Encounterlogs
Anthonys Odd Encounter Sr Crystal 240317
Anthony finds himself in a decaying kitchen, drawn by a peculiar mix of curiosity and hunger amidst the backdrop of an eerie, abandoned building. As he contemplates making coffee to combat the bone-chilling cold, the sink's persistent dripping sets the stage for an unsettling encounter. The atmosphere shifts dramatically; the mundane gives way to the surreal as a ghostly presence makes itself known, propelling Anthony into a haunted foyer. Here, he is confronted by an enigmatic figure atop a grand staircase, its intentions unclear, but its focus undeniably fixed on him. Anthony grapples with a mix of fear and determination, armed only with a saucepan in this confusing new reality, where familiar objects like the dripping faucet play a tormenting role in his experience.
The story intensifies as the figure descends the staircase, exuding a menacing aura that feeds off Anthony's emotions. Despite his attempts to escape or confront the spirit, Anthony finds himself ensnared by its supernatural influence, which drains his resolve and blurs the line between resistance and surrender. The ghostly creature proposes an ambiguous pact, its true nature and desires shrouded in mystery, leaving Anthony teetering on the brink of an uncertain fate. Ultimately, he is engulfed by the spirit's embrace, a moment that signals his apparent defeat, yet also oddly resembles a return to a semblance of normalcy. Anthony awakens as if from a nightmare, back in the familiar yet forever altered setting of the kitchen, haunted by a profound emptiness and a lingering connection to the entity that claimed him. This encounter leaves him with an unshakable feeling of loss and a lingering connection to an otherworldly adversary, marking a deeply unsettling yet transformative experience.
(Anthony's odd encounter(SRCrystal):SRCrystal)
[Sat Mar 16 2024]
In an empty, featureless kitchen
There's a faint but unmistakable odor of garlic here, but you can't seem to figure out where it's coming from. The place is empty, just the outlines of what could be a kitchen between the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Paine Avenue. Pretty from afar but pitiful up close, the island counter is a graffiti landmark of food stains and mold that can't seem to come off. Meanwhile, the sink is clogged, the doors of the cabinets rot on rusty hinges, and... is that a mouse hole?
It is afternoon, about 29F(-1C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(The characters stumble upon a haunted house, where an angry ghost is causing disturbances and terrorizing anyone who dares to enter. The characters must find a way to pacify the spirit, either by resolving its unfinished business or banishing it back to the afterlife.)
Anthony stands in the kitchen blinking slowly, rubbing crust out of his eyes, he lets his eyes linger on the nuggets, how bad could it be, surely there not all cursed, the would really hit the spot, perhaps. No, the sink is still clogged, if he had to throw up he would have to run all the way to the bathroom.
For Anthony, waking up this afternoon must seem like any other day in Haven. It's bone bitingly cold right now, more than a handful of degrees below freezing outside, and it's only slightly better inside of the empty, featureless kitchen he's wandered into. Maybe to start the day with a nice cup of brewed or instant coffee. The latter might be more likely in this case, considering the state of some of the appliances. The sink is clogged, the doorframe is rusted at the hinges. Whatever the case is, there seems to be a terribly obnoxious drip coming from the facet, adding more to the woes in the unappreciated kitchen space as it threatens to fill the sink with dubious tap water should it persist. It's a little strange that that dripping has started now. Was it always there?
Anthony shivers and decides that instant coffee would really hit the spot. He takes a saucepan and fills it with enough water from the sink, he moves it over and sets it on one of the kitchen burners, turning it on to bring it to a boil, but he soon stops to look at the tap, drip, drip, dripping, he fiddles with the sink handle to try and turn it all the way off, if that will stop the dripping.
A feeling of unease, perhaps even dread starts to build within. It's strangely familiar, that sensation. Like a case of deja vu. It was probably similar to the feeling he experienced when he entered the apartment for the first time, and felt a presence that someone or something was present with him and his roommate. Suddenly everything starts to shift around him. Growing hazy, hard to pick out anything distinct. Should he try to focus on one thing in particular, it will start to become fuzzy to the eye, growing imperceptible in drawing any of its features. His surroundings, for one reason or another begin to manifest and shift into something else entirely.
The lighting around him dims, everything grows black. A whisper caresses in his ear, urging him.
"Open your eyes." And from there, a light, feathery touch along his spine, repeating that same line, sounding faintly familiar, and unnervingly close. The dripping of that facet persists throughout this. A constant in this strange phenomenon.
