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Clairvoyant Protector

12/11/2018 07:47 PM 

The Copy-Cat Killer


As she approached the Roman Catholic Church of St. Anne, she expected to feel better or at least safer than she had been lately. The church was a sanctuary for most and it almost always had been for her. But, something was off this time.

When Lorraine thought of visiting London – which wasn’t very often as she had many other things to think about – it wasn’t Whitechapel that she thought about. In East London, located in the London Borough of Tower Hamlets, it was a popular place for immigrants and the working class. In the 19th and early 20th centuries it was the center of the London Jewish community and also the location of the Whitechapel Murders of Jack the Ripper in the late 1880’s. Later it became a settlement for the British Bangladeshi and became famous for its curry houses.

Of course it was the murders that were of interest to her. Or, perhaps interest wasn’t the right word, but there wasn’t really a better one. It was the fact that those murders seemed to be happening again that had brought her. After all, investigating strange things was what she did and panicked thoughts were swaying toward not just a copy-cat, but the actual man who had committed the original murders. Though that was so impossible that most took it as what it seemed to be: panicked propaganda and leaping to conclusions that could have no basis in truth whatsoever.

Jack the Ripper was the best-known name for a serial killer who was never identified. He was also known as The Whitechapel Murderer and Leather Apron. The attacks thought to be connected to this killer typically involved female prostitutes whose throats were cut prior to abdominal mutilations. The fact that internal organs were removed from at least three of them led to the belief that the killer had some medical or surgical knowledge.

There were more than just the murders suspected to have all belonged to Jack the Ripper. Collectively there were eleven cases in what, in the police docket, came to be known as the Whitechapel murders. These occurred between April 3rd, 1888 and February 13th, 1891 and of those cases, only five were linked to the same person. These five women were referred to as the ‘canonical five.’ These five all contained distinctive features of the Ripper’s modus operandi: facial mutilations, deep throat slashes, abdominal and genital area mutilations and removal of organs.

The first two in the files were not considered part of the Ripper’s five. Emma Elizabeth Smith was robbed and sexually assaulted in Osborn Street, Whitechapel on April 3rd, 1888. A blunt object was inserted into her vagina and she developed peritonitis and died the following day. She said she had been attacked by two or three men. Martha Tabram was found on August 7th, 1888, in George Yard, Whitechapel, suffering 39 stab wounds. The fact that she was stabbed rather than slashed at the throat and abdomen caused many experts to not connect it to the other five because of the different wound pattern.

The canonical five includes: Mary Ann Nichols, who was discovered on Friday, August 31st, 1888 in Buck’s Row, Whitechapel. Her throat was cut and the lower part of her abdomen was ripped open by a jagged wound while several other incisions caused by the same knife were also seen there. Annie Chapman was discovered on Saturday, September 8th, 1888 in the back yard of 29 Hanbury Street, Spitalfields. Her throat was also cut and the abdomen was slashed entirely open. Later it was discovered that the uterus had been removed.

Elizabeth Stride was discovered on Sunday, September 30th, 1888 in Dutfield’s Yard, Whitechapel. The cause of death was one clear-cut incision on the left side of the neck. Some questioned if this death should be credited to the Ripper due to an absence of mutilations to the abdomen. Catherine Eddowes was discovered on the same day in Mitre Square in London. The throat was severed and the abdomen ripped open by a jagged wound. The left kidney and part of the uterus were missing. These two murders were later called the ‘double event.’

The last of these five was Mary Jane Kelly. She was found mutilated and disemboweled in the single room where she lived off Dorset Street, Spitalfields on Friday, November 9th, 1888. Her throat had been severed down to the spine and the abdomen had been almost emptied of all organs. The heart was also missing.

It was thought that these murders occurred at night and they were all on or close to a weekend, either at the end of a month or a week or so after. The mutilations became worse with each case, except for Stride, whose attacker was thought to have been interrupted. Nichols was missing no organs, Chapman’s uterus was taken, Eddowes was missing a kidney and her uterus and her face was mutilated, and Kelly’s body was completely destroyed.

Kelly was considered the Ripper’s final victim, but the Whitechapel Murder docket included four more after that, thought to be perpetrated by others. Rose Mylett was found in Clarke’s Yard, High Street, Poplar on December 20th, 1888. She was strangled and there was no sign of a struggle. Police suspected she may have drunkenly hung herself or committed suicide, but the inquest jury returned the verdict of murder.

