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ArdillaVerde93

House Of Horrors

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ArdillaVerde93

Though I've lived in the same city for my whole life, I've moved 3 times. Times are tough. Anyway, the second move by far put me in the worst situation. My grandmother and I moved in with my aunt and one of my cousins. Things were fine at first. We got along, had fun, and were civil to each other. I can't remember the moment everything went wrong; frankly, just mentioning this is making me uncomfortable. But I can definitely recall the 3 worst experiences of living with them. My cousin was the one who did the damage. He has a short temper, violent tendancies, and access to various weapons. Not a good combination.

  First, there was the day our internet went out. By necessity, the modem for the internet was kept in my cousin's bedroom. See, he had a desktop computer, so he needed to connect it directly to the modem to get internet access; he couldn't use wi-fi, like the rest of us. He didn't want anybody in his bedroom without permission, no matter the reason. So, try to imagine this. You're somewhere you know you aren't supposed to be, but you don't need to be there for long. Just long enough to press a button, then leave. Then, you hear the front door open. You pray it's anybody but who you think it is. Your aunt. Your grandmother. A burglar with a gun; ANYBODY but your violent cousin. Then, you hear something else. "You're fucked!" In an instant, he's upon you, connecting with blow after blow. The beating only lasts a few seconds, and is followed by a screaming match, in which you desperately try to defend your actions, to no avail. Nobody else is home; nobody can help you. It's you and this monster. I'm thankful he didn't shoot me, or break my phone. But my stomach hurt for days afterwards, and one of his punches busted my lip open. I later found out that he knew I'd do that, and set me up.

 I wasn't the target of the next one, but it was still scary. I honestly forget what set this off, but this was a fight between him and my grandmother. While I didn't see the fight, I heard it, and locked my bedroom door to keep him away. He broke my grandmother's phone, threw hot noodles at her, and spit in her face. Not to mention the raging and swearing. With my phone by my side, I dialed 911. In case you were wondering why I didn't do that during the last incident, rest assured it wouldn't have helped. Police did show up, but, despite my insistence that he was in possession of drugs and a firearm, nothing was done.

  Likely the most scared I've ever been was when I broke my cousin's prized mortar and pestle. He kept them on a shelf in the bathroom. I had just gotten out of the shower, and grabbed my underwear, which I had put on that shelf, as well. Suddenly, I heard something shatter. No. God dammit, NO!! The stick part - I forget what it's called - hit the tile floor and broke into 2 pieces. I thought, without exaggeration, that would be my last day alive. I wanted to run. To run and not look back until I was sure this demon couldn't find me. My grandmother, much to my horror, ordered that I tell my cousin the truth. So I did. Honestly, I'm still surprised I'm alive to type this. He screamed at me, and threatened to kick my throat in. But he never actually struck. He insisted that what I broke was irreplaceable, despite my telling him that I had found plenty more online that I was willing to buy as a replacement.

  We made up last Christmas, but I still have flashbacks. My grandmother and I moved to an apartment complex, where we live now. I actually don't live too far away from that house. I don't dare go back. I accidentally had something shipped there, because I forgot to change my shipping address online. Whoever lives there now can keep it.

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Sunstone

I'm very sorry to hear of your unfortunate dealings with your cousin there, Ardilla. Those situations you describe sound very frightening, ...I hope you as well as other affected family and friends don't have to put up with that person's maltreatment any longer; they sound very dangerous to be around.

I'm not sure what else to add to this, I'm sorry to say. But, if you're ever feeling down and need someone to talk to, I'm here.
💗

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SMFoxy
On 25/12/2018 at 23:10, ArdillaVerde93 said:

I later found out that he knew I'd do that, and set me up.

Fucking hell, that's a massive dick move.

On 25/12/2018 at 23:10, ArdillaVerde93 said:

Police did show up, but, despite my insistence that he was in possession of drugs and a firearm, nothing was done.

