Realistic or Modern Surreal Estate || IC

[floripher]

Aleks watched Griff walk off into the woods with a small frown. Please don't get possessed.

He halfhearted cheered, "Yeahh... Ghost hunting."

Did he like Griff? Hell no. Did he expect him to completely disregard a safety warning? Absolutely not.

He knew why their relationship was strained. Aleks' godson was.. something to Griff's nephew and their first interaction was an angry phone call with Aleks being told to keep his troublemaking pothead of a godson away from Hugo, Griff's nephew.

He'd tried to talk Azriel out of hanging around Hugo, he really had! It was just that Az was just as likely to listen to Aleks as he was to listen to anyone else he didn't respect: he'd practically have to be held at gunpoint.

The feeling of Grover's hand taking his drew him out of his thoughts.

Grover. Holding his hand. His hand in Grover's hand. Their hands. Touching. Intentionally. If he wasn't on the lot of a haunted house he might have swooned.

Aleks let out a scoff of a laugh. "C'mon Grover, I saved you last time, didn't I?"

Almost nervously, he pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. "Um-" He glanced towards the woods, looking for something, anything, to point out to direct attention away from him and his slowly reddening face.

"I've got my stuff. We can go ahead and go now." He settled for awkwardly motioning to the woods with his free hand. Smooth.

the ghost hunter

aleks.

• aaaaaaaaa
• aaaaaaaaa

• filler tab!
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  mood

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  we're holding hands? we're holding hands!

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  location

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  outside Bunting

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  tags

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  elytra

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  interactions

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  Grover

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[cadence]

• .
• .

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  XI.
  the medium/psychic

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  talulah “lou” winslow

  mood

  so scared and so guilty
  
  

  outfit

  a green corduroy jacket, a white turtleneck, beige slacks, brown leather doctor martens, and some emerald & gold jewelry
  
  

  location

  17 debdhill
  
  

  interactions

  ridley & enoch
  
  

  tags

  birdgeoisie Walliver
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
• cw: mentions of blood & minor head injury & wanting to vomit but no actual vomiting
  
  ”I don’t know!” Talulah shouted when Enoch and Ridley asked what she saw, throwing up her hands in hope that they wouldn’t pester her more about it. She wasn’t sure what she had seen. Now, in the safety of the kitchen, Lou became aware of how her hands and lip trembled and her heart hammered in her chest. She took a shaky breath in and tried to calm herself before she explained. ”It — It wasn’t a ghost. It was some kind of creature,” she stuttered, but her tone was surprisingly level despite the evident fear in it. Her lip trembled when she thought of the creature following her up the stairs and wondered if the table would be enough to hold it.
  
  ”Please tell me you didn’t try to engage,” Enoch said, and like a switch, came the waterworks. She was crying at that point — trembling hands immediately moving to wipe her cheeks as if that would hide the fact she was crying from the others. ”It followed me up the stairs! It followed me up the stairs! I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t know what to do! I threw —“ She paused, prepared for Enoch to lash out and be angry with her for angering the creature. ”I threw a can at it. I thought it was going to hurt me! I didn’t know what to do!” She hated herself for being so impulsive. She was a professional. She should have known better. And now all of their lives were even more at risk because of her.
  
  And because things never seemed to go in Lou’s favor, Enoch just had to reveal that he didn’t bring his supplies. She grit her teeth, biting back any initial remarks she had. Part of her wanted to join Ridley and Monique in their chastising, wondering how Enoch could possibly be so stupid. But the other part of her — the part of her that knew she fucked up just as badly, if not even worse than he did — kept her mouth shut. She turned away from both of them lest she receive the brunt of Ridley’s wrath instead, eyes watching the crack of the door for any sign of the creature. It wasn’t until she was able to collect her thoughts did she consider the possibility of the creature being able to walk right through the door. It wasn’t a ghost, she was certain, but the cans she had thrown had gone right through it. She froze in place when the knob began to rattle — turning once, twice, three times by itself.
  
  She had ended up on the ground, head and back hitting the floor with such force that the wind had been knocked out of her. She took some gasping breaths, lip trembling in fear. The table now on its side blocked most of her view, but she could feel the creatures presence. And then it screamed and Talulah was screaming too, curling into the fetal position right there on the floor, hands balled against her ears to block out the sound. Despite every part of her that screamed at her to run, Talulah was frozen. Her head was throbbing so badly it made her nauseous — She had to clench her teeth to avoid throwing up. Her eyes burned from crying and when she opened them, everything was blurry and the lights, though there weren’t many of them at all, burned them so badly she had to shut them again.
  
  She would have stayed there if someone hadn’t been hovering over her, moving an arm under hers to help her up. She let them, using the wall to steady herself best she could. She felt her face warm when she cracked open her eyes enough to realize it was Ridley helping her up. ”Your face,” she pointed as if Ridley wasn’t aware themself of the blood dripping down it. Her eyes welled up again at the sight of it, and if she’d been a little more coherent, she might’ve moved her hand to wipe some of it off. She felt guilty. Even Ridley, as much as she hated them, didn’t deserve to be hurt because of her mistake. ”I’m sorry,” she whined pathetically as the two moved towards the stairs. ”If I didn’t tell you to move the table, we — Oh, God. The distinct sound of locks and the sight of blood on Ridley’s face did nothing to qualm the feeling in her stomach. She approached the steps with one hand around her mouth in case she vomited, the other still on the wall.
  
  ”Enoch!” She said when he was finally behind them, and blindly reached her arm behind her to grab ahold of his hand. She didn’t really believe in his whole “power of friendship” spiel and, honestly, the sound of his rambling made her head ache even more, but she was relieved to see he appeared unscathed. ”I told you! I told you! She sobbed and leaned her weight against him, but she wasn’t really mad at him. She thought she was crazy half the time, too. Her stream of I told yous turned into a stream of I’m sorrys soon enough, directed both at Ridley and Enoch and A.J. and Monique if either of them were following. She didn’t want to turn around — didn’t want to see that thing again.
  
  ”What do we do?” She asked once they reached the top of the stairs, looking at either of them for answers. She’d overheard part of Ridley’s conversation on the phone, but she didn’t expect anyone to reach them in time. She inhaled, a vain attempt to steady her breathing, and took a reluctant glance towards the steps they’d just ascended. No sign of the creature yet. But also no sign of A.J. or Monique. ”Are they…? She trailed off, not wanting to speak the worst.
  
  
  
  
  

designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[Ha_lfLife]

XI.
charlie murdoch.
the real estate agent.

Mood
Unnerved.

Location
11 Bunting Lane

Interactions
elytra

Mentions
Nimbus birdgeoisie wickedlittlecritta
TrashRabbit
The Blue Adept
eeuphoria
ClownPope

designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ

The door was surprisingly heavy, Charlie’s fist echoing against it
with a resounding series of thuds. Mahogany, most likely. Here we go, she thought to herself with a resigned breath.

It took a moment for the door to open. There was the sound of shuffling from within- the moving of a chair, the sound of shoes hitting tile, and then the easily recognizable noise of many locks being unlocked. Charlie cleared her head of spooky thoughts, replacing them with a glistening smile. It sounded as if there were quite a few; even when the door did open, it was by a sliver, one of the chains still in place. Peering out was one Mr. Clark.

He was a burly fellow, with curled dark brown hair that had grey strands throughout and a well-kept short beard on his face. He wore a coat, as if he’d been expecting to go out, and had in one hand what seemed to be a crucifix. Eyes narrowed, he stared at Charlie a moment, seeming to assess her carefully. Whatever the outcome of said assessment was, it did not end in the removal of the crucifix from his grasp.

“Hi, Mr. Clark?” Charlie gave the weary homeowner a kind look, her dark eyes warm and relaxed. She hoped her easy and kind affront would work as well as it usually did, despite the lingering traces of a headache still fighting back against her.

“You’re with that agency. Ackehurst.” It was said more as a fact than a question. His hackles seemed raised but ultimately, his voice seemed weary. “Come to get rid of all the ghosts on my property, yea?”

“Right,” She nodded, reaching into the inside blazer pocket and pulling out one of her business cards. God, how she’d wanted to customize it. She had so many ideas of how she could really make it her own. Alas, the Ackehurste cards were pretty much identical among its employees, save for the changing of a name and phone number. “I believe you spoke with our office manager on the phone? My name is Charlotte Murdoch.” She offered her card through the opening in the door. “I was hoping you might show me around. Tell me about your home a bit. …Do you mind if I come in?”

For a moment, Mr. Clark didn’t say anything, taking the card and turning it over in the hand that wasn’t holding the door. Then, without comment, he shut the door again. Charlie jumped at the sudden movement; she was wound up enough as is. It was closed for only a moment before being reopened entirely, now completely unlocked. He stepped to the side to let her in.

“Just don’t touch anything you don’t ask to.” To say he seemed unhappy with the development of letting her in was an understatement, but he did it without verbal complaint anyway.

Charlie offered the man a sympathetic smile. “Will do, Mr. Clark.”

She took his standing aside as an invitation and humbly came inside, giving one last cautious glance back at her coworkers, taking a moment in the threshold to take in her first good look at the surroundings. No one at the agency had gotten to look around inside yet. Joseph Clark was weary enough from the start and hadn’t really offered the chance to do so before today. Up until now, Ackehurst was working off aerials and blueprints alone. Good thing Charlie’d brought her DSLR along. Maybe if she worked over old Joe enough, he’d let her take some pictures on their tour. Oh Clair, oh Noor, aren’t you lucky to have me? Charlie thought to herself, trying for the moment to commit what she had in front of her to memory. Beige walls. Wainscotting with little ships and fish alternating around the rooms. Popcorn ceilings. Oatmeal carpeting that impinged dangerously close to the kitchen. Looked like 11 Bunting hadn’t changed much since its inception. But the living room was spacious, with windows spanning the wall facing the backyard. Knock down the wall between the entryway and there, and you’d have a good start. She made a mental note to ask AJ to come check which areas were load-bearing. That was, if she even survived the day. She felt Mr. Clark’s eyes boring into the back of her head.

“What do you want me to tell?” Mr. Clark sighed.

“How about we start with a tour? You can tell me your favorite things about the house. Things you don’t like so much. And we can go from there.” Her casual grin turned into a shining smile, dimples present as always. She took one more glance around and saw a few possessions scattered around Mr. Clark’s otherwise desolate living room. Half of the things were in boxes. Rearing and ready to go, I guess, Charlie thought to herself. Sitting proudly in a recessed bookshelf next to the La-Z-Boy, Charlie caught sight of a baseball in a display box. “No way, Mo Vaughn?” She nodded to the signature vainly pointing outwards. She put her hands back in her blazer pockets to assure him she wasn’t going to go around touching everything. “Awesome. Three-time All Star by 95. Boston’s finest. Did you get that from him yourself?”

Mr. Clark continued to watch her, seeming to be looking for something, before shrugging his shoulders, hands dug deep into his own pockets. Somehow, he managed to look incredibly uncomfortable within his own home, like his no-touching rule extended to him for whatever reason. His gaze finally departed from her, settling on the chair that sat in the corner of the room.

“Nah. My dad did. It was one of his party stories when entertainin’ guests.” A small bit of personal info, and it seemed like that even took monumental effort for him to put forth.

He quickly moved past it, making his way towards the kitchen. “Well, not much to say other than what you see. Got the barn outside, good bit of woods, and the garage has been good. Hasn’t been much work done on the place since my gramps built it.” As he walked, he gave any objects on the floor a wide berth, and his eyes flickered around as if he were carefully waiting for something to happen. “Could be more modernized, I s’pose. Got those small houses out in the woods, too; not sure if that’s something you all would consider a safety hazard. Wouldn’t even really call ‘em houses anymore, seeing as there isn’t much left to them other than foundation.”

“Did your family ever raise any animals?” Charlie continued the conversation casually, turning away from the baseball and sauntering aimlessly towards the floor-to-ceiling windows facing westward. The trees on the forestline stilled and shivered and stilled again in unison. She felt her spine straighten, the hairs on her forearms rising again in alarm. Watching you. Watching you. Watching you. It was all she could think about, feeling like a rabbit cornered by wolves. Surrounded. Trapped. She let her conversant tone drop for an instant, disarmed by the imposing mass of trees surrounding the property. Her eyes darted wearily between the dark spaces between trunks, as if anticipating something would be looking back at her. She hadn’t realized she was leaning so close to the glass, until –

[cw: mild animal death]
An acute smack against the pane above her made her catch her breath, stumbling back a step. A little black-headed chickadee fell down like a rock against the wood slats of the back porch, a lifeless, beady eye gazing up at Charlie. Her breath popped like a bubble in the back of her throat, escaping as a shocked chuckle. It kept looking up at her and she looked back. She couldn’t pull away. “The downside of having such big windows, huh?” She tried to alleviate the mood, tearing her eyes from the poor thing and adjusting back to look at Mr. Clark behind her. Her hairs were still on end. She did not like this house.

The question about animals went unanswered, Mr. Clark watching her reaction from across the room. Then, his shoulders dropped, whatever was remaining of his hackles going with them. He made his way over to her, eyes looking towards the poor bird with a grim look on his face. It remained when he looked back towards her again.

“Yea. Would benefit from that sheen that stops them from crashing into it. Your contractor do that?” He asked, a weary smile making its way onto his face. He put a hand on her shoulder, nodding towards the staircase, seeming to try and steer her away from the ghastly sight. “Upstairs area should get a good looking at too. Rooms are big, but ain’t sure if that’s the sort of thing people are looking for nowadays. Lived here my whole life, haven’t really seen other houses. Sure you would know better about that than me.”

“Yeah, sure…” Charlie mustered up enough pep to not sound as unnerved as she felt, taking the sad smile he gave her with silent rejoicing; she broke through. I’m in now. One of her favorite moments in this line of work - getting on a homeowner’s side in earnest. “A.J. can do that, no sweat. I’ll make sure you get to meet him when he comes to evaluate. Super nice guy.”

She followed him up the stairs, hand gripping onto the wood veneer railings. Ugh. 80s. The upper floor was spacious, with the master dead ahead and the two other bedrooms flanking it. The pullcord for an attic door loomed in the middle of the ceiling. Master bathroom to the right, 115 square feet. Jacuzzi bath and glass door shower. Jack and Jill sinks. Wood veneer finishings, but not for long. Reciting the details to herself from her memory of the blueprints helped her to stay steady, despite the disease. Sometimes she even pitched to herself what she’d say to a potential buyer. Bathtub fits two! Amazing jet-power for romantic bubble baths! Bay window facing the west - sunsets galore! He let her go ahead and look around at the space, not seeming very eager to follow close behind. Once again, the discomfort he had in his own home showed clearly. He hovered by the landing, though not too close, staying by the wall. Charlie slowly perused the master space at the end of the hall. Still a bed. Mattress. Essentials.

“You’re still staying here, Mr. Clark?” A bit of the incredulity came out with that, but luckily it came off as curiosity more than shock. How anyone could live for more than half a day with these woods staring in at them was beyond her, much less doing so alone.

“I’m sorry-“ she backtracked. “I just- with everything that’s happened here and being by yourself…”

The question didn’t seem to offend him all that much; if anything, his face suggested he agreed that it was an insane thing to be doing.

“No other place to go. Don’t have the money to up and leave before this place is sold off. Paying for a hotel and not knowing how long the sale would take? That would eat up money.” He scratched at the side of his face, looking down the stairs, mouth pressed into a thin line during the pause between his statements. “Whole family was wiped out in this place. Can’t say I have anyone to stay with. So, yea. Eager to sell the place off.”

Charlie looked from the sad mattress back to Joe Clark, face flooding with sympathy. Memory had a merciful way of being spotty. Thankfully, there was plenty she didn’t remember about her own childhood home. But she remembered that feeling - being terrified. And stuck.

“Dad? Mom’s acting weird...it’s scaring Rose. Can’t we just go stay somewhere else for a while?”

“This all we have, girls. Let’s just steady the course, huh?” Her father’s congenial thumb plucking at Rid’s chin. “I’ll be back later. You’re in charge, kiddo.”

Charlie blinked the memory away, feeling the biting chill of a Western Massachusetts winter long past receding with it. Her eyes refocused on Mr. Clark in the threshold.