Anthony feels his stomach drop as this familiar sensation of not being quite alone returns. He stedies himself by putting a hand on the counter and closing his eyes as his vision becomes less reliable. He listens for the drip, drip, drip of the sink to ground himself but even that soon becomes an echo that he can't pin down. His eyes shoot open, wide as he's commanded, and his hand stairs on end as he feels something brush against his spine. He turns slowly around to see if this presence is visible, "Who's there," he finally manages, in a dubiously stern tone.
Turning around seems to be the catalyst for the changes to come. Now, Anthony finds himself in a dark, unfamiliar foyer space. Yet something about this all feels oddly familiar, in an unfamiliar space. It's that persistence that tugs at his sixth sense he's developed. There are no chicken McNuggets here, or stale McFries. Nonetheless, there is a feeling that Anthony is not alone here. It's the exact same gut feeling he's experienced, even if there's no leftovers from McDonalds to cast his suspicions over. No, this time there is a distinctness to the presence, that it's someone. The whisper trailing over the curvature of one of his ears is probably a good giveaway on that. The saucepan used in his endeavors to start the day with a nice hot cup of coffee is still there though. Amongst his new surroundings, it has traveled alongside him like a trustworthy companion, a tool to be relied to, though what good is a saucepan when you're out of your element in once untreaded ground?
*drip drip drip*
line The leaky faucet answers back at Anthony's question, balking not one bit at the firmness in his tone. It's like a flagrant taunt at his attempts at bravado.
His eyes are able to make out the new surroundings. It looks like the foyer space to an old decrepit building. Rotted wood surrounds him, a sad semblance for what must have once been a grand structure. The walls, once adorned with intricate wallpaper or ornate paneling, now bear the scars of neglect, with peeling paint and patches of dampness marring their surfaces. Cobwebs cling stubbornly to the corners, swaying gently in the faint draft that permeates the air.
A grand staircase looms ahead of him, and at the top of those flights of stairs, standing at the centre is a figure. Slim in nature, hard to make out from the lonesome distance Anthony stands at from it. It seems to be looking down at him, quiet as a statue, but the long dark hair surrounding its head does sway from a breeze that isn't there.
Anthony shudders with the lurch to his new location, feeling the suddennes of the change both lock him in place and throw off his balance at once. He stedies himself after a moment, observing the surroundings with a look of terror. He reaches for the saucepan powerfully, as if he would swing it at something that would come running at him, and it makes him feel a little bit better. Anthony takes a cautious step towards the staircaise, clutching the handle of the saucepan still. He listens carefully to the sound of the sink, does it abate as he finally starts to move? That would be nice, there's something mocking about the way that it teases him with familiarity. Anthony squints at the figure at the top of the stairs, watching for any movement as he steps closer. "What is this?" He calls out, to the figure, but also to anything that might be lurking in the shadows of this decrepit place.
Still as a statue, the figure atop the staircase stands inert, motionless. It regards the dismal space from the railing, arching double staircases complete with wooden, if rotted railings at either of its side. The obnoxious drip of water from what was sourced from the faucet has seemingly abated, but once Anthony steps forward, it continues again, three drops levied, ringing out clearly in Anthony's ears. Or maybe it was when he spoke up. Either way, it comes back to haunt Anthony's sense again, just in tandem for the figure looming above to finally stir. Clad in a pure white raiment that flows all over the being's figure, it raises its head, and hones in its gaze on Anthony. Bidden by his call, it slowly turns to one of the winding staircases, the one that Anthony approached, and starts to make its descent The way he or she moves seems effortless with an ethereal grace, the flow of its white garment trailing after it, hiding its feet, creating an illusion that the thing is gliding down those creaky old steps rather than walking down them. It doesn't answer his natural question, not yet, but something about when it starts to moves activates Anthony's sixth sense again -- like the McNuggets. There's something wrong with this person. It just gives off bad vibes.
Anthony watches the figure descend hauntingly from above, and with dread building in his throat he takes one step back, and then two, positioning his legs in a stance that's ready for action. He fixes his gaze keenly on the figure, studying them.
Anthony shivers. Is it getting colder? Or is he really that afraid? He can't let himself be bothered to tell the difference at a time like this.
