

/* ------ right side ------ */

The paper was taken from her hand, pillaged from her in the blink of an eye. Soft brown eyes blinked down at the display, a worrisome pout to her lips. When one of the Menders returned to eye the magazine in her hands, she found herself ripping page-by-page. Over and over, again and again she tossed the little creatures' pages at the opening of the small tunnel. With each page that fell, a new Mender swooped in and scurried away. It was almost like a colony of ants, off to present their queen with their find, prize held aloft as they marched back whence they came.

Mimi sat back on her haunches as the last Mender departed the room, in its hand the spine of the magazine cover. She couldn’t help but to huff, a disbelieving noise over the pompous expectancy these small beings held.

“We can break down the facts, I think,” She hoisted herself up to her feet, glancing about the room in thought. “You and I landed in a 50s living room. The Menders dislike something specific -- albeit, not specific enough for us to know immediately. They took that new alarm clock, the mushroom lamp, the magazine… all things not truly common in a living room such as this. I wonder…”

The wheels were turning as she moved to the table. She sat on her knees, offering Tickles a smile that met the twinkle in her eye.

“Thank you for your contribution, Tickles,” She murmured, eying the coins. Her fingers began to pluck each one from the container, eyes narrowed. “I appreciate the input… even with how eccentric you are, you’re a rather fine contribution.”

Mimi offered him another smile before she was counting the coins. The metal was a little worn on some, less worn on others. She checked the backs of the quarters, looking for any abnormalities before she was turning them over. She read the dates aloud, uninterested as frustration began to seep through.

“1952… 1958… 1956… 1951… 1959… 1936.”

Mimi took the coin in her hand.

This particular penny was covered in dust, a byproduct of an untouched room. She blew along the coin, scrubbing her thumb and brushing over the year to better take in the print.

The year.

The… year…

With an intake of breath, she was hurrying to her feet with the older coin in hand. She didn’t speak, merely laid the coin down before the tunnel. The previous Mender, the one who had stolen the first page of the magazine, peeked out. She laid the coin down hastily, unwilling to feel the touch of the creature when she did not know if it was friendly enough to human touch.

It was within one moment that the Mender shot forward, collecting the coin and scurrying away.

Mimi clapped her hands, a half-laugh escaping her in her triumph.

“Guy!” She spun on her heel, stumbling a little before she was eliminating the space between them. She grasped his upper arms, gently in case he would prefer to pull away, and offered him a terrific smile. “It’s the decade! It has to be. Everything else that they’ve collected -- it's all newer or older then the room we’re in. That’s the answer; they’re taking everything out of place to restore everything to the 50s.”

She pulled back, gazing about the room in thought.

Her brow raised, challenging as she asked her companions, “I don’t suppose you feel like tearing the room apart until everything ‘new’ is gone, right?”

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[Dover]

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location

in the light at the end of the tunnel

role

crew.

CW

n/a

mentions

elytra idalie BELIAL. Sear

Arnetta 'Netta' Webber.

When Netta was still in college, floating from course to course and unable to settle on a specific focus, she'd taken a computer programming course. There was an issue in programming where if an operation tried to create a value that was outside of the specified range, then it could wraparound to the minimum or maximum value that was possible. It was all she could remember about the class, for some reason.

It wasn't a particularly helpful piece of information to remember right now, but it's all she could think about as she whiffed the journal against the monster so badly that she upset her own balance and tumbled over, narrowly avoiding being grabbed and likely torn to pieces. Her luck was so bad that she'd somehow wrapped that shit around and got the luckiest she'd been in years. At least, for that particular moment. For a second, she thought to stay there. Keep her head down until the monster stopped making that awful noise and there were less panicked footsteps next to her, and the ringing in her ears from Vaughn's too-close bullet and stopped.

And she might have. Might have stayed there frozen in fear from her first encounter with something that could harm her that wasn't her own poorly dealt hand in life if it wasn't for Harlow's voice, cutting through the haze of it all with absolute clarity, telling them all to run. Netta did not need to be told twice.

Her hands and knees scraped, Netta scrambled after Valerie. Somewhere in the back of her mind, little warning bells were going off. The paths weren't right. They were winding the wrong way. She could hear the Supervisor scrambling behind them, smashing in walls and sickening claws rending the old foundation each time it just barely failed to catch one of them. A single wrong step was death, and with that kind of pressure, the only thing that really mattered was getting more space between them and that thing.

The light at the end of the tunnel they rushed up to meet was some morbid kind of joke, but in the moment, Netta did not give a damn. Light was safety. Light meant they could see and maybe kill the creature behind them.

Netta rushed in after Valerie, glancing behind them to see if Harlow and Vaughn had made it there alive too. But the sickening realization that came first was that the door was gone. They were trapped. This thing was going to pick them off one by one.

