|| NIGHT 018 GENERAL
The dreamers find themselves in an unfamiliar kitchen, or at least that is what the noise implies; the view is quite low to the ground, and it soon becomes clear that the gaze they share is that of a child sitting on the floor while a pair of legs shuffles around him, not moving far but having difficulty staying still.
The feelings of hunger are outweighed only by the feeling of anxiety as he watches his adult companion try to work. It is inevitable, however, that he reaches out and tugs gently at the pant leg as it passes him by, trying to call for attention.
The shadowy face of the man looks down at him, impatient and agitated. One hand carries a large canvas bag, while the other hovers by his face, barely visible from the angle and the light, but constantly moving. "What is it, kiddo?"
The little boy waits a moment before he scrambles to his feet and hugs the legs of the older, telling him softly, "we will be all-right."
There is a beat of silence and the dream fades away as the child's hair is ruffled with a soft sigh. The reply is never heard.
The dream flickers several times. The well lit kitchen is gone, and in its place is a single candle on the verge of dying, leaving the room in wisps of shadows.
A voice breaks the silence, ragged and gasping, but determined.
"Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum."
In the darkness of the room, nothing is visible. The sound of liquid dripping is obvious even over the soft chanting. Another sound, like someone cutting meat, is unavoidably present. Wet thunks sound through the dreams.
"Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris."
The voice trails off into pained gasps, the wet sound never stopping. When the voice speaks up again, it shudders with effort to complete the verse.
"Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen"”
The candle goes out, and the dream fades.
The ballroom is garishly bright in comparison to the room, the musicians play a loud waltz at an impossibly fast tempo. Someone had moved a throne into place, and the house-guests will all the view scene from a different angle. It is as though they stand within the room, watching everything that occurs.
The girl Rose has placed herself in the throne, she is dressed in a fancy ball grown with her hair pinned up in an elaborate style. Rose makes quite the princess, and holds court over the guests. The smile that has twisted its way across her face is not at all a nice expression, and her eyes are bloodshot -- gleaming with fever and madness.
A shadow has taken a position behind the throne, arms crossed, deeper than the darkness around him. Though the girl appears to be animated, he is completely still -- merely watching as events unfold.
Each house-guest is offered the simple understanding that the person next to them is very precious, someone much longed for, and sorely missed.
The music is loud, and so strangely off key it hurts the soul. Despite the pain it causes, they will find that they cannot pull away from the person in their arms, their partner in this most dangerous dance. The sound has enveloped the guests and holds them tightly in its grasp.
Though he looks out of place, Lock stands in front of her, hand wrapped in a slender silver chain, eyes fixed on the figure in the throne. He is shabby and poorly dressed, and has made no attempt to force his hair into any illusion of order. He seems oddly determined.
"Have you brought me a birthday gift, Lock?"
The boy frowned, not moving from his position, hand flexing around the object in his fist. "This is one of the oldest objects in the house, you know? She had it with her when she arrived. It's her mother's, she was playing house. Her father's pocket watch, her mother's cameo, her sister's outgrown dress and a pair of silk gloves torn at the palms. Pip told me the story once, about the last day she was home, she doesn't remember it very well any more. But that's a weird thing, isn't it? How things can be older than any of this. It gets so big sometimes in your head that you forget there was ever anything before this, don't you, Rose?"
Rose scowls. "What a horrid story to tell at my birthday party. This is all I've ever known! Stop telling your lies and give it to me."
Lock shakes his head, glancing around at the dancers. "You're going to let them wake up. You're going to stop this dream, Rose."
She scowls again. "It's my birthday party, I can do as I like."
"You're killing them."
At that observation she shrugs, unconcerned. "They'll get better. Look how happy they are. They don't even know they're dying. I've given them a moment just for themselves. Isn't that a good thing, Lock? They'll die happy, content, in the arms of the one they love the most. But you wouldn't know, would you? Do you even know how to be happy?"
Lock smiles in reply. "I know how to wake them up, you don't know how to keep them asleep if I do it, and I'm pretty sure you'd be angry enough that it'd make me laugh."
The smile fades, the girl's face morphing into a horrible look. "You wouldn't dare."
Lock's smile doesn't shift. "Wouldn't I? My friends are mixed in your party guests, Rose. Don't you remember what I'll do for my friends?"
For a moment, between the two, there was complete silence. The shadow watches, dancers stilled, the musicians completely silent.