I feel like something should have been done about this, regardless of certain laws, due to the circumstance. I think medical marijuana is legal with a license (as of late 2017)? And guns are also legal depending on where and how you're carrying and using them? I'm not completely familiar with the law in my own country, let alone yours, especially considering various States have different laws... But in the case of someone who is clearly not entirely stable... Well, I don't want to sound judgemental or rude, so I won't comment too harshly on your family, but they definitely should have at least looked into it.

On 25/12/2018 at 23:10, ArdillaVerde93 said:

  Likely the most scared I've ever been was when I broke my cousin's prized mortar and pestle. He kept them on a shelf in the bathroom. I had just gotten out of the shower, and grabbed my underwear, which I had put on that shelf, as well. Suddenly, I heard something shatter. No. God dammit, NO!! The stick part - I forget what it's called - hit the tile floor and broke into 2 pieces. I thought, without exaggeration, that would be my last day alive. I wanted to run. To run and not look back until I was sure this demon couldn't find me. My grandmother, much to my horror, ordered that I tell my cousin the truth. So I did. Honestly, I'm still surprised I'm alive to type this. He screamed at me, and threatened to kick my throat in. But he never actually struck. He insisted that what I broke was irreplaceable, despite my telling him that I had found plenty more online that I was willing to buy as a replacement.

1 - That's kind of a dumb place to keep them to start with, to be totally honest.
2 - The 'stick part' is the pestle, the bowl is the mortar. xD
3 - I think offering to purchase a replacement, as well as actually looking for/finding the same/a similar thing is a really decent thing to do; on the other side of it, it's entirely possible that it was irreplaceable for sentimental/personal reasons? I don't know the story of it, but if it were that valuable to him, again, the bathroom is a pretty stupid place to keep it... At least you tried.

On 25/12/2018 at 23:10, ArdillaVerde93 said:

  We made up last Christmas, but I still have flashbacks. My grandmother and I moved to an apartment complex, where we live now. I actually don't live too far away from that house. I don't dare go back. I accidentally had something shipped there, because I forgot to change my shipping address online. Whoever lives there now can keep it.

I hope whatever you ordered there accidentally wasn't anything too important/valuable.

With individual 'notes' out of the way:
I can understand not wanting to return somewhere with negative experiences associated with it; it can be hard to get past things like that, especially when it involves fearing for your life or that of family. That goes double for when it's at the hands of another member of the family, given that family are supposed to be people you're supposed to be/feel safe with.
Truly, I hope your cousin gets the help he seems to need... And I also hope I didn't come across as too dick-ish at any point... 🙃

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      Someone once dared to ask, "If we have them... Why can't we use them?". The year was 20XX, the question was answered. For decades, tensions were sustained between various nations and peace was so unstable that the drop of the pin should shatter the glass barrier. Finally, with the advancement of defense technologies, the arms race was on once more, only this time the tensions grew to a boiling point. Finally, the first bomb was dropped. Then, the second. The third.
      I was a child when it all happened. Despite being young at the time, I don't think it will ever be any less vivid in my mind for as long as I may live. I remember panic. I remember screaming, hustle bustle. I remember crying, everywhere, I remember the scent of burning rubber and gasoline, of my mother and father screaming at one another, not out of anger, but our of terror. I remember sitting in the back seat, confused and afraid, watching the chaos out the window as the car sped through our neighborhood and past traffic. 
      We made it to my father's place of work. It was a sturdy facility for need broadcasts, built to withstand high intensity weather and had a basement primarily used for storage, but now we were using it as shelter. We weren't alone, and we were welcomed. I felt comfort, recognizing some faces, seeing that I wasn't alone in being afraid, but the support made the difference. Then, I remember silence. Then I remember a sound I will never be able to describe, followed by heat, as though someone had opened an oven right in front of me...
      We stayed down there for a few days. We had some food, water and clean air that came in through a filteration system, but I remember being hungry. I remember wanting to go home and sleep in my soft, warm bed. I remember laying in my mother's arms each night on the hard floor as she tried to sing a lullaby, but she would start crying and I didn't understand. Finally, the doors were opened.
      The world no longer resembled the one we left when we entered the basement. Everything was broken. Burnt. The sky was an odd shade of blue with a sick tinge of green in the clouds. It almost didn't look like we were still in Earth at all, but we had to leave town. I wanted to go home. I would never be in the comfort of my home again.
      In our travels, we met other people traveling as well who banded together with us. They described fire in the sky, in the clouds. The wrath of God, punishing humanity, brazen and full of hubris. It came to be known as Heaven's War, or the Cloud War to some.
      I sometimes still think about the people we passed on the road that day. Neighbors. I wonder if they made it...
      Accessing_(File)://Reconstruction.doc
      Authenticating..._
      Loading..._