She backed further into the room, looking around wildly for a weapon and vowing that, if she ever got out of this house, she was going to bring the sledgehammer first thing with the next house. To hell with any homeowners that complained about it.

 

[idalie]

VAUGHN VALENTINE ⁠— real estate & hunter
tags: group one / elytra Sear ; location: 829 adams drive basement ; interactions: Harlow & The Supervisor

Valerie and Netta were quick to make themselves scarce, fleeing further into the tunnel network whilst Vaughn and Harlow stood opposing the supervisors hulking form. A needed partner, no less, for the onset of their darkest hour; though the exorcist's sage advice fell on deaf ears. Vaughn wasn’t the sort to run til’ he’d bled⁠—call it an unintentional sacrifice that led one to mull their own mortality in the face of annihilation, or with far less poetry, coming to terms with becoming worm-food. Six bullets clicked into that spinning chamber, smacked upward with the heel of his calloused palm, “Harlow, baby, ever heard of the Alamo?” His brow quirked, hair beginning to curl and coil back to ringlets, entertaining a deviant smile. Half stupidity, half charm.

The revolver sent tremors up into Valentine’s shoulders, hitting his mark. One black, charred hole marred the coat; growing wet with ichor as it fell at the abnormality’s feet. Three more followed, striking the thinly masked features, causing a squelched mass of jagged flesh to fall dull against the damp burrowed floor; taut skin punctured, loosening like a cut sail rope. He veered with the aim, growing closer on the advance; whether or not it squealed or shrieked he’d been unawares, Vaughn’s ears ringing in high-pitched notes of protest, impaired by adrenaline and gunshot.

It thrashed. Spindly, clawed arms flailing as Vaughn ducked closer; narrowly avoiding evisceration where it glanced across his stomach with a diagonal tear of fabric⁠—the force enough to stumble, leaving shallow lacerations in its wake.

Valentine gripped the open mouth with his already jagged fingers, spilling blood on the rowed teeth as a belated final supper⁠—wrenching it’s jaw down, the firearm-muzzle rammed up. Emptying what rounds were left into the underside of the creature’s skull. Fine, navy mist came to rest as if freckles, but it was his sleeve growing heavy with the weight of moisture, colouring the Realtor’s shirt ink-blue that disassociated the method of killing.

Perhaps if it had been red?

He took his clean hand, reaching for the ivory-handled penknife in his back-pocket. Biting the flat-edge of the blade to pull it round; kneeling now, where it’d collapsed against the shaft walls, Valentine’s fist with its new-found weapon did little more than mutilation⁠—he would call it butchery. Making sure it was gone and would remain gone.

Viewing the cavernous topside of the supervisor's head and the direction the girls had run in, Vaughn twisted to glance at Harlow. “Let's just hope there ain’t another one.” Wetting his lips, the huntsman rose, spitting what blood had been caught in his mouth back unto the corpse with an irksome glare, “Unless you wanna try sawin’ the head off that thing, let's high-tail ourselves over to the girls⁠—lest the Lord deems us another challenge.”

Gathering his briefcase, battered with plaster-dust and scuffed, Valentine slipped a pair of knuckle-dusters over his rings. "Y'know the city council gonna have to fill this in down here, that'll be out the budget."

coded by archangel_

 

[Ha_lfLife]

CHARLIE KALLAGHER
location: The Tunnels ; interactions: n/a

[CW: Mummified remains, Vomiting]

By the time Charlie had made it to the first convergence of tunnels, she’d heard the remnants of gunshots echoing around the corridors. So boundless were the underground channels that Charlie jumped at the sound, unsure if it rang out from the left or the right or from behind her, if it came from yards away or miles.

She fumbled for her phone, flipping it open and allowing herself a circle of faint blue light that didn’t even extend a foot in front of her. Another downside of no smartphone was that her Motorola predated the built-in flashlight. She held the phone’s screen in front of her, squinting to see where she’d ended up, trying to ignore the quick breaths that called back to her. Tunnel behind her, tunnel to her left, tunnel to the right, tunnel straight ahead. All dark as the others, with no hint that her sister had been there. Which one to choose? … eeny meeny minie moe …

Without any apparent reason, Charlie chose to go right. After several reluctant steps forward, half tripping on herself in the near-darkness, a lurch in her gut made her realize she was going the wrong way. The narrow tunnel opened up into a circular chamber. The stench hit her all at once, like a shot of salty water from a rogue ocean wave, the smell of putrid rot and mold and something else assailed her senses. Without a chance to adapt to it, she at once doubled over and wretched half of a donut and iced coffee onto the mud floor. When her stomach stopped it’s involuntary convulsions, Charlie straightened up, the light from her phone screen catching on a face just feet from her own.