Disconcertingly, the floor beneath Anthony's feet creaks ominously with each step, its wooden boards warped and worn from years and years of neglect. Dust dances in the dim light filtering through dirty windows, casting eerie shadows that seem to flicker and dance in the corners of his vision, but it almost seems like no sunlight is able to pierce through the small gaps much, if at all. It's so dark, the light seems to be coming from the apex of the double staircase. Furniture sits haphazardly around the space, draped in dusty sheets or covered in layers of grime. A faded rug lies askew on the floor, behind Anthony its once-vibrant colors muted by time and neglect, and just before Anthony steps over it again, it disappears, like it exhibited an abhorrence for the intruder's lingering presence. Despite the stillness of the air, it's impossible shake the feeling that something has gone terribly wrong in this forsaken space. A sense of presence lingers in the air, a whisper of something unseen watching from the shadows, like there's someone else behind the man even as the pale apparition above makes its slow descent downstairs.
The figure stares back at Anthony, the two sharing a glance. Dark, wide eyes. When their gazes meet, contempt seems to fill Anthony. Making him angry, wholly unreceptive to its presence, just as it probably has for him. At this point, it is halfway down the staircase it has chosen, its destination clear: Anthony.
Anthony decides that sticking around to see where this is going isn't a good idea. This figure has it out for him. He makes a break for one of the windows, nearly stumbling over a piece of furniture in his sudden burst of movement. He looks outside and starts to attempt to pry the thing open, letting the saucepan clatter to the floor momentarially.
Anthony makes a series of quick glances over his shoulder to keep an eye on the figure to see if it is moving at the same clip, a, "STAY BACK" loaded on the tip of his tongue if the figure gets too close.
Like pinpricks at the back of Anthony's head, that same whisper that caressed his ear returns. It offers something to him, a proposal, despite the anger that boils within its very being. "Shall we...?" The voice is hard to make out if it is coming from a man or a woman, it is just a scratchy whisper. Instead it's easier to take in the emotion within that ghostly breath. It feels angry and frustrated, yet at the same time, there is something there that has a lingering hope for things to pan out. That everything can still be fixed. The anger and ill intent seems to supersede that forlorn hope though.
The clutter of that saucepan makes the figure pause in consideration, its featureless face boring into Anthony's person, then at the saucepan he's dropped. It stays where it is for now, watching Anthony struggle with one of the dusty windows. Distressingly, the amount of dust hides what anyone would dread when wanting to make a break out for freedom. There's nothing outside. It's just pitch black. Any light that was leaking through specks of the filth and grime covering the pane may as well have been some illusion, a cruel joke to play on any visitors that now want out. "STAY BACK!" his voice repeats, and like it was waiting for its cue, the drip drip drip from that faucet returns! Clear in Anthony's head, and with that drip, the androgynous figure resumes its descent, head turning to follow Anthony's every move.
"Shall we...?" the voice proposes again, insistently this time.
Anthony reagrds the proposal skeptically, searching around for another form in the darkness poised to descend on him, as if the request might not have been for him. However, the way it wrapped around his skull like a caress and slips into his ear confirm to him that he's the only one being asked. Anthony is breathing heavy, his firm chest rising and falling rapidly, and beating like a drum. He does everything he can to calm down, but every cold, dusty breath seems to strangle his ability to do so. When the androgynous spectre resumes it's descent, Anthony scoops down to pick up the saucepan, the last drips of water it was once holding crashing agaisnt the dry floorboards loudly in his mind, he's holding it out like a club. "I'm... warning you" Anthony manges to stutter. Unsure of what the figure is proposing.
Now the being starts to become more invigorated, animated, feeding on the excess of emotions that are just about leaking from every pore of Anthony's being. Like many supernatural beings, feeding off the psychic emotions is a form of sustenance, but many speculate that for spirits and ghostly entities, it's something much, much more. Helping, or damning them to the material world to linger in their sorry state, rather than find a rightful and restful eternal resting place, moving on as they should. They're fickle, stubborn things. And they fixate on anything they can, in this case Anthony. Nearer and nearer it draws, and more of its features become apparent. It looks feminine, but there is an odd glow to its complexion. Ghostly white is pretty apt in this case. Everything about it, down the skin and the white cloth draping over its frame exudes a pale, chalkinss. Everything save for its dark hair and dark eyes.