“That’s the hope.” She responded spiritedly. “And if things get slow with the sale, we’ll find you somewhere else to stay.” A totally unsubstantiated promise. Sure, Ackehurst made some good money; but if they went around promising to put up every client at the Mandarin, they’d be totally underwater. Shit, she’d probably get an earful from Devin for that promise later. But she really meant it. She even ventured to back it up with, “You can even stay at my place if you need to. I’ve got a few extra bedrooms in the city.” She offered him a sympathetic grin. She meant it, too. What’s the worst that could happen? She had a full three bedrooms all to herself. He’d probably just as soon move out after seeing how messy it was, but it still beat staying here. Watching you.

“How about you show me the pool? I’m a sucker for a good pool.” Charlie pivoted, honestly wanting to have an excuse to get off the second storey, which started feeling too claustrophobic for her liking. She’d come back up later today when she felt her stomach settling and take some pictures.

For the rest of the morning and Into the afternoon hours, Charlie made a very general observation: she really liked Mr. Clark. Tired, weathered, but funny, and a quiet but intriguing storyteller. And nice, really nice. He talked a lot about his kids. A good Dad, Charlie noted with a pang of heaviness in her chest. Didn’t say anything cruel about his estranged wife. Hell, he even made her a sandwich around 1pm in between discussions about his son’s middle school hockey team and the cost of mowing the acres around the house.

He agreed to let her take pictures when she breached the subject. Charlie thanked him and excused herself to start the task on her own. She opened the sliding door out to the patio. She took some practical photos of the pool, then the porch, then the fire pit.

She finally turned back to those woods, never having forgotten their looming presence the entire time she’d been trying to take photos. She paused, her breath catching again in her throat. She lifted the camera up to them, adjusting the zoom for a great autumnal landscape shot. Buyers won’t be able to turn this view down. At least, once they got rid of whatever creepy entity was making them so damn creepy. The shutter of her lens. Photo taken. Satisfied, Charlie turned to go back inside. She took a final glance over her shoulder, noting with a growing discomfort that the sun would be setting soon. She hadn’t seen even a shadow of the others all day, aside from the occasional glimpse of Bekah or Mode.

Please still be alive out there.

 

[elytra]

debdhill haunting.

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  mood

  
  
  
  

  pissed off
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  outfit

  
  
  
  

  spooky shadows ^o^
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  location

  
  
  
  

  debdhill
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  interactions

  
  
  
  

  cadence erzulie Walliver birdgeoisie TrashRabbit
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

With the house locked, it didn't seem the monster was in any rush. It's neck craned in the direction of those running towards the stairs, elongating slightly with a crackling noise. However, its attention left those heading upstairs, not bothering to follow them for the moment. Its head snapped in the direction of AJ, who remained on the first floor.

The screaming had stopped, but its mouth remained opened by a sliver, a hissing sound emitting from it. Then, it lifted its hand to face level; it put out a finger and made a flicking movement, before moving its hand down a bit and repeating the motion once more. It did this several more times, the action directed at AJ as it made a clicking noise with its mouth, an approximation of breaker switches being flipped. Each repetition, the shaking of objects in the room and the flickering of the lights grew more extreme.

On the last 'switch', a bulb shattered and a force sent AJ flying back, slamming him against the counter. Not much more time was spent on him past that; almost immediately after, it pulled itself around the corner using the wall, making its way towards the staircase. As it went, the lights in different rooms began flickering as well, the effect following it along with the static noise that emitted off it, getting louder. It took it's time getting to the stairs, fingers curling on the bannister as it peered upwards at those who had escaped to the upper level.

sea sick

adam young

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[birdgeoisie]

ridley murdoch

ambiance: Dark Passage - Andrew Prahlow

mood

a little less scared now, a little more determined

location

17 debdhill road

interactions

Talulah cadence , Charlie Ha_lfLife , AJ TrashRabbit , Monique erzulie , Enoch Walliver

mentions

n/a

Ridley kept a firm grip around Talulah, especially with the way her movements were so unsteady. They turned to the girl at the mention of the blood. Honestly, it had slipped their mind already. What was a little cut on the head compared to making sure everyone was safe? They'd take every bone in their body shattered to bits over anyone here getting hurt- seriously hurt -on their watch. Even the thought alone made them want to hurl.

"What?" They breathed, sounding confused. Outside concern didn't register so quickly for them. They reached up, swiping the blood away with their sleeve. It left a smear of red across their temple, but the rolling drip was gone. They hoped it was a less grevious-looking sight. The medium needed to calm down, focus on survival, not some tiny scrape on Ridley's head. "Tal-" They never called the medium by a nickname under normal circumstances; it felt way too personal for their antoginistic relationship. "Stop it- don't feel bad. I'm fine." Brow knit with worry, they paused to ensure the delivery was as sincere and intense as they could manage, quickly looking between Talulah's eyes.

They looked off, unfocused. Not like drunk unfocused- something Ridley was intimately familiar with in regards to the medium -but, like, medically. Combined with the balance issues, and seeming neasua, they felt their chest squeezing tight with worry. Ridley liked fighting. It was good for their stress (and rage). On occasion, they'd even attended (one time even got involved) in local amateur MMA fights when their studio participated in one. All this to say that they knew what a concussion looked like. It didn't take much to knock the brain around, and a table violently thrown across a house by a supernatural entity would fit the bill for a knocking around.

But they were torn out of that nagging worry when Enoch arrived, extricating themself from Talulah as she found support in the ghost hunter instead. They followed behind the two, arms spread to grip both the railing and banister. Anything to make sure it was their body on the line before Enoch or Lou's.

"What do we do?"

That was the million dollar question, wasn't it. A harsh stare was directed at Enoch. "Positive thinking," they stated through grating teeth. And holding hands. They weren't happy about that part, but they'd have to suck it up. They reached and grabbed Enoch's hand with their twisted and bruised fingers, the touch surprisingly gentle considering how badly they would have liked to make Enoch regret this career choice at the moment. Then did the same to Talulah's, rubbing their thumb over her knuckles. They figured it would be better if the already guilt-ruidden medium didn't have to hold their fucked up hand.

They could worry about the way their skin prickled where they touched Lou, later.

Ridley took a deep breath. Happy thoughts.

It was another long and miserable day at school. Their supplier was late, which meant that pothead teens and wannabe rebels were getting pissed at the wait. And they had failed a math exam. Not like they'd ever use that shit in real life, anyways. Even coming home wasn't a relief. It never was, these days. It always smelled like cheap whiskey and whatever perfume Charlie had decided on trying that week. Whatever would attract the most attention from guys way too old to be thinking about doing anything with her.

Just last month they'd had to pin some dude a half-foot taller than them to the bathroom of the boy's wall and tell them to keep it in their pants, lest they lose it altogether. They were skinny and scrappy, but they supposed the wrath that itched beneath their skin was hard to ignore. Like an animal ready to snap at one wrong move.

And, shit. They'd nearly forgotten. Dad was supposed to take Charlie to some concert. A boy band every girl who'd hit puberty was obsessed with. They toss their bag on the couch that has too many beer stains to count, headed for their sister's door.

It hadn't started out good. Charlie thought she wouldn't be able to go. Dad was late, like he always was. They couldn't exactly say they were shocked. But, goddamnit, just because he couldn't be bothered to show up didn't mean Charlie had to suffer for it.

So they had shoved their exhaustion to the wayside, helped Charlie get all makeup'd, and drove all the way to the venue. No way a real band like One Direction was showing up in their podunk town, so the place was a good two hour drive away. They let Charlie take the reigns on the radio, and of course it was nonstop boyband. They didn't know any of the words, but they laughed and grinned at Charlie's excitement nonetheless.

It didn't matter that they didn't understand the allure, or that it was supposed to be Dad here, instead of them. It was nice. It was fun.

Ridley didn't often sleep through the night. But they had then, with the autotuned lyric of 'You don't know you're beautiful, oh-oh', lulling them to unconsciousness.

They clicked play on the little radio in their subconscious. One Direction. Happy. Charlie wasn't here. She was no doubt safer than them right now. It was a comforting thought.

Ridley began to herd the two into a room further down the hall as they heard more crashing sounds, and caught sight of the thing slinking towards the staircase. "Don't worry about them, AJ is tough- Monique is smart -now move." They had no idea if hiding was even a viable option, but right now they only needed to last until Cleo got here. And they were certain both Enoch and Lou would feel safer tucked away somewhere. If all they needed was to discourage it with less fear in order to slow it down? It seemed like a decent plan. For now. Besides, they couldn't exactly go back down now.

Ridley shoved them both into a room. "Stay." And slammed the door shut, leaving them still in the hallway.

Yes. This was a completely insane thing to do. But right now, Talulah was the most terrified, and Enoch was her comfort. At the very least, this thing was going to have to waste time throwing them into a wall before it could get at the medium or ghost hunter.

Right?

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

© weldherwings.

 

[TrashRabbit]

A.J. Axtel

the contractor

17 Debdhill Road

Yeet

Kitchen

Carhart jacket & jeans

interactions

erzulie Walliver birdgeoisie cadence

‘Maybe we should go?’

There was but a beat of bickering and cross talk before the door and the table blockading it exploded open. His instinct was to drop and cover but as the beasts mouth began to tear open and scream he faltered, failing to engage his right knee correctly and taking two stiff steps back, mouth open.

There were moments in AJ’s life that had happened so quickly and yet stretched out into miserable infinity. He had called them drowning in molasses moments once, drunkenly confiding in Devin. No one took the molasses seriously. How it came slowly and all once. How it drowns you anyway. And right now the Molasses was a static monster pulling itself up out of the basement.

And watching the thing slither up and out of the basement was almost some kind of relief. The threat was real and present, as dangerous as it felt when he was hopping up those basement stairs as fast as his glutes would let him. A sort of cold satisfaction of the nervous system settled over him to know that this time his brain wasn’t ringing the alarm bells for something imagined or absurd. No. The molasses was real. But by time his hands came away from guarding his head to once again grasp uselessly at his hip. Enoch and the girls had flipped their personal switches to flight. And he had nothing on him to fight.

And he’d worn the wrong legs for running anyway.

He stared it down as it mocked him, pantomiming hitting the switches. AS the cupboards rattled and the lights flickered and the shadows in the kitchen seemed to spin and that static noise lodged itself between AJ’s ears.

“Yeah, buddy, fuck you to,” He said evenly to the creature before getting blown across the room. He hit the far counter hard, in the hot bouncy feeling of taking damage but having too much adrenaline to know where and how. All at once he cracked his head against the upper cupboard, the lip of the counter jammed into his hip, and his good knee went crack against the sink cupboard. Then without thinking he had tried to brace with his right hand- which instead slid and his weight brought his elbow down into the sink awkwardly- he tottered in that direction and down to the floor. The static noise growing ever louder in his ears like the swan song after a flash grenade.

The kitchen tiles were cold and the low angel view across the kitchen was partially obscured by pieces of the shattered table and the oblique light of the remaining flickering lights. But he saw the thing pulling itself along and out into the hall. Feeling was seeping back into his hands along with the hot throb of his new bruises and the spinning sensation of a new concussion. He was pretty sure something in his left wrist that had gone crumple pop into the sink was fucked.

But AJ had fallen before. And fallen down harder. Hell, he’d stepped on IED once taking a piss. And he’d gotten up then too. He braced himself against the counter as he pulled himself back up, listening to the creature static squeal and the footsteps of the others echoing from upstairs. He stood there a moment. wiped his bloodied nose, but it kept coming. Then pulled the hammer out of his tool belt- He always felt he’d do okay in a predator vs Aliens situation- and took several painful and deliberate steps to the kitchen door- his back was never going to let him forget this- to see if could get eyes on the damn thing or Monique- or anyone.

Enoch had called it a negative spirit but in his mind it was now simply; "That Motherfucker." And if he had something other than a hammer at his disposal he'd gladly hunt it for sport. He'd practiced drowning in molasses for enough years that now he just felt ready.

coded by natasha.

 

[elytra]

• .
• .

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  XI.
  the (ex)priest

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  grover waycott.

  mood

  uh oh....
  
  

  location

  Bunting Woods
  
  

  interactions

  Aleks
  
  

  tags

  floripher
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  For once, he wasn't the one who was getting flustered.
  
  Not that it was the time for that. No way. They were on a haunted property near probably equally haunted woods that definitely contained something that wanted to kill them. Thinking about his dating life and the will-they-won't-they that he and Aleks had? That was for a different moment, one where he was less likely to die. Actually, at a time where he was not going to die, full stop.
  
  So. It was time to brush those thoughts aside. Get to business, get the job done, and get a house unhaunted. "There might've been saving involved, sure, but I don't like to take chances." If he could avoid death by ghost possession, he'd count it as a win. "Let's get going before someone triggers a world-ending event or something." He was half joking with that; there was some worry that that would happen.
  
  The walk into the woods wasn't horrible. The trees blocked some of the rain, but some droplets managed to trickle through. Leaves littered the forest floor, hiding some roots that bent in and out of the soil, and woodland creatures seemed to have more sense than he did, hiding away from the downpour. There was very little noise other than their footsteps and breaths, the rain becoming background noise. Out of context, it could've been seen as nice, even. Walking in the woods hand-in-hand seemed pretty romantic, even if he didn't know anything about things like that.
  
  The almost-whimsical nature of their stroll soon ended, brought back to reality by the view of some structures in the distance, shrouded by trees. There were three of them, all small, box-like structures that were crumbling, doorways facing each other in some sort of triangular layout. Two of the doors were completely broken, their interiors on display though not extravagant in the least. There were dirt and leaves covering the entire floor and almost no furniture other than a broken chair.
  
  The final structure, the furthest away, was the most intact. The roof was almost entirely there, while the door was still standing. It had a symbol carved into it, but it looked as if said symbol had been slashed through hurriedly. In front of it, standing between it and the other two structures, was a circle of stones with ashes in the center, looking to be the remnants of a fire. A recent one, even.
  
  Grover approached it, slipping his hand away from Aleks as he went in order to take the lead. He didn't take much time on the more broken structures, instead making his way to the one that was in better shape. Frowning, he ran a hand along the carving, before dropping it to the door handle. It took a bit of jiggling to get it open, but with the help of him slamming his shoulder against the wood, it eventually opened up.
  
  The inside was gross. There was a certain stench to it that made him want to shut the door right back up again, but he resisted the urge, pressing on as he took a better look. Unlike the other houses, the floor was visible, though the wood planks were not in good shape. Ripped, bloodied cloths littered the middle of the area instead of any furniture, forming a circle with a divot in the middle.
  
  He backed up a little, slowly closing the door. Okay. Okay. This wasn't great. It never was great, but there was plenty going on that suggested that this particular house was completely, utterly fucked. He stood there, hand on the door handle a moment, before taking a deep breath and opening it right back up again.
  
  Nothing was in there. It was fine, for the moment. Whether it would continue being fine was another thing entirely, but they weren't about to get eaten.
  
  "Looks like a nest of some kind." He announced, glancing in Aleks' direction, trying to seem less antsy than he felt. The house was fucked. So what? His job was to unfuck it. It was fine. "Like, the sort of nest presently being used. Not sure if it connects to these symbols, though." He was pretty sure it didn't, actually, but he didn't want to sure-fire say that there were two things wrong with the house. That would just speak it into existence.
  
  He looked at Aleks a moment longer, mouth pressed into a thin line, before looking back into the building. Okay. He wasn't about to die if he stepped in there. He'd be like, maybe a little grosser, but not dead. Slowly, he stepped over the threshold. He could hear the buzzing of flies, though didn't dare take a closer look at where he suspected they might be. He was saving that for when he was more mentally prepared.
  
  
  

designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[elytra]

fleming squad.

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  mood

  
  
  
  

  panic!
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  outfit

  
  
  
  

  hunting gear
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  location

  
  
  
  

  debdhill
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  interactions

  
  
  
  

  cadence erzulie Walliver birdgeoisie TrashRabbit
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

“Could a ghost claim squatters rights?”

It had been a long day. Barely getting past morning at that point, but still long; Cleo had been up at 5 am, shepherding the Fleming ghost gang over to one of their properties in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Originally, it hadn’t been her job- Junie fared well enough on her own -but then Ahti’s car had allegedly broken down and he’d called her, politely asking if she could drive them to their desired location.

It had been a rude awakening, and thus she’d been equally rude back, using a lot of choice words that the priest frankly took with a fantastic show of grace. After suffering her onslaught of tired, cranky cursing, he’d offered to buy her Dunks. She’d gotten dressed and ready in a record time of five minutes.