Alice McKenzie was killed on July 17th, 1889 and found in Castle Alley, Whitechapel. Cause of death was a severed carotid artery. One of the examining pathologists considered this a Ripper murder, but his colleague disagreed. There is still a division on whether the killer copied the Ripper’s modus operandi or if it was the Ripper himself.

The Pinchin Street torso was a headless and legless torso of an unidentified woman found on September 10th, 1889 in Castle Alley, Whitechapel. It was believed the murder was likely committed elsewhere and the missing parts were dispersed for disposal. Frances Coles was found under a railway arch at Swallow Gardens, Whitechapel on February 13th, 1891. James Thomas Sadler was arrested and charged for Coles’ murder, even briefly thought to be the Ripper, but he was discharged from court for lack of evidence on March 3rd, 1891.

At the end of October 1888, police surgeon Thomas Bond was asked to give his opinion on the murderer’s surgical skill and knowledge. Based on his examination of the worst case and post mortem notes, he wrote:

‘All five murders no doubt were committed by the same hand. In the first four the throats appear to have been cut from left to right, in the last case owing to the extensive mutilation it is impossible to say what direction the fatal cut was made, but arterial blood was found on the wall in splashes close to where the woman’s head must have been lying. All the circumstances surrounding the murders lead me to form the opinion that the women must have been lying down when he murdered them and in every case the throat was first cut.’

He was completely against the idea that the murderer was scientifically or anatomically knowledgeable or even had the knowledge of a butcher or horse slaughterer. He thought the killer was a man of solitary habits subject to ‘periodical attacks of homicidal and erotic mania.’ There was no evidence of any sexual activity with any of the victims, yet psychologists suppose that the way they were displayed and the penetrations with a knife indicated the killer was sexually pleased by the attacks. Many challenge this thinking as insupportable supposition.

This was all definitely more than enough to cause ‘odd occurrences’ in the area and Lorraine had been a little iffy on going there at all. It was one of those places that she just knew was going to be bad. She didn’t have to have special abilities to know the truth in that thought. So much agony and death could be nothing but bad. So, she had taken the tour and she had been right. The darkness permeating the place was so palpable to her sight that she had no idea how everyone else on the tour wasn’t feeling it. It was enough to make her feel almost physically ill and she was glad to get away once the tour was over. She probably should have lingered and asked some questions. That was what investigating was about. But, she needed a chance to collect herself before she returned.

The fact that she investigated the paranormal and not the ‘normal’ threw her off a little as well. It was strange for the police to want her to work with them as if she had experience in doing what they did. What they were looking for was a man – the term loosely used, of course – who knew enough about the Ripper history to be emulating it perfectly. There was no one alive who should have been able to do so, even with extensive research. It made them jittery and desperate for any kind of theory to latch onto and so when this one had popped up as a joke, they had run with it, even if not publicly. And she had come when called because something here was not right.

Not that murder was ever right, but something else was going on here. Something more than met the eye and maybe this outlandish theory wasn’t as crazy as everyone thought. Did she think it was the same man all these years later? No. That wasn’t likely at all. But, there was some connection besides the obvious and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going to find out what it was and when she did, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Just like she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching her, following her.

This wasn’t a new feeling, but it was an unsettling one. She had taken every precaution she could with the place that she was temporarily calling home, but still she never felt completely safe there. And if you couldn’t feel safe in your home away from home, where could you? The answer was simple enough as she found her feet moving before it had fully formed in her mind.

As she approached the Roman Catholic Church of St. Anne, she expected to feel better or at least safer than she had been lately. The church was a sanctuary for most and it almost always had been for her. But, something was off this time. Nothing obvious, of course, but enough to make her steps slow as she approached the heavy front doors. Stepping inside she made her way cautiously and slowly to one of the pews, where she silently took a seat. A glance around showed that she was alone for the moment, which made the off feeling even more strange.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there in silent contemplation – not quite prayer – before she heard the doors opening behind her. A glance back revealed a single man who moved to sit a few rows behind her. The grin on his face as he looked forward at the cross displaying the crucified body of Christ was a little unnerving and she didn’t quite catch what he murmured, wasn’t sure she wanted to really.