*drip* *drip* *drip*
The faucet sounds out again, every time Anthony speaks, it answers. But as reliably annoying as it has become, it is frustrating that there is no discernible source. Like it's all in Anthony's head. Whatever proposal comes into mind, it seems to want something from Anthony. It extends both of its arms out like it's going to embrace him as it comes closer and closer. Now its footsteps can be heard, quiet as a mouse. But they're there, which confirms it wasn't actually gliding. The warning seems to go unheeded though, and whatever it wants, maybe it wants Anthony himself. It's lips twitch, and a clicking, wet smack follows as it smiles at him.
Like pinpricks at the back of Anthony's head, that same whisper that caressed his ear returns. It offers something to him, a proposal, despite the anger that boils within its very being. "Shall we...?" The voice is hard to make out if it is coming from a man or a woman, it is just a scratchy whisper. Instead it's easier to take in the emotion within that ghostly breath. It feels angry and frustrated, yet at the same time, there is something there that has a lingering hope for things to pan out. That everything can still be fixed. The anger and ill intent seems to supersede that forlorn hope though.
The clutter of that saucepan makes the figure pause in consideration, its featureless face boring into Anthony's person, then at the saucepan he's dropped. It stays where it is for now, watching Anthony struggle with one of the dusty windows. Distressingly, the amount of dust hides what anyone would dread when wanting to make a break out for freedom. There's nothing outside. It's just pitch black. Any light that was leaking through specks of the filth and grime covering the pane may as well have been some illusion, a cruel joke to play on any visitors that now want out. "STAY BACK!" his voice repeats, and like it was waiting for its cue, the drip drip drip from that faucet returns! Clear in Anthony's head, and with that drip, the androgynous figure resumes its descent, head turning to follow Anthony's every move.
"Shall we...?" the voice proposes again, insistently this time.
Anthony tries to take a step back, but it appears he has cornered himself against the window. He looks to the left, to the right of the figure, as if there might be some way to slip past, but he feels himself simultaniously frozen in fear, and being drained by the aura of this being as it approaches him. Part of him wants to give in, to loosen his clutch on the saucepan, even now it dips in his hand, and it would be so easy to let go. He is intrigued by the ethereal beauty of the being as much as he is terrified, he hesitates, and tries to duck out of the way once more, perhaps too late.
Closer and closer as the dark-haired being clad in white and even brighter garments gets, the more of that pervasive influence begins to work it's way into Anthony's very being. It wears down on the body as much as the soul, a fatigue starting to weigh down on his spirits, making his movements feel heavy like he was swimming in a pit of molasses. This spurs the thing after him to greater heights, desperate to close the distance. Arms reach out, hands come near to his shoulders, the cold starts to return. The cold above all, feels comforting as it washes over him like a breeze. It's like he's back in the kitchen, holding that saucepan ready to make himself a good old mug of coffee.
Even as the thing is right up in his face, enveloping in his arms now, the features of its face are incredibly spotty, everything hard to make out. Only that it has the vague semblance of a nose and mouth, lips red and smiling happily. It holds him close in an embrace, all thoughts inside of Anthony stating something clear.
You are mine now.
Those words resonate in the man's core. Urging him to surrender. It's not like he has a choice. Everything is growing black, his strength fading... but the cold is pretty profound now. The coldness from before, like a savinig grace that feels a lot nicer and warmer than what one could envision an alternative.@line
"...up." Someone else says.
Anthony feels like he is simultaniously trying to claw his way out of the embrace and fully submitting to it. He feels himself smiling, accepting, but lacks control, as if he is watching his own actions unfold in abject horror, trapped in a series of motions of surrender. His heart is beating heavier and faster than ever now, but his breathing is slow, relaxed and control, his body and emotions betraying him from all angles, as he is being split in two. Sudden there is parity, as everything comes down to a single pinipoint. "I am yours now." he thinks it, says it, knows it, and the world spins out into a void of darkness. The command 'up' breaks through the infinite nothingness. He blinks his eyes open.
Anthony awaken with a start, your heart pounding in the chest as the remnants of a horrible dream or experience still linger in markedly in the mind. The room feels strangely familiar, as if you've been transported to a place you've seen time and time again. Deja vu? The walls are painted a nondescript beige, devoid of any decoration or personality. The countertops are barren, save for a few scattered crumbs and stains that hint at past use. Like where a forgotten McDonalds meal was left to rot. "...up." An impassively low voice urges. Very very familiar. Deja Vu.