Lock shifts, pulling a knife from beneath his coat, cupping his palm.
The pendent swings back and forth beneath his hand, hypnotically regular in its motions.
"It will reflect onto them. You know that. You can't do this!" Rose stands, face a mask of rage as she stalks forward.
"I know. They might hate me. But they'll wake up."
Without another word, Lock plunges the knife into his hand.
The house-guests wake with a painful suddenness that leaves them gasping for breath, panicked and in agony. Each person has a new injury, a stab wound. As though it was they who just stabbed themselves in the palm. Blood drips between their fingers, cascading onto the floor below. Everyone stands within the Ballroom next to someone that looks like someone they know.
Each Mid to high level sensitive will find themselves driven to place their hand against the nearest flat surface. There will be no sign of blood as their palms make contact, it is as though it is being drained away from their bodies. It will last for exactly five minutes and then each will find themselves pulling away, no sign of blood or injury remaining.
Lock is still on the floor in the middle of the ballroom, knife dropped, hand pressed to the ground, face twisted into a wicked grin of someone who knows he's done nothing good.
Throughout the houses, doors begin to slam.
The musicians slowly begin to play again, even as Lock starts to laugh, scrambling to his feet and out of range as the girl tries to kick him, fleeing the ballroom without a glance behind him.
The Begger's Feast has arrived upon the house once more.
Even though the guests are now awake, they will find themselves at risk of being caught again by the music. Drawn into the dance by someone who looks, feels, and smells like someone they love. It does not seem like an illusion, though the figure will not speak, their touch is familiar, welcome and remembered.
They are dressed in ballroom finery, clearly prepared for a night of dancing and partying.
The house-guests will find themselves feeling the aches and pains of a long time spent dancing, though they have no recollection of arriving at this spot. A glance around to the dancers surrounding them will reveal that they are perhaps not quite as merry as they first appear. They are dancing to their deaths, bodies shattered by the constant strain.
But to yield to the dance will bring the guests peace, a reunion with someone they love dearly.
It will continue until they drop dead, and those who allow themselves to be caught again by the music will find that they cannot escape the loving grasp of their partners unless someone else interrupts them.
Rose returns to her throne, almost sulking. She watches the dancers through narrowed eyes, ignoring what seems to be an attempt to comfort her from the shadow behind her.
Before the group can spread too far the Phantasms appear, moving into the Ballroom. They seem unconcerned with the scene, though, with the young woman and her feast -- but instead focus their attention on seven individuals. Without ceremony or grace, each of them are tagged with a snug plastic bracelet, marked, before the phantoms disappear once more.
Beyond the ballroom, the doors have locked. Every door is solidly closed against the house-guests, turning the house into one long hallway, moving from one end of the houses to the other. The Basement is inaccessible tonight, and the halls of the first house are full of danger.
It is impossible to reach the Greenhouse tonight. All doors leading outside are locked against their leaving.
Anyone with a watch will find that the ticking sound has stopped, and any ordinary watch has stopped completely. The hour stands at eight o'clock and will not move another inch. The clock in the Parlor stands at the same hour, though the guests can see the second hand creeping forward. They will find that they do not recall the sounds of the chimes, nor even remember falling asleep at all. The aches and pains seem to speak of some time lost to the dance, and the blisters some has managed to raise on feet unsuited for dancing imply that they have not been only a moment in the ball.
Nothing, save the hour on the clock, and the broken watches, seems to confirm how much time has passed. The house has once again had its way, and the guests are left to scramble for information.
Though the door to the Study is locked, the sound of someone humming makes its way into the hallway. It is a rather alluring noise, catching the ear of everyone who passes.
Anyone going down the Narrow Hall and peering through the windows will realize that the room and bathroom are full. A young woman lays on the bed in the Blind Bedroom, blond hair pulled into a messy bun at the base of her skull, though the house-guests might spot a few feathers pushed back with her hair. She is wearing nothing but white shorts and a tank top, despite the chill of the night. She seems to be reading, focused entirely on whatever she's doing. There are marks all over her back, red pinpricks barely healed.
In the Open Bathroom is a boy, curled into a ball in the shower. The water does not appear to be on, but the child also doesn't move. It's difficult to see anything about him, but he, like the girl, is clearly dressed in white. He seems somehow misshapen, the few times he moves, hands joined poorly, body barely shifting as though it is in pain. He seems to hear anyone who taps on the window.
The Second House is also mostly locked, long lines of inhospitable doors greeting them.