       
       
    • Adverse
      By Adverse
      Now would be a good time to start discussing events. Obviously I have a few in mind, but let's toss around some ideas for things to be happening around the town.
    • Adverse
      By Adverse
      - The Legend of "Scarecrow" Jack -

      Generations ago, a farmer lived on the outer side of Noware. His name was Jack O'Lanton. He was a kind man of middle age, he would regularly sell his seasonal crops at the market in the Noware square on weekends and mid days of the week, they say that his harvests were fresher, crisper sweeter than any other vendor. To this day, no one knows his secret for such fine produce.
      His specialty, however, were his favorite crop; Pumpkins. How he loved them, everything about them, the heft, the varying shapes and sizes, the various pumpkin treats that could be made from the famous squash... Not to mention, it was his hottest seller annually, townsfolks would flock to his stall for his plump, unparalleled pumpkins, which he delivered and sold by the cart which was stacked up high like a mountain each time he would roll into town, along with fresh baked pumpkin pies, bread loaves and purees.
      During the Fall season, he could regularly be seen by passerbys on the road, keeping unwanted visitors from his prized crop during the day, earning him the nickname Scarecrow Jack... But his success was not without it's trials. There were young men in town who would regularly dog him and steal his crops in the night, particularly during the Fall, when the pumpkin harvest was nearest. Into his patch they would leap, hooting, hollering, hoisting pumpkins over their heads and throwing them into others, at each other and stomping on the juicy, plump squash, destroying several of them for their own sick kicks. 
      Jack would always appear too late, unable to predict what edge of his vast patch they would invade, and by the time he got there, the boys would be dancing in the pulp and guts of the pumpkins they pulverized. He would approach to reprimand them, but they would shove him down into the slop they created and laugh at him, call him names, "One day, you're gonna turn into a pumpkin, Scarecrow man!", they would jeer before taking their leave. Sullen, but far from defeated, Jack would pick himself up time and time again and use the seeds from the destroyed crop to plant a new patch, then tend with care to those that remained. It was bothersome, but they could never get close to destroying all of them...
      ...Until one fall, when the boys had grown into men and added a few more crows to their murder. They came late at night and approached from all sides of the patch, bent on doing more damage than ever. Jack heard the chaos from inside his quaint farmhouse, but this time he was ready. He picked up a harvesting sickle that hung by his door, and out he went. 
      He was surprised, as he came out of the tall grass surrounding the patch, to see a single man stomping and stumbling over his pumpkins. They usually came in greater numbers and it gave him pause for a moment. The invader was clearly drunk, he could smell the alcohol even over the smell of the ruined pumpkins' innards. "H-Hey! You!", He shouted as he ran at the man.
      "Scarecrow!", The man shrieked, startled and drunk as he stumbled to his feet And ran off in another direction of the patch through tall grass. "Scarecrow, Scarecrow!", He taunted, his voice shrinking off into the distance.
      Jack realized that the man wasn't alone, after all, and was sounding an alarm to his group. They were everywhere, he could hear them now in the silence he was left in, echoes of laughter and hooping coming from all around. They would do more damage to his patch than ever before this way and he couldn't get to each of them in time to stop them... 
      "Why..?", He asked, dropping to his knees in the pulp of the smashed pumpkins, which he picked up a handful of and then let his arm drop loosely. "What have I done..? Why do they harass me so..?", He asked himself as a tear of frustration rolled down The valleys of his aging cheek. His teeth ground together and his lip quivered, he slammed his fist into the pulp below, making it splash over him. "I hate them!", He shouted, bent down on his knees and elbows as his head hung limp between his shoulders. "Help me...", He whispered...