The first ride hadn’t been so bad. Up before the sun meant up before a majority of other people, so the roads were clear. Junebug had fallen asleep soundly in the back seat, while Merlin entertained his creature friend with a book and Ahti, who was the sole one allowed to ride shotgun in her precious car, drank his coffee and enjoyed the views passing by his window.

Unfortunately, the job hadn’t been as smooth. The ghost hunters they’d found the place through had said it was a level 1 UG, but when they’d gotten there, they’d been met with not one but two IGs. Cleo was the sort of person who went in under the thought process of prepare for the worst, hope for the best, but still was thrown for a loop.

Also thrown literally. Her right side had seen better days.

Went to show that you couldn’t trust any assessment of a place that wasn’t your own, really. She always packed her car with supplies just in case something were to happen- most of the properties they went to were rightly fucked -so luckily, the take down after that point had gone fairly quick. Not easy. Just quick.

She even managed to not break all of the banisters. Ido would be happy, she was sure. He always loved a good intact staircase.

Now, on their way back, everyone was awake. Wide awake and extremely thoughtful about the weirdest of concepts, if Junie’s commentary was anything to go by.

Cleo’s eyes locked with June’s in the mirror. They blinked slowly, similar to a cat. In response, Cleo’s mouth set into a thin line.

“No, I don’t think a ghost could claim squatters rights.”

The answer caused Junebug to shrug their shoulders, settling back into their seat as their gaze settled out the window, watching the scenery pass by. “Seems like a double standard, don’t you think?”

“A slight against ghost rights, certainly.” Ahti chimed in from the passenger seat, not even looking up from his phone as he did, though he had a shit-eating grin on his face.

Maybe I should crash the car right now. The intrusive thought lingered for a moment as she slowed down at a light, staring ahead at the ‘Baby on Board’ sign of the car in front of her.

No. Couldn’t crash the car. That was too much paperwork. “Seems like the sort of question that should be brought up with Michella.”

“Only if you’d like to see her implode.” The final member of the peanut gallery spoke up, and Cleo could see that, like Ahti, his attention remained mostly elsewhere; the small, ink-like creature he commonly referred to as Siff danced across the book he had open, seeming to run itself over the words in order to read them.

“Oh, it’s fun sometimes when she does that. Her whole face goes extremely red.” Ahti finally looked up from his phone, turning in his seat to look at the two in the back with a bright grin. “Not what she was expecting to do with her life, I’m sure! I think ghost law is an extremely underdeveloped field.”

“It would be extremely easy to develop it. After all, most ghosts are caught dead-to-rights.”

June made the comment the same way they made any comment: flat and completely expressionless. The only tell that it had been a joke at all was the way their attention had flitted back to their audience, raptly watching for any sign of amusement. When Ahti let out a hearty laugh, they settled back into their seat once more, seeming content with the outcome.

“Dead-to-rights, Cleo. Oh, come on. Show a little smile. That was fun.” Ahti punched her shoulder lightly. In retaliation, she reached a hand out, pinching his cheek and being sure to use her nails. “Ow, ow.”

The light changed, and with the movement of the car, most of her attention returned to the road. “I always say that whatever you do to me increases exponentially.” Fair warning had been given. She felt no remorse. “Nice pun. Still too tired to talk about ghost law. Get back to me when I didn’t wake up to drive your asses to some creepy fucking house.”

Ahti rubbed his cheek, playing up the dramatics. She rolled her eyes to show that his self-incited pity-fest had no effect on her. “Aren’t you in a mood! Remind me to not stick around when Mandi asks you for updates on the house.”

Her grip on the wheel went white-knuckled. “I’ll kill her if she says anything to me.”

“I know you will, darling.” The comment was almost sympathetic.

Any further commentary on the topic was halted by the ringing of her phone, connected to the car dashboard so the caller ID was present for all to see. Ridley. Merlin actually pushed himself forwards, invading the barrier between the front and back seat to have a better look.

“I see you added a heart after her name. Very cool and casual of you, Cleo. I’m sure--”

“Shut the fuck up, Merlin.” One hand left the wheel and instead found its place against his forehead, pushing him back where he belonged.

Before any more commentary could be said, she picked up the call. And, before she could get a word out, Ridley was already speaking. Something about a thing trying to kill them, them being locked in, and Enoch not having his gear--

The phone call got hung up. Great.

In a brilliant violation of at least 3 traffic laws, Cleo spun the wheel and put her foot down against the gas, swerving to turn the car around. Ahti had grabbed the side handle above the door, while Merlin got knocked around trying to keep Siff from being catapulted from his lap. Junebug had had the sense to sit upright upon hearing the call and had, thankfully, suffered no damage due to such.

“Put in the address.” Ahti opened his mouth to say something, but Cleo frankly didn’t want to hear it. “Address. Now.”

It was a lucky thing they were close by. If they hadn’t been…well, Cleo wasn’t sure what would’ve happened. Didn’t want to know, frankly, because there was no way it would’ve been good. All she knew is that too much time had been wasted already by the time they got there.

The rest of the group seemed to comprehend that as well, judging by the fact they’d all piled out of the car almost as soon as it had been put into park, practically sprinting up to the door. Cleo was the first to get there, trying the handle before slamming her side into the door.

“They said it was locked.”

“No shit, Merlin, I’m--”

Her statement was cut off by the sound of glass smashing, courtesy of a brick being lobbed by Junebug. They kicked some of the glass off of the area they were entering before vaulting in, the thick gloves they wore certainly doing wonders to keep their hands from being cut up. Ahti followed suit, tailed by Cleo and Merlin soon after.

The scene inside showed that her fear of being nearly too late was, in a way, realized. By the staircase was a static-y creature, peering up the stairs at where presumably the rest of the group was. She could spy AJ from where she stood as well, wielding a hammer as if it would help. Who let him in here? She was going to kill everyone from Ackehurst with her bare hands.

The creature craned its neck to look at them, mouth opening and the static hissing out. Negative spirit, certainly, but usually the lights didn’t go haywire like they were going, nor was there usually such a layer of static. What the hell was it copying?

Fuck. She really hated mysteries.

First things first: get that thing away from the people upstairs and away from AJ. She could see the attention the creature had given them already slipping, going back to its targets up the staircase. Right. So, it liked negative energy. She had tons to spare. Whats a little chase between ghost and ghost hunter? She could scooby-doo that shit easily.

“June, get everyone from upstairs when the staircase is cleared. Ahti, try to figure out whether we should be worried about hospitalizations. And Merlin?” She glanced the psychic's way, eyes briefly flickering to his smaller companion, who slithered down his arm towards his hand like a moving tattoo “Find something to beat the shit out of this thing.”

She was so good at delegating tasks. She picked up the brick that had been their entrance point, whistling at the creature to get its attention again. Then, thinking of every single thing that made her mad- Ackehurst ghost hunters and their shitty practices, mostly -she hurled it right at the creature, dead on.

As expected, it went right through, hitting the wall. Also as expected, it pissed the thing off. It let out a screech, as if the brick had actually hurt it (which it certainly had not), and its speed picked up from what it had been before, bending down to use its hands on the floor to launch itself forwards towards her. The team all ducked out of the way while she turned heel and began to sprint, drawing attention to the further side of the house. It was a small place, but something was better than nothing. Hopefully Merlin would get something to curbstomp it with soon.

---

Tap, tap, tap. Junie’s finger hit against the EMF reader that hung at their side, a reassurance that it was still there and hadn’t gotten loose when they’d flung themselves out of the way from the creature that was currently pursuing Cleo into the dining room. They pushed themselves off the ground, sleeve cut and bloodied from some window glass that had sliced through.

Could be worse. Could be much worse.

Merlin seemed well on his way to finding a proper weapon, heaving up an antique lamp from the side counter, and Ahti had made his way to AJ, trying to take the hammer he had from him. Bad choice of weapon. Poor AJ. Probably hadn’t anticipated being in the midsts of such things. When he contracted with Fleming, they tried their best not to get him involved.

Oh well. They weren’t judging Ackehurst. Everyone had the same goal, right? Get rid of problems in houses. Couldn’t be faulted if they needed a little help every now and again. Besides, it’d been an accident, and accidents happen. So long as everyone was well, they didn’t see a problem.

Or, to be clear, they saw a problem. They just knew mistakes were mistakes. They were positive whoever had been behind the accident was properly guilty already and didn’t need it from them. They hustled their way to the staircase, looking up it at the crowd, some long strands of curls falling in their face. In the background, they could hear Ahti asking AJ if he was alright.

“Hello, Ackehurst employees.” Yes. Great. They didn’t have time to say all of their names, so that would do. “I believe the problem is being solved. Would you care to leave the building for the moment? There’s a medical kit in the car if needed. I’ve been trained in first aid.” The last bit was said with a hint of pride, a gleam in their eye despite the very flat look on their face.

sea sick

adam young

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[floripher]

​

ALEKSANDER HOFFMANN.

THE GHOST HUNTER​

MOOD.
What the fuck happened here?

LOCATION.
Bunting woods.

OUTFIT.
A white turtleneck under a dark brown bomber jacket with straight cut & loose fitting khaki cargo pants, his Star of David necklace along with brown scuffed up Chuck Taylors.

INTERACTIONS.
Grover.

TAGS.
elytra

---

Walking through the woods together holding hands would have been a dream if they hadn't been in creepy haunted woods at a weird house. Though, he had to admit, it was kind of nice. Something about the whole predicament was uniquely them. How many other... couples? Partners?... pairs? That's what they were. Just a pair of people walking together in the woods.

How many other pairs could say they'd strolled in haunted woods, holding hands, knowing full well this could be the last time they ever see the other? Not many. Despite the potential grimness of the situation, it was nice.

The rain passing through the leaves that gave just enough cover to keep them from getting soaked was almost... romantic.

Reality hit him like the unpleasant surprise of cold water when getting in the shower. Grover's hand started to leave his and somewhat reluctantly, he let go.

He watched as the other man approached the structure. Slowly, he stepped closer, and the stench that smacked him across the face when the priest finally got the door open made him wish he hadn't.

It smelled horrible. Not nearly as bad as some other things he'd encountered during his years at Akenhurst, but it was pretty bad.

"Eugh- Oh my god, what's that smell?" His nose wrinkled almost instinctively. "Did something die here?"

He walked up until he was behind Grover, "It can't be-" Aleks was going to say that it couldn't have been that bad. But holy shit, was it that bad.

His heart and stomach practically swapped places at the small glimpse of the inside he got before his partner shut the door again.

"It's definitely a nest. But- the nest of what?" He glanced at the symbols on the door. "I can't say if I've seen any of those before- could they be some kinda- some kinda language? Maybe a code or a puzzle?"

He turned around and took a deep breath of the semi-breathable air before turning back and marching into the house.

He shuddered, skin prickling. Something about this house made him anxious. Something much deeper than the smell of death that lingered and the dull buzzing of flies that was slowly drilling into his brain.

With a large exhale, he turned towards the noise of flies and almost screamed. His stomach began twisting itself into knots.

Suddenly he regretted eating breakfast.

"Grover?- Grover, I think that's a hand. Like- like a human hand."

 

[Nimbus]

◇◇◇◇◇ House bones for my canvas. ◇◇◇◇◇

Location: Ackehurst Real Estate Office - ArchitectureDesign Wing

Mission: Find out what's sus about these houses.

Comrades: Ha_lfLife hery
wickedlittlecritta
eeuphoria
elytra

Company: ClownPope
Book of the day: ????????? By ?????????

◇◇◇◇◇ Painting in dream & memory. ◇◇◇◇◇

Though the answer he wanted, "both," was what he got, Noor Ali couldn't help but feel as though they wouldn't have enough to go on from layouts alone. They had these gut feelings from time to time. Usually they were not-quite-right. God, they hoped they were wrong. Maybe it was just because they didn't have the USB in hand yet. Or maybe that was the nerves talking. Or the fact he awkwardly waved goodbye to Clair and Devin before they parted. They really should get better at people-ing.


Maybe Grover got caught up talking with the homeowner? That would be easy to do for him. Noor wasn't sure whether they wanted talking to people to be easier for themself.

They pondered making all of their communications henceforth by text and chat message as they settled in to analyze blueprints. It didn't seem as capital R Romantic as becoming an 1800s recluse who only kept in touch by written letter. Probably because texting was far more efficient and didn't involve sealing wax.

No. Noor was decidedly a telegram sort. Short and to the point…like these records. Houses built even fifty years back weren't likely to have much of the floor plan changed. Asbestos remediation is a bitch, as one of their professors loved to rant.

They powered on their laptop. God, how is otnthat no matter how new technology gets, the boot process never seems to be fast enough? A text to the Ackehurst group chat while they wait? Sounds like a plan.

The group chat was eerily quiet. Hm. Well if everyone was working, then maybe they'd make a progress update soon.


(Noor, also Architect, also Intern) wrote:

> Bunting buddies...status update?


Then he DM'd Charlie…


(Noooooooooor) wrote:

> Heya Chaaaaaaar, how's forest life treating u? Staying warm and cozy if u r outside, I hope. Bet it's pretty. Pls send pics of cool leaves!


And Puck…

> Good morning, Puck. If Bunting was a song, what would it be? Or, maybe it requires a whole album. That is a lot of land out there.


And Grover...

> Hey Grover! Thanks for carpooling up to Bunting. You're a star Btw, how is everything going there?


And Rebecca!

> Hi Beks, how's Bunting? Any retro fixtures worth keeping, or is it all "modernized with an open floor plan?" Or worse…a veneer and linoleum wasteland?

The tippy tappy of touchscreen texting turned to the tok tok tok of keyboard typing as Noor logged in...and then had to wait once more as the OS loaded their profile. Ugh.

They palmed the smooth Manila folder containing Debdhill's records. Old house with old bones. But that didn’t mean there weren't new divisions or other additions.

Noor didn't see any add-ons, which, honestly, would detract from the charm of any old home, even the ones that came from catalog kits. If the house was from a catalog, then its pattern would be something Noor might have seen before.

"Is this a Montgomery Ward home? It feels pretty familiar for some reason. Both of the modern floor plan copies are very clean. Weird," Noor mused aloud between sips from their cup of stars.

Flip. They inserted the USB and downloaded the images for both houses into folders by street name.

The only detractor he could find from the original blueprints was the first/second floor ceiling height. Welcome to Stoopsville, population: Noor. The intern's eyelids pressed shut for a moment as they imagined clocking their head on every trim-capped doorway.

Flip. Download successful! They removed the USB and passed it back to Jo.

"Oh here we go, actual notes on the OG property lines."


Noor sat back in his seat, tipping the chair until it creaked. They returned to looking for nooks and crannies. The human mind recognizes patterns by looking for the element that doesn't belong in a given pattern. Noor tried to not let his mind stray towards the strange sense of Deja vu they got looking at the original blueprints and property maps. After several years at MassArt of course he'd have some familiarity with old houses. A lot of debates surrounded aging homes and what improvements were considered most appropriate. Noor chuckled as he remembered one of his fellow student's controversial opinions (tw, mention of spiders):

Basement unfinished? Cool. That's the spider room now. If it's not counted in the square footage, it's not our problem. Don't even go down there to look for windows and bathrooms. Leave the arachnids alone!

Blink.

Wait a minute…that rectangle in the basement was not these dimensions in the new floorplan. Houses don't shrink as they age…at least not horizontally, anyway.

"We were right! Found a nook in the basement. Kind of a weird spot for it though. Oh, now I wanna know if it used to be a cellar you could access from the outside…"


(Noor, also Architect, also Intern) wrote:

> Debdhill dudes (gender neutral) did you know that your basement has a secret room? Shame there's no windows. Maybe you could grow mushrooms or something. You know. For eating. Maybe put a little sign on the door that says, "Mushroom Haters DNI."


Noor did some cursory searching of the city and county historic records to determine if Debdhill house or any of its similarly constructed neighbors were assessed at a different build date at any point in their history. Hm. Maybe they'd have to phone Devin to ask if he knew when historical annex and closet tax laws went into effect and if those included room count in cellars and basements too. Actually....


(Noor, also Architect, also Intern) wrote:

> Hello Devin, hope the pumpkins are behaving. Legal history question for you: how big of a thing were closet tax laws circa 1900 in this region? Would those have included separate "rooms" in basements?