In the Chapel the pews are full of solemn ghosts, eyes focused straight ahead. They are dressed in a strange mix of clothing, and all seem to have suffered some harm in their death. Men, women, children of a variety of ages, some who clearly not belong together.
All sit quietly, focused on something the house-guests cannot see. They will not react to anyone that speaks to them, and an attempt to touch them will only result in the hand going through them as though nothing is there.
A corpse has been stuffed into the Confession Both as though the ghosts no longer wished to look at it. The man is middle aged, balding, and his neck has clearly been broken. His eyes are open and fixed, like the ghosts, on the front of the room.
On the very front pew Nicolas and Shion have been placed on the ground, a blanket carefully placed beneath them to pad them from the floor. Both babies are awake, and Shion seems to be testing unsteady legs in an attempt to find someone he knows, though he is not yet brave enough to let go of the pew.
The ghosts do not react to their presence, not even when Shion begins to whimper for his papa.
The sound of water running fills the Catacombs though no water is present to make the sound. The corpses lay in their chambers, unmoving as they should be. The torches seem on the verge of flickering out, but hold for the moment. The large doors leading into the darkness have been pushed outward, straining against the chain, though nothing stands behind them to cause this. Beyond the gates, the shadows seem to writhe with a life of their own, whispering soft pleas of hunger into the light.
But it is surely only echoes carried from some other part of the house. Nothing more.
The doors in the Third House are all locked, save for the Leather Study and the Husk Bedroom.
In the Red Hall a girl is slowly circling, hands pressed against the wall. The tendons that would allow her hands to close are clearly severed, and her hands have been badly damaged, the bone visible beneath her skin in places but she does not seem to register the pain at all. Shadows writhe over her skin, obscuring her features and covering her face entirely. The only thing that can be told about the child is that her hair is red, though it is matted and dirty, hanging in tangles around her waist.
Her feet are bare and leave dirty footprints as she moves. Shadows drip from her dress like blood, leaving an inky trail behind her as she walks, mixing with the mud and blood until it is little more than a foul paste.
The doors around her are bleeding, the wood itself is oozing blood, smearing as she passes by. She will not react to any attempt to speak to her, though she will stop if someone steps in her way, head lolling limply against her shoulders.
The door to the Wax Bedroom is hot to the touch, and smoke creeps from the crack under the door. The soft sound of someone groaning in pain is audible through the heavy wood.
The door to the Bell Bathroom is wet, water seeping from beneath as through the entire bathroom is full of water. Faint knocking can be heard from inside, as though something is being pushed against the door again and again.
Someone is screaming in the Stalker Bedroom, begging someone for mercy. The voice grows increasingly desperate as time goes on, rising to a high pitch of terror. No matter what the house-guests do, the door will not open. As the screams quiet from time to time, the soft sound of another voice laughing creeps into their hearing, mindless and cruel.
A new door has opened in the Floating Hallway and the Hanging Hall stretches out in front of them, tempting them onward. What lays is ahead is unknown, but the familiar halls they have come to know are unwelcoming tonight.
For those brave enough to take the path, the smell reaches them first. The smell of warm, fresh bread, of meat roasting, of cakes and pies and other wonderful things. The Fourth House has opened without ceremony, the creatures that might have normally announced it busy with the ball. Perhaps it is for the best, as the halls seem light on monsters and heavy on decadence.
The Wallcrawlers are out tonight in full force. All halls in the first three houses seem to be plagued with them, something made terribly dangerous by all of the locked doors. They chase but seem somewhat slow to pounce at first, forcing the guests to run down the lengths and out of the houses they are in. Eventually they stop, just at the cusp of the fourth house, resting there in silence for a moment.
After pausing there for a time they disperse again -- into the first floor of the new house where, spread out, they pose less of a threat than before.
They seem hesitant to hunt still though, as something new stalks every hallway in each house, at first slow and almost possible to miss. As the night goes on, though, it becomes clear that the nearly gelatinous piles of flesh-coloured goop that dribble around corners are, in fact, quite alive and quite capable of hunting, quite moans the only sound that indicates they are something conscious. These Boneless monstrosities seem to have nothing to support them any longer, twisting and writhing across the ground in quick movements toward their prey.
Sharp nails and a long, barbed tongues tear at the flesh of any whose ankles get too close to the beasts, rending flesh open to dislodge bones.
