Hoovertown Horror

>>200713
Feeling the lack of inspiration, I decide to take a nap, hoping it will take me to grandiose vistas of unknown horror

>keep writing

>>200713
Wander down to our favourite pub looking for inspiration

>>200713
Open the window and look down onto the streets.

>>200713
>keep writing

>>200749
second

>>200749
This conditional on it being a veterans club

>>200726
You are about to write the climax of the story, but the words won't come to you. You sigh heavily and decide a good night's sleep is in order.
You get up and disrobe, taking special care to take of your eye patch. You catch a glance of yourself in the mirror. The vacant hole where your eye used to be taunts you. If you were only a little faster maybe things would be different.
Thoughts like that make you want to drink.
The bed squeaks as you lay into it. Sleep comes quickly
Then darkness
Everything is mud and sweat and fury. You've got to move and keep moving. Fire and stay under cover.
The Trenches.
Chaos exists outside the trenches. The roiling symphony of war. Screams and explosions fill your ears. The Krauts are coming.
You climb up to the side of the trench and stop suddenly as you look out.
There is nothing outside the trenches. All the sounds of war are coming from a literal void just outside the sunken ramparts.
Your eyes widen. The sound seems different now. The screams and explosions have a cadence behind them. Almost like speech but not like any speech he could fathom.
You are staring into the void
You could crawl further, or go back down into the trenches.
Fear is welling up in your gut. You almost want to fire into the abyss to try and silence whatever is out there
Or you could
>Write in

>>200853
Go further. We're not a coward.

>>200853
Fuck fuck fuck shit's about to go down. Shoot into the abyss multiple times, then crawl back into the trench.

>>200905
Seconded. We've got 99 grit after all

>>200905
I am no coward
You think to yourself. This void has no horrors in it that you haven't experienced. This thing sounds like war. You've been through those fires.
You crawl forward. Gun in hand. Ready for whatever this nightmare has to offer.
As soon as you cross the threshold something grabs you. You cannot see it but it holds onto you like a vice.
The darkness surrounds you and holds you in place. Shapes appear. The sound of death and battle take form and strike towards you
Into your eye.
>Roll dice+1d6
>Then roll 1d100 in a linked post
Rolls are for Sanity loss and Grit check. In that order.

Rolled 4 (1d6)

>>201031

Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>201031

Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>201031

Rolled 2 (1d6)

>>201031

Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>201101

>>201040
>>201051

It feels like an icicle is being jammed into your eye. You flash back to the Kraut shoving the knife into your skull and scream. The thought that this was a nightmare crosses your mind and you try to wake up. Desperately you try to rip your eyes out of this darkness. The sound shapes were torturing him with their braying sounds.
Your eye rips open just in time to see the darkness retreat into your ceiling. Leaving a hole.
Its morning.
There is a hole in your ceiling. It definently wasn't there when you went to bed last night
And your eye -hurts-.
Besides the new sunlight your apartment looks undisturbed.
You think back to the nightmare and shudder. It felt so -real-.
It would make a good short story.
>What should you do?

>>201257
Finish our story using our dream for inspiration. Maybe we should do some research into the paranormal, lets see if our local library or university has any enlightening books

>>201300
+1

>>201300
Roll 1d100 int check

>>201300
This.
And spackle the hole, of course

Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>201314

>>201300
>>201316
>>201322

The dream was horrifying. It would be a perfect location for the darkness dimension! Your mind reels with possibilities about the antagonist facing off against the dimensional Shambler in the nebulous expanse of war sounds and darkness.
You wonder if there were any references in Lovecraft to such a place. You quickly dress, your eye patch slides on like a glove. The socket still hurts like the Dickens.
After a quick shave and a drink you begin to write.

"The beast looked like a man gone wrong. His proportions made no sense in any biological sense. It shuffled awkwardly, like a wounded predator ready to strike. It grabbed Mark faster than he could react and tore him from his place in reality.. into THE DARKNESS DIMENSION"

You write for a few hours and finish the short story. It's some of your better work

>Roll 1d4 sanity gain

You spackle your roof. You aren't horribly crafty but your rather thought you how to take care of a home. You decide to give it time to dry by going to the library.

You delve into Lovecraft lore. You've never been a huge fan. But his style was selling and it aloud you to write as darkly as you wished. It helped you expel your demons by turning them into fictional beasts to torment other souls.

After a few hours of reading you couldn't find any references similar to your dream.

You could go home and write more. Or you could go down to the local Veterans Tavern.
>Or write in

Rolled 2 (1d4)

>>201412
go to the Tavern

>After a few hours of reading you couldn't find any references similar to your dream.

Didn't Herbert West have a WW1 chapter ?

Rolled 3 (1d4)

>>201412
>Drink more whisky, then walk to the tavern. Take a longer route to take some time to calm down.