Old homes had a lot of historical charm with intricate, hard-to-replicate details. Old homes sometimes also had secret histories. Houses built circa WWII had pockets in their basements used as cellars for storing the carefully preserved fruit of victory gardens. Someone who didn't consider these details significant could have left something like that out by accident.

But this property was much older. So what could this extra basement room be used for…and why would you want to hide it?

Noor considered the dimensions. Someone could live in that room that size, though the space was not to code and also not terribly hygienic either, if nobody realized it existed for decades.

What if someone did live in that room? Sitting there, listening to people upstairs creaking the floorboards as they walked. Hearing every conversation and recording it. Waiting for all the other people to go to bed - everyone has to sleep sometime. And then going upstairs, opening drawers, eating food…watching and listening to people sleeping…going through all the closets and cabinets taking anything that wouldn't be missed. And then - because who would want to live in a tiny closet in the basement? - taking the place of the homeowners. Maybe storing their bodies in that secret room.

Noor shuddered. Nope. Too much like Parasite. No thank you.


(Noor, also Architect, also Intern) wrote:

> actually team Debdhill you uh...may not want to visit the secret room. Hang tight while we get more details.


Nobody from Bunting replied or even reacted to any of his chats. Either everyone was conspiring to ignore him or something happened. Noor wasn't sure which was worse and tried to put it out of their mind by reviewing the blueprints.

Half an hour later, still no answer. They began to pace. The Office was too small for much mileage, so they stepped back out into the lobby and paced even more.

Noor diverted his gaze to the small forest of shared electronics and cabinets full of office supplies. The good news was that the fax machine was currently behaving and the office was in no danger of running out of printing paper in the sizes they usually stocked.

They checked their phone for replies. Nine. Group Chat? Silent. Anxiety? Climbing. Pacing? Reactivated.

After making a couple circuits of the lobby, Noor diverted to the back office and knocked on the door.

The click clack of keyboard typing. Booker seemed like he was perpetually drafting emails on his laptop whenever the two met. Noor did not envy him...not in that regard, anyways. They opened the door and peeked in through the gap, as was tradition.

"Hey have you heard from anyone at Bunting yet?"

"No, they haven't checked in, Booker started, then looked up, "Why?"

"We messaged them - all of them at least once. Also, there's a few free standing structures on the property blueprints. Within the property lines but a ways away from the house. We don't know how old they are exactly, or what problems they could have. That could be a bit dangerous to just waltz into, yeah?"

"It always is. That's the nature of these places. But if they haven't replied, checking in is fine- god only knows what they've gotten up to."

Noor sputtered, thumb resting on the generous shelf of his own clavicle, "By...checking in...you mean...in person?"

Booker arched a brow, as if to say, "Do you think I would be better at discovering structural damage?"

Or at least that's what Noor thought he'd say. The conversation didn't continue, interrupted by a call Booker furrowed his brows at. Not a great one, according to the sigh Booker elicited in response to the voice on the other end.

"Uh, well, I'm gonna just. Go," Noor mumbled before disappearing from sight, "er, I'll text you and the team, so you know, everyone knows what's going on."

It occurred to the intern that maybe he should trust the gut feeling of needing an adult, earlier praise not withstanding. Someone who could handle the people-ing so he could devote more of his attention to the mysterious buildings.

Who better than Ackehurst's cheery interior designer?

Noor knocked lightly and waited 30 seconds. Then decided they felt awkward standing in front of Clair's office and opened the door just wide enough to peek into the room.

"Hey Clair…you busy right now? I'm gonna drop in on the Bunting boo crew. Would you like to join me? I can drive. Filled up the Vanpire. No mystery mileage shenanigans today."

They still felt guilty that one time they were late because the Vanpire ran out of gas 13 miles before the counter on the dashboard said it would.

◇◇◇◇◇ Pictures capture the spirit. ◇◇◇◇◇



◇◇◇◇◇ Songs to soothe the soul. ◇◇◇◇◇

HAUNTEDAND🏘

Driving music

Seasonal Theme

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

louder than god's revolver
and twice as shiny

Devin Murphy

LOCATION

podunk town hall

RADIO

renegade-kavinsky

MENTIONS

n/a

INTERACTIONS

noor, aj

TAGS

Nimbus , TrashRabbit

Devin's trip to town hall was mostly painless. The lady at the front desk was the spry grandma type who had probably been working here her whole life, and was perfectly happy to gossip about the house on Bunting, though it wasn't anything they didn't already know. He left with a hefty stack of town zoning laws and a sense that his visit would be worthy of passing on to the next few visitors to town hall.

He had just stepped outside when his phone buzzed, and he waited until he was in the Evo's driver seat, the printouts on the passenger seat, before he pulled it out.

Noor had asked, [Hello Devin, hope the pumpkins are behaving. Legal history question for you: how big of a thing were closet tax laws circa 1900 in this region? Would those have included separate "rooms" in basements?]

Devin frowned. [Closet taxes were possibly only a thing in the colonial era, and even then no solid proof they existed. If it's 1920s ish you might have something connected to bootlegging?] He doubted it, but Noor did love when things were historical. But there were all kinds of reasons somebody would add an extra little room in a basement, like...

Well.

He texted AJ, [Noor found a weird little room in the plans on the basement in one of the houses, did you find a funky little sex dungeon at Debdhill?]

code by ditto (head empty go bonk)​

 

[cadence]

• .
• .

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  XI.
  the medium/psychic

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  talulah “lou” winslow

  mood

  shots, shots, shots, shots, everybody!
  
  

  outfit

  a green corduroy jacket, a white turtleneck, beige slacks, brown leather doctor martens, and some emerald & gold jewelry
  
  

  location

  17 debdhill
  
  

  interactions

  ridley, enoch, junebug/font]
  
  

  tags

  birdgeoisie TrashRabbit erzulie elytra
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
• cw: mentions of blood, vomiting (marked with inline spoilers), alcohol consumption, and drinking with a concussion (pray for her)
  
  "But you're bleeding," she whined in protest, feeling very much bad about the situation even if Ridley assured her she didn't need to. If she hadn't thrown those cans at it. If she didn't make it angry. If she had made them all leave the house instead of demanding they move the table. The cans she threw went right past it, she should've known a table wouldn't have stopped it. Talulah was convinced they were all going to die because of her. "I'm sorry," she mumbled again, using the sleeves of her jacket to wipe her face before they got moving.
  
  'Positive thinking' did nothing to ease her worries for A.J. and Monique. They were trapped in a house with a clearly angry static-creature and the only hope they had was the power of friendship and holding each other's hands? Hearing that from Enoch was one thing, the man always had a sort of sunshine and rainbows approach to life but hearing it from Ridley solidified how truly fucked they were. They were trapped there in that house with an unknown creature and absolutely no supplies needed to get rid of it. All they knew about this creature was that it fed on negative energies -- so they were holding hands and thinking happy thoughts as if Talulah wasn't terrified enough to fuel the thing herself.
  
  Her worry for the two still downstairs only grew when the lights began to flicker again. Sure, A.J. was tough and, sure, Monique was smart, but how were either of those things going to help them against an untouchable creature? The cans she'd thrown at it before had gone straight through it, only succeeding in making it angrier. They had no supplies. She separated from Enoch, turning towards Ridley behind them. "We can't leave them down there. We have to-" She let her words trail off, frozen in place, again, at the sight of the creature over Ridley's shoulder. It stood at the base of the stairs, looking even taller than it had in the basement. Lou was frozen again -- and she would've stayed that way if it weren't for the hand on her back shoving her inside one of the upstairs rooms.
  
  "Stay," Ridley had told them. Initially, she wanted to protest. Ridley dying outside the door while she and Enoch sat there and did nothing didn't make her feel much better, but Talulah nodded despite herself, too scared and too tired to protest much. She sunk back against the wall until she was sitting on the floor, head buried in her knees. Somehow, despite all the energy coursing through her, all Lou really wanted to do was sleep. Her head pounded even more that some of the adrenaline had rubbed off, made even worse by the ruckus happening downstairs. Each thud had Talulah jumping where she sat, fearing for the worst. Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest at the sound of shattering glass, eased only by the sound of voices after. Help had arrived. She closed her eyes again and waited.
  
  She cracked her eyes open when the door finally opened, wincing again at the brightness of the light. She blinked when a blurry figure poked their head through the door -- staring for a few moments until it finally dawned on her that it was Junebug from the Fleming Agency. Ridley called the Fleming crew to come and save them? She didn't care much about this supposed rivalry between the two companies, but Lou couldn't help but wonder why there were Ridley's first choice when they worked with multiple ghost and monster hunters. She pushed aside those thoughts, too relieved to be going home than to give much thought to Ridley's thought process. Now that going outside was an option, she wasted no time in gathering herself off the floor, using the wall as support again.
  
  "The others --?" She asked Junebug, voice slurred as she followed the redhead into the hallway. "Are they safe? She was relieved to see Ridley there, looking the same amount of harmed as they had before. If they were better friends, Talulah would've hugged them. But instead, she was leaning into Enoch again, and focused on getting out of the house instead of the complicated feelings she had towards Ridley in that moment. Her questions were answered when they reached the bottom of the steps. Moni looked scared and A.J.'s nose was bleeding, but they were alive. She ignored the commotion at the farther half of the house, trusting Fleming to take care of things. She grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter before making her way out the door, a completely straight path lest she catch a glance of the creature and freeze again.
  
  She let go of Enoch again once they reached outside, squinting at the harshness of the daylight on her eyes. Now that they were out and more or less safe, everything was catching up to her at once. They could have died. They could have died. Her head was pounding like a steady drum at this point, seeming only to grow in intensity. The nausea was coming back to her -- because she hit her head or because she was imagining the possibility of them dying there, she didn't know. She was seeing two of Ridley's cars as she approached it. This all seemed like a bad hangover to her. Nothing that a good nights sleep couldn't fix. If she had her way, she'd opt out of the whole medical kit experience Junebug was talking about and just go home.
  
  She clasped a shaky hand over her mouth and tugged on the car door once, twice, groaning when it still didn't open the third time. For the best, perhaps, because Talulah was doubled over in front of the car not even a moment later, hands rushing to her mouth. She made a choking noise and, though she tried her best to keep it back, a thick rush of fluid left her mouth and splattered her stomach's contents on the gravel driveway. Once finished, she kicked some gravel on top to hide the mess and pulled out the flask buried in her purse. Briefly, very briefly, she had half the mind to consider approaching the Fleming vehicle about that medkit Junebug mentioned but decided against it in favor of a drink. She'd see someone if it got any worse, she told herself, unscrewing the cap to the flask. She'd fix this problem the way she fixed all of them -- sleep and liquor -- she thought, bringing the flask to her lips. She took two swigs, the first to cleanse her mouth of the vomit taste and the second to start on getting her drunk.
  
  She gagged at the taste. Drinking every day of her life wasn't enough to get her used to the flavor, but she found comfort in it regardless. The way it warmed her throat and settled in her stomach. Just knowing her problems would go away if she drank enough. She plastered a smile on her face at the sight of Ridley in the distance, wanting to appear normal and fine despite the mascara streaks on her cheeks and her unfocused eyes and the flask in her hand. "Want to get drunk?" She asked, extending the flask to them, a parallel to one of their first conversations but lacking the humor behind it.
  
  
  

designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[birdgeoisie]

ridley murdoch

ambiance: Pilgrim - Disasterpeace

mood

epiphany time

location

17 debdhill road

interactions

Talulah cadence , AJ TrashRabbit , Monique erzulie

mentions

Charile, Mode, Cleo

They had felt real brave just a second ago. But now, standing in this hallway, knowing that thing is just about to turn and crack their spine like a glowstick, that terror was returning. This time it wasn't the heightened, action-hero kind of terror; the sort that spurs you into frantic action. Because they had already done the action part. This was a waiting game, an attempted war of attrition- sit, bait, and die. Their hands were freezing cold, their shoulder's tensed up, their legs screaming to run but beat down by their stubbornness. An insistent No. If I die here, then it will have been worth it if it buys any extra time.

But it's not like that made the concept of death any easier to face, staring it dead in the dim-lit, boring hallway. It's not like they had never thought about death. In fact, they practically obsessed over it. Death was an old family friend that loomed, constant, at their shoulder. They watch it mock them every time they looked at Charlie, and saw their mom. Or when they looked in the mirror in the morning, and it was just an echo of dear old dad, hand in hand with the reaper. Like it was waiting. They had always felt, in some ways, the grip of a skeletal hand, curling slowly around their neck. One day whatever had doomed the Murdochs would come for them too.

And normally these thoughts were followed with the pragmatic: Charlie would receive their belongings, their bonds would be left to accrue because they KNOW she would just waste that money, and they'd need to write a letter one day, and Mode would get all of the odd prepper supplies they had gathered over the years, and . . .

Ridley's mind whirred. There wasn't much else after that, was there? What connections did they have? What did they have to show for twenty-eight years of life? They hated their job. They struggled to maintain relationships. Their life was occupied by concern for everyone else before theirself. Selfish wasn't in their vocabulary. Maybe-

They jumped at the sound of shattering, but those voices were familiar. But they remained frozen. It felt fake, for a moment, when Cleo's coworker popped their head out. Like they were in some sort of dream. Or waking from a nightmare. They had really thought, moments ago, they might die. It felt silly, now. It wasn't until Talulah and Enoch were exiting the room that they really felt shaken to awareness. Ridley promptly turned their gaze downward, avoiding any kind of eye contact, and slumped, their posture closing in on itself. They felt small, stupid, and shameful. What kind of idiot plays hero with no plan and no ghost knowledge? Their death would have been completely meaningless. They would have been completely meaningless.

Trailing behind the others on the way down the steps, they take stock of the situation. Monique and AJ were, thankfully, still in one piece. "Hell of a house call, huh?" They looked at AJ, and though there was a weak attempt of a smile, mostly they looked sorry for him- sorry that he got wrapped up in this at all. "Glad you guys are okay." They gave a tight-lipped nod to the two. Monique could be trusted to help AJ out, so they made no move to do so. Besides, Ahti seemed ontop of it.

It seemed Cleo was out of sight, though there was still a noticeable racket further in the house. They squeezed their eyes shut for a brief moment. Cleo would be okay. She was capable. In fact, she might be one of very few people that Ridley trusted implicitly. From their first meeting she had felt reliable in a way that they were desperate for. They'd have to thank her later. Sure, Cleo would have probably come, regardless (she was good like that, and genuinely wanted to help people), but the very lease they could offer was a proper, nice, date. Sans ghosts. Perhaps plus a fancy dinner.

Their attention is swiftly drawn to the girl by their car, once they've escaped into the relative safety of the outside air. The relief was intense, verging on euphoric. Breathing in the fresh scent of the morning rain passed, Ridley felt the adrenaline draining from their limbs, one by one. With steps crunching beneath their shoes, Ridley found their place leaned against the car next to the medium, head leaned back. They looked exhausted. Probably because they felt exhausted too. Their dark gaze drags down to the flask. Well now, wasn't this familiar? A scattering of subconscious feelings that were three months too late followed, prickling at the back of their neck.

It sort of hurt, just how hollow the offer sounded. They raised an eyebrow, but took the flask nonetheless, lifting it to sniff. Rum: a personal favorite. Though it didn't exactly smell like the most high quality stuff. Wordlessly, they took a long drink. It had been awhile since they'd had hard liquor, but they were considering a treat for survival right now. But the taste of poison coating their mouth rung sense back into them. Talulah most likely had a concussion. She needed to be at a hospital, not drinking shitty rum.

"You should invest more in your liquors. Can't cut anymore deals with Greg and Greg-alikes?" They jeered gently, not wanting to truly push any buttons. Rid turned their gaze back to the sky, head thunking back against the Ford. "You'll die just as quick, but at least the expensive shit tastes better." And so what if they were speaking from experience? It's not like Tal knew that this was anything more than a joke.

They went to gesture with their hand, but winced. With no more horror keeping their heart pumping, the pain was sinking into crystal clarity. A grimace on their face, Ridley looked down at their twisted fingers. Black and blue and bloody from wiping their forehead; they were probably out of their sockets, maybe fractured, but it didn't look or feel like anything was broken (all injuries they were familiar with in a past life), thank god. Speaking of, they gently reached up to touch the scrape at their temple. It extended to their brow, and likely looked much worse than it actually was. "Hey, you think this'll look hot when it heals?" They croak out a laugh, looking down at Tal. "They say chicks dig scars." They just needed the medium to let down her guard a little. "C'mon, you and me both got cuts and bruises. Why waste the talent of Doctor Junebug, hm?"