Well, not a face. Not really. It was a body, its skin taught and tough, like a cowhide, all sign of muscle and fat long disintegrated. The skin was missing altogether from the face, crude cuts seeming to have taken it, leaving only the hollowed holes of a skull to peer back at her. Crowning the skeletal figures head were wafts of silver hair, dry as hay, though somehow still keeping its waves. A floral dress hung from the figure like it would on a hanger. Charlie’s eyes caught on the milky, uneven Pearl necklace laying loose around the collarbone. The same as what she’d worn in the picture with little baby Lucas in the album upstairs.

Nana.​

Charlie was too stunned, too enraptured with panic to move. Only when her lungs started to burn did she realize she hadn’t breathed. This was so so so seriously fucked. Were all of the houses Val worked on like this? If so, Charlie figured she’d be better off applying at a Walgreens or Burger King or something.

Charlie finally willed her legs to move, taking a heavy step sideways, nearly tripping as she did. She shone the light away from Nana down to her foot and l, this time, jumped back at the sight of a second body.

Like the first, this one seemed way old, partially mummified and with its face stolen. This body’s was a man, the embroidered chest of his coveralls naming him RANDY from the Massachusetts-American Water Company. A folded sheet of paper laid half underneath him, looking like a surveyor’s map. Charlie reached for it hesitantly, half afraid that the body would jump back to life if she touched it, and shimmied the map out from underneath it.

Before standing straight, Charlie grabbed at a brick from the decaying wall beside the body, still unsure of if the body would suddenly reanimate, and juggled it in one arm as she unfolded the map and held it under her light.

She saw one house circled in red ink, the address typed below it the one that Val’d plugged into the GPS this morning. The only other house circled was on the other side of the survey, also circled in red.

Going back where she’d come from wasn’t an option. Not with that creep upstairs who was in on whatever shady shit was happening down here. No, she wasn’t going back there. The other address was… maybe a way out? Then again maybe it was another murder house with its own stock of creeps upstairs. But it didn’t look like she had a ton of other choices. Besides, what if her sister had ended up there? Taking off in a trot, whispering pleas to no one in particular, Charlie only stopped to catch her breath and check where the map told her to go next.

Soon, the crossings of dark pathways became less and less frequent. On either side was only damp brick and mud for what felt like miles. How long had it been, how far had she been running? With the twists of the tunnels and the dark that felt thicker with every heaving breath, Charlie really couldn’t even guess.

Was the tunnel getting smaller? She briefly came to remember a day back in Kyoto, where she and Val were sitting crosslegged on the house’s tatami floors, eating skittles and watching Willy Wonka. That scene where Gene Wilder leads the group up a hallway that keeps shrinking as they walk until all that’s before them is a tiny terra cotta door. So vivid was the memory that she could almost imagine it now —

Wait no, that was a door! Illuminated in the distance by a single yellow bulb, naked and swinging overhead, despite the air in the tunnel being thick and dead. The door glowing in its light was at the top of a series of rotten wooden stairs. With the lightbulb dangling above and the rickety staircase, the doorway had an eerie resemblance to gallows. She didn’t want to go up there, but what other choice did she have? She’d been running for … for however long. She couldn’t go back now. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, putting her phone back in her pocket as she caught her breath. Val where are you?


She tried to stop her hand from shaking as she reached out for the knob, raising the brick behind her ear with her other hand, poised to lob it at anything that waited on the door’s other side.

coded by archangel_

 

[elytra]

guy van every.

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  gritting his teeth and trying to smile through the pain
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  casual guy ready to take on the world (and ghosts)
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  the basement of 289 Fairway Drive
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  tickles, mimi ( mourning star ), charlie ( Ha_lfLife )
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Guy had always had a penchant for destroying things. Not in his line of work- he was very careful that all his pieces stayed intact for the sake of the set ups -but when there was a chance to shatter something, he took it. The lamp was a good example. Did he have to smash it against the ground? Not really. There were plenty of other ways to go about the task. But there was something gratifying about just taking something and absolutely ruining it.

His younger sibling was the opposite. Baby- a godawful name, not that he'd tell them that and not that he had any right to -always had an emotional attachment to objects. Felt bad when they broke things, when they threw things out. Even when they outgrew things, Baby seemed to view just tossing them as a disservice. They had a trike, an obnoxiously pink one with streamers and a bell, that they'd run into the ground over years and years of use, and eventually they'd outgrown it. But, they'd refused to get rid of it, getting teary-eyed whenever the idea was suggested. Their parents had started ragging on Baby for the whole ordeal. In the end, Guy had taken the decision out of Baby's hands and taken a baseball bat into his own to absolutely demolish the thing, rendering it useless.

That probably said something about him. He wasn't going to examine it too closely. Regardless, a chance to tear apart a room wasn't something he was going to balk at.

"Don't mind if I do."