>>201478
I don't think it was similar to Henry's dream

>>201478
You decide to head of the the Veterans Tavern, a dive called "Lady's Mercy"
The place was never very full and the crowd was quiet. It was a good place to go and self medicate and maybe swap a few war stories if the right folks were around.
You walk past the local hoovertown on the way from the library to the bar. It is quiet. You check your watch and notice it's only 4:30. Normally the vagrants would be out drinking or cooking. They were not a lively lot but they were never completely inactive.
You make a note of this and move on to the bar. Maybe the police shoved them all off.
It's a loud night at The Lady's Mercy. A group of younger navy boys have taken over the bar and are singing drinking songs. A group of the regulars have all moved over into the corner of the bar. Snickering at the youthfulness of the visitors.
>What should you do?

>>201585
Go over to the Navy boys and tell them they don't know shit about war.

>>201526
Indeed, not quite
>>201585
Join the regulars and ask them why the sailors are here

>>201585
Order a beer from the bar and join the regulars at their table.

>>201628
>>201643
You walk up to the bar and order a whiskey neat. The bartender is Phil, an old British airman with a large moustache greats you warmly.
"Ows' the writin' going Enry'?"
"Fine. Fine. Just wrapped up a story today"
You take your drink before he responds, luckily the Navy folks needed his attention.
Four regulars are in their own corner of the bar, silently drinking their drinks.
Sam Davis was a soldier in your platoon. You were far from being friends. Bad memories cropped up when you two saw each other
Warren Guarding was a plump ex field medic. He ran triage during The Battle of Somme and had seen many men die.
Two men sat in their own booth and spoke to each other. You haven't seen them here before.
>Who do you want to talk too?

>>201737
>Talk to Warren Guarding

>>201737
>talk to the two strangers

>>201909
You and Henry had spoken before. Compared experiences in the trenches. Somme was a rolling hell. Days and days of artillery fire and death. You wondered what Warren would think of your dream.
Warren greats you with a smile.
"Can I sit with you? These brats aren't exactly my type of people"
Warren smirked. "But of course, I was just thinking about our last conversation then you appear! How goes your writing friend?
You sit down and take a sip from your glass
"I just finished a story, it went really well actually"
>Ask if he'd like to read your story sometime
>Describe how your dream inspired your story
>Change the subject
>Ask him if he's had any odd dreams lately
>Write in

>>202090
>Ask him if he's had any odd dreams lately

>>202090
>Change the subject

Ask Warren about how he's been.

>>202103
"No I haven't Henry, I drink until I pass out and I don't dream at all. It's hard enough being conscious. But whenever I dream I see the faces of the men I gave death sentences too. You know how it goes Henry" Warren takes a gulp from his glass.

>>202137
"I've been as good as ever. I'm either here or working. The Private Practice isn't doing too well now-a-days" he looks into his drink. He seems like he wants to tell you something.
The Navy boys are still singing. The two strangers are shooting daggers with their eyes in their direction

>Continue talking to Warren
>Write in

>>202285
The strangers are looking at the Navy boys, not us? Good.

>Continue talking to Warren. Mention, ideally in an offhand way, that we had an odd dream.

>>202560
"Yeah my dreams aren't usually very pleasurable myself Warren. In fact the one i had recently was very different from the rest."
Warren's eyes light up.
"If you don't mind me prying, how so?"
You describe to him the dream in full detail. But you omit the part where you saw a dark shape escape out of the roof of his apartment and the pain in your eye. You aren't ready to share that.
"That sounds like death Henry. Blackness and war. If that inspired your book I dread to think what lies between those pages"
Warren takes a drink.
"Please excuse me, the crowd tonight doesn't suit me. I'm going to pay my tab and head home. I'll buy you a drink. "
Warren excuses himself somewhat awkwardly and goes to the bar. Soon another whiskey appears next to his now empty glass.
The two strangers are talking to each other still. Occasionally looking at the rowdy navy boys
Sam Davis is avoiding looking at you.
Phil is busy at the bar.
You could leave and go back home. It's roughly 5 o'clock and you need to get your copy of "The Dark Dimension" to the office. But you could always do that tomorrow.
>Or write in

>>202753
>tell the little bastards to quiet down if they take offense pull the Krauts trench knife out of our boot.

>>202785
You wish you could enjoy your drink in peace. These Navy Kids scared out the only decent company in the bar and you aren't a little pissed about it.
"Hey! This isn't some port bar where you can come in and act like a rowdy bunch of hooligans."
You yell at them. They all immediately shut up and glare at you.
"Yeah this is an Army bar you Navy Faggots"
One of the strangers yells out.
Phil turns bright red as the atmosphere of the room turns thick with tension.
"Oh this is an army bar? We thought for a second it was a retirement home"
The group erupts into laughter. The two strangers stand up. They are in their late thirties and look rather fit for it.
>Should you get up as well?
>Or let the strangers handle it
>Or write in

>>202870
Back the two strangers up. A bunch of baby faced Navy pricks is still a gang. They could use backup. And maybe they'll tell you what happened to all the bums.