Anyone who has encountered Lock during the day may find themselves feeling as though they are being watched from time to time, though turning quickly reveals nothing behind them. Spider has returned to the house and creeps through the hallways in utter silence, clearly looking for the boy. Anyone who has met with, and especially those that have touched, Lock will find that the creature grows increasingly interested with them throughout the night. He will not actually speak to anyone, and does not seem particularly harmful, unless someone decides to try to harm him. To those with enhanced senses, he seems worried, and just a little bit lost. He will not enter the ballroom and seems to be trying to give it the widest berth as he possibly can.
For any solitary young woman there is an unwelcome travelling companion tonight in all stairs and lifts. The Broken Woman appears quite suddenly as soon as they have made it part way up or down the stairs, or once the doors to the lift close. She screams as she arrives and is quick to attack them mercilessly. Curiously, she seems somehow reluctant to attack any woman wearing the cloaks with which they were provided during the day.
All reflective surfaces in the house are covered in a thin sheen of an oily substance. It refuses to be wiped off, and clings to the skin, leaving the house-guests feeling dirty and slimy.
Any who pass through the Wallpapered Parlour will hear a frantic banging on the door leading to the Plain Kitchen.
In the Husk Bedroom, remaining open simply by virtue of having no door to lock, a second weeping voice has been added to the occasional sound that punctuates the room. This one however, deep and masculine, has a clear source. On the bed sits the Art Enthusiast, the ghost cradling his limply hanging head as he apparently cries into his hands. He does not move nor respond to anyone who approaches him though at least, for the night, he is safe.
The pantry of the Rough Kitchen has been completely cleared of any and all food. Where there are normally supplies ready to be cooked by the wooden stove there is nothing. Not a trace of the foul feast from before remains, nor even the previously constant loaves of bread out on the counter. The last few crumbs of whatever was last taken are quickly whisked away by the rats, who dive into corners and scurry away with the last specks of food.
The moment the door to the Bell Tower shuts tight the area bursts into life. The sound of the door and latch seem to have a domino effect on the sound. The bell itself begins to clamour, loud and frantic, as if someone inside has become frantic to alert someone to a plight. Occasionally feet can be heard running up and down the stairs, but it is difficult to distinguish between the chimes of the bell. It can be heard distantly through most of the house, and is nearly deafening within the chapel wing itself.
Lyhn is crouched a few steps from the gate of the catacombs, staring into the darkness thoughtfully, munching on an apple as he considered the situation. His robe and staff have been left in a pile behind him, leaving him dressed rather practically for the environment. There is little but the lantern on the ground in front of him to distinguish him for another house guests. That, too, seems practical as anyone that would venture into the Catacombs without a light of their own would be very foolish indeed.
For those who have been accepted as his students, his presence results in the faintest of tugs, an invitation they can refuse if they choose, or embrace if they wish to follow it.
The light of the lantern seems to be holding the shadows at bay, and Lyhn does not seem in any way alarmed by the darkness moving beyond the gate, merely curious.
As the dreams fade and the house guests begin to wake the Wax Daughter seems suddenly alarmed by something. She moves quickly, her balled fist moved to her chest before she darts away as quickly as possible, like she is too frightened to stay still, this time.
She can be found in the Chamber of Purification hidden under the desk crying. Her voice would be loud, were it not for the fact that she has stuffed one fist into her mouth to keep herself silent. It seems as though she does not wish to leave but she moves much more than normal; tremors shake her body as she sobs.
Tonight the Bar, Cafeteria, Catacombs and Opium Den are safe.
Those who die tonight will wake in the Hoarder's Attic.
1. Ballroom 2. Parlor 3. East Hallway 4. Door to Study 5. Dawn Room
1. Hallway 2. Gallery 3. Cherry Hallway 4. Day Room 5. Blind Bedroom 6. Open Bathroom 7. Narrow Hallway 8. Floating Hallway
1. Straight Hall
1. Stairwell Room 2. Wallpapered Parlor 3. Door to Kitchen 4. The Hallway 5. Open Hallway 6. Chapel 7. Stone Hallway 8. Rough Kitchen 9. Courtyard 10. Door to Bell Tower
1. Catacombs
1. Wind Tunnel Hallway 2. Sitting Room 3. Leather Study
1. Red Hallway 2. Door to Stalker Room 3. Door to Bell Bathroom 4. Door to Wax Bedroom 5. Husk Bedroom
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allthekeys) wrote2013-02-09 12:00 am