He tossed the book he was holding up before catching it again. Then, he tore the pages, tossing them up like confetti. The menders scurried out in a drove, beginning to snatch at the papers and drag them away. Once he was finished with the pages, he dropped the binding. It didn't take long for that to be snatched up as well. There was full intent to destroy more things, but when he turned around, there were suddenly two doors. His fingers itched to try and smash something else, but he held himself back for the sake of making sure the doors stayed around.

Scooping up Tickles, he headed towards the left door.

"Let's not overstay our welcome."

That was what he thought was the smart option. Leave the weird upside-down maybe now right side up?) room, avoid being trapped, everyone's a winner. Except, as he opened the door, he found himself almost being brained by a brick.

Some girl was on the other side, fully ready to attack whatever was in front of her, which happened to be him. Behind her was a long, dark tunnel, the sort that he imagined made up mines. It was as filled with dust as it was dirt, and it didn't take him long to decide that he didn't want to be in there. Judging by the attack, the girl didn't want to be either.

He put his hands up in a surrendering pose, the cost of which was Tickles unceremoniously dropping to the ground. That earned him a few personal, scathing remarks, but elected to ignore them.

"I'd appreciate if you didn't murder me, miss."

He started, wanting to get that out of the way.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

He fully intended to follow that line of questioning. Then, however, he heard an inhuman sort of scream coming from further down the hall. That was around the point that he decided that maybe, this wasn't the most important thing to do at the moment. He scooped up Tickles and reached forwards, tugging the girl inside before slamming the door shut.

"Nevermind. I don't care that much, actually."

It wouldn't be the first time he spent time with strangers. He went to the next door, swinging it open to reveal the original basement. He ushered everyone through, before going through himself and shutting the door behind him. The original basement was back to how it has been, with stairs leading up to what was presumably the first floor.

"Alright. Mimi, get rid of the ghosts. I don't care if you exorcise them or, I don't know, burn the place down."

Guy said, looking back to his companions.

"Brick woman...well, I'm not sure what you were doing here in the first place, frankly. You can either stick around down here or wait upstairs. Whatever works for you."

rock & roll

EDEN

♡coded by uxie♡

[/border]

 

[mourning star]

/* ------ left side ------ */

/* ------ left side info ------ */

MOOD. A little nervous over all the disembodied screaming.

ADDRESS 289 Fairway Drive.

LOCATION. The Basement.

MENTIONS Guy // elytra , Charlie // Ha_lfLife .

aamira 'mimi' ismail.

/* ------ right side ------ */

The rush to destruction had Mimi a little stupified, raising her brow at how easily her companion began to tear the room apart. With a little more tact, she found herself placing a rogue coin by the small tunnel. It wasn't long before the two doors appeared. A choice; although, it was not promising to know that there could be potential dangers on either side. Guy's voice kept her grounded as she followed after him, verging to the left door as he did. There was a moment when the door opened where she only saw a face. Her eyes widened, her hand reaching out automatically for her belt. Her fingers tightened over the handle of her screwdriver, lost in the rush of adrenaline before she realized it was just a human. Another woman lost in these dizzying catacombs just like them.

While Guy attempted to de-escalate, Mimi found herself softening slightly in response. She wasn't heartless—clearly, the poor thing had been through a lot more of the insanity this house seemed content to offer. She had made a move to usher her forward. The sound of screaming further down the tunnel made her pause, the hairs rising on the back of her neck. It was inhuman, a gnarled, ragged flaring of vocal cords that spoke of [/B]danger[/B] and little else.

Guy moved faster than she did. She had taken a step to the side, allowing him to pull the girl from the tunnels before slamming the door shut. She took up the back for their little trio, fingers tightening around one of the vials of holy water strapped to her chest. Soon, she was ushered into the original basement. The sense of danger was there; the shriek from the tunnels had knocked enough sense into her to begin preparing herself for an exorcism.

Guy's command made her snort, sending him an amused look before focusing once more on her task.

"Nobody leaves. To the center of the room. Don't break the circle." She commanded. She moved toward her tool kit, collecting a small box filled with salt. She moved towards the door they had come from, salting the entrance and then moving to the stairs. She kept going, creating a circle around Guy, Tickles, and the new mystery girl. She sent them another look, focusing on Guy as she said, "Just stay in the circle. I don't want Tickles to be affected by this."

She moved towards the wall decoration, salting a small half-circle before she grabbed the holy water at her chest. Kneeling before the decoration, she bowed her head as she began the very long prayer that allowed her to exorcise any spirits within the home.

"Prayer to St. Michael the Archangel
In the Name of the Father,
and of the Son,
and of the Holy Ghost.
Amen..."

She stood, tossing the holy water toward the wall and the items embedded into the wood. The house shuddered slightly. It was a muted noise; but, that same scream seemed to echo. It was faint; but, enough for Mimi to know her focus had been chosen wisely. Whatever was in those tunnels held a connection to the tangible items that had found their way into this out-of-place art piece. She kneeled once more, hands pressed together fervently in prayer. She pulled from underneath her shirt the rosary she often wore, the beads creating indents in her skin from how tightly she clasped her hands together.