>>203160
The odds were two on six at the moment. That didn't seem that fair to you. Based on the looks on everyone's faces a fight was imminent.
You stand up next to the strangers. They look at you appreciatively.
One is a shorter. Stout Italian looking gentleman.
The other is a large fellow with red hair. He looked like what you imagined vikings to look like. The man had a face that would look equally in place in the trenches of the great war or smashing a great sword into a line of enemy warriors. You figured he counted as two men upon further inspection.
Four on Six. You could work with those odds
One of the Navy men twitched and the silence broke.
Roll dice+1d100 for a grit check.

Rolled 27 (1d100)

rawlin'

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>203216
I'm new but I'm hopeful!

>>203280
The Viking ran forward and through an uppercut and knocked out the ringleader of the Navy boys. He was then immediately jumped by two others. The Italian has taken a barstool and has started slamming it on his attackers. Two of the men corner you and you strike out without thinking. Muscle memory takes over as you slap your fist into the nose of your first attacker. The second one lands a punch in your gut. You hold back the pain and knee the man in the groin. He drops screaming. The first attacker shoves you into a booth. You see him pull out a knife. You reach for your boot as you notice a glass fly through the air and crash against the back of the man's head. He falls down. Phil cries joyously from the bar, the man has your back. 5 on 3 now.
You jump up out of the booth and the Viking has downed another man. He is currently slamming his second attackers head into the bar.
The Italian is still fending off his attacker with the bar stool. He is beginning to look tired.
You jump into the fray to the Italians aid and knock the man in the head with the butt of your knife. He falls down.
The Viking finishes off the last navy man.
"You better not be here when these chaps awaken" Phil mutters from the bar.
"C'mon stranger. We can gets drinks at my place. I feel like I owe you one"
"I'm Frank, the big guy is Walter"
The Italian extends his hand and you give him a firm handshake. "I take it you were an infantry man?" You nod in the affirmative.
>Do you go with them?
>Any questions before you go?
>Write in

>>203566
Go with them but ask what they served as.

>>203566
Seconding >>204121

If Warren is still here, ask him if he wants to come with us.

>>204121
we can talk about that over drinks at his place, we don't need to ask that before we go

>>204121
Walter the Viking speaks up. "Officially we are..were army. We can swap war stories at the house" the two lead the way out of the bar as you hear pained moaning begin in the bar. You didn't envy the Navy boys. Between the hangover and the whooping they would not be feeling well in the morning.
The three of you talk and get to know each other a little better on the short walk over. Frank the Italian served in the trenches like you did. He doesn't describe his experience, he doesn't have too, his eyes tell the story. Walter never goes into detail about his service or what he did. He also is very fond of the word "officially". You aren't sure whether or not to delve deeper. Walter has the demeanor of an ox. Resolute and pissed off.
You notice that you are walking into the Hooterville you passed earlier. It's still completely silent. "this is your place?" You ask.
"One of them" Says Frank. "But in the last week it's been a lot more quiet around here." Walter sighs. "Used to be a lot of veterans here. We watched out for each other. Now they are almost all gone from here. "
You never realized how shitty it was to be a veteran in this country. The recruiters always sold it like you would return a venerated hero. Not homeless with only the support of your fellow soldiers to rely on.
You get to their hut and its about what you expect. Two cots, a roof and a dirt floor. A stash of both empty and full liquor bottles are neatly arranged around the place. Walter and Frank are quick to pop one open and take a swig. You wonder if you'll be in their place soon
>"So tell us about yourself Henry

>>204397
talk about how we're an author, maybe describe our latest story

>>204444
Nice quads

>>204444
You take a swig of their liquor. It's some cheap gin that you are almost sure originated from some bathtub in a basement nearby.
"I write horror stories for "Screams in The Night", ever hear of it?"
Frank lights up. "I loved reading that as a young lad! How long have you worked there?"
You smile. "A few years now, they hired me to write the Lovecraft bits. We don't drop his name officially. I just write in his style. Madness and other dimensions with dreaming dead things"
Walter takes a large drink. "have you written anything interesting lately?"
You describe your most recent story. It was about a man being stalked by the Dimensional Shambler. He starts seeing it hide in mirrors and reflections. A horrible man shaped monster from another realm watching him from the corners of his eyes. Walter and Frank go silent as they listen to you recount the tale.
The man starts to investigate the beast. Looking for others who have seen it. Whenever he tracks down someone who has seen what he has described they disappear. Until finally he is confronted by the beast and taken to The Darkness Dimension.
You describe the place as you saw it in your dream. That it was the place where all the nightmares of battle have come to rest and churn and boil. You described hell to them and their faces began to whiten as you describe the climax of the story.
A foreboding silence fills the shack.
"I'm turning in the draft tomorrow. " You say. Trying to say anything to shake out the dread in the room
"You are writing nightmares friend" Walter speaks finally. "I'll have to make sure to read it. You sound like a brilliant writer"