They nudge Talulah with their elbow, lifting the flask and sloshing it as they move towards Cleo's car. "I'm stealing this if you don't." They grinned.

If, maybe, they felt a little lighter any time they had a conversation with the medium, even after such a harrowing experience (even with Cleo still inside), so what? Maybe they just wanted to be selfish for once.

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

© weldherwings.

 

[Sear]

ＧＲＩＦＦＩＮ ＶＡＵＧＨＮ❜ ─ the psychic ─ ❛
tags: The Blue Adept hery ; location: Bunting woods
interactions: Puck, Mode mention notes: n/a

There was the patter of footsteps behind him, but Griff didn’t pause, only glancing over his shoulder to confirm the source of the footsteps. The intern soon fell into step by their side, and Griffin offered them a small nod as an acknowledgment of their company. The company was welcomed, the socializing aspect of it not as much.

"Are you looking for anything specific?"

Griffin gave a small shake of his head, “No.” Then after a moment added with a look at the map that Puck had pulled out. “I was just planning to scope out the woods in general and get a feel for them.” He doubted the map would be of help after a quick scan of it, but it would be helpful in returning to the house later.

As if to prove Puck’s words wrong, a flash of cell reception caused Griffin’s phone to buzz, lighting up his pocket. Fishing it out, Griff glanced at the text message, feeling a pang of regret that the small second of cell reception had only been enough for Mode’s message to go through and nothing else.

Mode: pls don't die before I get there thx ✌

It earned another upward curl of their lips however, as Griff placed the phone back away, commenting ideally. “It appears Mode will be joining us here at Bunting.” If there was anyone Griff trusted to protect them, it was Mode. It was possible that he was already here even. Considering they had disappeared into the woods nearly as soon as they had arrived at Bunting, it wouldn’t be surprising if they had missed Mode’s appearance. A shame. The man’s presence had a way of grounding. A reassurance that he craved in that moment. At ease would not be the way Griff would describe the way he felt. He despised the way the trees got under his skin - staring at him - judging him silently. It felt as if they knew of the shadow hanging over his shoulder, the claws digging into his skin and flickering in his side vision.

A real capable spirit medium.

Griffin continued to lead them through the woods, staring into the closing in tree trunks with an expressionless look. It was the curse of all woods, trees and underbrush rarely varying in appearances. If he closed his eyes, he knew he would see the forest that followed him, burned into his eyelids so he would never forget. Ensuring he would never dare to forget. A small inhale brought with it the smell of the earth, not blood and the realization helped ease the tension that had tightened his shoulders. That and the drop of water that splashed between his hood and his collar, running down his skin and leaving a chilly trail. It was a good reminder that he was here for business - not to dredge up memories that were better left buried. Chasing the memories from his mind only left an awkward space which he had no idea how to fill, but Puck made continuing the conversation easier. Comics?

“Yeah. We should be in the comics,” Griffin agreed absentmindedly. They didn’t know where they were leading the both of them, but it didn’t matter, because in the worst case scenario they would stumble across the entity itself. The chill was continuing to permeate through his hoodie as they walked, and Griff shoved his hands into his pockets, chasing his body warmth as he tried to decide where to go. Each direction looked the same no matter where he looked. Stepping forward in a random direction, a branch crunched underfoot, and the sound made him look down, and still.

“Wait.”

A small ways in front and to the side, was an item peeking out from under the leaves littered across the ground. It's positioning could almost be attributed to purposeful - placed in such a way that it would pique curiosity and be uncovered. It was a simple hard-back, only the corner sticking out, looking like it had seen better days and bending down, their fingers brushed away the rotten leaves and twigs. Carefully, the journal was pulled into Griff’s hands, and he flipped it open, reading the inner cover of the book where a name was scribbled. “It looks like it belonged to Grant Lewis." The pages crinkled as he turned them, dried blood and dirt encrusted on them, and Griff began to read the entries out loud, a soft murmur that was only audible to Puck and him.

“Entry 1. Green Gables Ranch,” Griffin ran his finger down the list of notes that ‘Grant’ had made, “Uninhabited since 1954. Still owned by Beatrice Bryer - possibly. 5 structures total; house, barn, grain silo 1, grain silo 2, and the shed. Apparently UE saw floating lights orb and heard whispering, with most of the activity in the kitchen area. They didn’t personally see or hear anything - but saw a figure in the woods who is written down as a possible UE. The verdict was a bad video.”

There was the sound of the page flipping, and Griffin adjusted his crouch to continue reading each of the entries out loud.

“Entry 2. The Manor. Single structure but big. Building left to rot. Haunting started in the 20’s with the death of Irene Gray. UE saw ghost haunting halls; but Grant I’m assuming, didn’t see anything of the sorts. They did see another UE and think it was the same girl from Green Gables. The same verdict as the first entry; bad video.”

At this point Griffin had fully settled onto the ground, ignoring the dirt that was now clinging to his pants. It was more comfortable than attempting to balance and read the notebook.

“Entry 3. No name for the location of the entry. They had a weird dream last night in which they were within the Green Gables house, went into the kitchen and ended up being chased by a weird creature. They woke up with bites on their arm.”

Griff frowned, rereading Entry 3 again before continuing onto the next one.

“Entry 4. Green Gables 2. They went back to Green Gables to reassess, and ran into a UE named Love who said they are a big fan of their videos. Love suggested a place for a video, and…” Griffin snorted softly, “They got Love’s number.”

“Entry 5. Bunting.-

- Love said we don’t have to go to the main house; still inhabited by people. Yikes!
- Showed me the woods area. Super creepy stuff. Bad lighting, though
- 3 structures in woods; look like houses? All facing each other. The doors of two of them were smashed, but the third was intact. Had some weird symbol carved on it.
- Bonfire structure thing in middle; ritual?
- Love told me we should come back at night, so that’s what we’ll do. Told her to dress nice for the cameras ; )”​

The rest of the page was bloodied, and there were no more entries, except the next page that he flipped to. On it, in different red handwriting, were scribbled symbols.

Griffin stared at the symbols, before pushing himself back to his feet and handing the notebook to Puck to take a closer look. “A language or code of sorts. There has to be a way to solve it. I think we need to find the three structures that Grant mentioned. They disappeared after going there at night after all.”

Looking out into the woods, Griffin fought back the desire to walk deeper into them at that moment. They were drawing him in - calling him in. No amount of memories burned into his memory could stop him from continuing his work. Even if the flickering light that fell through the intertwined branches overhead offered less comfort than a quickly dying candle. He just hoped that it wouldn’t die on him before he unrooted what the woods could offer to him. “Or the house. Both locations had sightings.”

 

[TrashRabbit]

A.J. Axtel

the contractor

17 Debdhill Road

Handling it so well

Leaving the house ->His truck

Carhart jacket & jeans

interactions

wickedlittlecritta [texted Devin]
birdgeoisie erzulie cadence

Watching Fleming breach the house was like watching a dog meow. It just didn’t compute. By all known means of aviation ect ect. But the team of what he thought were real estate agents divided and conquered with all the well oiled precision of seal team six. And the monster gave chase. An none of them looked like this more than stand procedure. His mind helped him to process the surreal situation by letting his ears make a very high pitch crystalline note that drowned out most of what Cleo barked to her companions.

He yelped when Ahti’s fingers curled around he head of the hammer that Aj was holding over his shoulder with a iron grip ready for violence. There was a moment of shuffling and his free hand pinched into a hard fist. But Ahti was thankfully a familiar face and he let the hammer slide out his grip with out a fight.

“Are you alright?”

His mouth worked its way around the word “Yeah, I just- There’s. There’s-” He gestured helplessly in the general direction of the breaking sounds and static screams of the beast deeper in the house. If Ahti said something to help the world make sense he didn’t hear it. Then suddenly team Ackhurst was hustling down the stairs and Ahti was kindly steering him in the same direction.

Ridley passed him with a look like she was sorry she just pissed in his beer and said “Hell of a house call, huh.” And then to both he and Monique; "Glad you guys are okay."

"No shit," Was all he could manage in return. Though the sentiment was mutual. He had kind of assumed everyone who had run out of the kitchen had at least died a little bit. Because that's how panic stricken brains worked.

That when he noticed Monique there and was okay. That was good. And he looked at her with what he wanted to be a small smile but failed miserably.

The outside was cold and fresh and good and he was left with the sense that it was later than he thought it should be. Like the altercation had happened in a quick sand trap but for time. It hadn’t quiet been noon. The light rain was punctuated with Jelly bean’s fierce bark. She was going basaltic, pulling against her clear dog cable that kept her safely in the back of the truck.

He broke free of Ahti, who was trying to helpfully steer him to Cleo’s car and the first aid kit there and instead of made his way to Jelly bean with a quick; “I need to check on my dog- Ahti, My dog. Thank you- I’m okay- My dog-” and shuffled off with a painful stiff legged gait. Jelly bean whined as he got near enough and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders as she leaned over the side of the truck bed to lick him. He whipped the blood coming out his nose onto the arm of his carhart to keep the dog from licking it up.

“You are such a good girl.” He said into the fluff of her neck. She licked his ear in agreement.

His knee was killing him and it was only getting worse with every passing moment his body had decided he didn’t need enough adrenaline to kill god. He looked up from Jellybean and saw Ridley and Winslow at her car, exchanging a flask- god he kind of wished that were him; and Monique standing by the side walk as Enoch tried to explain what had gone wrong to those that were listening.

AJ was familiar with the nearly pleasant depersonalization of the moment. And when he checked his phone and saw Devin’s Text about the possible sex dungeon in the basement of the extremely haunted house he couldn’t help but laugh in a stricken sort of way. He pulled Jellybeans head down over his shoulder and took a selfie and sent it to Devin by way of answer. Because he thought it was funny in a dark unfriendly kind of way, but the more he looked at his image in the little green text box, the more he thought it probably wasn’t funny. He tried to wipe the blood from his nose again but it was just coming out like a faucet. He hadn't yet noticed the number he’d done on his cream colored dog yet. She looked like she could audition for the thing where he'd put his face in her shoulder.

He put the phone in his back pocket and braced against the side of his truck as his made his way to the door and the cab, with full intention of a. Sitting in his truck about this for six to five business years, or until his soul loaded back into his body and he felt less like a low poly action figure and then b. driving himself home with a broken wrist and a concussion. Because he was sure he could and going straight to the ER felt like a hassle. He could go to urgent care tomorrow. Say he fell. Perfect plan.

coded by natasha.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

louder than god's revolver
and twice as shiny

Devin Murphy

LOCATION

Dunks -> Debdhill

RADIO

bad decisions--bastille

MENTIONS

n/a

INTERACTIONS

AJ

TAGS

TrashRabbit

Collab post with TrashRabbit

Devin had pulled into a Dunks' drive through when he got a response from AJ, and since the line wasn't going anywhere he pulled his phone out to check, expecting either a mildly annoyed fuck off i'm working if the answer was no, or a selfie involving lewd gestures if he had.

The response was a selfie, but definitely not the one he was expecting. It was AJ and Jellybean, the dog looking as pleased as ever, AJ looking like he'd just finished fighting God and wasn't sure if he'd won or not, both of them covered in blood.

Devin stared.

Most of the time, Devin didn't believe in ghosts, or monsters, or magic. Eight houses out of ten, they were dealing with faulty wiring or raccoons fucking in the attic or bad stove leaking carbon monoxide. But that mean that those other two houses didn't. And that usually meant weird, bad shit.

AJ wasn't supposed to get involved with the weird, bad shit.

Someone honked behind him. Devin automatically moved to give them the finger, but the window was shut, so instead he peeled out of line, changing plans from going to the office to Debdhill, and called AJ.

When the phone picked up he said, voice slightly strangled to keep from shouting, "What the fuck happened?"

Somebody was getting so fired, if he didn't kill them first.

AJ was contemplating the distance between where he was leaning against the truck door and the seat in the cab when his ringtone went off, which was unironically the Halo main theme. He answered and brought the phone to his ear for Devin to half yell at him.

"Listen." He said like it was a full sentence, and then after a long long pause "House is wicked fuckin' haunted. The Flemming kids know karate though, I think we're okay."

“FLEMMING?!” Devin repeated, still half yelling. He hadn’t been expecting anything good, and somehow it was worse. “What—Never mind. Are you okay?”

AJ held the phone away from his ear and blinked as the volume was piercing. "Uh. Yeah. Okay- Um, sure, I'm okay."

“You’re bleeding. Excessively. I’m coming to take you to the ER,” Devin said. He was fighting to keep his voice level. “I’m going to kill Enoch.”

AJ groaned a sort of dying whale noise because he did not want to go to the ER, it would be such a production, and he sort of had a personal vendetta against ever being stuck in a shit hospital bed ever again; "Can I raise you a please take me to urgent care tomorrow instead? You can do whatever you ant to Enoch, but he looks....sorry," He added glancing through the cab of his car where the others were conversing on the lawn.

“Absolutely not,” Devin said. “What am I supposed to tell Susan if you die of your own stubbornness, huh? I can take you to urgent care tonight, but you’re going to the hospital.” He paused, and then said, “Sorry doesn’t cut it. He’s supposed to be a professional and he fucked up.” It sounded mean. It was mean. He meant it. They looked like clowns in front of Flemming because of Enoch.

AJ hated when he tried to guilt trip him with his sister, which was nearly always when ever the chips were down between them. But his head hurt too much to dig into him for it, so instead he asked; "So were you gonna tell me ghost were real or was I just supposed to get thrown against a wall by one?"

Devin hesitated. “You were not supposed to get thrown against the wall,” he said. And then he sighed real big. “Look, most of the time people just think their house is haunted. You know. And when there is a ghost we’re supposed to have a professional to take care of it, but. Well. You see how that went for us.” He sighed again and rubbed his forehead before putting his hand back on the stick shift. “It was not supposed to happen like this. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

AJ looked deeply into the middle distance because this was such a matter of fact answer from Devin that it meant ghosts and what not had been very real the whole time, possibly forever. The fact spiraled down and around across the details of his life, and his relationship with reality and god. and finally he said; "Cool."

Devin waited into the silence, and when AJ said cool he knew he was having an existential crisis and that it was his job to pretend not to notice. So he pretended not to notice.

“Something something more things in heaven and earth, ect,” he said, quoting Shakespeare badly. “I’ll be there in like five minutes.”

"Okay." He said and then after a moment added with business like confidence, "Please don't kill Enoch, I'm not feeling up to it."

Devin sighed. “You never let me have any fun,” he complained, petulantly.

And that's when AJ hung up on him.

Devin made a raspberry noise into the dead air on the line before hanging up as well.

code by ditto (head empty go bonk)​

 

[hery]

• .
• .

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  XI.
  the intern

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  puck desmond.

  mood

  :]
  
  

  location

  woods (bunting)
  
  

  interactions

  griff
  
  

  tags

  Sear
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
• For a brief few minutes, Puck's face was buried in his phone, his normally soft gaze squinted in consternation. Spotify wasn't loading, and he had like twelve song links that were pertinent to this job. And Noor would be going without them if he didn't commit them to memory.
  
  And so, out of an obligation to properly articulate to the other intern the ambience of this property, Puck utilized the first few pages of his pocket-sized notepad to describe the way the trees swayed above, fire-red but blackened by the shadows of a sunless sky. Nimbly, he scribbled song titles and even rough timestamps that matched the tempo of the leaves crunching beneath their soles.
  
  And the fresh air... ahh, what a time to be alive.
  
  The buzz of Griff's phone sparked a pang of jealousy within, drawing Puck out of his momentary distraction. "Mode?" he echoed uneasily, which he immediately regretted for using such a tone about a trusted colleague. A glance over the shoulder confirmed that the big house was long in the distance now. "If Mode is here, then..." The four-eyed intern dared not finish, as the lingering sentiment of trespassing already hung over the eavesdropping woods. There was something to be feared, but bringing in the big guns this soon?
  
  That didn't do much to put Puck at ease, even if he wore as bright a smile as he could manage. But, in a way, Griff was listening right back, so there was still comfort to be had. Perhaps the team was just being cautious, especially after...
  
  Anyway.
  