Deja vu radiates in the heart and mind now. Everything is back as it should be, or so it seems. Anthony is back inside of the kitchen, the cold air greeting him. it could be worse. He could be outside freezing his chops off. But right now, he's back. A familiar figure with him, trying to get his attention. Yet at the same time, there is a sense of profound emptiness inside of him. A longingness that will tug at his heart for an unforeseeable feature, stolen by him by someone or something that needed something from him for its rage to be quelled.
The story intensifies as the figure descends the staircase, exuding a menacing aura that feeds off Anthony's emotions. Despite his attempts to escape or confront the spirit, Anthony finds himself ensnared by its supernatural influence, which drains his resolve and blurs the line between resistance and surrender. The ghostly creature proposes an ambiguous pact, its true nature and desires shrouded in mystery, leaving Anthony teetering on the brink of an uncertain fate. Ultimately, he is engulfed by the spirit's embrace, a moment that signals his apparent defeat, yet also oddly resembles a return to a semblance of normalcy. Anthony awakens as if from a nightmare, back in the familiar yet forever altered setting of the kitchen, haunted by a profound emptiness and a lingering connection to the entity that claimed him. This encounter leaves him with an unshakable feeling of loss and a lingering connection to an otherworldly adversary, marking a deeply unsettling yet transformative experience.
(Anthony's odd encounter(SRCrystal):SRCrystal)
[Sat Mar 16 2024]
In an empty, featureless kitchen
There's a faint but unmistakable odor of garlic here, but you can't seem to figure out where it's coming from. The place is empty, just the outlines of what could be a kitchen between the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Paine Avenue. Pretty from afar but pitiful up close, the island counter is a graffiti landmark of food stains and mold that can't seem to come off. Meanwhile, the sink is clogged, the doors of the cabinets rot on rusty hinges, and... is that a mouse hole?
It is afternoon, about 29F(-1C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(The characters stumble upon a haunted house, where an angry ghost is causing disturbances and terrorizing anyone who dares to enter. The characters must find a way to pacify the spirit, either by resolving its unfinished business or banishing it back to the afterlife.)
Anthony stands in the kitchen blinking slowly, rubbing crust out of his eyes, he lets his eyes linger on the nuggets, how bad could it be, surely there not all cursed, the would really hit the spot, perhaps. No, the sink is still clogged, if he had to throw up he would have to run all the way to the bathroom.
For Anthony, waking up this afternoon must seem like any other day in Haven. It's bone bitingly cold right now, more than a handful of degrees below freezing outside, and it's only slightly better inside of the empty, featureless kitchen he's wandered into. Maybe to start the day with a nice cup of brewed or instant coffee. The latter might be more likely in this case, considering the state of some of the appliances. The sink is clogged, the doorframe is rusted at the hinges. Whatever the case is, there seems to be a terribly obnoxious drip coming from the facet, adding more to the woes in the unappreciated kitchen space as it threatens to fill the sink with dubious tap water should it persist. It's a little strange that that dripping has started now. Was it always there?
Anthony shivers and decides that instant coffee would really hit the spot. He takes a saucepan and fills it with enough water from the sink, he moves it over and sets it on one of the kitchen burners, turning it on to bring it to a boil, but he soon stops to look at the tap, drip, drip, dripping, he fiddles with the sink handle to try and turn it all the way off, if that will stop the dripping.
A feeling of unease, perhaps even dread starts to build within. It's strangely familiar, that sensation. Like a case of deja vu. It was probably similar to the feeling he experienced when he entered the apartment for the first time, and felt a presence that someone or something was present with him and his roommate. Suddenly everything starts to shift around him. Growing hazy, hard to pick out anything distinct. Should he try to focus on one thing in particular, it will start to become fuzzy to the eye, growing imperceptible in drawing any of its features. His surroundings, for one reason or another begin to manifest and shift into something else entirely.
The lighting around him dims, everything grows black. A whisper caresses in his ear, urging him.
"Open your eyes." And from there, a light, feathery touch along his spine, repeating that same line, sounding faintly familiar, and unnervingly close. The dripping of that facet persists throughout this. A constant in this strange phenomenon.
Anthony feels his stomach drop as this familiar sensation of not being quite alone returns. He stedies himself by putting a hand on the counter and closing his eyes as his vision becomes less reliable. He listens for the drip, drip, drip of the sink to ground himself but even that soon becomes an echo that he can't pin down. His eyes shoot open, wide as he's commanded, and his hand stairs on end as he feels something brush against his spine. He turns slowly around to see if this presence is visible, "Who's there," he finally manages, in a dubiously stern tone.
