Noble Scion
Lover of Lewd and Space
The large, crooked, dilapidated door loomed before him, and after a brief moment of tension, creaked reluctantly open, leaving a young and cocky teenager grinning his way inside, bright blue eyes gleaming in the little light of the slowly darkening building as late afternoon creeped its way into the world, the shade slipping up the walls of this worn, ruined asylum, out of use for dozens of years and having not had its doors opened since what seemed like the dawn of time itself to this young man. The echoes of his friends from mere hours ago clinging onto his mind like a drug. “I bet you wouldn’t last a night in the ol’ asylum” they had grinned at him “How much ya willing to bet?” He had smiled back, the prospect of the challenge nipping at his pride and the idea of money kicking his interest awake while his friends surrounding him jeered and snickered at him, knowing he would do it. He was, after all, the famed James of 2B. Leading him to what was to be the most terrifying night of his life.
With a soft zip and a lot of crinkling, he pulled out a small chocolate bar and began munching down on it, his fluorescent orange bag glimmering with the most famous of sport company’s logos, giving him a bit of time to look around. There wasn’t too much to behold to the naked eye at first glance, just a whole lot of rubble on the ground, dirt layering upon everything and dust floating in the air everywhere, but on closer inspection it seemed James had found himself in the reception area. A small desk in the centre of the hall with ripped electrical cords floating around it seemed most appealing. He crept forward, not wanting to disturb the century-old silence as he dropped his bag next to the table, deciding it would be the best place to sleep given that it was the closest thing to the exit. Four hallways seemed to lead off in different directions, providing very little vision into each one as the fading light failed to reach far into them. Out of boredom, the teen slipped down and pulled out his father’s flashlight he had brought with him, determined to find something that would prove he had been in this creepy old place, so his friends couldn’t back out of the deal.
The light flickered on, causing a few bugs that had gathered in the corner to scatter from the sudden brightness. James shivered in disgust and made his way to the second corridor, looking within and waving the light around, noticing doors on both sides as far as his eye could see, his gut grumbling at him as those child-like fears of the dark hissed at the edge of his mind, but he steeled himself and began stepping his way inwards.
The steps were small and slow, despite him knowing that there was no possible way anyone would still be here. Soon enough he reached the first door. A dirty piece of craftsmanship, whittled down by the years as time took its toll. His hand edged towards the brass handle, slowly, ever so slowly as his heart beat in his chest, a small tapping suddenly noticeable from within, leaving him almost reluctant to open it, his eyes wide open as he stared into the wood, almost unable to blink as curiosity and fear gained control of him.
His hand gripped the handle, the other unconsciously gripping the torch as toughly as possible. Twisting the door knob produced and ear-piercing squeak, and suddenly whatever was inside began scuttling away, and with a sharp push, the door was opened. James swiftly swept his torch throughout the room and in the edge of his vision saw the source of the sound. Two rats scuttling through a crack in the wall being the culprits, sparing only a moment to show their blank eyes to him before retreating into the darkness.
James released the breath he hadn’t even noticed he had been holding. “Panicking over nothing…” He muttered to himself, reassuring his shaking mind, taking a moment to blink and stretch his hand, allowing blood to pass through once more, but one he was done with stressing over nothing, he scanned the room. An old medical bed with patches of rustic red blood lay before him, along with a cabinet of old, empty and broken medicine bottle, the floor, walls and roof all being so aged he was unable to tell what patterns they held underneath. “There’s proof I was here.” He muttered to himself, giddy after his fear from moments before and finding his own words comforting. His free, clammy, sweat-drenched hand gripped one of the old dusty medicine vials and slipped it into his pocket before turning to leave the room.
A flicker of the dull, almost non-existent light made him change his mind. What he hadn’t noticed before seemed all too clear. Footsteps were echoing down the hall, but these weren’t normal steps… They had a strange click to them, as though nails were hitting the floor beneath. His fingers flicked off the torchlight, submerging him in the void as he hoped whatever it was hadn’t spotted him.