Her prayer continued, praying to the Catholic God for several moments before standing again.

"From the snares of the devil,
Deliver us, O Lord.
That Thy Church may serve Thee in peace and liberty:
We beseech Thee to hear us.
That Thou may crush down all enemies of Thy Church:
We beseech Thee to hear us."

Flickering holy water onto the wood, she watched as the items—the glasses, an old picture frame, and other small antiques—began to wither and age. A crack appeared in the lenses of the glasses, a chip in the otherwise pristine art piece that seemed to hold the remnants of the dead. With each new bit of water thrown onto the wood, the more the items fell into disrepair. With a sigh, Mimi finished the one vial before turning to her two human (and her one non-human) companions.

She approached, casually flicking a bit of water into Guy's face without warning.

"For protection. No one wants to be possessed now," She told him primly.

She was careful to avoid Tickles, not wanting to mess with any of his own attachments, before she turned to the new girl. Her smile was more apologetic, tossing some of the holy water onto her with a little more care.

For good measure, she applied some of the water to herself.

"Alright," She sighed, brushing her hair back. She allowed her rosary to slip from her fingers, laying on her chest with finality that the whole ordeal was truly over with. "Forget my toolbox, forget just... everything for now. I want to get out of this basement as soon as possible. So, let's go."

She stepped through the salt circle, brushing it aside to allow the four of them to head upstairs and leave this whole misadventure behind.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[elytra]

​

cw: general gore, mentions of burning

June 8th, 1963

“Jeez, Rand, this thing belongs in the boneyard.”

There wasn’t much in Worcester county other than farms and trees. The scenery outside the window would alternate between the two, forests and fields blending and blurring together as the car sputtered its way down the road. Once in a while, in the distance, the soft glowing lights of a house could be seen peeking out of the dark landscape, but they would be gone as quickly as they came.

Smoke billowed out the window from a recently-lit cigarette, held aloft between carefully manicured fingers as Barbara leaned her arm atop the door, listening to the rumbling of the slug bug Randy lovingly called Beatrice. Sometimes, Barbara wondered if Randy loved the damn car more than he loved her. If he did, that brought up a whole other slew of complications, because all that love didn’t seem to mean he worked any harder to treat it nicely.

“C’mon Babs. She ain’t that bad.”

Almost comically, the car made a concerning creaking noise right after he said that. With one hand still on the wheel, the other flitted over to the radio, turning it up so Surfin’ U.S.A. would cover up any other sounds Beatrice decided to emit.

“Purring like a kitten, that’s all.” He declared after, raising his voice to talk over the radio.

Barbara rolled her eyes, taking a drag of her cigarette. “A kitten havin’ a seizure, maybe.” She muttered after blowing out the smoke. “When you asked to hang, I was expecting a movie at the drive-in, not toolin’ around bumfuck nowhere in your hand-me-down volks.”

“What was that? Can’t hear you over the music.” Randy leaned his head out the window, singing along to the song “You'd catch 'em surfin' at Del Mar, inside, outside, U.S.A.!”

“Randy.” Barbara ran a hand through her hair, which she had painstakingly styled a few hours before under the assumption she wouldn’t be in fucking Worcester. “This thing is gonna break down, and we’re gonna have to walk for help. I ain’t walking, Randy! I’m in heels, and heels don’t mix with dirt roads.”

“Aw, don’t worry, Babs. I’d do all the walking. I’m not about to let a choice girl like you do work like that.” The assurance meant very little, though she didn’t have the heart to tell him. “Besides, she isn’t gonna give out. Beatrice is a beaut, she can--”

The engine sputtered and the radio warbled. With a final jerk forwards that caused Barbara to nearly bash her head against the dashboard, everything flickered off. The car died after barely giving Randy enough time to get it to the side of the road.

“Jesus H. Christ, Rand, see? This is what happens when you tune me out.” Barbara flicked the cigarette to get rid of the ash, before bringing it in to snuff it out completely in the ash tray that sat between them. “God, you’re such an idiot sometimes, you know that?”

“And you’re uptight, but you don’t hear me complaining.”

Barbara scoffed, slapping his shoulder in hopes it’d sting. Her hands went to fumble with her seatbelt, seething as she tried to get it undone. Seeming to realize his mistake, Randy stopped her, grabbing her hands and offering up a wobbly, uncertain smile.

“Baby, settle down. I’m sorry. That was uncool of me.” He soothed, grimacing a bit when it did nothing to wipe the thin-lipped look off Barbara’s face. “Look, let me run and get help, alright? You stay here, hang loose and keep looking pretty.”

