Post by "The Peoples GOAT" James Raven on Feb 12, 2010 14:55:00 GMT -5
I know I'm not on the roster or anything, but I am sooooo bored at work right now, and haven't written anything in a long time, so I figured I'd throw something up for the hell of it. Also, instead of writing the full story and letting it go to waste without a match or something, I'll just throw up little "chapters" in this thread whenever I get some spare time. Yep, that's all I've got to say...
[shadow=black,left,300]Welcome to the Asylum[/shadow]
The heels of his shoes click softly on the pavement as he makes his way down a long and seemingly endless hall way. The air is crisp, not quite cold, but enough to make the hair on the back of his neck rise and his skin pebble with goose bumps.
He hates the fucking winter.
The flickering torches that protrude from the stone walls lick the ceiling, crackling slightly as they cause his shadow to dance across the floor behind him, a separate entity all of it’s own. He pauses as he reaches a window, the soft sounds of his footsteps fading out with their own echoes as he glares across the endless landscape below. Snow lays heavy across the rolling grass, a frozen lake in the distance within which lays centuries of secrets and buried memories… something about this place seems wrong. There’s the faint scent of blood in the air. An odor of death and decay that lingers in his nostrils, practically causing him to wretch with every breath he inhales. He doesn’t know why he’s here, in this God forsaken castle, some fortress of years gone by hidden in the country of Sweden, away from the rest of civilization. He lifts his hand slowly to the window, running his fingers slowly across the heavy iron bars, feeling the rust rub off on his fingertips as he does so… he tries to solve the mystery, to figure out why someone felt the need to bar the windows all that time ago. What were they trying to keep out… or what were they trying to keep in?
He inhales deeply, fighting through the overwhelming stench of death as he turns and once more makes his way down the hall way, his heels clipping the floor softly once more. He ignores the cloud that escapes from between his lips each time he exhales, and he ignores the tingling in his fingers and toes which he always feels right before he goes numb. He runs his hand down the back of his neck, trying to flatten the hairs which are standing on their own… trying to rub down the goose bumps which reveal one unflattering fact to the world.
He’s scared.
He finally reaches the end of the corridor after what seems like an eternity, stopping in front of a heavy wooden door. A heavy brass ring hangs down from the door, the head of a demon of some kind carved into the front… it’s eyes empty and penetrating, it’s face twisted with an eternity of eternal torment. He shakes his head, berating himself for seeing any kind of life from a gargoyle-like door handle, for thinking it was anything other than a carving. Its eyes are brass; its face is brass… it’s not real, end of story.
He wraps his hands around the handle; his fingers twisting tightly around the surface, the frigid, metallic surface sending chills running up his arm and then down his spine. He pauses for a moment, making sure that he really wants to do this… then he pulls. It’s heavier than he expected, and he pulls with all his might… his muscles strain and his body screams, but finally it begins to budge. The ancient hinges squeak loudly enough to wake the dead, the bottom of the wooden planks scraping across the stone floor with a quiet whisper. He releases the handle, allowing the door to swing the rest of the way by itself, coming to a halt just inches in front of the wall.
He stares ahead, into the abyss, his pupils dilating, trying frantically to adjust to the darkness that’s befallen him. A wave of stench overpowers him, centuries worth of mildew and rotting flesh escaping their confines at once and rushing into the rest of the world… free at last. He reaches up to the wall, grabbing one of the torches slowly, feeling several insects rushing out of the rotted wood and across his knuckles as he grasps the handle. He holds it out in front of him, allowing the flame to illuminate the rest of the tomb, but the light doesn’t travel far before it’s swallowed up by the shadows.
He swallows hard, his Adams apple bouncing in his throat like a basketball as he tries to slow his heart rate and steady his breath. His eyes dart around the darkness, trying to find something to reassure himself that he’ll be safe, anything that tells him something in this room wont be his end… but the shadows are impenetrable. Finally, he forces himself to step forward across the threshold, leaving the safety of the corridor and entering the realm of the unknown.
[shadow=BLACK,left,300]To Be Continued...[/shadow]
The heels of his shoes click softly on the pavement as he makes his way down a long and seemingly endless hall way. The air is crisp, not quite cold, but enough to make the hair on the back of his neck rise and his skin pebble with goose bumps.
He hates the fucking winter.
The flickering torches that protrude from the stone walls lick the ceiling, crackling slightly as they cause his shadow to dance across the floor behind him, a separate entity all of it’s own. He pauses as he reaches a window, the soft sounds of his footsteps fading out with their own echoes as he glares across the endless landscape below. Snow lays heavy across the rolling grass, a frozen lake in the distance within which lays centuries of secrets and buried memories… something about this place seems wrong. There’s the faint scent of blood in the air. An odor of death and decay that lingers in his nostrils, practically causing him to wretch with every breath he inhales. He doesn’t know why he’s here, in this God forsaken castle, some fortress of years gone by hidden in the country of Sweden, away from the rest of civilization. He lifts his hand slowly to the window, running his fingers slowly across the heavy iron bars, feeling the rust rub off on his fingertips as he does so… he tries to solve the mystery, to figure out why someone felt the need to bar the windows all that time ago. What were they trying to keep out… or what were they trying to keep in?
He inhales deeply, fighting through the overwhelming stench of death as he turns and once more makes his way down the hall way, his heels clipping the floor softly once more. He ignores the cloud that escapes from between his lips each time he exhales, and he ignores the tingling in his fingers and toes which he always feels right before he goes numb. He runs his hand down the back of his neck, trying to flatten the hairs which are standing on their own… trying to rub down the goose bumps which reveal one unflattering fact to the world.
He’s scared.
He finally reaches the end of the corridor after what seems like an eternity, stopping in front of a heavy wooden door. A heavy brass ring hangs down from the door, the head of a demon of some kind carved into the front… it’s eyes empty and penetrating, it’s face twisted with an eternity of eternal torment. He shakes his head, berating himself for seeing any kind of life from a gargoyle-like door handle, for thinking it was anything other than a carving. Its eyes are brass; its face is brass… it’s not real, end of story.
He wraps his hands around the handle; his fingers twisting tightly around the surface, the frigid, metallic surface sending chills running up his arm and then down his spine. He pauses for a moment, making sure that he really wants to do this… then he pulls. It’s heavier than he expected, and he pulls with all his might… his muscles strain and his body screams, but finally it begins to budge. The ancient hinges squeak loudly enough to wake the dead, the bottom of the wooden planks scraping across the stone floor with a quiet whisper. He releases the handle, allowing the door to swing the rest of the way by itself, coming to a halt just inches in front of the wall.
He stares ahead, into the abyss, his pupils dilating, trying frantically to adjust to the darkness that’s befallen him. A wave of stench overpowers him, centuries worth of mildew and rotting flesh escaping their confines at once and rushing into the rest of the world… free at last. He reaches up to the wall, grabbing one of the torches slowly, feeling several insects rushing out of the rotted wood and across his knuckles as he grasps the handle. He holds it out in front of him, allowing the flame to illuminate the rest of the tomb, but the light doesn’t travel far before it’s swallowed up by the shadows.
He swallows hard, his Adams apple bouncing in his throat like a basketball as he tries to slow his heart rate and steady his breath. His eyes dart around the darkness, trying to find something to reassure himself that he’ll be safe, anything that tells him something in this room wont be his end… but the shadows are impenetrable. Finally, he forces himself to step forward across the threshold, leaving the safety of the corridor and entering the realm of the unknown.
[shadow=BLACK,left,300]To Be Continued...[/shadow]