  The stroll continued without much more than a slightly-eerie gust of wind, the two men making idle chatter while running through all sorts of terrible, ghostly theories in their heads. And though Puck did most of the talking, that wasn't to say his eyes weren't just as sharp, scanning the horizon for anything between a malignant entity or a small trace of human presence.
  
  With the crack of a branch, his neck snapped in Griff's direction, a mixture of apprehension and calm curiosity on his mien. He drew in close, peering over the crouched mortician's back while each page was read aloud. "UE...?" he muttered, eyebrows knitted pensively, "U...E..." Each syllable was more bewildered than the last. And while partially attending to Griff's dictation of the rest of the journal, Puck's focus was on mentally repeating the entries he'd already heard.
  
  With the journal placed in his grasp, the intern flipped vigorously through each page as though committing each word to memory, verbatim. There was a long pause to examine the final page, which was caked with dirt and old, russet bloodstains. Puck practically dug his nose into the book trying to examine the alien-like symbols etched onto the ultimate page. The side effect was having his nostrils invaded by the vague scent of carrion buried under a forest floor.
  
  “A language or code of sorts. There has to be a way to solve it," Griff speculated, garnering a nod from a grave-faced Puck, "I think we need to find the three structures that Grant mentioned. They disappeared after going there at night after all.” Beckoned by the blind trail before them, the two gave a hard look into the vast, deep forestry sprawled about. "Or the house. Both locations had sightings."
  
  Still facing the journal, the blonde, slightly shorter man at last spoke. "I'd like to know where this 'Green Gables' joint is too, but..." He trailed off, his voice was a little tired, but not defeated. Cell reception was out of the question for now.
  
  With the book finally shut, Puck shot a quizzical glance toward his partner for the day. "You haven't heard of a 'Grant Lewis' either, have you? If he was such an acclaimed videographer, let's cross our fingers this was around for the times of YouTube." He raised his phone into the air, a pathetic "zero bars" blinking on the screen. "Not that it'll be much help right now."
  
  And, with a resolute nod, Puck gazed back in the other direction, the way they came. "I think we should show the others. I can't make heads or tails of that code, at least from a popular linguistic point of view." Though he was smiling, his tone held an unmistakable edge of desperation. He hated not knowing things. "Any hope this has something to do with Charlie's backwards-talking demon stuff?"
  
  And with that, they had more than one lead.
  
  Over... way more than one square mile of ominous woods. There was plenty of ground to cover, all of which would be soaked in orange by the sun's setting soon.
  
  
  

designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[Nimbus]

◇◇◇◇◇ House bones for my canvas. ◇◇◇◇◇

Location: Outside Bunting House, Front Door.

Mission: Find the rest of the team. Hopefully soon.

Comrades: ????????

Company:
Clairabell G. ClownPope

Book of the day: ????????? By ?????????

◇◇◇◇◇ Painting in dream & memory. ◇◇◇◇◇

En route to Bunting, Noor and Clair had a pleasant time in the Vanpire, chatting about the local thrift scene and the tribulations of finding vintage threads, which segued to shopping for anything old and well loved. Noor didn't have the budget to buy much that wasn't absolutely necessary, but made a mental note to file the names of stores Clair rattled off - a nice suit, or something, for a graduation present was allowed. The conversation meandered from there, with lulls just long enough to send messages and location pings to the office.

Coming up the drive, Noor peered at the surrounding woods. No way to tell if anyone went through there. But a light was on at the house.

"Let's pop in and see who is there. Hopefully everyone, so I don't have to herd cats and conduct field research at the same time," Noor suggested glibly, sliding out the door to the Vanpire.

After ambling back to grab his bag and lock up, he joined Clairabell at the door. After a couple nudges and a whispered conversation, Noor knocked three times.

Begrudgingly, he called out, "Hello? Team? We, uh, we brought backup."

As much as two people who had no clue about the supernatural could be backup, anyway.

◇◇◇◇◇ Pictures capture the spirit. ◇◇◇◇◇

 

[elytra]

bunting haunting.

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  mood

  
  
  
  

  uh oh
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  outfit

  
  
  
  

  horse????
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  location

  
  
  
  

  bunting
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  interactions

  
  
  
  

  Ha_lfLife
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

The rain continued into the night. If anything, it got worse; the heaviness of the storm caused a barrage of droplets to run down the windows of the Bunting house, obscuring the view towards the outside which already was muddled by the darkness of the evening. Usually, at this time, Ackehurst employees would be home; the work day was long over at that point.

Unfortunately for them, not a single one of their cars would start again. After numerous attempts, particularly on Grover’s part, the furthest any of them got was continuing to stall. Further, the cell signal had finally died completely, puttering out before any texts and calls could be made. They were thoroughly stuck, and despite the unease of their host, it had ultimately been decided staying in the house overnight was the best option.

Not that anyone had stayed. Most hadn’t spent more than a few moments in the house after it was revealed they were stuck. Instead, they’d struck out into the woods, aside from Charlie, who adamantly refused to go out into that dark abyss. Instead, she stayed behind with Mr. Clark, who was in the middle of showing her the room she’d be staying in.

Charlie spent the first several minutes after the news of the malfunctions clenching and unclenching her hand, gripping to her own upper arm as she crossed it uncomfortably over her chest. She clicked her jaw, her thoughts going back to her sister. Were they freaking out? Probably. Ridley panicked even in the best of circumstances, sending out smoke signals if Charlie didn’t reply to a text after fifteen minutes on a busy night out. Noor and Clair had shown up just a few minutes after Grover and came back inside from the downpour to break the bad news. While the initial knock at the door made her jump, the relief at seeing her friends was short-lived, seeing as how between their unexpected entrance and the moments it took to run out to the driveway, the Vanpire had decided to fail them, too.

The uneasy feeling in her gut that had somewhat subsided throughout the afternoon was back with full force, mimicking the unease it felt after watching the bird running itself into the window. She’d begged the others not to go out in the pitch black to continue their investigation, sure that whatever buildings out there would still remain at daybreak. But convincing some of those thick skulls to stay inside, to maintain strength in numbers in the face of what /she/ felt was an undeniable threat, was in vain. The power had gone out, too, so that was great. Charlie, with a self-effacing note of naivety, concluded that it must’ve been from the storm and not whatever lurking trail of misfortune that had already taken the two vehicles as prey. She followed Mr. Clark up the stairs, after they’d spent a while digging around in the kitchen pantry for a handful of dust-ridden dining candles, keeping one held in front of her as she gripped the same veneer banister that she did that morning.

It was clear when Mr. Clark opened the bedroom door that, like the rest of the house, it was mostly packed up. Boxes were stacked in various corners of the room, sticky notes on the side of them to describe their contents. The bed was still intact and miraculously still had sheets on it, though Mr. Clark had a blanket tucked over his arm. He offered it to Charlie once she was inside.

“It gets cold. The heating has been acting up.” He explained, sticking his hands in his pockets once he no longer had the quilt in his hands. “Bathrooms down the hall, but I’m sure you know that. Use what you like.”

Charlie took the blanket from him with a grateful look, her grin forced for the first time that evening. None of this felt safe, none of this felt /right/. With a quiet tone, weary but resolved to settle in, Charlie thanked him and watched him as he closed the door. Alone. /Alone./ Charlie sat on the creaking bed, slowly releasing a pent-up breath from deep in her chest. She set the candle on the bedside table, and threw the blanket over the footboard. Afterwards, she kicked off her loafers, simultaneously pulling off her blazer, reaching into its pocket to check her phone again. She knew it wouldn’t have any bars, but thought to try anyway. When she clicked the right side button, all it displayed was a black screen and that small, dread-inducing red battery. /Shit./

She sat looking at the screen for a few minutes before willing herself to stand again. It was just an iPhone - the chances of the homeowner having one himself were high enough that it was worth an ask. She took up the candle once more and opened the door, the creaking hinges too loud in an otherwise quiet hallway. “Mr. Clark …?” Charlie called out, pausing in the bedroom door, trying to decide where to go. She opted to veer left, checking the master bedroom. “Mr. Clark, you wouldn’t happen to have an iPhone charger, would you?” She knocked on the master door, but hearing no response, tried the handle anyway. This door was contrastingly silent as it opened to the dark room, Charlie taking a cautious step forward.

There were signs, at least, that Mr. Clark had been there in the time between him leaving Charlie in her room and the current moment. The room, unlike the rest of the house, looked lived in; the bed had sheets on it, yet wasn’t made, and there was a desk covered in all sorts of documents, likely pertaining to the sale of the house. The coat he’d been wearing before was now hung over the back of the chair, which was pulled out slightly. Yet, none of the room was lit. Instead, a soft light emanated from the connected bathroom, the door of which was noticeably ajar.

She hesitated, resolved that the homeowner must’ve gone back downstairs, facing once again the ominous forest scene outside the master’s windows. Aside from the rain, the trees didn’t appear to sway or shiver, like they themselves were holding their breaths. “Mr. Clark …?” Charlie caught the dull light flickering from behind the bathroom door, but wasn’t quick to investigate, worried of the intrusion if he really were still up here. She heard the subtle and echoing drip of something, perhaps a haphazardly turned faucet knob. Not receiving a response, Charlie at least moved toward the bathroom, wanting to make sure before heading downstairs that the dripping wasn’t from something like a leaking roof (yeah, A.J. would /love/ that added project). She pushed open the door, reorienting herself in the room she’d visited earlier, though now she could only see its faintest outlines in the circle of her candle’s light.

In the dark, it wasn’t immediately clear what was in the room. There was liquid on the floor, dark enough that it blended in with the tiling, and a lump on the floor by the counter. The storm was raging outside; rain hit the windows, the drumming against the two windows being the only noise in the room other than the dripping coming from by the sink.

Light being shone upon the scene revealed the grim truth of the matter. By the flickering of the flame, the lump was shown to actually be a body. Joseph Clark laid on the floor, his chest against the tile though his head snapped in a manner where his lifeless eyes could almost face the ceiling. Blood oozed from his nostrils and the corner of his mouth, spilling out below him. There was a dent in his head and blood splatter on the counter’s corner, seeming to imply that he’d hit his head there and that was what caused the gruesome state he was in; yet, it was unbelievable to think that such a fall at any angle would cause the unnatural angle his neck was at. Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the scene completely for just a moment before the darkness crept in once more.

Charlie was too shocked to shriek, instead a panicked sob expelling from her throat. She dropped the candle and, facing down against the tile, it slowly flickered out. She stepped back, nearly slipping on the blood pooling below Mr. Clark. Her chest rising and falling rapidly in the throes of impending panic, she had almost worked up the strength to scream. In the silent surge of lightning, the following moment a vacuum of sound before the thunder, she caught sight of the reflection in the mirror.

There in the shower stall sat…something. In the dark, even with the flash of lightning, it was hard to tell what it truly was. In some ways, its silhouette looked like a horse, with the distinct snout facing in the direction of Charlie, but the closer one looked, the more clear it was that there was something very, very wrong. Around its neck seemed to be hands hanging, the extra appendages loosely swaying as the rest of the creature stood still. Where the eyes would be seemed to be just two dark holes, though it was possible it was a trick of the dimness of the room.

It had been crouched at first, but upon being noticed, it slowly raised itself up. Its body became a bit more clear; it looked skinny, as if malnourished, with grooves and bumps running along its chest area. A low, guttural noise came from it, though where its mouth supposedly was didn’t move. Its breaths were heavier, and it seemed to sniff at the air in Charlie’s direction. Then, it spoke.

“Don’t be afraid, little girl.” Its voice was harsh on the ears, and it wheezed between its words, as if they took effort to say. “Running won’t get you far anyway.”

Charlie’s gut clenched as she turned to look at the thing, threatening just at the sight of the malformed monstrosity. The scream she’d almost had worked up in her lungs at the discovery of Mr. Clark dissipated in shock, her breath instead wheezing out in a breathless, “/holyshitholyfuck/.” She remembered the weight of the dead phone in her hand, no more useful in this situation than a brick, and without reconsidering, lobbed it at the creature. She knew it wasn’t going to do much, but if it could just get her past him to the door. She tried for it -

The phone hit the creature right on the face, seeming to at least startle it a bit. However, it also seemed to cause the movement of the creature to pick up. Its breaths became more labored and instead of being moved out of the way, it jolted towards her. With a screech that could almost sound human, it slammed itself into Charlie, right towards the open window it had originally entered from with more force than it should’ve been able to.

sea sick

adam young

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Ha_lfLife]

XI.
charlie murdoch.
the real estate agent.

Mood
Pain & Panic

Location
11 Bunting Lane

Interactions
Sear
The Blue Adept

Mentions
n/a

designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ

Despite all the fear and panic bubbling in her lungs at the time of contact - her eyes blacking out momentarily with the force the creature drove into her with - all she saw at the moment of falling was

a sunny, bird-songed lakeside afternoon. Camp Cuomo, August 2008, the tanned skin on her lanky eleven-year-old frame tingling in anticipation. Jake Conner, the boy she’d been smitten with all summer, was standing with her at the top of the tower in the middle of the lake.

“Come on, let’s do it together,” He urged, holding a hand out to her to take and the two of them, holding their breaths in unison, ran forward and took the leap. Arms flailing in the air, the freefall manifesting most strongly in her stomach, knotted and turning over and over again as she fell, too exhilirated to make a sound on the way down.

Charlie landed hard.

The only thing cushioning the drop was a thin layer of grass, saturated with rainfall. The impact forced whatever withheld breath she had left from her lungs, only a wheezing cry escaping her lips as her chest reverberated facedown with the ground.

She’d fallen in a shower of glass, evidenced by blood from some small lacerations seeping slowly through the torso of her black turtleneck. Her face and nose were unscathed, though scraped with mud. The latter was thankfully unbroken by the landing, though it surely would have been if not for her left arm breaking the fall.

She tried to use it now, in quick succession after her right, to push herself up, her right arm bearing the brunt of the weight. When she tried to use her left arm to push herself up, she immediately collapsed back into the grass.

The night was black aside from overcast moonlight and the occasional flash of lightning. It was a surge of the latter that allowed Charlie to see - rolling on to her back and trying to sit up that way - the end of bone in her left forearm poking its way unnaturally through skin. She didn’t feel the break, the shock coursing through her at that moment stronger than any opiate could hope to be.

Hearing creaking fifteen feet above, the shrill shriek of the creature sounding off against the thunder that followed the flash, Charlie breathed out a panicked sound from a tight chest. She pushed herself up miserably with only her right arm to standing, her bare feet slick against the muddy grass of the lawn.

The monster’s shrieking calls were descending on her and Charlie, without contemplating it further, broke into a sprint. Cradling the injured arm in her good one, Charlie took off from the house, heading in a crescent trajectory for the woods. She was unsure of what was the best course of action, for a second wondering if she should’ve gone for the road. But to what end? It was an isolated area and the chances of flagging down a Good Samaritan tonight were slim. Besides, she had to warn the others in the woods.

She had hoped by some miracle that she wouldn’t have to go for the forest, avoiding its fearsome and bewildering holdings, though she realized with sinking heart that it was the only place to go. It was decided, then. Her only choice. No more excuse to avoid bursting through the treeline . All behind her, she heard the groanings of the thing stalking her, though she dared not look behind her to see how closely it followed.

She’d sprinted long past when the burning in her chest and cramps in her stomach begged her to stop. The adrenaline kept firing off synapses that urged her not to slow. Deep into the black of the forest, the rain fell down through down more slowly through the trees, but the canopy also blocked out what little celestial light there was.

Her foot caught on a branch, and Charlie again slammed to the ground. This time the shock of the situation couldn’t help to mask the torturous pain shooting up through the nerves in her arm. Can’t stop, can’t stop. She rolled over in the slick floor of leaves, her good arm holding the other one above it and using her shoulder to push herself back up to standing, breaths coming out as pants. She turned to chance a glimpse over her shoulder, already breaking into a run again, broken and/or bruised ribs protesting against more tight, heaving gasps for air. Still looking wildly behind her, she regained her previous pace, the dark making all the black and shadows seem like the creature could’ve been anywhere and everywhere.

She pummeled into something with full force, another surge of agony in the arm she held against her chest. The neglected scream that had nestled in the core of her stomach from the shock finally came out, a shriek short lived as she realIzed through the black that it was -

“Griff. Griff, oh thank god.”