When he spoke again, it was a little louder, the grin still in place. “Do medium witches exist?”

She wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or not, but there was no one else there, so unless he was talking to himself it was likely he was. Which meant she should answer. “I don’t think mediums and witches are the same thing.” She finally replied, glad there were several rows between them. Even if he was alone, so was she. Even if she was in the sanctity of a church, so was he. One hand absently, automatically lifted to grasp the gold cross on the delicate chain around her neck as she waited to see if he would answer or if he really was just talking to himself. Either was a possibility and she wasn’t sure which she wanted the case to be.

Ɗεstяuctivε Ƭεη∂εηciεs™

12/11/2018 01:55 PM 

Rules

Coming Soon...

Clairvoyant Protector

12/11/2018 01:44 PM 

Eye of the Beholder



She wanted to hear the truth. Even if no one else did. Something that she couldn’t outright identify had drawn her here, to him, and she couldn’t leave without at least trying.

The Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane wasn’t a place that Lorraine thought she would ever find herself. At least not on this side of the desk. There were plenty of times in her life that she was terrified she would end up in an asylum. There were times when she was younger that she thought that might be the best place for her because normal people couldn’t do the things she could do. They couldn’t see and feel the things she could. She just wanted the things that hunted and haunted her to go away. For a time she had convinced herself that she could make that happen.

After a week-long retreat denying any kind of socialization – only allowing for prayer and contemplation – when she was twelve, she came to the revelation that maybe the Sister had been right and she was just being ‘fanciful.’ Though that was a word she came to hate later because it was what had started all of her self-doubts and the attempts to suppress the things that made her different. An attempt that only made things worse instead of better because those gifts only grew stronger as time went by and not knowing how to control or use them allowed her to become more vulnerable than she already had been. Things were drawn to those like her. Dark things.

It was more than likely that if she hadn’t met her husband and soulmate when she did, at the tender age of sixteen, that she would have ended up in some place like this or worse. While the idea of being locked up somewhere, of being crazy enough to be placed there, was terrifying, the things that could happen should those dark things latch on were even worse to imagine. And she didn’t have to try very hard because she saw it all the time. She dealt with it all the time, attempting to help those who needed it. Because she had these…’gifts’ for a reason, right?

There would always be those who wouldn’t or couldn’t believe in anything outside of the ordinary. Those skeptics who mocked and jeered and did everything in their power to discredit that which they didn’t understand. She knew that well, too. Had experienced it first-hand. It wasn’t easy to have your name constantly drug through the dirt as you were accused of being a fake and a fraud because your claims were things that ‘normal’ people didn’t experience and therefore couldn’t accept were anything but fake.

Sometimes finding even one person who believed you was enough to change your entire world.

She had found her person and it really had changed her entire existence. She truly thought that having someone to listen, to understand, to believe was one of the most sought after, the most important things a person could need. That was why she tried to be that for others. She had been in their place. Maybe not exactly, but similarly enough to know how much it could mean. That was part of why she was here.

Officially she was there to interview one of the patients here about his ‘crazy’ story of demons and possession and death. A lot of death. That was ultimately why he was here. He was crazy and he had killed people. The reasons given only cemented the first and there was no way to recant even if he had wanted to, at this point. But, that wasn’t what she wanted to hear anyway. She wanted to hear the truth. Even if no one else did. Something that she couldn’t outright identify had drawn her here, to him, and she couldn’t leave without at least trying.

Things happened for a reason. People were brought together for a reason. Even if she didn’t always know what that reason was.

“Name.” The woman at the desk didn’t even look up, concentrating on the book on the desk in front of her. She looked somewhat haggard, unhappy, uninterested. Not someone you would want working somewhere that supposedly took care of people with mental illnesses, no matter what those illnesses had made them do.

Lorraine frowned a little and shifted her weight slightly. This place was…not good. Maybe it was the people in it, maybe it was the people running it, maybe it was something else entirely. She wasn’t sure, but she did know that it made her slightly antsy, uncomfortable. She did not like it here. Still…

“Lorraine Warren.” She watched the woman flip her book over and pull another one in front of her. Opening this one, she ran her finger down a list of what looked like names in an appointment book. “I’m here to speak to Mr. Williams.” She added helpfully as the woman continued to look for what she presumed was her name and the appointment she had set up before arriving.