“Randall Hersch, you are not leaving me alone in this car!” Barbara almost immediately went back to struggling with the seatbelt “We are in the middle of nowhere late at night. The only people wandering around here are freaks and murderers. I’m not looking to get murdered, Randy! And with all those people bein’ barbequed to a crisp lately--”

“Jesus, you’re morbid. Quit it, would you? You aren’t about to be fried.” He let go of her hands, undoing his own seatbelt. “Can’t win either way. I leave to get help, you’re alone and hate me. You come with, you complain about your heels. Would you just let me be a gentleman and head over to one of the houses?”

Barbara sat there, arms crossed, before sighing. “...Fine. But you better be back in 10, or I’m coming out there.”

“Solid. Sit back and relax, baby! It’ll all be good.”

Moments later, Barbara was alone, window now rolled up. Randy had walked up the road a ways to a dirt path, one that had fresh wheel tracks on it. That was a bit of a relief; at the very least, whatever house owned the rusty mailbox that had ‘114’ plastered on the side of it in peeling paint wasn’t abandoned.

Yet, it wasn’t relief enough. She had fully intended to sit and wait the 10 minutes as she’d promised, but the silence and dark surroundings had begun to get to her. The car had broken down in a patch of forest with trees on either side, shading the road in total darkness now that there was no help from the headlights. Usually, this time of the year, the air would be filled with the sound of field crickets, and yet, there was nothing. Occasionally, the leaves would rustle, but nothing more than that.

She got antsy. At first, she tapped her foot to get rid of the energy. Then, she started leaning forwards every so often to glimpse at the dirt path, hoping to see signs of Randy. Neither helped. Eventually, with a bit of struggle, she undid her seatbelt and got out of the car, heading to the trunk to get the in-case-of emergency gear that Randy kept back there.

It wasn’t long before she had replaced her heels with slightly-too-big work boots and had a flashlight in-hand. She’d been hoping that by the time she’d gotten those things together, Randy would be back, but there was still no sign of him. There was no way she was going to continue idling alone. God only knew what that boy had gotten up to. He had two left feet and the confidence of a football star; it wasn’t unlikely he’d done something stupid and twisted his ankle.

The path, at least, was flat. Not well taken care of- the underbrush had started to invade it, creeping towards her -but not uphill, either. If there was a house at the end of it, she was feeling more confident that Randy had made it there.

The further she went, the more a stench started to permeate the air. It was pungent, like that of a decaying animal, hanging around in the heavy air of the warm summer night. She pulled her shirt over her nose when it got strong enough to make her feel ready to vomit, at a part of the path where the flat, reliable land dropped off to the right, steeply sloping down through a collection of brambles. Some poor thing must’ve fallen into them and been unable to get out.

Or multiple poor things. The smell only got worse as she went, too powerful to be just one corpse. A smokey smell had also begun to come through, though it was vastly overpowered, barely noticeable to the point where she began to assume she imagined it. Paranoia set in rather quickly when alone.

Worry set in as well when she saw one of Randy’s sneakers messily discarded near the side of the path. That worry morphed to annoyance when she saw Randy curled up down the slope to her right. Sighing, she carefully slid down the leaf litter into the underbrush, making her way to Randy and shining her light on him.

“This is why I should’ve come with.” She admonished, to which there was no answer other than Randy shifting slightly. “Are you ignoring me now? Jesus, Rand.”

She grabbed his arm, which was warm enough to the touch to feel like he was feverish. “I’m serious, Randall, this isn’t--”

Her voice caught in her throat when she managed to heave him onto his back. Randy’s head lolled with the movement of his body, a gurgling noise coming from his mouth as blood trickled out. Where his eyes once were sat empty, scorched sockets, the skin around them a mix of charred black and angry red, sizzling slightly as the burn somehow continued to spread across his face. His body jolted, a spray of blood coming from his lips, cheeks beginning to blister.

His chest, meanwhile, was caved inward slightly, as if a rope had been attached to his inner sternum and tugged backwards, forcing the ribs to bend and crack. There was no external bleeding there that she could see through his shirt, but every time he tried to take a breath, they were short and accompanied by more gurgling and wheezing.

"Randy. Oh, god." Barbara breathed out, jolting back away from him. His body hit the ground, more blood bubbling out as his face slowly began to char more, like wood in a fireplace. "I'll- I'll get help. Just stay here."

Talking to him was less for him and more for herself. The likelihood he could actually hear her, that he was actually able to listen, was slim. Every so often, his body would twitch; she couldn't be sure whether it was a sign of life or if it was just after-death muscle spasms. She wasn't even sure which she wanted it to be.

Her intent had been to go back to path, to head further along at an albeit faster pace to get help at the house. The woods were hell and gone from a hospital, but if there was any chance to help, she needed to take it. Before she could even make it back up the slope, though, she froze in her tracks, hearing slow, huffing breaths coming from the trees nearby.