      It was legend, even in his time, that strange things happened the closer it grew to All Hallow's Eve in the town of Noware. Ghost stories and campfire tales, most dismissed them as, but there were some folk, some story tellers, who told such elaborate stories that some believed them. Tales of the supernatural, of the weird, of the impossible... Scarecrow Jack's story was just beginning.
      He felt a cool sensation beginning to crawl up his legs and he sat up to inspect what was happening, seeing his legs sinking into the pool of orange pulp. He'd sat there for too long, he supposed, and he sniffled as he attempted to get up... But he could not. "What in-...?", He asked as he tugged on his legs, trying desperately to get free... Then he realized, he was not sinking. He was being swallowed. "A-... Ahhh!", He shrieked, the cold pulp of the pumpkins creeping further up his body under his clothing. He grunted and cried out with panic as he clawed and tore at the pulp, some of his flesh ripping away with it, but it was spreading faster than he could remove it. Vines shot up from around the pumpkins and wrapped around his wrists and arms, around his neck, binding him as he was consumed. He tried to scream, but the tight grip around his neck prevented it... With one powerful jerk, the vines pulled the man down forward, he forced out one final shriek before his face crashed into a pumpkin, and then, silence...
      "Did... Did you hear that?", The invader from before asked his friend he'd joined.
      The other man ceased his stomping and looked over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the field around them, listening in the silence for anything more than the joyous sound of laughter from his companions. "Nah.", He said, "Reckon ya heard a crow.".
      "No, that was no crow.", The other said, "It came from where Scarecrow was...".
      "Who cares?", his friend said as he kicked a bit of pumpkin guys from his shoe, "Come on, let's get outta here. Buzz is wearing off.".
      "He's an old man.", The drunk man said, "It's fun to smash pumpkins but I don't want the guy to be hurt.".
      "What're ya now, some kinda girl?", His friend scoffed, "F'rget the old coot, let's get the boys and have a few more rounds. I'm tired.".
      "Y-... Yeah.", The drunk man said, still looking over his shoulder towards the part of the patch he'd exited from as he followed his friend through the talk grass leading towards their group.
      They shambled through the field, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the crunch of the flora below their feet and  chirping of crickets were all to break the silence in the air, until the air went completely still, completely silent and they came to a stop, looking at each other as if to confirm they weren't alone in noticing the deafening silence that suddenly befell them. A crackling could be heard before a high pitched vibration, which they could feel in their feet, and then, sound returned to the world around them. 
      "W-what the hell was that?", The drunk man asked, a quiver in his voice.
      "I-... I don't... Let's get out of here!", His friend shouted as he began to hyperventilate and sprint as quickly as he could towards their friends.
      They reached the clearing to the next part of the patch and what they saw could have driven them mad... A tall, thin character, with a carved pumpkin for a head, danced and hopped about in a pool of red debris, which they quickly identified to be what used to be their friends. The scarecrow paused, it's back turned to the men, then the pumpkin on it's shoulders turned, slowly, completely around to face them.
      "J-... Jack?!", The drunk man shouted.
      The inside of the pumpkin began to glow so spontaneously that fire shot out of the holes carved for it's facial features. It's body snapped around in the direction it's head faced and he raised a familiar sickle, which still dripped with blood.
      "Move it!", The friend shouted as he grabbed his drunk companion and took of like the devil in the opposite direction. "Oh god, oh god!", He panted as he sprinted, directionless now, as long as they were heading away from the monster that danced in the guts of their friends the way they danced in the guts of the pumpkins they smashed annually. Suddenly, with a shout, his foot caught on a bit of knotted grass below him and he tripped, nearly bringing his friend down with him.