You continue to drink with them for a few hours. The mood never fully lightens up. You talk about the fight some more. All laughing a bit at how green those navy boys were and how sore they were going to be in the morning. You like these men.
>You could ask them a few more questions
>Its starting to get late, it may be time to go home
>Or you could drink with them all night
>Or write in

>>204496
>Its starting to get late, it may be time to go home

>>204496
Go home

>>204577
>>204623
You decide it's time to head home. "I ought to get back to my apartment friends. I've got to turn in that draft in the morning. " They warmly say goodbye and tell you to come back to The Lady's Mercy sometime soon for a drink. You walk through the empty Hooverville. The silence has a weight of its own.
The walk home was uneventful. Thank God, past thing you needed was to get mugged. It's not like they would even get much anyway. You crawl up to your apartment and change out of your clothes.
Your eye hole still hurts. You decide to keep your eye patch on. You assume it to be a phantom pain of some sort.
You need to pack up the manuscript for your boss in the morning. The need to sleep tugs at you. Too much alcohol and not enough food. You feel fit to pass out.
>Or write in

>>204653
>Sleep in a different room to the room with the hole in the ceiling. If that darkness comes back, we aren't going to be there.

File: SINS OF OUR LUST.jpg (15KB, 288x432px) Image search: [Google]

15KB, 288x432px

>>204653
>phantom pain
>such a lust for lovecraft
>WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?

>>204669
You eye the spackled hole in the ceiling. It states back with no small amount of dread. You decide to sleep in the bathtub tonight. You aren't ready to face that all night.
You grab your blanket and pillows and make yourself as comfortable as possible in the bathtub with a small glass of whiskey. Before long you fall asleep fretfully.
Silence overtakes you.
Then the explosions begin.
You are in the trenches again. Initially you are back in the war mentally. Those bastards are coming. We need to push forward before they attack.
But then you hear something new. The sounds of war beyond the top of the trenches had new voices in its chaotic choir.
New screams.
You remember this nightmare and center yourself.
Then you listen. You hear a familiar voice in the distance. Warren. He is telling commands.
You crawl to the top of the trench and find that abysmal black again. But this time you hear Warren in the distance. Talking about trauma wounds and triage. He is choosing who lives and dies. And prescribing drugs to put men out of their misery.
So many more new pained screams have entered your nightmare.
You crawl back down into the trench. You are unsure if you want to reenter the void. Your eye still has a vague pain to it from the last time.
The trenches are empty. The sounds of war and death are deafeningly loud. You are unsure of what to do.
>Roll 1d100 grit check
Roll 1d4 sanity loss in a linked post.
>Write in on what to do

Rolled 25 (1d100)

>>204738

Rolled 2 (1d4)

>>204738
>>204777
Once more into the black.
Lets see if we can find the source of warrens voice.

Rolled 55 (1d100)

>>204738
I'll give it a shot.

Rolled 3 (1d4)

>>204946
Hella!

Rolled 2 (1d4)

>>204738
Seconding >>204780

Rolled 56 (1d100)

>>204951
I got the rolls in the wrong order; sorry.

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>204780
I agree

>>204777
>>204780
I'm taking these rolls but I have to go to work. When I get back I'll either poster here or make a new thread if need be. Thanks guys!

>>205158
Actually fuck it. One more post

You listen into the void. You definently hear Warren in there. Maybe he is trapped like you were last night, getting tortured by those shapeless masses that held you down. You need to find him.
You crawl out into the darkness.
Nothing grabs you this time, which you are very thankful for. It feels like you are moving through molasses in a boundless nothing. Dread climbs into you as the sounds get louder.
"Fucking hold him down if I don't get this bullet out he will lose the whole arm!!"
A man screams as Warren audibly grunts.
"Goddamn it. He's fucking dead. The bullet knicked an artery. Put him to the side and keep him comfortable. Fucking next. "
You begin to see muddy dark shapes in the darkness. Then light.
The trenches of the Somme.
Warren is there. He is running through the trenches treating men. More are ruining than he can save. He looks years younger in the flesh but centuries older in his eyes. You can only see him, for some reason you can move no further. This isn't your nightmare to enter.
You hear another familiar voice. Two in fact.
Beyond Warren you can hear a fire blazing and more screams. This time in German. It sounds like Walter and Frank. It's too far away to tell.
A familiar cadence takes over the noises of war. This time louder and more feral. You look behind you and a swirling mass of black shapes is reaching for you.
A scream escapes you as the pain in your lost eye erupts. It feels like something in your skull is pulling you towards the abomination in the dark. The howling exploding thing hiding behind the screams of dying men. You feel as if death resides here and it's trying to find you.
>Surrender to it. It's hard enough to crawl here let alone run.
>Try to get Warren's attention
>Try to go into the Battle of Somme
>Try to get closer to Walter and Frank's voice
>Write in

I may be able to post again in a few hours. Keep the thread alive.