The clicks didn’t grow faster in pace, nor did they slow down, but they simply got louder, like a man with a limp, but with an almost haunting weight to the steps. Daring to look out the door, he peered down the hall to see the source of the sound. The visage shocked him at first. It was tall, far too tall for a normal man, about the size of three men, but he put that down to distance and darkness. It was thin, but with a horrifyingly large outline of a head like some sort of malformed mascot at a stadium, but this didn’t seem to bring any smiles, it simply continues tap, tap, tapping its way forward until it was about twenty metres away. The flashlight flicked on as of his own volition, his overconfidence getting the better of him and oh god did he regret that decision.
This… Monster, had a large, blood-stained beak, surrounded by matted, black feathers distorted and crooked, pointed in every direction, with the slender frame of a human, with two, wide, staring eyes that blankly seemed to stare straight through him, un-phased by the light, but that wasn’t what caught his eyes. Two, dripping talons replaced what were supposed to be hands, long and splintered, a mixture of dark yellow and deep, crimson red. Blood, fresh blood.
Whatever this thing was, it was not friendly, yet James couldn’t move. His feet were frozen to the ground, his eyes wide in terror, fear preventing any thoughts he may have had. “Run, James” He tried to tell himself. “Run” he pleaded, with little response, but his mind sluggishly switched back on from its dumbfounded state. “RUN”. His legs span around, and he began his escape, only to hear a bone-shaking shriek from the beast. He didn’t dare look back, focusing on maintaining his balance as he sprinted, trying not to trip on any of the decaying rubble that seemed intent on dropping him to his death. Everything seemed against him, the wind rattling the broken windows and freezing him, trying to slow him down, trying to give his life away. James refused. His heart agreed, pounding adrenaline through his body, giving him the energy he needed, yet the monster was keeping pace, gaining on him, soon to catch him. He had to do something, anything, he wasn’t going to make it in time, it was going to catch him, yet he had nothing, his bag was in the main hall that seemed like he had left behind a thousand years ago. His memories floated by as he ran, his impending doom getting even closer, each window each doorway, a new decision he had made, from his first punch thrown in school to the bet that had happen merely hours ago. Then, a sharp grip on his shoulder took a hold of him. Time froze, his legs gave way, a sharp pain gripped him, and everything went black, his body, his heart, his mind, all numb.
“Teenager missing after school bet goes wrong” the headline rang out on the newspaper, James’ friends having told the police after a few days of their pal having gone missing. They had searched the building up and down and couldn’t find a sign of anyone having been there, no signs of life anywhere, just pests and an orange bag.
An empty, ripped and savagely destroyed, fluorescent, orange bag.
With a soft zip and a lot of crinkling, he pulled out a small chocolate bar and began munching down on it, his fluorescent orange bag glimmering with the most famous of sport company’s logos, giving him a bit of time to look around. There wasn’t too much to behold to the naked eye at first glance, just a whole lot of rubble on the ground, dirt layering upon everything and dust floating in the air everywhere, but on closer inspection it seemed James had found himself in the reception area. A small desk in the centre of the hall with ripped electrical cords floating around it seemed most appealing. He crept forward, not wanting to disturb the century-old silence as he dropped his bag next to the table, deciding it would be the best place to sleep given that it was the closest thing to the exit. Four hallways seemed to lead off in different directions, providing very little vision into each one as the fading light failed to reach far into them. Out of boredom, the teen slipped down and pulled out his father’s flashlight he had brought with him, determined to find something that would prove he had been in this creepy old place, so his friends couldn’t back out of the deal.
The light flickered on, causing a few bugs that had gathered in the corner to scatter from the sudden brightness. James shivered in disgust and made his way to the second corridor, looking within and waving the light around, noticing doors on both sides as far as his eye could see, his gut grumbling at him as those child-like fears of the dark hissed at the edge of his mind, but he steeled himself and began stepping his way inwards.
The steps were small and slow, despite him knowing that there was no possible way anyone would still be here. Soon enough he reached the first door. A dirty piece of craftsmanship, whittled down by the years as time took its toll. His hand edged towards the brass handle, slowly, ever so slowly as his heart beat in his chest, a small tapping suddenly noticeable from within, leaving him almost reluctant to open it, his eyes wide open as he stared into the wood, almost unable to blink as curiosity and fear gained control of him.