      The drunk man stopped, but only for a moment, and continued on, leaving his friend behind. Soon, he hurried back to the patch he started in, seeing the wooden fence he'd hopped. Just a few more steps and he could run into town for help, for safety and-... A bad step in the guts of a pumpkin caused him to slip and fall, tumbling into the ruin he created. He started to get up, but the pulp seemed to bind him in place, he could not move as he hugged and cried out, continuiously pulling at his arms to get free... He was almost there.
      He paused, frozen, as he saw a glow like fire casting over the ground beneath him. He looked over and there was the scarecrow, shambling towards him, sickle in hand. "Oh, god, oh, god...", He whimpered, "Jack, is that you?!", he asked, noticing that Jack was nowhere else to be found. "I-I'm sorry, Jack! It was... It was just a bit of fun, we didn't mean for-...!", He paused.
      Behind the scarecrow, his friend held a large pumpkin over his head and with a roar, crashed it over the scarecrow's head, causing it to fall limp and the glowing jack-o-lantern for it's head to extinguish and split to pieces on the ground below.
      Huffing with his hands on his knees, the man looked over the scarecrow, then prodded at it with his foot and kicked the pieces of the pumpkin away, looking for who was underneath, but found no one. "It... It isn't human...", He said, confused.
      The drunk man was released from the pulp and he arose to his knees with relief, but looked over his hands, covered in pulp. "Th-... The boys. They...", He swallowed hard and shoot his head as his hands buried his face, "Oh god, this is a nightmare...".
      His friend shook his head and caught his breath, then stood up straight, "I... I don't know what we saw.", He said, "I just know we need to get the hell out of here.".
      The drunk man nodded and started to get up, but froze as his blood ran cold. Behind his friend, a pumpkin raised with talk roots seeming to grow straight uoward, until the squash seemed to carve itself, just like the scarecrow had before... He raised a shaky hand and stuttered, pointing over his friend's shoulder.
      His friend squinted his eyes, then turned around, only to be grabbed by the creature's hands, which felt like the rough roots of a plant, and held tightly in place as the pumpkin towered over him and he stared up at it. There was a silence as he drew in and exhaled shaky breaths, until he opened his mouth to speak.
      With an ear splitting shriek, the scarecrow's face lit again and fire cascaded out of it, engulfing the man in it's grip as the drunk man watched in absolute horror, too afraid to even look away, until the fire subsided and the man the scarecrow held crumbled to ash in it's grip. It settled it's gaze on the drunk man and approached, vines raised at it's side and brought it the sickle it held before. The sickle spun in it's fingers and it drifted towards the drunk man until it reached him and bent down, stating at him.
      The drunk man swallowed and trembled like a leaf, then with a silent voice, as if his voice was stolen, "P-please, I...".
      With an echoey, deep hiss of air coming from the jack-o-lantern, he could have sworn he heard, "It's just a bit of fun...", before....
      ________________________________________
      This is by and far Noware's most famous legend, every year during Noware's Halloween festival, the legend is even merchandised. People come from everywhere to visit the notorious pumpkin patch, which they are careful to leave undisturbed, pumpkins still grow every year yet no one has ever seen anyone tend to them. 
    • Adverse
      By Adverse
      You'll notice a "Legends" topic started and soon history of Noware will be added. These are purely for stories to add flavor to the role play. These are NOT to be role played in. If you choose to reply with your own legend, by all means, have at it! 
      Note that stars of legends ARE playable as characters if you wish to work them in creatively, or if you choose to play as one in your own story when the role play begins. 
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