(Donagh's odd encounter(SRJustin):SRJustin) [Thu Jan 25 2018]
At The Entry to 32 Guardian Lane This isn't a very impressive looking yawn. It's just a few slabs of concrete leading up to the cabin, and that's it.
It is night, about 12F(-11C) degrees, There is a waxing gibbous moon.
So Donagh is out chilling in a hammock, at night, in Haven, during winter. There are worse ways to spend the night, presumably, especially in a place like Haven. It is probably while doing that that he starts to drift off. Whether he reaches sleep or not, he awakens to a twig snapping somewhere off to his left. When he looks, assuming he does not dump himself from the hammock, there is nothing there.
Donagh has nothing better to do. The electricity doesn't come in too well. The townsfolk are jackasses. ...Most of them. There are a few. Occasionally, he slips off, due to it, being. Well. The fucking winter. With that final slip, he gives a groan. Standing up, shaking his head. "I'm an idiot. " Says the man. Donagh frowns, pondering for a moment or two before flicking on his flashlight... peering into the darkness.
Nothing seems to have caused the sound over where it came from. A fleeting shadow or three perhaps, from shining the flashlight in that direction. Everything seems calm and cool on the night, but then Donagh sees a flickering light at the corner of his eyes. But again, when the flashlight turns, nothing is there. And then all of the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end when it almost sounds like a bestial growling noise is right behind his ear.
"Sonuva bitch." Donagh sucks in a deep breath. Then? He runs. Sprinting for the safety of his cabin. Can he make it in time... there's a gun rack there. His favorite rifle, the one he used in 'Nam, is stored there. Donagh sprints, and he sprints...
Donagh goes for the Cabin, a smart move by all accounts. Any sane person would do it. And nothing seems to prevent it. He gets inside, but his hackles are still raised, metaphysically speaking. Donagh gets inside, to the rack, gets his rifle, turns and nothing is there once more. But the - feeling- of being watched, STALKED, is still present, ever building.
Donagh's shoulders are very tense as he turns around. The man gritting his teeth. Thinking to himself. "Is this a flashback?! Goddammit. Life was so much simpler in my time." He raises the gun to his shoulder, pointing towards the door. Then the window. When finally, he decides to make his move- for the center of the house. ANything breaks, he can hear it, and it won't surprise him. Well. Too much.
"You will not find me there," a quiet but gutteral voice sounds behind Donagh, though again, nothing is there when he looks. "Or there," the voice adds with a faint hint of amusement in it. "I almost made it out... I was an inch away when you woke up. Now all I need to do... is wait for you to fall asleep," the voice continues before letting out what can only be described as a menacing chuckle that sends ice prickling up every nerve of Donagh's neck.
Then Donagh pulls the gun up to his chin. "Find you here, then. Huh?" Wonders the ex soldier, his eyebrows raising before falling again. "What do you want?"
"Now now, don't be so hasty. That's a real gun in your hand. With real bullets. To splatter real brains across a very, very real wall," the voice informs Donagh in a suddenly concerned fashion. He continues to feel like a prey caught in the crosshairs of whatever seems to be sharing thoughts with him perhaps. A husky breath is drawn and huffed out. "I may not mutilate you when I come through, if you just let me out," he decides is a suitable bargaining strategy perhaps.
"What are you." Donagh demands, sucking in a deep breath. Racking his brains for all the possibilities. Demon? Ghost? Alternate personality, drawn from the dreamworlds? Donagh wets his lips as he thinks. Or, well. Donagh could be actually going insane. Donagh realizes this is a very real possibility as well.
"Unimportant. I want -OUT-!" the voice says, the last word vibrating -inside- Donagh's head with just shy of the pressure of a migraine headache suddenly. The phantom sensation of claws ripping into Donagh can be felt all over his body, but most previlently in a metaphysical sense in his own brain. Like the creature is trying to claw its way out of or through a mental construct of sorts. The noises it makes are pure fury mixed with hatred mixed with some kind of uncanny beast that Donagh cannot peg to anything, living, extinct, or mythical in his mind.
"Hey," Donagh snarls right back, after a moment of just... laying there on the ground, in pain. "You could have let my finger slip. Then where would you be. Huh." Donagh says, shakily getting back up. "You. Will. Not. Pass." Quotes the sensitive man, probably not realizing the meme he just quoted.
Annoyance rolls off the mental figure in almost palpable waves, even as it steps back and stops the clawing rampage. "Just sleep, so I can be free, born into the world from the dream which has kept me for eons, free to rampage and destroy everything I desire!" the voice replies to Donagh's attempt at quelling its desire and need to be born. Born from within his mind.
"Tell you what. You do that clawy thing, but less violent. And more wet. With my crotch. And I'll let you out." Donagh says after a few beats pass him by, sitting on the bunk in silence.
An attempt is made, but the results are probably more like sticking Donagh's junk into a Quisinart, then hitting blend. It is 'gentler' than the clawing, and certainly made wet with metaphysical blood. "There. Now sleep and release me!" the voice demands after about thirty seconds of that terrible, terrible sensation.
"Give me your Venetian Oath that you will leave this town. Or, well. At least leave me alone. And I will let you right out." Says Donagh after a few more thoughts of consideration- and surprise- the man starting to lay down. "Otherwise. I have ten gallons of monster, just waiting to be drunk."
"I give you my word, I'll leave you unharmed if you just let me out!" the voice immediately agrees, eager to get the deed done and get away, going about its desires of destruction and malice. It seems quite happy with Donagh's change of heart and repositioning. Even the sensation of being prey diminishes a little as the being awaits the opening of the doorway that was recently denied of it.
There is a moment's of hesitation, before Donagh starts to lay down. His eyes close... slowly... slowly... slowly.
Then. Boom. Donagh is out.
It happens in a flash, as soon as Donagh's eyes close and sleep begins... A bestial monstrosity with six-legs, a viciously spiked tail like a stegosaurus, and the head of a horned lion with spiked spines and blood-drenched claws flashes across Donagh's vision, crashing into a blackened glass pane of his psyche. The invasiveness is enough to startle him back awake, despite the shortness of the nap. But he is left with a cold dread that he has, in fact, unleashed something truly monstrous and terrible on the world.