“Oh, right, right.” The woman murmured, finally raising her head. She looked Lorraine up and down and arched an eyebrow. “You sure you wanna do that? Seems someone like you would want to stay as far away from someone like that as possible.” There was a slight smirk on her lips that Lorraine couldn’t quite read.

“Someone like me?” She questioned in return, not exactly sure what the woman was referring to. But, the way she looked at her said that someone as put together as she appeared to be had no place being somewhere like this. Let alone sitting down to speak to a crazy mass murderer about something that couldn’t possibly be true.

The woman only grinned a little more, though it wasn’t really a nice expression, as she gestured to Lorraine. “Yeah. All fancy and good and pure and innocent.” There was a mockery in her tone that Lorraine didn’t like. An inference that someone like her couldn’t handle a place like this or any of the people in it. “This ain’t the kind of place for people like you.”

Lorraine pursed her lips for a moment, but then merely offered a polite smile. “It’s a good thing I’m just visiting then, isn’t it?” She asked. “May I go in?” She gestured to the doors slightly off to the side, to all appearances perfectly fine with the discussion and the inferences. She wasn’t here to prove herself to anyone, not really. She had one purpose and it wasn’t to prove to this woman that things were seldom as they appeared.

The woman studied her for another moment and then shrugged. Pulling out a visitor’s pass, she handed it over. “Sure. It’s your funeral.” She murmured. “After I buzz you through, go to the first door on the left. Someone’ll be waiting to let you in.” She directed coldly. Not waiting to see if Lorraine agreed or not, she pressed a button and with the expected buzzing sound the double doors unlocked, waiting for her to pull them open.

“Thank you.” Lorraine still managed to be polite herself as she pinned the badge to her shirt and moved toward the doors. Grasping the handle of one, she pulled and stepped through into a long and empty hallway. There were several doors on each side and the hall itself forked a little further down, but her instructions were to go to the first door on the left and so that was where she headed.

As she had been told, there was a man in a stark white uniform waiting beside the door. He, too, looked her up and down before speaking. Though his expression was much less revealing than the woman at the front desk had been. “Mrs. Warren?” He questioned roughly and simply. Upon her nod, he turned toward the door with the key to let her in. “I assume you’ve been briefed on the dangers of this particular patient and the safety measures we have put in place for this visit?” He looked to her for her confirmation before he turned the key and pushed the door open for her. “Yes, I have. Thank you.” Her own tone was more formal than she usually used, but that seemed fitting for the situation. She offered another nod as she stepped through the door, glancing around as she did so.

The room was more dimly lit than the lobby or even the hallway she had come down to get here. Something she wasn’t necessarily happy with, but wouldn’t try to argue. She could see well enough, but it certainly helped to drop the mood and enhance the bad feelings she’d had since entering the building. As her gaze travelled the room, it first landed on the men standing behind the table with revolvers at the ready and expressions that said they were just waiting for any excuse to use them. She liked that even less than the lighting, or lack thereof.

Then her eyes turned toward the table and the reason she was here. He certainly looked mad, though which definition of the word, if not both, actually fit remained to be seen. He also looked like he wasn’t getting the best of care here. But, that wasn’t so surprising considering what he was there for. No matter how well run and well they claimed to take care of people things weren’t always as they seemed. And who wanted to be kind to a murderer? A crazy one at that.

That didn’t make it right. In fact it made her angry to see signs of such a thing. But, she kept that internalized for now. It wouldn’t do her any good to voice such things and might in fact get her thrown out before she could do what she came for.

So, she let her gaze fall on Ash for a moment before she approached the table and pulled out a chair opposite him. Something said she didn’t have to be afraid of him. If anything, she felt warier of those around them than she did of the prisoner before her. “Hello, Mr. Williams. My name is Lorraine Warren.” Introductions first, of course. As if he would really care who she was. “I would like to hear your story. If you’re willing to tell me.” She wasn’t entirely certain he was, but she also wasn’t going to try to force him.

Her expression was understanding and hopeful and expectant, but somehow not soft at all. She had seen things that most wouldn’t believe possible. But, somehow she knew that he had as well. Like recognized like and maybe neither were crazy at all. “I’ve been through some…unbelievable things as well. And if you’d like to play story for story, I’m willing.” She figured it couldn’t hurt to offer something in return for his cooperation. People seldom wanted to do anything without receiving something in return and now that the offer was on the table, so to speak, she waited to see what he would do with it.