It looked like a dog, the sorry sort used in animal welfare ads. Its skin- what remained of it, at least -clung to its bones tightly, joints jutting out as it moved, in some places quite literally. Skin has been torn away from some parts of its body, letting decaying flesh reach the open air. There was a glowing coming from its torso that wouldn't have been visible if not for the dark of night, like a dying ember, the comparison only strengthened from the burns that ran along is boney spine all the way to a tail that was shortened and singed. Half of its face looked burned off, one eye left wide with a lack of eyelid and missing skin over its teeth stretching its mouth into a permanent snarl. Bits of flesh hung loosely from its jaw, swinging as it moved.

With each breath, its body shuddered, but despite it's decrepit look, it still stalked towards her with clear intent. Every step it took, she took one back, until her foot caught on a root and she fell into the leaf litter that covered the forest floor. Things blurred after that; she felt a searing pain in her arm, like someone had stabbed into her flesh with a hot poker, and her ears were ringing as she screamed. She was aware, vaguely, that the dog was on top of her. She swung the flashlight, aiming the bulky end at the open bone on the side of the face, under one of it's eyes. The plastic made contact with a sickening crack, embedding itself into the dog's face, the brittle bone shattering easily with the brute force.

The hold on her arm was released as the dog screeched and staggered back. Barbara got to her feet, her arm bleeding profusely and feeling like it was being held in fire. She didn't run, though. She hit the dog again. And again. And again.

She kept hitting it, over and over, until there was little left of it's head other than a unrecognizable mass of bone shards, sinew, and meat. The flashlight had cracked a bit, the light flickering with every hit before it gave out completely. Even after that, she kept going until she was completely sure it was dead. The burning in her arm had only increased, inching up from where it had started near her wrist towards her elbow, and she dropped the broken light to grasp at it, applying pressure.

Then, with a final look towards Randy, who'd finally fallen still with the burn enveloping his entire face, she stumbled her way towards the house at the end of the path.

Welcome to 114 Brandywine Drive, players! Don't spend too long in the woods or something might eat you up.

 

[Sear]

harlow tulach.

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114 Brandywine Drive was a nightmare just from the state it was in. Minus the long history of murders going, that may or may not be attributed to a serial killer. Harlow frowned as they surveyed the land in front of them, having migrated slowly but surely around the house as soon as they had arrived. It was overgrown - that was for sure. Farmland, or what they supposed had once been farmland, stretched in front of them, bordered by a house that needed some tough love and another that seemed to be a bit more lived in. It certainly no longer looked like farmland. Instead trees had taken root, stretching toward the sky with young limbs that were a stark contrast to the woods they could see further out. If at one point the land had been managed, it was no longer.

What kept their attention was the well. It was large, the wood that kept the roof over it having rotted right through and time had stolen both the bucket and the rope. A bit more, and Harlow suspected it would cave right in. As such they avoided pushing on it with their entire body weight, instead feeling around the planks that had boarded up the well itself. Compared to the wood of the roof, the planks were fresh - the rot having haven’t got to the newer wood yet. They dug their fingers into the crevice where the wood was pushed against the stone, urging the wood to give so they could peer inside. It didn’t budge at first, creaking and biting into Harlow’s fingers as they tugged upwards. Stepping back, they dragged out a hunting knife from their bag to shove under a plank, dragging it up until it splintered and gave way, tossed to the side as the leaned in to peer into the dim hole.

The smell hit them first of standing water, and squinting just right they could see shapes at the bottom - shapes that they couldn’t distinguish even leaning closer. It would be worth checking with a flashlight, but they decided to first check in with the others before falling down the rabbit hole - or well, literally.

Squatting down to poke at the leaves near the well, the walkie-talkie sputtered to life in their hand. “Hey fellas.” Leaves rustled underfoot as they kicked at them half heartedly, half distracted by the walkie-talkie and half focused on poking and prodding at the ground. With another hand movement, their voice trailed off as green peeked through the leaves they were disturbing, a shred of fabric dragged out from under. “How’s it going over there? I got a rotting well and…fabric speckled with blood. Over.” Held up to the light, the spots of blood shone through the dense fabric, reminiscent of backpacks they’d once wore. Walkie and fabric still clutched in hand, they unfolded from their squat on the ground, setting out to scrutinize the ground underfoot with more vigilance than before.

tamer

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[elytra]

guy van every.

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  harlow ( Sear ), vaughn ( idalie )
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

The last house, at least, had been neat. Haunted, sure, but neat.

The same couldn’t be said for 114 Brandywine. The main building looked rickety, and that was to say nothing about the one a little ways down some overgrown pathway. Guy left that one to Netta, deciding he would much rather ignore it for the time being. Maybe by the time he got to it, it would collapse and they would be allowed to leave it to rot.

However, the main house was meant to be different. He’d taken a step in with the intent to stay. Then his senses had been overwhelmed with the smell of cigarettes sticking to the slightly-peeling wallpaper, the hoarder-den vibes of the living room, and at least 4 rocks painted like chickens in his peripheral vision. He’d turned heel and walked out the door he’d just come in.