>>205251
>Try to go into the Battle of Somme

>>205251
>Try to go to the battle of sommen.
You are a fucking soldier and the first thing you learn in boot camp is don't fucking die! It doesn't matter if it's to German gas or black insanity! You will finish up your god damn job come hell or high water!

>>205420
Let's kick ass!

>>205450
And chew bubblegum.

>>205401
>>205420
>>205450
>>205533
Roll 1d100 grit check
Seriously 99 grit is OP as fuck

Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>205581
Ok dokey boss

Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>205581

Rolled 10 (1d100)

>>205581
Fuck yeah! Let's gut some fucking Germs!

>>205729
Fear pushes you forward. You -must- avoid that thing in the howling dark. You push forward and meet resistance. You are inches away from entering the battle of Somme, you see a young Warren climbing over the battlements to pull wounded soldiers into safety. You remember him telling you about this battle in The Lady's Mercy Tavern. You see the same look in his eyes that he gives you when he tells this story. Fear and Guilt.
You push through and the silence screams as you break the barrier.
July 19, 1916
Battles up to this point had been in favour of the British. Bot today the soldiers on the lines were inexperienced with trench combat and the Germans were ready. You crash into the fray and immediately begin fighting. Somehow losing yourself in the melee. It's just like it was during the war. You just shut off and began to fight. Warren stops what he is doing and looks at you. Completely befuddled. "t-That can't b-be right." He stutters. You both share a glance that gets shattered by two German troops jumping into your trench. You immediately slam your weapon into the neck of one while Warren quickly dispatches the other with his pistol.
The sounds of war around you are distorting. You look into the distance and see that void again. This time it is reaching in. Darkness is hitting the trenches of Somme like light on a window sill. You grab Warren and move deeper into the trenches. Feeling like you are avoiding the gaze of a dark and powerful god.
"Warren Jesus I never knew it was this bad. "
Warren looks sick.
"You shouldn't be here Henry, you weren't here. You didn't die today. I've never dreamt of you here before."
You look at him oddly. You've never had anyone in a dream admit that they were dreaming.
You've never dreamt this vividly before either. Everything feels liquid. Like your surroundings are just barely there like a dream. But the sounds, sensations and feelings all feel like real.
Roll 1d100 intelligence check
Also
>We have Warren. He is following you but you have no idea where to go to avoid the abyss
>You could ask Warren for advice
>You could just run in the opposite direction of the void
>Or write in

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>205955
>Warn Warren about what we encountered the first night and ask for advice

>>205981
Warren is only getting more pale. You need to get him focused.
"Warren look at me, you KNOW I don't die today. I'm here to help you. The darkness entering the trenches is bad news Warren. It got me and did something to my eye. We need to run. "
Warren looks at you glassy eyed. "Maybe it's death finally coming for me Henry. I've never dreamt anything like that before. "
He looks at his hands: perplexed
"maybe it's time to atone for all the boys I let die"
You smack Warren. Hard. A bit of color returns to his face. "Goddamn it Warren it's not anyone's time to die! I don't know this area and I need you to lead me out of the trenches and away from these goddamn Krauts!!"
He looks through you. At the void filling the trenches like water. He looks at the war sounds and sees something. What that is you couldn't tell.
"The British have an H.Q to the west. If you can make it I'm Sur they can evac you out. Good Luck Henry"
You grab Warren to try and pull him with you but the darkness is on him. It stretched around you to grab him by the legs. They look like opaque tendrils of darklight that vibrate with life. Warren doesn't scream as he is pulled over your head and into the darkness.
It's time to run.
You look over your shoulder in time to see the tendrils surrounding Warren and reaching into his chest straight through his jacket and flesh. It almost looks like the horrid thing is trying to scoop out his heart.
Looking over your shoulder you run into a man and turn to see the face of a German soldier fumbling with his rifle, he had been running as well and you knocked him off balance. You quickly sink your bayonet into his leg and punch him in the face with the butt of your rifle and keep running. When the man screams the sounds of gunfire escape his lips rather than a voice.
The walls of the trenches are begining to melt away. That molasses feeling is returning and you fear the abyss is returning to claim you.
Then you wake up.
Your mind immediately goes to Warren and the blank eyed stare he had as the beast made of war sounds claimed him. You wonder if there was more in the gin your new friends gave you than just alcohol.
>It's 7:30, you have to turn in your draft to "Screams in the Night" by 9:00am
>You could call up Warren, but he usually sleeps till the mid-day and it wouldn't be unusual for him not to answer
>or Write in

>>206038
>>It's 7:30, you have to turn in your draft to "Screams in the Night" by 9:00am
I'd go turn in that draft.Short stories are the only thing keeping you from sleeping under newspaper. You should probably go check on Frank and Walter, see if they wouldn't need some company till noon.

>>206038
Leave your house, go to the Forrest you played in as a child or a hole in the wall bar with dim lights. Think back to your life before the war, before you changed.
>Try to sort what really happened from you dreams.