Cap'n Supermarket 💀

12/11/2018 12:43 PM 

Tales of the Evil Dead. }Horror Drabble

The Necronomicon isn't whole. There are pages missing and scattered throughout the world, those pages have a will all their own. They desire to be found, to be read so that gate holding the dark spirits that lurk just beyond the veil of our world might be cracked but a little and they might slip through. Though the Chosen One has fought the Deadites back time and time again he can not be in all places at once....

}Somewhere in rural Oregon.{

"Camping is fun, I promise you Cassie. Grandma used to take me and your uncles when we were kids and we always had a blast." Susan Weaver said with a tired smile trying to reasure her daughter about the virtues of camping and just being away from everything. Her daughter, Fourteen year old Cassie Weaver, wasn't buying what her mom was trying to sell and simply sat in the passenger seat arms crossed and eyes narrowed as glared out the window wishing to be anywhere but here. "Baby, I promise you'll have fun. Uncle Jack is already there with Aunt Rose and your cousins. We'll go fishing and..." Cassie cut her mom off with a glare and hissed, "Whatever! I don't want to go camping! It's always what you want! Your just a bitch!"

Susan's eyes went wide and she slammed on the breaks of the station wagon stopping in the middle of the road. She was angry and took that anger out on the steering wheel, Cassie just looked at her mom with an expression of shock painted across her face. "M-mom...I'm sorry, I didn't mean...I mean.." It was Cassie's turn to be cutoff as her mom waved away her stammering, half-hearted apology and started the station wagon back down the road. There was silence between the two from there on out.

Susan wanted to tell her daughter that the reason they were going camping was because Susan and Cassie's dad had another fight while Cassie was at a sleepover, and it was a bad one. He had come home drunk again and, once again, the fighting started as soon as his work boots hit the floor. "Why's my dinner f***ing cold?" "Why are the goddamn dishes always dirty?!" "If you stayed off that f***ing phone longer than a minute you'd know why I was mad, you BITCH!" He hit her. Not for the first time, but this was the worst. He came at her like she was a man and punched her in the side of the head. Susan was a hundred and ten pounds standing all five foot five, James was two-fifty and six foot three...it was never a fair fight. Susan went down and James loomed over her saying something about how if she acts like a child he'll treat her like one. That's when he took off his belt and beat her from the chest to her hips. She covered the bruises with makeup and extra layers of clothes.


But Susan kept quiet. Her daughter didn't need to hear about that and the less she knew the better she would be down the line, Susan figured. James never hit Cassie, he was a little cold to her sometimes but he never hit her. Susan was grateful for that little bit of restraint on his part at least. But a part of her, a part she tries to bury and never listen too, always wondered if James took out the anger he had to of felt at Cassie on her. That she got the beatings that Cassie never did. She would always shut that voice down before it got too loud, but it did it's job in concert with James' abuse...it made her feel like sh*t.

Another hours drive and Susan and Cassie were turning off the main road and down an old dirt trail towards the camping grounds where her happiest memories were. Memories of her, her big brother Jack, little brother Evan, and Mom all playing, fishing and having fun. She could almost smell the S'mores and the Deet and a rare, honest smile came to her face when she saw Jack's old truck and a tent set up in a clearing next to the stream where they would play. Jack was cutting up some firewood with an ax and Susan gave a little toot of the horn making the big man jump and yelp like a spooked dog. 

Jack turned to see his sister and niece pulling up and mimed panic and shook from Susan's little prank. He drove the ax head into the stump he was chopping wood on and jogged out to meet them. He took Susan in his arms and she buried her face in his chest trying not to cry. Jack held her close and whispered, "You okay little sis? I'm going to kill that son of a bitch...I swear to God Susan. He's not doing this sh*t again." Jack could feel Susan pulling away from him and he let her go. She had tears in the corner of her eyes but Jack knew that was as far as it was going to go, Susan didn't cry. Not even when she was a kid. His sister was tough, but tough only rakes you so far when your husband is a f***ing drunk and a wife beater. Jack hated James and still has the scare on his knuckles from when he knocked James' teeth out at a BBQ when he saw the mark on Susan's cheek. After that Jack didn't go back to their house and James never dared come to Jack's