And now? He was in a field.

Poor second choice, to be honest. He wasn’t a fan of dirt or bugs or anything the great outdoors had to offer. He wasn’t sure why he’d come here- maybe the ghost sightings, or maybe the houses were somehow worse than the thought of being mobbed by ticks. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter; he wasn’t hoofing it back to the main property yet.

The wheat was almost up to his shoulders, a golden tan reminiscent of farms they showed on big screens. It probably would be picturesque if he were further away and not trampling it. The sun was slowly nearing the horizon, edging them closer to darkness, and the incessant hum of field crickets had begun around him. It was the only other noise other than the crunching of plantlife. He’d placed tickles in time-out all the way in the bottom of his bag and the plush hadn’t made a peep since.

Sighing, he used his hand as a makeshift visor to block some of the sun from his eyes. Navigating in a field wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. The sightings had been rather non-specific, less specific than whatever was happening in the woods, but whatever the ghost was doing at least didn’t end in being a burnt corpse. Presumably, at least.

Vaughn was probably better at navigating, but Guy wasn’t ready to admit he felt lost in a wheat field yet. Instead, when his walkie came to life, he instead took the chance to answer it. It would be a good distraction.

“Exciting.”

Not really.

“In the fields currently, and it looks like wheat all over.”

He went up on his toes, trying to get a better look. Yep. It was still wheat.

“If there actually is a ghost, it hasn’t shown it’s face yet.”

Guy could only hope it would soon, otherwise the trip to the field would be completely useless.

He paused, then sighed and added

“Over.”

, despite how silly it felt.

rock & roll

EDEN

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Dover]

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location

outside the side house

role

crew.

CW

n/a

mentions

elytra Sear

Arnetta 'Netta' Webber.

When Netta had agreed to search the side house, she hadn't been aware that it was a proper house. She'd been expecting a shed, or maybe a small, single story guest house. Instead, what stretched out in front of her on the path was a full two-story house, with a sizeable attic as well. The siding was grey with weathering and half overgrown with greenery reclaiming the space. A veranda of splintered wood stretched around the house, only just barely keeping fallen trees and moss at bay.

Netta licked her lips and glanced back at the path behind her. It was less of a path and more just some grass that she'd tamped down with the movement of her walking. Part of her that was regretting telling Guy that she'd check out the side house. At the time, she'd thought she was signing up for something significantly smaller. And less creepy. The windows on this place were creepy. They were half busted out and if she looked at the dark openings for too long, she could almost convince herself that there was a figure watching her from the second floor.

Harlow's voice coming over the radio chased the imagined figure from her mind. Netta tightened her grip on the sledgehammer she'd dragged from the company van that she'd told herself earlier she was taking "just for precaution." After the nonsense that was the last house and that Right Hand bastard still being at large, she wasn't taking any chances. Not that she expected Lucas to pop out from behind a tree or anything, but she was on edge after nearly being fed to a monster in a basement.

She pressed the button on the walkie-talkie. "When you say blood, are you talking fresh blood or old blood? Over." Did she even want to answer to that question? Either way it was bad. New blood was more pressingly bad, she supposed.

The sledgehammer dragged behind her as she walked around the outside parameter of the house. Honestly, she would take fresh blood over whatever the hell the last house was. If nothing else, it meant there was no Right Hand shit. She couldn't imagine people like her parents traipsing around in the woods by am abandoned house that didn't even have functional plumbing.

A few twigs crunched under her footsteps and she barely registered the sledgehammer scraping against a rock as her attention was caught by a small storm cellar attached around the back of the house. Taking large steps to press down a particularly overgrown patch of grass and weeds, Netta approached the storm cellar doors.

And then froze.

It was impossible to mistake it. Spray painted precisely on the doors was a right hand encircled by flame. Netta stared at it for a long moment.

And then, though she knew she should keep quiet in this place, Netta tipped back her head a yelled a long, exasperated, "Fuuuuuck," to the sky. She let the sledgehammer fall to the ground. It's dull thump was the only other sound other than the quiet whisper of wind through the trees.

She let it hang a moment until that creeping feeling from before prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Netta glanced to either side of her. Then back to the storm cellar. A shiny new lock holding the two weathered doors together was the only thing marring the spray painted surface. She looked behind. No one there. Just something red lying among the brush. With a frown, Netta turned towards the red thing, leaving the sledgehammer nestled in the grass. It was only a few paces away and pushing aside branches and grass revealed it to be a backpack. A handful of scattered clothes trailed behind it.

"So, bad news and neutral news," Netta said into the walkie-talkie, "Neutral news is that I found a backpack. Bad news is I found a storm cellar next to this horrible little side house that has a new lock and our favourite little right-handed psychics tagged it."