His hand gripped the handle, the other unconsciously gripping the torch as toughly as possible. Twisting the door knob produced and ear-piercing squeak, and suddenly whatever was inside began scuttling away, and with a sharp push, the door was opened. James swiftly swept his torch throughout the room and in the edge of his vision saw the source of the sound. Two rats scuttling through a crack in the wall being the culprits, sparing only a moment to show their blank eyes to him before retreating into the darkness.
James released the breath he hadn’t even noticed he had been holding. “Panicking over nothing…” He muttered to himself, reassuring his shaking mind, taking a moment to blink and stretch his hand, allowing blood to pass through once more, but one he was done with stressing over nothing, he scanned the room. An old medical bed with patches of rustic red blood lay before him, along with a cabinet of old, empty and broken medicine bottle, the floor, walls and roof all being so aged he was unable to tell what patterns they held underneath. “There’s proof I was here.” He muttered to himself, giddy after his fear from moments before and finding his own words comforting. His free, clammy, sweat-drenched hand gripped one of the old dusty medicine vials and slipped it into his pocket before turning to leave the room.
A flicker of the dull, almost non-existent light made him change his mind. What he hadn’t noticed before seemed all too clear. Footsteps were echoing down the hall, but these weren’t normal steps… They had a strange click to them, as though nails were hitting the floor beneath. His fingers flicked off the torchlight, submerging him in the void as he hoped whatever it was hadn’t spotted him.
The clicks didn’t grow faster in pace, nor did they slow down, but they simply got louder, like a man with a limp, but with an almost haunting weight to the steps. Daring to look out the door, he peered down the hall to see the source of the sound. The visage shocked him at first. It was tall, far too tall for a normal man, about the size of three men, but he put that down to distance and darkness. It was thin, but with a horrifyingly large outline of a head like some sort of malformed mascot at a stadium, but this didn’t seem to bring any smiles, it simply continues tap, tap, tapping its way forward until it was about twenty metres away. The flashlight flicked on as of his own volition, his overconfidence getting the better of him and oh god did he regret that decision.
This… Monster, had a large, blood-stained beak, surrounded by matted, black feathers distorted and crooked, pointed in every direction, with the slender frame of a human, with two, wide, staring eyes that blankly seemed to stare straight through him, un-phased by the light, but that wasn’t what caught his eyes. Two, dripping talons replaced what were supposed to be hands, long and splintered, a mixture of dark yellow and deep, crimson red. Blood, fresh blood.
Whatever this thing was, it was not friendly, yet James couldn’t move. His feet were frozen to the ground, his eyes wide in terror, fear preventing any thoughts he may have had. “Run, James” He tried to tell himself. “Run” he pleaded, with little response, but his mind sluggishly switched back on from its dumbfounded state. “RUN”. His legs span around, and he began his escape, only to hear a bone-shaking shriek from the beast. He didn’t dare look back, focusing on maintaining his balance as he sprinted, trying not to trip on any of the decaying rubble that seemed intent on dropping him to his death. Everything seemed against him, the wind rattling the broken windows and freezing him, trying to slow him down, trying to give his life away. James refused. His heart agreed, pounding adrenaline through his body, giving him the energy he needed, yet the monster was keeping pace, gaining on him, soon to catch him. He had to do something, anything, he wasn’t going to make it in time, it was going to catch him, yet he had nothing, his bag was in the main hall that seemed like he had left behind a thousand years ago. His memories floated by as he ran, his impending doom getting even closer, each window each doorway, a new decision he had made, from his first punch thrown in school to the bet that had happen merely hours ago. Then, a sharp grip on his shoulder took a hold of him. Time froze, his legs gave way, a sharp pain gripped him, and everything went black, his body, his heart, his mind, all numb.
“Teenager missing after school bet goes wrong” the headline rang out on the newspaper, James’ friends having told the police after a few days of their pal having gone missing. They had searched the building up and down and couldn’t find a sign of anyone having been there, no signs of life anywhere, just pests and an orange bag.
An empty, ripped and savagely destroyed, fluorescent, orange bag.