At once, the relief spilled out, a tearless sob, still gasping for breath. Immediately after, she glimpses Mode in the background, relief swelling even more at her surrogate brother - and one person she would want to be with during an attack by such a thing - being there.

She surely looked close enough to a monster herself. She was still holding the mangled arm, sitting across her chest with an unnatural angle and those awfully protruding nubs underneath the skin. Her blonde hair was plastered to her muddied face from the rain, her shirt torn and fringed with blood and glass.

“Something’s- it’s coming it was-“ now that her ears were no longer flooded with the sounds of her gasps for air, she noticed how quiet it had suddenly become, the grim sound of whatever that thing was having gone quiet, looking over her shoulder again finding no sign of it.

“It was - following -it killed him it-“

Now that the moment for survival seemed to lapse, the exasperated words turned into dispair at the reality of the situation.

“At the house, it killed him. He’s dead.”

 

[The Blue Adept]

scroll

MODE

bunting house - forest

with Charlie and Griffin

Sear Ha_lfLife

"This fucking sucks."

It was half of the words Mode had uttered the entire night, and every time the wind blew drops of rain back towards where he and Griffin were walking he wanted to curse them again and again. It made it even more difficult to see in void of trees beyond their flashlights, to the point Mode found himself constantly having to grab Griff by the shoulder and redirect him lest he get eaten by forest. He never liked when investigations went this late, but due to the cars failing to start they were trapped here, and Mode had a deep, unsettling feeling about all of it. There was no such thing as coincidence, after all.

As the night continued and the darkness crept deeper among the trees, Mode could feel the chill running along the back of his neck, the anticipation coiling tight in his stomach as if something would jump out at them at any moment. He hadn't been able to rest at all in the house despite his attempts, too worried about the crew and what was lurking. While he didn't necessarily enjoy that they split up again, he had never been able to wrangle his fellow coworkers well and just hoped he'd be able to hear their screams above the sound of the storm. At the very least he had wrangled Griffin into coming with him, the one he trusted the least to stay out trouble, to not inevitably die due to their own curiosity.

So, truly, this whole night fucking sucked. He didn't anticipate it would get any better until this thing was dead. Which, with his persistence, would hopefully be soon. He had no doubts now that whatever they were dealing with was not spectral in origin, and therefore weak to the bite of his blade. The wind whipped at them once more and he shivered, wiping at the droplets running down into his eyes as he paused under one of the trees, letting his flashlight trail along the path in front of them. The dark shape of the house, silhouetted by the glow of the moon, loomed in the distance. There was something about that house that unsettled him even moreso than these woods. "Do you think we should head back? I don't think the storm is going to let up and I'm soaked," he sighed.

As if summoned by his mention of it, lightning crackled in the air and thunder boomed, followed by a haunting, terrible scream. The kind only torn from the throat of something inhuman. Mode whipped around sharply towards the direction of the sound- which, to his horror, was the house. He swallowed hard, training his light once more on swath of grass in front of them, impossible to see anything through rain but he could feel it nonetheless. Something in the air, something sinister, something...evil. He stared for a long moment waiting, calculating the options in his mind. Fuck, why did he leave her there. He knew Charlie was in the house and he had to go back, and was half a second from sprinting there before he heard approaching footsteps that made him pause. Closer and closer, timed evenly with the frantic thumping of his heart. And then all at once something crashed into Griff where they stood in front of him, nearly sending them barreling straight into him too. Mode stumbled back, instinctively reaching for his weapon before Charlie's voice cut through the sound of the rain, kicking a sigh of relief from his chest. If she was here that meant whatever was lurking hadn't gotten her.

But it did mean that it was close behind.

"Charlie! What-?" his voice trailed off as she explained through labored breaths, his eyes wide as he glanced over her injured form. Worry burned fiercely in his throat though Mode knew better than to voice it. He had to be calm and reliable in a situation like this, reaching instead to grip Charlie by her shoulders and pull her behind himself, putting his body quickly between her and the unseen threat. Griff got shoved back too for good measure, sequestering the two of them at his back like he was protecting sheep from a wolf. "Stay behind me," he told them, reaching to pull his axe free from its sheath, the silver-tipped head gleaming in the moonlight. The sudden silence was palpable, tension drawn so taught he nearly held his breath waiting for it to snap. He knew now that Charlie was close enough, the phantom smell of the thing on her all too familiar to him. Images flashed quickly in Mode's mind- of knife-sharp claws raking across his face, of the deep, guttural laughter that haunted him ever since.

This was a demon.

And they were being chased by it in an unfamiliar wood at night in the dark during a storm. Well. He had survived worse odds before. He glanced at Griff and Charlie over his shoulder, unwilling to fully take his eyes off the path in front of them. "We have to go now. Start moving, I'll keep the rear. And whatever you do, don't split up. Let's see if we can circle back to the house or somewhere we're not out in the open." If they were careful, they could at least keep the others out of the crossfire. And, hopefully, keep each other in one piece.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

louder than god's revolver
and twice as shiny

Devin Murphy

LOCATION

aj's driveway > aj's kitchen

RADIO

renegade-kavinsky

MENTIONS

charlie

INTERACTIONS

collab post with aj

TAGS

TrashRabbit

Several hours, a doctor’s exam, and a copay later, Devin pulled his little blue Evo up and parked in AJ’s driveway, killing the engine. In the sudden silence, the fact that AJ was sulking in the passenger seat like a cat brought home from the vet was even more obvious. “Alright. I’m ready to be a human crutch when you’re ready to hobble out of here,” Devin said.

Aj Had his nose in his phone and gave devin a sideways glance, “You should go inside and get the large russian.”

“...I’m sorry, the what?”

“He’s bigger than you,” He said refusing to elaborate.

Devin continued to stare, and when AJ continued refusing to elaborate, asked, “Does he have a name, or…?”

That broke Aj’s Poker face and he laughed, “Yeah, his name's Sasha. I’ve told you about Sasha yeah?”

“From video games?” Devin asked eloquently.

“Sasha Call of Duty, from videogames, yeah.”

“Since when has he been in your house? I thought he was in. You know. Russia.”

“Mirnny, actually, its in the far east- but yeah, I uh, he’s staying here till he can find a place.”

“...Yeah, okay,” Devin said, because this might as well be happening. He opened the door slid out. “I’ll be back with the large Russian. Don’t go anywhere,” he added like AJ might decide to turn into a cloud and float away, or something.

“Bitch- how-” But Devin shut the door and AJ furthered mouthed ‘I will kill you’ behind the muteing of the car door.

Devin made a rude gesture involving his tongue and two fingers back before skittering to the side door. He fumbled for his keys, remembered, the last time he had entered this house unannounced, and instead knocked. “Hello? Sasha from video games?”

Nobody answered, but the side gate squeaked, and Devin leaned over the porch to see an unreasonably tall man wearing, inexplicably, a panda kigarumi and pair of fuck-off statie aviators leaning on the gate and looking at him.

“Can I. Help you?” the man asked in the thickest Russian accent Devin had ever heard in real life. He gestured at the Evo with a hand holding a cigarette and asked, “Is that yours? How fast does it go?”

“...That’s between me and God,” Devin said. “I’m Devin. AJ’s in the car. He needs some help getting in the house.”

“Why does he need help?”

“He has had a very long day.”

Sasha looked at Devin, and even with the mirrored sunglasses, he could tell he was being squinted at with deep suspicion, before Sasha opened the gate and stepped out.

“Oh, god, what are those,” Devin said, looking at Sasha’s bright pink Crocs.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sasha said amicably, and headed for the car.

AJ opened his side of the Evo’s door and asked, “So you didn’t get my text?”

“No. I was in the backyard with the chickens.”

AJ gave him a long look- mostly at his own miserable reflection in his aviator and said sagely; “That's fair.”

“What did you do? Here,” Sasha said, and swung the door wider to help AJ out.

“The official story is that the staircase collapsed. Good news is I didn’t fucking break anything,” He held up his wrist in the aircast, “Bad news is no crutches for two weeks.”

Sasha looked at him and said, “Do I get to know the unofficial story?”

“...I’m gonna need at least-mmm-two beers.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Just weird as fuck. Help me up, I am tired of this fuckboi car.”

“It looks fast,” Sasha said in the car’s defense, but helped AJ up to his feet so they could hobble to the door that Devin had unlocked and held open. Sasha took the small ramp at the front door in one big step, lifting AJ along so that he didn’t have to hobble the incline. The look on AJ’s face was a fleeting look of horror that Devin easily identified as gay panic.

It was cruel to torment AJ right now, but Devin couldn’t stop himself from giving him a deeply smug and knowing grin before Sasha led AJ past him into the kitchen.

“ I will kill you,” AJ told Devin firmly as a warning.

“I didn’t say anything,” Devin said primly, snapping the door shut. Sasha squinted at him again.

“Good!”

“So this is your friend, the lawyer?” Sasha asked, sounding slightly confused.

“Yeah, the one with the punchable face,” He said easing himself into the kitchen chair with a very old man sounds ‘Sssssss’ noise.

“That’s me!” Devin agreed, striking a Vana White pose.

“I do not think this was compliment,” Sasha noted, and went to the fridge to pull out beers.

“I make do,” Devin assured him.

AJ decided it was safest to remain quiet and hold his beer while the two most impossible people he knew sorted each other out.

Sasha apparently decided, however, that he did not want to let Devin run verbal rings around him, and instead just offered Devin a beer mutely.

“No thank you, hot stuff, I don’t drink horse piss,” Devin said pleasantly, sliding into the seat across from AJ at the table. Sasha turned a complicated shade of pink. “So, do you want to hear about ghosts now, or later, when you’re sober?”

“I’m already one vicodin ahead of you, hit me,” He said, taking a sip of his preferred brand of horse piss and pretending he didn’t notice Sasha turning pink. With the aviators on he couldn’t tell if he wanted to disappear into the ground or murder. He hopped it was murder.

Devin steepled his fingers. “Okay. So first off I’m going to apologize for not explaining any of this sooner. However, in my defense, I didn’t think you’d believe me until you saw something you couldn’t explain yourself. I just uh. Thought it would be less…violently.” He scowled, mostly to himself.

“Okay I knew the houses were haunted, they had vibes or bad shit had happened there, I know that factors into a sale. I didn’t think it went beyond vibes and carbon monoxide?” He said like this was an entirely reasonable expectation of reality and he had been deeply let down.

“Most of the time that’s true. But every once in a while you get a house with great aunt Ethel rattling windows or something that wasn’t ever human to begin with drawing on the walls in blood. We are supposed to have a competent ghost hunter on staff for that, but you saw how that went today.” Devin scowled again.

“I thought he was just an E-boy to assure the clients- are you telling me he was supposed to actually handle that thing?” He said gesturing with his beer like the Negative spirit was a raccoon out in the yard.

“No, no, assuring the clients is whatever the fuck Charlie has going on,” Devin said. “Enoch was supposed to handle ghosts, whether banishing them or laying them to rest or whatever. We’re obviously going to have to find someone to replace him after this fiasco.”

Sasha, who had been leaning against the counter sipping his beer with no expression, asked, “Did he die?”

“He’s going to wish he had when I’m done with him,” Devin said darkly.

“It came up the stairs and he was all “oops left my shit in my car!” And then booked it. Poor Monique fucking lost it.”

Devin rubbed his temple. “That’s what we get for taking a chance on an unlicensed hunter, I guess.”

“They make Ghostbuster permits?! Who? Which DMV, DEVIN. Please.”

“God I wish it was the DMV. Can you imagine. No, it’s the ‘Paranormal Society of America’,” Devin said, making air quotes around the society’s name. “It's just like. The ghost hunter guild. Being licensed just means the other ghost hunters think you don’t suck.”

AJ gave him a long squinty look, not sure if he was benign fucked with, but also he’d seen some shit today. He pulled out his phone and started googling ‘Paranormal Society of America.’ and looked between Devin and the phone and said, “The PDF of the ghost hunter and Monster hunter manual is apparently 24$ or free? Your not fucking me here right?”

“AJ, please. You forget I like to tell lies that people believe,” Devin said.

“Yeah which is why I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“Understandable. I’m not fucking with you. Promise.”

AJ Decided to drink his beer about that.

Devin leaned back in his chair and then looked at Sasha. “What about you? Do you believe in ghosts?”

Sasha shrugged. “I would be more worried about vampires,” he said evenly.

“Oh, god,” Devin said, and crossed himself.

AJ looked at Sasha firmly and said; “Don’t.”

Sasha raised both hands in a what? sort of gesture, and then drank his beer.

AJ took another sip to steady himself and then looked very seriously at Devin and said, “Okay. So. Hard question next; Acklehurst is liable yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Devin said, and looked like he wished he had a beer to drink about that. “But that’s like. My problem. Don’t worry about it.”

“Cool, cool, cool, Cause I’m out of work for like two to three weeks, and I’m pissed about it. If you weren't the only lawyer I knew and ghost weren't fucking involved---oooh why I aughta- you know.”

“I will. Talk to HR. See what we can do,” Devin promised.

Sasha piped up with, “I can help?”

“Yeah, Devin you wanna pay Sasha for a week or two instead of me?” He said gesturing at Sasha. He meant it as a gag, but like free money.

Devin looked at Sasha again. “Are you…a contractor?”

Sasha smiled brightly. “I am learning.”

“I think its what I put on your green card application?” He added brightly, because no fraud here. None.

Devin put his face in his hand and said, “I’m so glad I’m not an immigration lawyer, in this moment. Sure. Whatever. Why not.”

AJ gave Sasha a cheers motion and finished his beer. “Cool.”

Sasha mimicked the motion, and Devin said, “I deserve this, probably.”

“We both know we got a seats in hell, this is just warm up, cheer up. Everybody gets paid. Enoch gets fired. I am apparently going to buy a ghost buster kit?” He said looking at his phone as he’d continued down that rabbit digital rabbit hole. “Its fine. You’re fine.”

“Oh good. Can’t wait for your new hobby,” Devin said.

Sasha looked at him for a long moment, and then asked, “Would you like to see my chickens?” Devin was obviously unhappy, and Sasha was not very good with people, but he was pretty sure seeing a good fat chicken could cure most ills.

“Your what?” Devin repeated. And then. “Fuck. Sure dude. I would love to see your chickens.”

Sasha passed AJ another beer before leading Devin into the backyard.

code by ditto (head empty go bonk)​

 

[ClownPope]

Clairabell Geiger

Location: bunting driveway > Inside the house
Interactions: holding flashlight for Noor Nimbus
Mentions: Charlie

The interior designer was happy to see their co-workers were safe and sound, albeit soggy. Though as soon as they’d met up everyone was splitting off again back into the woods once the vehicles were deemed inoperable. Except for Charlie who remained inside with the home owner, which at the moment Clairabell envied. Their wool sweater was keeping out most of the cold but as the rain persisted she was getting soggy as well. Her hair seeming to droop as the curly locks sagged with water. And their Eyebrows knit into an uncomfortable shelf against their forehead. Before they relaxed and she let out a small chuckle. “This reminds me of when my dog ran away when I was a kid.”

Clairabell held up a flashlight while her compatriot, Noor, checked out the engine of the vanpire. She didn’t believe in coincidences, at least not while working this job, so she assumed whatever caused their cars to refuse to start wasn’t going to have a physical solution. Though she wasn’t going to let Noor stand out here in the rain by themselves while everyone else was tracking down some entity in the woods. “He got out during a thunderstorm, behind our house growing up was a stretch of woods. Last we saw was him bolting into the trees so of course me and my brothers ran out after him.”
The longer they stood out there, the more uneasy Clair started to feel. Soon they found themselves shuffling a little, small steps side to side as their arm grew tired. Taking a glance between the distant treeline and the house. Occasionally seeing a small flicker of light from the windows. With her fidgeting she was probably more of a nuisance than helping as the beam of the flashlight bobbed with every anxious shuffle. “Got a ways into the trees, soaking wet, yelling for him. My brother Curtis fell down a big slope that led to a small creek. Farther back then we’d ever been allowed to go so we didn’t know the hill just dropped.”