Turning around seems to be the catalyst for the changes to come. Now, Anthony finds himself in a dark, unfamiliar foyer space. Yet something about this all feels oddly familiar, in an unfamiliar space. It's that persistence that tugs at his sixth sense he's developed. There are no chicken McNuggets here, or stale McFries. Nonetheless, there is a feeling that Anthony is not alone here. It's the exact same gut feeling he's experienced, even if there's no leftovers from McDonalds to cast his suspicions over. No, this time there is a distinctness to the presence, that it's someone. The whisper trailing over the curvature of one of his ears is probably a good giveaway on that. The saucepan used in his endeavors to start the day with a nice hot cup of coffee is still there though. Amongst his new surroundings, it has traveled alongside him like a trustworthy companion, a tool to be relied to, though what good is a saucepan when you're out of your element in once untreaded ground?
*drip drip drip*
line The leaky faucet answers back at Anthony's question, balking not one bit at the firmness in his tone. It's like a flagrant taunt at his attempts at bravado.
His eyes are able to make out the new surroundings. It looks like the foyer space to an old decrepit building. Rotted wood surrounds him, a sad semblance for what must have once been a grand structure. The walls, once adorned with intricate wallpaper or ornate paneling, now bear the scars of neglect, with peeling paint and patches of dampness marring their surfaces. Cobwebs cling stubbornly to the corners, swaying gently in the faint draft that permeates the air.
A grand staircase looms ahead of him, and at the top of those flights of stairs, standing at the centre is a figure. Slim in nature, hard to make out from the lonesome distance Anthony stands at from it. It seems to be looking down at him, quiet as a statue, but the long dark hair surrounding its head does sway from a breeze that isn't there.
Anthony shudders with the lurch to his new location, feeling the suddennes of the change both lock him in place and throw off his balance at once. He stedies himself after a moment, observing the surroundings with a look of terror. He reaches for the saucepan powerfully, as if he would swing it at something that would come running at him, and it makes him feel a little bit better. Anthony takes a cautious step towards the staircaise, clutching the handle of the saucepan still. He listens carefully to the sound of the sink, does it abate as he finally starts to move? That would be nice, there's something mocking about the way that it teases him with familiarity. Anthony squints at the figure at the top of the stairs, watching for any movement as he steps closer. "What is this?" He calls out, to the figure, but also to anything that might be lurking in the shadows of this decrepit place.
Still as a statue, the figure atop the staircase stands inert, motionless. It regards the dismal space from the railing, arching double staircases complete with wooden, if rotted railings at either of its side. The obnoxious drip of water from what was sourced from the faucet has seemingly abated, but once Anthony steps forward, it continues again, three drops levied, ringing out clearly in Anthony's ears. Or maybe it was when he spoke up. Either way, it comes back to haunt Anthony's sense again, just in tandem for the figure looming above to finally stir. Clad in a pure white raiment that flows all over the being's figure, it raises its head, and hones in its gaze on Anthony. Bidden by his call, it slowly turns to one of the winding staircases, the one that Anthony approached, and starts to make its descent The way he or she moves seems effortless with an ethereal grace, the flow of its white garment trailing after it, hiding its feet, creating an illusion that the thing is gliding down those creaky old steps rather than walking down them. It doesn't answer his natural question, not yet, but something about when it starts to moves activates Anthony's sixth sense again -- like the McNuggets. There's something wrong with this person. It just gives off bad vibes.
Anthony watches the figure descend hauntingly from above, and with dread building in his throat he takes one step back, and then two, positioning his legs in a stance that's ready for action. He fixes his gaze keenly on the figure, studying them.
Anthony shivers. Is it getting colder? Or is he really that afraid? He can't let himself be bothered to tell the difference at a time like this.
Disconcertingly, the floor beneath Anthony's feet creaks ominously with each step, its wooden boards warped and worn from years and years of neglect. Dust dances in the dim light filtering through dirty windows, casting eerie shadows that seem to flicker and dance in the corners of his vision, but it almost seems like no sunlight is able to pierce through the small gaps much, if at all. It's so dark, the light seems to be coming from the apex of the double staircase. Furniture sits haphazardly around the space, draped in dusty sheets or covered in layers of grime. A faded rug lies askew on the floor, behind Anthony its once-vibrant colors muted by time and neglect, and just before Anthony steps over it again, it disappears, like it exhibited an abhorrence for the intruder's lingering presence. Despite the stillness of the air, it's impossible shake the feeling that something has gone terribly wrong in this forsaken space. A sense of presence lingers in the air, a whisper of something unseen watching from the shadows, like there's someone else behind the man even as the pale apparition above makes its slow descent downstairs.
