Encounterlogs
Madelines Odd Encounter Sr Castiel 241229
In the narrative's chilling juncture, Madeline's encounter with an eldritch apparition within the unsettling bounds of her industrial, garage-like bedroom evolves from an eerie sensation of being watched to an outright confrontation with a ghostly entity. This entity emanates a profound sense of distress and malice, ensnaring Madeline in a menacing display of spectral phenomena. Her initial attempts to engage with the mundane—readying for departure and addressing the frosty challenge of her vehicle—swiftly succumb to the spectral siege that descends upon her world. The ambient malevolence crescendos as the entity manifests through oppressive silence, disturbing auditory hallucinations, and the unsettling animation of frost patterns on her windshield. Despite Madeline’s scrambling efforts to resist, the ghost's malevolent influence extends into her trailer, trapping her within a realm of chilling vibrations and the grotesque advance of shadowy tendrils.
Driven to desperation, Madeline invokes a presumably powerful incantation, "Klaatu Verata Nikto," beseeching salvation through an old tome, bound in cracked leather and stained with her blood. Her invocation appears to falter, contributing to the mounting despair, when suddenly, the entity recoils as if struck by an unseen force. This momentary respite allows Madeline to escape its immediate grasp, though not without consequence; the creature’s essence persists, ominously hinting at its lurking return beneath the very foundations of her home. This harrowing ordeal leaves Madeline—and the reader—with the haunting realization that the events are but a prelude to further darkness. The entity, seemingly defeated, retreats into a quiescent state under her trailer, suggesting that its malevolent presence is far from eradicated and eerily poised for resurgence.
Parallel to Madeline’s supernatural plight, Ember confronts her own demonic intrusion within the confines of her heat-stricken room. Initially mistaking the phenomenon for a mundane malfunction, Ember quickly finds herself ensnared by an opaquely manifested demon with intentions as cryptic as its form. The demon's proposition, steeped in the currency of suffering and protection, tempts Ember with a nebulous promise of safety against the myriad threats lurking within their haunted reality. Despite the nebulous guarantees, Ember consents, unwittingly binding herself to the demon in an exchange that portends a complex blend of protection and complicity in unseen covenants of suffering. This agreement, sealed by the invasive suffusion of the demon into her very being, leaves Ember laden with an uninvited presence, ushering a profound alteration in her life’s trajectory under the omnipresent watch of her cryptic, newfound guardian.
The interweaving of Madeline and Ember's encounters with the supernatural elements of their world reveals a tapestry of existential entrapment and uneasy bargains. Both narratives punctuate the relentless presence of otherworldly beings, whose motives and methods blur the lines between salvation and subjugation, protection and torment, manifesting a haunting overlay upon their reality that is both cryptic and indelibly marked by the uncanny.
(Madeline's odd encounter(SRCastiel):SRCastiel)
[Sat Dec 28 2024]
In a trailer bedroom that looks more like a garage
It is afternoon, about 18F(-7C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target encounters a ghost who's fixated on some past tragedy from their life, they need to either give the spirit some sense of closure, or send it on it's way through more violent means.
)
Madeline dons her winter apparel to brave the cold outside as she steps out her front door to head for her vehicle.
The bedroom has the dimensions of a garage, and that isn't by accident. Dusty, industrial shelving units line the walls, filled with an assortment of items: power tools whose edges gleam faintly even in the low light, half-empty cans of motor oil, and heaps of tangled extension cords that seem to nest together like coiled serpents. The bed, an incongruously luxurious king-sized monstrosity, occupies the center of the space, its wrought-iron frame jagged and ornamental, like something dragged out of an antique salvage yard. The mattress is covered in a patchwork quilt, the kind that should be cozy but looks perpetually damp, with stains creeping along its edges as if the fabric itself is rotting.
The floor is bare concrete, cold enough to leech warmth through thick socks. It has been swept in haphazard streaks, though patches of grime cling stubbornly to its surface, forming shapes that look uncomfortably organic when stared at too long. A single window, high and narrow like a prison slot, lets in a pallid beam of daylight that barely reaches the bed. The air has a biting chill, a sub-zero draft that seems to seep up from the ground itself, defying logic and insulation. Frost clings to the edges of the windowpane, etching jagged patterns like skeletal fingers splayed in a desperate grip.
The walls bear evidence of a haphazard attempt at decoration- old license plates arranged in uneven rows, posters of heavy metal bands whose edges curl with age, and a single, defiant streak of graffiti sprayed directly onto the drywall. Unknown writing it reads, in uneven black scrawl, though what isn't to be forgotten is left unstated. Beneath the graffiti sits a hulking tool chest, its drawers slightly ajar to reveal wrenches, screwdrivers, and other tools of precision, all dusted with a fine layer of frost that makes them glitter like weapons in a dragon's hoard.
An exposed bulb hangs from the ceiling, its light harsh and sterile, illuminating every grimy detail. Shadows stretch and warp unnaturally in the flicker of the bulb, as though the room itself is breathing. The faint hum of electricity buzzes in the silence, accompanied by the occasional creak of the metal shelving, as if some invisible weight shifts among the objects.
Madeline sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, her breath visible in the icy air. Each exhale forms a ghostly wisp that dissipates too quickly, as though something unseen devours it. The cold isn't just physical; it gnaws at the edges of her thoughts, prickling her skin with a sensation that feels less like discomfort and more like a warning. Even as she rises and moves to leave, a subtle sense of being observed clings to her, as though the air itself has eyes.