Clair hadn’t noticed herself rambling or that they was now staring off into the trees, too sucked into their recounting. “Broke his ankle and tore his achilles. Our older brother and me had to carrying him back home, boy we got an earful. Curtis lost his basketball scholarship cause he wasn’t able to play after that.” She blinked a few times and refocused on holding the flashlight, standing up a little straighter as they notice they’d been bobbling around. “Uh..Anyways it turns out the dog had ran right around us cause we found him whining on the front porch.” Clair pursed her lips into a straight line, feeling her droning wasn’t exactly helping in this situation. Not that she could do much anyways, she knew next to nothing about mechanics if it so happened that there actually was something wrong with the van. Though it didn’t take long for her uneasy fidgeting to return as she stared off at the woods again. Really wishing she’d texted Ezra that she’d be home late. They were probably worried by now.

Before they could have the chance to reassure themselves an inhuman shriek rang out, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Though not from the woods like Clair had expected. As she jumped her head shoot towards the house, her stomach sinking. Her wide eyes darted to Noor. “Charlie!” She exclaimed before breaking out in a sprint up the porch and barreling her way into the front door of the house. “Charlie!” She yelled into the dark. The dim cone of light swinging back and forth and she searched the first floor of the place. “Charlie?! Are you Okay?!” Her anxiety rising as she didn’t get a response back. Not even from the home owner. They started to backtrack towards the steps as they continued to call out. Not thinking of their own safety from whatever had made that sound, her only thoughts being find and help.

Spoiler: Plain text version

Clairabell Geiger​

Location: bunting driveway > Inside the house
Interactions: holding flashlight for Noor
Mentions: Charlie
The interior designer was happy to see their co-workers were safe and sound, albeit soggy. Though as soon as they’d met up everyone was splitting off again back into the woods once the vehicles were deemed inoperable. Except for Charlie who remained inside with the home owner, which at the moment Clairabell envied. Their wool sweater was keeping out most of the cold but as the rain persisted she was getting soggy as well. Her hair seeming to droop as the curly locks sagged with water. And their Eyebrows knit into an uncomfortable shelf against their forehead. Before they relaxed and she let out a small chuckle. “This reminds me of when my dog ran away when I was a kid.”

Clairabell held up a flashlight while her compatriot, Noor, checked out the engine of the vanpire. She didn’t believe in coincidences, at least not while working this job, so she assumed whatever caused their cars to refuse to start wasn’t going to have a physical solution. Though she wasn’t going to let Noor stand out here in the rain by themselves while everyone else was tracking down some entity in the woods. “He got out during a thunderstorm, behind our house growing up was a stretch of woods. Last we saw was him bolting into the trees so of course me and my brothers ran out after him.”

The longer they stood out there, the more uneasy Clair started to feel. Soon they found themselves shuffling a little, small steps side to side as their arm grew tired. Taking a glance between the distant treeline and the house. Occasionally seeing a small flicker of light from the windows. With her fidgeting she was probably more of a nuisance than helping as the beam of the flashlight bobbed with every anxious shuffle. “Got a ways into the trees, soaking wet, yelling for him. My brother Curtis fell down a big slope that led to a small creek. Farther back then we’d ever been allowed to go so we didn’t know the hill just dropped.”

Clair hadn’t noticed herself rambling or that they was now staring off into the trees, too sucked into their recounting. “Broke his ankle and tore his achilles. Our older brother and me had to carrying him back home, boy we got an earful. Curtis lost his basketball scholarship cause he wasn’t able to play after that.” She blinked a few times and refocused on holding the flashlight, standing up a little straighter as they notice they’d been bobbling around. “Uh..Anyways it turns out the dog had ran right around us cause we found him whining on the front porch.” Clair pursed her lips into a straight line, feeling her droning wasn’t exactly helping in this situation. Not that she could do much anyways, she knew next to nothing about mechanics if it so happened that there actually was something wrong with the van. Though it didn’t take long for her uneasy fidgeting to return as she stared off at the woods again. Really wishing she’d texted Ezra that she’d be home late. They were probably worried by now.

Before they could have the chance to reassure themselves an inhuman shriek rang out, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Though not from the woods like Clair had expected. As she jumped her head shoot towards the house, her stomach sinking. Her wide eyes darted to Noor. “Charlie!” She exclaimed before breaking out in a sprint up the porch and barreling her way into the front door of the house. “Charlie!” She yelled into the dark. The dim cone of light swinging back and forth and she searched the first floor of the place. “Charlie?! Are you Okay?!” Her anxiety rising as she didn’t get a response back. Not even from the home owner. They started to backtrack towards the steps as they continued to call out. Not thinking of their own safety from whatever had made that sound, her only thoughts being find and help.

 

[Sear]

ＧＲＩＦＦＩＮ ＶＡＵＧＨＮ❜ ─ the psychic ─ ❛
tags: The Blue Adept Ha_lfLife ; location: Bunting woods
interactions: wishing it was horse notes: n/a

The cars had stopped working. The night had come in fast, and somehow Griffin had found themself being shepherded through the woods with Mode. Not that they were complaining, but it did make exploration difficult when at times fingers tightened around their shoulder and they were brought back to the situation at hand. When Mode spoke up about possibly heading back, Griffin turned back to look at the man and consider their answer. Part of them didn’t want to agree to it, and the other part of them did, because they were soaked too. Both hood and hair clung to their skin, and they wiped raindrops away from their face, mouth opening to respond when they felt every hair on their body stand to attention. Their answer died in their throat, never to be spoken. A scream tore through the night, tugging at their consciousness as their eyes widened and they jerked forward. It was here and it was finally showing itself and hell if they didn’t want to see it.

It was coming toward them.

It and something else it seemed, who proceeded to barrel into him. Griffin felt the breath knocked out of him, stumbling backward from the impact and feeling themself collide with Mode at that too. The realization of who had crashed into them didn’t take long to set in, their hands hovering awkwardly as their eyes flickered over Charlie. The sight of who brought forth what could even be described as worry and with that, a question in the back of their mind of whether or not Charlie had life insurance or arrangements made just in case.

“Charlie?” It came out more like a question than a statement, and their fingers clenched and unclenched, trying to figure out what to do with their hands. In the end they dropped to their side, as they took in Charlie’s injuries with an experienced eye.

Bones protruding at odd angles weren’t new, so her injured form wasn’t new either - but it felt different to see it on a coworker. On someone that shouldn’t even be injured, but this job was not kind to anyone working in the field. This was no different, and Griffin knew that Charlie had signed up for this so the worry was quickly hidden back under an expression of blank apathy. Apathy that was gone just as fast, for as they were shoved back behind Mode to see the gleam of the ax make an appearance, so did the discomfort. It skittered across their skin, bringing forth goosebumps and making Griffin shiver - part cold and part the sensation that soon they would be a meal.

Fear was budding, but it was slow spreading, and for that Griffin was thankful. It kept their hands steady for the moment, narrowed eyes glancing around the forest as they strained their senses. Trusting, or attempting to, in their ability to warn ahead of time, even if the demon had not yet appeared. The discomfort continued to grow, crawling up their spine at a painstaking pace. It wasn’t easing back, only growing in intensity, until it was flooding his throat and Griffin bit his cheek hard.

“We have to go now-”

A sharp exhale escaped Griffin and they moved forward and around Mode, their voice coming out with steadiness they didn’t think they had in response to him. “It’s still approaching. It’s continuing to come toward us. Right, let’s move.” Watching Charlie out of the corner of their eye, Griffin began to move, their next statement coming out more sharp then they intended. “I can fucking feel it.”

 

[Nimbus]

◇◇◇◇◇ House bones for my canvas. ◇◇◇◇◇

Location: Location: Outside, in front of Bunting property…again. !!!In the Bunting kitchen!!!

Mission: Fix this sh*tty van. !!!Find Charlie Murdoch!!!

Comrades: Charlie M. Ha_lfLife
L. Modesto
The Blue Adept

Company: Clair G. ClownPope

Book of the day: ????????? By ?????????

TW: Swearing (censored), simulated panic, mention of (theoretical) intoxicant and !!!corpse discovery!!!

◇◇◇◇◇ Painting in dream & memory. ◇◇◇◇◇

Noor Ali knew they had paper thin logic for splitting from the group after the vehicles wouldn't start. They should be doing their job and trusting Mode to take care of whatever was skulking around the property. Noor guessed the cause of the reported deaths was more likely a who than a what. Unless there was some plant or chemical present on the surrounding property that caused hallucinations or mania or whatever internal trigger moves people to hurt each other. Did the team rule that out first? If there was, say, something in the water, anyone could be a danger to themselves and others. Noor filed that thought under "worst case scenarios to panic about later." With the sky darkening, he didn't want to wait around to find out if the worst would happen.

"If I can get the van started, all of us can leave. Come back in the morning, maybe, if the storm quits."

That's what they said, before they loped back to the Vanpire, popped open the trunk and grabbed the emergency gear nestled under a couple moth-nibbled blankets. A portable jumper - essential in the winter with their temperamental vehicle - failed to start the Vanpire. Noor was about to test it out on the other cars when they noticed Clairabell following in their wake.

"Hey Clair. Fine predicament we're in now eh? Could you hold a light over here while I check the guts of this beast?"

Really sh*tty word choice, Noor.

"Er. You know, the wires and stuff."

Happily, Clair assented. Noor handed her one of his two Maglites, keeping the spare in his pocket in case they were stuck here long enough she needed one with a fresh battery.

Noor huddled next to their sometime passenger under the Vanpire's open hood when the first raindrops shifted from pattering to pelting. They jumped on reflex, knocking their head against the scooped bottom of the hood. Every time, they swore, an edge rising in their usually soft voice.

Clair shared a memory with him about a runaway dog. They listened to her yarn as they lifted the caps and flaps covering the Honda's more sensitive insides, nodding and humming at the little breaks she took. He wondered if those pauses were her design, or a quirk of the subconscious.

"Sometimes life makes you go round in circles to get what you want. Sorry to hear about Curtis though. No one deserves their dreams," he paused, fishing for the right word and giving up on perfection, murmuring, "out of reach."

Zero for two on being a normal person. Could he make it up to Clair by offering his coat?

They'd checked everything they could reach. Nothing was clipped, frayed or punctured. No loose connections either, though there weren't many to worry about for this model of Honda. He even double-checked both fuse boxes. The engine was colder than he expected, but that could have been thanks to the persistent rain and wind.

"Something should be wrong, for a machine like this to not go."

Hands splotched with sooty dust and grease tens of minutes later, they hissed a sigh. This was not what they enrolled in university for.

"But there's nothing broken or cut or even set lose. This doesn't…this doesn't make any f**king sense," Noor half-whimpered, half groaned into his coat.

The scream would ricochet through their memory, colliding with the matchstick tower of arguments propping up the last of the architect's constructed cool. Danger wasn't hypothetical anymore, again.

"Oh God no," Noor all but gasped, clutching their jacket collar, "Charlie."

The architect's heart and stomach did strange little squeezing flips at the same time. Charlie stayed in the house with the homeowner, unmoved by Noor's attempts to persuade her into the car and away from any strangers.

On any other day, he guessed, Charlie might have relished being bribed with keys to the Vanpire. Not that the van was anything special itself. Noor simply made it clear he didn't want anyone else driving it unless he was physically not able to. After she rejected that offer, he didn't know what else to do to ease either of their discomfort. So he papered his feelings over with a pep talk from his inner nemesis.

You shouldn't presume to know what's best. She's an adult too…more "grown-up" than you, in a lot of ways. What could you do to make her feel safe, anyway?

Clair's eyes connected with his. He froze.

A decade stripped away. Brows creasing, shadows pooled in the divots left by long ago scars. Eyes wide, the white of the lower sclera visible. Gaze struggling to focus, struck by void-called visions of what could happen, what might have happened, what would happen next. Lower lip quivering, a plucked harp string in a minor key.

God, he was such a fool for giving up. For assuming the danger lurked in the woods. Charlie probably felt some obligation to keep their client at ease. But she may as well have been sitting there alone, because they all just met Mr. Clark this afternoon. Who knew what he was capable of?

Clair shouted Charlie's name and took off into the house. The house with a man or a monster or a monster of a man who was definitely inside when they arrived and hadn't been spotted leaving, or even moving towards the door.

"WAIT, DON'T-"

Taken aback by the volume of his own voice, he swallowed the rest of his words. Everything unsaid cascaded into an echo chamber of thoughts.

Don't go alone. Please don't. Not alone. Don't leave me alone. Don't. I can't. What if you need me and I'm not there? I can't. Not again. Please. Not again!

Noor followed the edges of Clair's sweater flitting through the gap of the open door. They'd never forgive themself if-

No.

Everyone was waking up tomorrow. Or huddling in the office nursing Dunkin through their insomnia together, at least.

The wind howled at their back as they breached the threshold, barreled toward the back of the house…and slid to a stop on blood-slick tiles.

The twisted corpse of Joseph Clark stared at the ceiling. Noor looked away, guilt and bile churning within. There's no way a human could've done…that. Not with their own power. Noor couldn't think of any device that could ever come close. The blunt reality dropped on them, bricks of surreal logic.

Monsters are real. At least one is here. We're f**ked.

Why leave Mr. Clark's body here on the floor? A message? If so, then it said, You're next.

Noor shuddered. The deep breaths they tried to take were stuttering. Puffs of fog bloomed in the air. It was too cold in this house.

The panic in Clair's voice as she called out Charlie's name gutted him. He kept Clair in his sights as they searched for signs of Charlie. The eerie stillness of the house unsettled them, jumbling thought, sense and memory.

Withdrawing their second flashlight from their coat pocket, they clicked it on as sparingly as they could without leaving any corner of the house unchecked.

When they returned to the kitchen, Noor Ali did exactly what he was best at. He observed the scene of Joseph Clark's murder for clues of Charlie's current location.

Struggle. Not protracted. Not much change in the sparse furniture. Blood in several different places. Violent. So violent. Cellphone discarded. Matches Charlie's model and case color. Not quite cold but no battery left. She was here, not long ago.

Charlie Murdoch's shoe prints were in this room. A smudge or two of blood, in the wedge-like shape of a toe box. Noor had blood on his boots as well, but his print would be wider, maybe even more splotched around the edges as blood dripped from where it splashed onto the leather upper. Thinking about it, and the implications, made Noor dizzy with wrongness. They backed away, nearly bumping against Clair.

Vision blurring at the edges, they shut their eyes briefly. The red-orange glow of the kitchen light behind their eyelids gave them a headache but also inspired a thought.

The light in this room was already on before Clair went inside. If Joseph had flipped it when still alive, Charlie would've probably seen the corpse and its blood before getting close enough to step in it. The monster wouldn't need light to maneuver around a corpse it made, so even if it could illuminate the kitchen, he didn't see why it would. Unless someone from the woods made an unlikely appearance to also witness Joseph Clark's murder, only Charlie could have turned on the light.

"I don't think she's in here anymore," he told Clair, voice cracking.

Heart jackrabbiting. Breathe. Another breath. Oxygen. Breathe. Oxygen to lungs. Slower. Breathe. Better? Not entirely. Maybe enough.

"Someone broke that window," they rasped.

But how? The blood-laced depressions in the grass were also much too large for shards of glass alone. Too close to the house for an object thrown from inside as well.

"Broke it and left. Maybe…broke it to leave?"

They applied some insights from a seminar on detecting vandalism to residential properties. The pattern of the cracks were consistent with a large blunt body impact, where the contact itself took the force of the collision. Consistent with what he called a get-away exit, the technical term long forgotten. A faraway look spread across Noor's face as they remembered a long-ago time when they did the same.

Streaks of blood around the leftover glass - whose?

"Charlie, I think?"

He only has the process of elimination to go on. If monsters behaved somewhat like animals, somewhat like humans, though, the sense of self-preservation would be too great for it to smash itself headlong into a window to escape when it clearly could regain the upper hand. Noor didn't want to think about how.

"These new style panes take a *lot* to shatter. Hysterical strength, maybe?"

Kicking out an old window in a weathered frame tired out Noor's legs so much he had to make the final blows with his elbows. And they didn't touch the window with their own body until after the rock they wrapped in their sweater made the first split across the panes. He was bruised and sore for days later, even though he'd been lucky enough not to catch many glass shards.

"Char…she's hurt. Outside somewhere that way."

Noor pointed to the backyard and the woods behind there. He looked to Clairabell, trying his best not to tremble. They could find comfort and rest later. He held Clair's hand and squeezed.

"Let's find her together."

◇◇◇◇◇ Pictures capture the spirit. ◇◇◇◇◇



◇◇◇◇◇ Songs to soothe the soul. ◇◇◇◇◇

HAUNTEDAND🏘

Driving music

Seasonal Theme