The figure stares back at Anthony, the two sharing a glance. Dark, wide eyes. When their gazes meet, contempt seems to fill Anthony. Making him angry, wholly unreceptive to its presence, just as it probably has for him. At this point, it is halfway down the staircase it has chosen, its destination clear: Anthony.
Anthony decides that sticking around to see where this is going isn't a good idea. This figure has it out for him. He makes a break for one of the windows, nearly stumbling over a piece of furniture in his sudden burst of movement. He looks outside and starts to attempt to pry the thing open, letting the saucepan clatter to the floor momentarially.
Anthony makes a series of quick glances over his shoulder to keep an eye on the figure to see if it is moving at the same clip, a, "STAY BACK" loaded on the tip of his tongue if the figure gets too close.
Like pinpricks at the back of Anthony's head, that same whisper that caressed his ear returns. It offers something to him, a proposal, despite the anger that boils within its very being. "Shall we...?" The voice is hard to make out if it is coming from a man or a woman, it is just a scratchy whisper. Instead it's easier to take in the emotion within that ghostly breath. It feels angry and frustrated, yet at the same time, there is something there that has a lingering hope for things to pan out. That everything can still be fixed. The anger and ill intent seems to supersede that forlorn hope though.
The clutter of that saucepan makes the figure pause in consideration, its featureless face boring into Anthony's person, then at the saucepan he's dropped. It stays where it is for now, watching Anthony struggle with one of the dusty windows. Distressingly, the amount of dust hides what anyone would dread when wanting to make a break out for freedom. There's nothing outside. It's just pitch black. Any light that was leaking through specks of the filth and grime covering the pane may as well have been some illusion, a cruel joke to play on any visitors that now want out. "STAY BACK!" his voice repeats, and like it was waiting for its cue, the drip drip drip from that faucet returns! Clear in Anthony's head, and with that drip, the androgynous figure resumes its descent, head turning to follow Anthony's every move.
"Shall we...?" the voice proposes again, insistently this time.
Anthony reagrds the proposal skeptically, searching around for another form in the darkness poised to descend on him, as if the request might not have been for him. However, the way it wrapped around his skull like a caress and slips into his ear confirm to him that he's the only one being asked. Anthony is breathing heavy, his firm chest rising and falling rapidly, and beating like a drum. He does everything he can to calm down, but every cold, dusty breath seems to strangle his ability to do so. When the androgynous spectre resumes it's descent, Anthony scoops down to pick up the saucepan, the last drips of water it was once holding crashing agaisnt the dry floorboards loudly in his mind, he's holding it out like a club. "I'm... warning you" Anthony manges to stutter. Unsure of what the figure is proposing.
Now the being starts to become more invigorated, animated, feeding on the excess of emotions that are just about leaking from every pore of Anthony's being. Like many supernatural beings, feeding off the psychic emotions is a form of sustenance, but many speculate that for spirits and ghostly entities, it's something much, much more. Helping, or damning them to the material world to linger in their sorry state, rather than find a rightful and restful eternal resting place, moving on as they should. They're fickle, stubborn things. And they fixate on anything they can, in this case Anthony. Nearer and nearer it draws, and more of its features become apparent. It looks feminine, but there is an odd glow to its complexion. Ghostly white is pretty apt in this case. Everything about it, down the skin and the white cloth draping over its frame exudes a pale, chalkinss. Everything save for its dark hair and dark eyes.
*drip* *drip* *drip*
The faucet sounds out again, every time Anthony speaks, it answers. But as reliably annoying as it has become, it is frustrating that there is no discernible source. Like it's all in Anthony's head. Whatever proposal comes into mind, it seems to want something from Anthony. It extends both of its arms out like it's going to embrace him as it comes closer and closer. Now its footsteps can be heard, quiet as a mouse. But they're there, which confirms it wasn't actually gliding. The warning seems to go unheeded though, and whatever it wants, maybe it wants Anthony himself. It's lips twitch, and a clicking, wet smack follows as it smiles at him.