>>206167
If it's a stalemate I'll vote for this.

You get up and shave. You forgot to take off your eye patch last night. The doc says you need to let it breathe every once in a while. But you haven't really had the courage to look under that black flap since the event night before last and you aren't in the best of moods after sleeping in the bathtub for the night. You shower, shave and get work ready.
You take a shot of whiskey then walk out the door with your rough draft in hand.
You begin to walk to work, it isn't far. You try to think about the man you used to be. When you were younger and not war torn inside and out.
You were a writer, and by your teachers praise a potentially talented one. You had always had a gift for poetry of all things. Turning the mundane into the beautiful was your favorite thing to do and the work just flowed out of you. You wrote of the beauty in campfires and how not knowing love is just as beautiful as love since the promise of its wonders still existed. You were hopeful. It was a very different time. You lived in a small town in Idaho and spent most summers fly fishing with your father as he taught you what it meant to be a man. He always thought you were too up in your head. Honestly you think your father thought you were gay. He never approved of your poetry and never saw any benefit to the practice. But you wrote anyway. You even wrote about him to try and please him.
Then the war came and you found a way to please your father. Then those idyllic summers ended.
You shake yourself out of the daydream. You hadn't thought that far into the past in a long time. Most of the time you tried not to ponder the past at all. These days you turned the mundane into monstrous things in your work. It suits who you are now.
An old soldier, slowly drinking himself away.


The offices of "Screams in the Night" appear ahead of you and you quickly head up to the editors office. His name is Sternwell and he isn't horribly fond of you.
"I could smell you on the way up Henry, do you start any morning without a drink?"
You smirk. He's an asshole but your stories are popular. So he's stuck with you, that makes you happy that he detests the arrangement so much but can't afford to let you loose.
"I've got "The Dark Dimension" written and ready for you to pick apart. Please don't make me remove anything too intelligent for you to read. Just trust that our readers are more literate than your average house cat"
You both share a glare as he takes the envelope from your hands.
"Try to stay sober enough for me to talk to you coherently at 4 o'clock Henry, I'll give you my notes then. Now get the fuck out of my office"
You smile as you exit. He seemed more civil today than usual, he must be in a good mood. "

>Anything else you want to do while you are here?
>We could go find Walter and Frank
>Or we could kill time until noon and give Warren a call
>The Lady's Mercy is nearby, a drink would always be good
>Or you could use that last bit of money to get some food
>Or write in.

>>206208
I just combined them because I liked both of them. Sorry I take so long to write.

>>206228
Go to a book store and look around in the misc or discarded book section, it better to just take your mind off of life if you want to stay somewhat sober untill 4.
>Try to find some more inspiration or at least a interesting meeting with another person who enjoys the same kind of literature.

>>206425
You mull over what to do for the next few hours. You have to think of a new story to write and its best to have an idea before that bastard back at the office gives you a deadline. So you decide to go to a small bookstore you know called "Adam's Apple". It's owned by a local bibliophile you are friendly with and he has a whole section dedicated to cerebral horror stories you liked to peruse for inspiration. Occasionally you would meet a few interesting people there.
You walk to the store, it's open and the smell of coffee and old books fills your lungs as you enter.
Adam has his face buried in "The Elements of Style" and hardly acknowledges you as you enter.
>Go to the cerebral horror
>Go to the the sci Fi section
>Find someone to talk too
>Ask Adam to take you to the private collection. You can read any of the books there for a small fee. But then you wouldn't have any money for food or booze until you get paid by the editor.

>>206529
Go in the secret area, the best way to not drink is to be not able to drink I guess.
>If that seem like a bad idea writing wise I would say talk to someone and go to sci fiction section.
>Elron hubbord is a good author :-)

>>206548
"Adam, I need in the private collection. I need to find some inspiration."
Adam looks up finally and looks you in the face. "Time for a new short story? This soon? I feel like it was days ago when you were last in here digging up old Lovecraft books. Yeah I can let you in. Regular fee of course. "
Money exchanges hands and Adam leads you to the back. Adam is a bibliophile in every sense of the word. He grew up rich and apparently spent most of his life folded between the pages of a book. The man doesn't have an ounce of muscle in him. He was only as social as he needed to be to run his store. Otherwise it was all just an excuse to get paid to read.
His private collection was cherry though. You had only been in it once before out of curiosity. They were a collection of rare and often single run copies of tomes from as far back as the 1600s. Adam was an expert.
The private collection was set up like a lounge, the books neatly displayed in glass or lined up on the shelf depending on their individual needs.
Immediately a few books stand out.
>Damnation: Heinrich Giger
This is a leather bound book with gold foil inside the lettering. Adam describes it as a German Alice in Wonderland
>The Darkness Beckons: Adam Hanoi
You look at the back of this. It's a series of poems by a young man who committed suicide. He apparently served in the great war
>Demonf, Fritef, and faerief: Leward Gentil
A book from the 17th century describing demons, sprites and faeries and how to combat them.
>A blank book: author unknown
You ask Adam about this book and he describes it as a recent acquisition. Some rumblings about the copy existed saying that it was either the ramblings of a madman or fantastical genius.