"I'm good Jack. And he won't do this ever again. It's over." Susan said drying her eyes and taking a breath trying to get back to the lie that was normalcy. "Cassie doesn't know why were here, not really. So don't say sh*t Jack, you here me?" Jack just nodded at his sister and gave a half smile from behind his big bushy beard. "Hey, Kiddo! Wanna get out of the car and help Aunt Rose skin some fish?" Susan laughed as Cassie stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes, "Yeah I don't think my little princess is up for fish skinning Jack. Where's Billy and Mandy? She could catch up with them. They haven't seen each other in ages." Susan said thinking about her niece and nephew who were tornadoes disguised as twelve year old twins. "They're down by the streak torturing whatever poor critter they can get their hands. Hey, Cass why don't you go on down and make sure your cousins don't set the damn woods on fire."

Cassie walked towards the stream with his arms folded and a look of utter frustration blazing across her face. She hated her family. She hated Uncle Jack's Hillbilly tough guy sh*t, She hated Aunt Rose's Martha Stewart bullsh*t, She hated Billy and Mandy, She'd even hate Evan if he were still alive. But most of all she hated her mom. Her mom was a drama queen and always making things about her. She never thought about her or what she wanted, it was always her sh*t that got in the way of Cassie's life. Or so the teen girl thought. She wished they would all just die some times, they would all just vanish and leave her the hell alone. Cassie was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice the large glop of mud flying towards her until it hit her in the chest and splatted all across the front of her clothes. "Ohhh, Cassie's got mud on her...little city girl Cassie don't like being dirty! hahaha!!" Billy. That little sh*t. Cassie was so pissed she was shaking and the ability to blink had left her. "I...am....going....to.....murder.....you....." Each word should of had an exclamation mark on the end of it, but it had the desired effect. Billy saw the look of pure anger in Cassie's eyes and ran screaming for the camp. That was one down, now for the little blond bitch Mandy. "I'm not going to throw mud at you. I'd rather it be something heavier. And pointier." Mandy, where the f*** did she come from? "What's that you got?" Cassie said spinning around to see her little cousin holding a piece of browned paper. "Don't know. Found it while Billy was digging in the mud. Looks like leather...I guess. I can't read the words on it, if it is words." Mandy said looking the page over not really paying attention to her cousin. "The sun's starting to set, why don't you head back to camp and tell that sh*t-head brother of yours I'm going to kick him into the fire." Cassie said turning away from Mandy and watching the slowly set beyond the tree line.

Mandy was never like most girls. Never cared for dolls or makeup, never understood why girls drooled over boys or paid more attention to clothes than books. Mandy loved books, more so books about ancient times and mythology. She had dreams of becoming an Archaeologist one day...or maybe an Anthropologist. The study of people was just as exciting as the study of ancient cultures after all. Her mom and dad didn't really get it and Billy was as vapid as a pet hamster they used to have...but she loved them all the same. They were just...slow. But not Mandy, she was fast and she picked up on things quick, or at least that didn't have to do with talking to people. While the others, even Cassie were sitting around a camp fire laughing and talking Mandy was studying the page she found in her tent.

The writing was weird. It looked like something she had seen before, something middle eastern maybe? She had a book on Middle eastern mythology with her, this was her lucky night! "It's Summerian...Huh..." She mused to herself as she thumbed through the chapter on Summerian mythology. "No. Way. This can't be a page from that book...no way." Her eyes lit up with excitement, this could be a page from the Necronomicon. The book that cost Professor Raymond Knowby his life...No way she was this lucky. "What's that?" Mandy said shinning her light on the page and noticing something like an indention on the page. Placing a piece of paper on the page she began to etch it and, sure enough, there words. "What is this? Khandar Estrada Khandos Thrus...Indactu...Nosfrandus...Khandar...Dematos...Khandar..."