Like pinpricks at the back of Anthony's head, that same whisper that caressed his ear returns. It offers something to him, a proposal, despite the anger that boils within its very being. "Shall we...?" The voice is hard to make out if it is coming from a man or a woman, it is just a scratchy whisper. Instead it's easier to take in the emotion within that ghostly breath. It feels angry and frustrated, yet at the same time, there is something there that has a lingering hope for things to pan out. That everything can still be fixed. The anger and ill intent seems to supersede that forlorn hope though.
The clutter of that saucepan makes the figure pause in consideration, its featureless face boring into Anthony's person, then at the saucepan he's dropped. It stays where it is for now, watching Anthony struggle with one of the dusty windows. Distressingly, the amount of dust hides what anyone would dread when wanting to make a break out for freedom. There's nothing outside. It's just pitch black. Any light that was leaking through specks of the filth and grime covering the pane may as well have been some illusion, a cruel joke to play on any visitors that now want out. "STAY BACK!" his voice repeats, and like it was waiting for its cue, the drip drip drip from that faucet returns! Clear in Anthony's head, and with that drip, the androgynous figure resumes its descent, head turning to follow Anthony's every move.
"Shall we...?" the voice proposes again, insistently this time.
Anthony tries to take a step back, but it appears he has cornered himself against the window. He looks to the left, to the right of the figure, as if there might be some way to slip past, but he feels himself simultaniously frozen in fear, and being drained by the aura of this being as it approaches him. Part of him wants to give in, to loosen his clutch on the saucepan, even now it dips in his hand, and it would be so easy to let go. He is intrigued by the ethereal beauty of the being as much as he is terrified, he hesitates, and tries to duck out of the way once more, perhaps too late.
Closer and closer as the dark-haired being clad in white and even brighter garments gets, the more of that pervasive influence begins to work it's way into Anthony's very being. It wears down on the body as much as the soul, a fatigue starting to weigh down on his spirits, making his movements feel heavy like he was swimming in a pit of molasses. This spurs the thing after him to greater heights, desperate to close the distance. Arms reach out, hands come near to his shoulders, the cold starts to return. The cold above all, feels comforting as it washes over him like a breeze. It's like he's back in the kitchen, holding that saucepan ready to make himself a good old mug of coffee.
Even as the thing is right up in his face, enveloping in his arms now, the features of its face are incredibly spotty, everything hard to make out. Only that it has the vague semblance of a nose and mouth, lips red and smiling happily. It holds him close in an embrace, all thoughts inside of Anthony stating something clear.
You are mine now.
Those words resonate in the man's core. Urging him to surrender. It's not like he has a choice. Everything is growing black, his strength fading... but the cold is pretty profound now. The coldness from before, like a savinig grace that feels a lot nicer and warmer than what one could envision an alternative.@line
"...up." Someone else says.
Anthony feels like he is simultaniously trying to claw his way out of the embrace and fully submitting to it. He feels himself smiling, accepting, but lacks control, as if he is watching his own actions unfold in abject horror, trapped in a series of motions of surrender. His heart is beating heavier and faster than ever now, but his breathing is slow, relaxed and control, his body and emotions betraying him from all angles, as he is being split in two. Sudden there is parity, as everything comes down to a single pinipoint. "I am yours now." he thinks it, says it, knows it, and the world spins out into a void of darkness. The command 'up' breaks through the infinite nothingness. He blinks his eyes open.
Anthony awaken with a start, your heart pounding in the chest as the remnants of a horrible dream or experience still linger in markedly in the mind. The room feels strangely familiar, as if you've been transported to a place you've seen time and time again. Deja vu? The walls are painted a nondescript beige, devoid of any decoration or personality. The countertops are barren, save for a few scattered crumbs and stains that hint at past use. Like where a forgotten McDonalds meal was left to rot. "...up." An impassively low voice urges. Very very familiar. Deja Vu.
Deja vu radiates in the heart and mind now. Everything is back as it should be, or so it seems. Anthony is back inside of the kitchen, the cold air greeting him. it could be worse. He could be outside freezing his chops off. But right now, he's back. A familiar figure with him, trying to get his attention. Yet at the same time, there is a sense of profound emptiness inside of him. A longingness that will tug at his heart for an unforeseeable feature, stolen by him by someone or something that needed something from him for its rage to be quelled.