>Which book would you like to read?

>>206576
Clearly the blank book will be the most interesting story wise, but I wouldn't mind reading the Gentil book irl.

>>206576
I would pick the blank book out of curiosity but the more logical choice would be the German Alice in wonderland.
>So I vote for the Blank book by the unknown author.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Codex_Seraphinianus
I had something like this in mind.

>>206581
>>206584

You decide that a gaze into madness could never hurt in your particular genre of work so you decide on the blank book by author unknown.
You take a seat as Adam leaves. The book looks like typewriter paper that has been bound with red thread. The cover is a thicker paper. The whole thing looks rather innocuous. You chuckle as you begin to read, somewhat looking forward to this little oddity Adam has collected.
Soon your eyes widen. This isn't what you expected.
The writers style is stream of consciousness mixed with prose. It describes a man trying not to see something lest it become real.
You raise an eyebrow. That's an interesting concept. A Schroedinger's Monster of sort. It doesn't exist if you aren't perceiving it.
You read on.
"Between The Lines
Before its seen
The monster waits
His eyes unseeing for they have yet to be described
His claws reaching into the horror in your mind
Finding substance within your fright
Finding life in your attention.
Becoming a monster at the slightest mention"
The writer doesn't always makes sense and you find his poems disjointed and frankly inorganic in flow. But the concept of this non-monster is inspiring in itself.
You finish the book in a few hours, it ends with the writer threatening to describe the beast and sending it to the reader. Then as the beast appears the lines on the page turn black. As if censored with a black marker. You find that interesting as an effect to build dread within the reader and to cast doubt on the fiction. It could be something you could use in a new story.
You leave, feeling very inspired and ready to write more.
It's 3:00. Sternwell will be calling you in an hour. It would be wise to be near a phone.
Sternwell knew he could reach you at one of two places. Your apartment phone or at The Lady's Mercy Tavern. If you went home you could work on your new story, if you go to the tavern you could maybe reconnect with Warren, Frank or Walter and maybe get a free drink if anyone who owed you a favor is around.
>Also I need a 1d100 intelligence check please

Rolled 43 (1d100)

>>206630
I would say go to the bar and hope to see Warren, even if he bring back old memories it's good to see a old friend.

Rolled 90 (1d100)

>>206630
>Go See if warren is alright.
I get the feeling he isn't

>>206638
You decide to go back to the bar and check to see if Warren is there and wait for the phone call from Sternwell.
The walk is short. You pass the Hooverville you spent some time in last night. It's still almost completely devoid of activity. You hope Walter and Frank are ok. You aren't sure why you feel the need to hope for that. If he was a religious man it would be time to pray.
The Lady's Mercy had fallen back into its regular level of gloom. Phil smiles as you from behind the bar as you enter. You immediately look for Warren in his regular booth but he isn't there. It's 3:45. Sternwell usually calls the tavern first. You admit to yourself that this isn't without precedent.
The bar has a few other regulars in the bar. Many you recognize but none owe you a drink unfortunately.
>You could go ask Phil some questions
>Or strike up a short conversation
>Or just wait for the phone call

See if Phil has seen Warren, if not ask if he could give him a call, and it's not like our dickbag boss will be angry with us because the BARPHONE is busy, right?

>>206916
I'm taking this but I have no time to write before work today. I'll either make a new thread or post in this one if it's still running

>>207429
You walk up to the counter. You are starting to get a really bad feeling about Warren.
"Hey Phil, sorry about last night."
"It wasn't the first fight in here chap it won't be the last" he looks at you smugly.
You clear your throat and ask "Has Warren been in today?"
"No he hasn't, usually he is in around this time. He could be on the way, or maybe the blighter finally decided to quit drinking. You and him are the only fellas keeping me afloat here so let's hope it isn't that eh?" Phil is trying to be nice. Unfortunately the dread welling up in you makes this a lost cause.
"All right then, may I borrow your phone?"
Phil nods and you walk over to the device and the operator connects you to warren's number
*Ring
*Ring
*ring
This continues, you find the shrill time of the phone maddening. Warren isn't answering.
You are officially more than worried. You hang up the phone and sigh.
Immediately the bar phone rings and you pick it up.
"Henry? It's Sternwell. I knew you'd be here. "
You roll your eyes
"So what's getting cut?"
There's a pause on the end of the line, Sternwell is slowly taking air into his lungs and its slightly audible over the phone. You know the man does this when he is building up the courage to day something he doesn't want to.
"Well Henry... I think you've found that balance between alcoholism and basic talent where genius lives you lush. Honestly it's the best story you've ever written. Scariest too. I don't have any notes for you Henry. It's dark, frightening and the climax really stays with you after you've out it down. I've had a case of the creeps ever since I finished it. "
This is the nicest Sternwell has ever been to you, he must see dollar signs in this somehow.
"Look.. your getting the front page. I'm finding an artist to draw up something and your story is going to headline the issue. If you stay sober enough to type out another story of this quality you could end up headlining next month too. Keep it up Henry. I've given you a bonus, it's been deposited into your bank already just go ahead and try not to spend it all on booze before next month. Ciao"
He hangs up abruptly and you are left alone with your thoughts

>>207589
Are we being asked for an action?