Susan held her knees close to her chest and smiled as she listened to Jack tell the story of how he sank his truck in a river when he was sixteen. Even hyperactive, attention span of a gnat, Billy was paying listening intently to his dad's story. But that wasn't hard to do, Jack was always a damn good story teller and kept them all entertained when they were kids. He really got into the story with big hand gestures, voices, and laughter all throughout. Her big brother always made her feel better, no matter what, and she knew he'd do anything in the world for her. But how could she ask the man who helped raise her when their dad was gone that she had her husband's body in the back of her car cut up into little pieces? How could she explain to a man who has a family all his own with kids and a wife to support that she needs help hiding that body? Susan held her knees close to her chest and her smile faded. She couldn't put Jack in this, she had to do this on her own. Her brother wasn't going to..."AHHHHHHH!!!!!" A scream broke the silence and Jack quickly stood up, "MANDY!!" The big man roared as he rushed to his daughter's tent and flung open the door flap. His eyes went wide and his heart sank, Mandy was gone and a large rip in the back of the tent painted a horrible picture in Jack's mind "MANDY!!!"

Another scream broke the night, it was coming from down by the creek and Jack broke into a sprint towards the sound screaming his daughter's name the whole way. When he got to her she was curled into a ball crying with ragged, strained sobs. She shaking, his baby girl, and Jack to his knees and scooped her up in his arms. "It's okay baby, I got you now. What happened? Why'd you run off..." Jack said picking her up as if she weighed nothing. Mandy wrapped her arms around her neck and squeezed holding him tight, "I ran...I ran because you're a pathetic piece of sh*t you ignorant f***ing hillbilly!" Mandy reared back in her father's arms and laughed. Her face was distorted, misshaped like she had gotten stung by a hundred bees, and her eyes...her eyes were milk white, soulless and dead. "Can't you see, daddy!? Hahaha!" The thing in Mandy's shape laughed as she plunged her thumbs into Jack's eyes but, somehow, he managed to grab her wrists before her nails could sink into them.

"Mandy! STOP! What the hell are you doing baby?!" Rose said trembling and rushing forward to try and pull her daughter from her husband before...before she could gauge his eyes out. Rose gripped Mandy from behind and started to pull at her, Mandy spun around like an owl's and smiled with yellowed, rotten teeth at her mother. "Hey mommy, wanna play dress up? HOW ABOUT SOME MAKEUP!" The Demon laughed and spewed a torrent of black, burning bile from it's mouth onto Rose's face causing the woman to stagger back and claw desperately at the black, sticky sh*t clinging to her flesh. "Back to you dad! Hahaha!" Mandy barked and snapped her head back around and once more tried to sink her fingers into her father's eyes. Jack struggled against her, dear god she was strong. Stronger than her tiny frame had any right to be and he was losing. "Mandy...please baby!" He begged but Mandy said nothing, just smiled through black lips and put all her hellish strength into the fight...and won. Jack's eyes popped like rip melons and he screamed something wicked. Susan screamed too. Screamed for Cassie to run as she scooped up Billy and made for her station wagon.

Susan didn't know what the f*** was going on but she knew it wasn't right. Something evil was in Mandy, this wasn't a case of rabies or a disease...nothing about what she just was natural. She had to get the f*** out of here. She'd get help, she'd even go to the f***ing cops with her husbands remains sitting in a cooler in the back of her car, she didn't care. She just needed to get her daughter and her nephew the f*** away from here now. Cassie was in the passenger seat and Susan almost threw Billy in the back seat. With shaking hands she turned on the station wagon, the headlights came on and all three screamed at the sight of Mandy floating in the lights. "We are the things that were and shall be again! We shall rip the souls from your flesh and devour them in Hell! DEAD BY DAWN! DEAD BY DAWN!" Mandy's voice, if it was her voice, was coming from everywhere and reverberating like a thousand echos. Susan put the station wagon in drive and hit the gas like a mad woman plowing into the thing that was supposed to be her niece. The car jumped like it hit a bump and Susan never slowed down.

Cassie couldn't catch her breath. She was hyperventilating. "What the f*** was that? What the f*** was that?!" She said with her heart in throat, her mom just screamed she didn't f***ing know but they were going to get out of this. They were going to be alright. She lied. She didn't see what hit them. She just saw the trees parting like something big was running through them and the next she knew the station wagon was flipping and everything went black. When she opened her eyes the sensation of pain hit her like a tone of bricks. Or rather the sensation of pain in her upper body and nothing below. She couldn't move her legs and when she managed to look down she saw why, they were twisted and snapped at the knee...she was crippled. She tried to scream but only a gargling noise came from her. With whatever strength she had she crawled onto her belly and tried to pull herself towards the upside down wagon. She could see Billy laying in the headlights, he wasn't moving. "Billy...Billy! Please be alright!" Cassie crawled towards her cousin trying to get to him. What she would do when she got there she didn't know, but she had to make sure he was okay. "Cassssieeee...." It was Mandy. Cassie started to hyperventilate again and it felt like something hard was rubbing up against something soft in her chest. "Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Please!!" A giggle came from the dark woods and then a voice, "Come play with me Cassie. Caaassssieeee...hehe." If Cassie could feel her legs she would of noticed the vein wrapping around her ankle. She felt the pressure as it gripped tight, but all she felt was the tug as it yanked her from the dirt road out into the woods. She felt everything that came next.