If so, we should go home and then drive to Warren's house, if we know his address. If we don't know Warren's address, we should drink alone and think about our next story.

>>207846
yeah lets do this

>>207846
Agreed we don't have many friends left we should watch out for the ones we still have.

>>207589

Head on over to Warren's, we need to check on the guy

>>207846
>>208079
>>208420
>>209144

The excitement of the front page story would have to wait. You are becoming more and more worried about Warren. You want to make sure he is ok. You quickly walk out of The Lady's Mercy and begin heading his way. You walk, you don't have any cash handy to get a cab so the entire trip takes thirty minutes.
Warren had money, he owned his own building near times square and would frequent the area as much as he could. He only visited The Lady's Mercy because he liked to speak to other veterans. You always liked Warren. He struck up a conversation with you when you were at your lowest and helped you find your job at "Screams in the Night" after you told him your passion was writing. He pulled you out of the gutter and left you on the curb to make it yourself. You owed him.
Thank lights of the city begin to light as the sun sets. You are glad the city is keeping the darkness away. The image of Warren's heart being penetrated by the darkness and war sounds kept ringing in your head like a film flickering in the dark.
Finally you make it to his house and knock on the door. There is no answer after a full minute.
"This isnt unusual. " You try to remind to remind yourself. "We are friends but not "talk everyday " friends. He could be anywhere"
You look at his building. It's a small three story. There could be a lot of ways in.
>You could break in. This seems desperate
>You could knock again
>Maybe waiting would be a good option.
>Or write in.

>>210017
>>>210017
>break in
Only reasonable choice, unless I'm going insane.

>>210017
>write in
Knock loudly. If he doesn't open, go to the nearest payphone, ask the operator for Warren's number, and call his home. If he still doesn't answer, then break in.

>>210079
Seconding

>>210079
>>210087
You decide to knock again. Urgently. You do your best impression of how a police officer would knock on the door.
Still nothing. Fear for your friend rises in you. Frantic choices cross your mind and you decide to call him again. If he doesn't answer you are going to break in. You can explain it to him if he is ok. Or maybe even escape before he discovers you broke in. It would be worth it to figure out if he is ok.
You set onward to find a phone. After being rejected at a gas station you find a family grocery store that lets you use the phone after you buy a candy bar. You urgently tell the operator who to connect you to and the phone rings.
And rings.
And rings.
Once again. No answer. You must discover whether or not he is ok. The fear of your dream somehow being validified by something happening to Warren frightened you. It would be more agreeable for your dreams to be portents of madness rather than some sort of nebulous thing that had an effect on the real world. Your nightmares must stay in the night.
You run back to Warren's and look over the place.
>You could attempt to Jimmy the door.
>Or climb in through a window
>Or check for a way in through the alley
>Or write in

>>210199
Check for a way through the alley. Then attempt to jimmy the door if that doesn't work.

Sorry guys. I'll post in the morning. Op is not kill

>>210199
>Or check for a way in through the alley

>>210199
>Or climb in through a window

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23KB, 300x245px

>>211111
NICE GETS.

>>210199
>Write in

Just go home. The dream didn't mean anything and Warren is probably off on work somewhere.

>>211451
>Dem Rolls

Is OP kill?

OP?

File: 1408285524869.jpg (1MB, 3508x4961px) Image search: [Google]

1MB, 3508x4961px

RIP OP

Shoggoths must've got him.

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35KB, 615x600px

>>215097
Damn, I think you're right.

>>211111
You decide to check the alleyway to find a way in that isn't visible from the street. As soon as you enter you notice a classic. A dumpster placed next to a fire escape. You climb the dumpster easily and jump to grab the bottom of the ladder. Initially you miss it by an inch, after you regain your composure you jump again and manage to grab the bottom rung barely. You lift yourself up and make short work of climbing onto the fire escape itself.
You look in through the window. It's Warren's room. The bed is unmade and you can hear a radio or record playing jazz. Nothing looks out of place, but you expected Warren to be tidy enough to make his bed after laying in it. The man was a tad obsessive.
>We could break the window
>Or try to open it
>There is another story above you, maybe you could find a way in through the attic.
>Or write in

>>218547
>Knock on the window.

>>218704
You knock on the window with great fervour. After a solid minute no one comes to the window. You are stuck with the same options as before.

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>219595
>Try to open the window, if we get it open, announce our presence.
Rolling in case you want that.

Well shit, looks like another cool quest is kil because OP just fucked off.