Susan was upside down and racked with pain. She felt her face and touched the shards of glass sticking out of her skin. She let out a silent cry as she pulled a piece from her cheek and nearly passed out as it popped free. "You were always soft, bitch. Why the f*** did I ever marry you." No, No, No! Not him. Susan looked over to her left to see her husband's severed head glaring back at her with it's dead, white eyes and a twisted smile on his pale lips. "You thought this was going to be a happy ending didn't you? You thought the big bad monster was dead...that you won. Hehehaha...ain't no winning in this life bitch. You're going to Hell. You're going to burn...and I'm going to rape your soul every night for all of eternity. No one can save you whore...I'LL SWALLOW YOUR SO-" before the demon could finish a large rock sailed in through the busted window and struck it in it's white eye popping it. "Leave my aunt alone!" It was Billy. The boy was covered in blood and dirt but he was okay. Susan had to get to him, tell him to run, make sure he got out okay. But before she could do anything three figures came from the dark and pulled Billy screaming into the woods. The boy screamed for a long time before silence feel over the night only to be replaced by the sounds of ripping and something wet being thrown. Susan cried, for the first time in a long time she cried.

Then a voice came from the darkness. It said only two words and Susan screamed. "JOIN US!!"

Kit Walker

12/11/2018 04:19 PM 

Rules

I hate to be a picky bastard, but honestly when it comes to roleplaying I do have some standards.

1. No gomodding: This isn't just limited to controlling my character, but also ignoring actions done by my character or also  trying to act like you can't be hurt in anyway will piss me off.

2.  Paragraphs are required: Even if you struggle, with writing at least one paragraph I'll accept that a lot more than one or two sentences.

3. No wrestlers: I'm personally, not a fan of wrestling and don't care for it. If you like to roleplay as a wrestler, then that's fine just don't expect me to roleplay with you though.

4. No furies: Not all furies are sexual people, but they're very awkward to roleplay with. And in all honesty, kind of disturb me in a very unintentional way. I'm not saying that being a fury is a sin, but if you like being one don't let my pickiness stop you.

5. No spam: I understand that you will, want to message me time and time again that's understandable. However, I may be busy and not able to reply to your starter, or response instantly. Just have some patience, and try to not rush me to respond to it right away. I'll respond to, when I have the time to.

6. Crossovers: I'm personally mixed on the concept of crossovers, sometimes they're plausible other times not so much. I guess, it just depends on the verse and if something can be worked out. I just won't do any illogical, or pointless crossovers such as AHS and Harry Potter. Because the concept alone, is jarring and very questionable.

7.  Don't worry about being too creative: I want starters, and replies too be as creative as they can be. Don't worry if it's too descriptive, or too creative because there's no problem with doing that. Although, there might be a problem if you cut yourself short and don't be uncreative.

8. No dirty laundry/ drama: I'm not a fan of drama, I can't name anyone that is to be honest. Just please, don't start drama with me no matter how big or small it is. Chances are, you'll just wind up being blocked by me.

9.  No anime: Again if you like to roleplay as a anime character, then continue to do that I just really am not a big fan of it.

10.  Erotica/ smut: Erotica/ smut is okay to a certain degree, as long as it helps the plot or is very detailed. Erotica/ smut isn't okay, if it's filler or lacks very vivid details.   Plus I don't want to make it a focus of any roleplay, it's okay every once and a while but not all the time. If you want to write erotica/ smut with me making sure that ISN'T the following: Incest, rape, molestation/ pedophilia, necrophilia, or other disgusting questionable things.

11.  Be mature: I don't like roleplaying with immature people, they really ruin the mood and my enjoyment of roleplaying. I think this is pretty basic, but it still needs to be brought up.






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