Whether she does or not, grabs her coat from a hook driven into the wall- a crude, bent nail- and to pull it tight around her shoulders, the frigid air is hostile. Her boots echo sharply on the concrete as she heads for the door. The metal door handle is cold enough to sting her palm as she turns it, the chill seeping through. Along with it, something else. A distraught sensation of being watched by something. Not too dissimilar to a predator of sorts that is beyond the veil of normalcy, trained its sights upon her and watching from elsewere, from a place outside of here and now.
The door creaks open with a sound that seems unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. Beyond it, a short hallway stretches, dimly lit and equally unwelcoming, its walls lined with peeling paint that reveals layers of forgotten colors beneath. A faint smell of mildew and motor oil hangs in the air, blending into an oddly metallic tang that makes her stomach churn. Without hesitation, Madeline steps into the hall, letting the door swing shut behind her with a hollow clang that reverberates through the space.
She makes her way outside, her boots crunching against gravel as she approaches her vehicle.
Madeline shivers in the cold, in spite of the several layers making an earnest attempt to keep the cold at bay. She unlocks the car door and manages to rip it free from the grip of ice holding it in place. She turns the key, and the engine groans in complaint as if it can't be bothered to start. Several turns later, and the engine finally sputters to life. Turning the heat and defrost on, she takes the ice scraper from the floor of the car and begins to work on the clearing the windshield. The whole time she is filled with a sense of unease, as the afternoon cold seems to be a bit too silent for the trailer park. No fights, no wild life, nothing but the howl of wind and the protesting engine. She attempts to clear the ice faster, her urge to get in the car and out of the cold and away from whatever unease lingers here palpable to her.
Afternoon sun hangs stubbornly in the sky, but its light seems thin and pale, as if the cold has stolen its warmth and luster. The shadows cast by the trailer park's skeletal trees and sagging structures stretch unnaturally long, bleeding across the frostbitten ground like black veins. The wind picks up in uneven gusts, hissing through the gaps in weather-worn trailers and rattling loose metal sheets with a sound like distant, hollow laughter. Yet, for all its noise, the air feels oppressively silent, as if the wind itself is trying to mask something far more unsettling.
The frost on the surrounding vehicles glimmers faintly, catching the light in ways that make their surfaces seem almost liquid. The ice doesn't merely cling to the glass and metal- it appears to grow, curling in delicate, fractal tendrils as though it's alive. Beneath the frost's crystalline beauty, a faint pattern emerges, spidering across surfaces in whorls and lines that resemble some arcane script, the meaning of which is mercifully obscured.
All air near Madeline's car feels heavier now, laden with a damp chill that seems to seep into the skin and settle deep in the bones. The frost on her windshield, thick and defiant, reflects the surroundings in a way that doesn't quite match the world beyond it. The warped reflections twist unnaturally, bending angles that shouldn't be bendable. The tree limbs seem to sway in the reflection even when the wind dies down, their movements jerky and stilted, like marionettes under clumsy control. For an instant, the shadow of something large and angular passes across the glass, though the sky beyond remains empty.
The engine's grumbling protests echo across the empty trailer park, each sound seeming to bounce back distorted, as though the space itself resents the noise. The sputtering motor grows louder, then abruptly chokes off into silence. The moment stretches long, the quiet now so profound that even the faintest scrape of the ice scraper against glass sounds deafening. Somewhere, in the distance, the faintest of whispers seems to rise, too soft to discern words but carrying an unmistakable tone of grief, or perhaps anger. It ebbs and flows, just below the threshold of understanding, like the memory of a dream rapidly fading upon waking.
Shadows deepen unnaturally around the car, pooling at its tires and stretching up its sides. Despite the open expanse of the trailer park, a sense of confinement presses in, as if the space around her has shrunk. The afternoon light dims inexplicably, taking on a strange, grayish hue that desaturates the world, sapping the colors from the faded trailers and frost-rimed gravel. The windows of the surrounding trailers, already dark, seem to grow darker still, their glass opaque and unyielding, like blind eyes refusing to see.
Wind picks up again, but this time it carries a sound that doesn't belong- a faint, rhythmic tapping, like fingernails on glass. It isn't coming from her car, but from somewhere nearby, moving slowly but deliberately closer. The sound fades momentarily, only to return from the opposite direction, accompanied by the faint crunch of gravel that doesn't sync with her own movements.
Frost on her windshield thickens visibly, a crawling motion that advances with unnerving purpose. Patterns form again, sharper and more distinct this time: looping symbols that seem to pulse faintly, as though they carry some latent energy. As she works to clear it, the ice refuses to yield entirely, leaving behind faint ghostly imprints that stubbornly resist her efforts. Each stroke of the scraper feels less like clearing ice and more like trying to erase something etched deeply into the glass.
The car's interior grows colder still, and the defrost function does nothing to push back the frost creeping along the edges of the glass. The dashboard lights flicker weakly, their glow diminishing before the entire console dies, leaving the interior bathed in an unnatural shadow. The sudden death of the car feels less like a mechanical failure and more like a deliberate choice, as though something unseen has reached in and snuffed it out.
Oppressive silence is broken again, this time by a low, resonant hum that seems to vibrate through the air. It doesn't come from the car or the wind but feels as though it's emanating from the ground itself, rising and falling in rhythmic pulses. Alongside the hum, the faint whispers return, clearer now but still impossible to parse. They weave through the soundscape like threads of a melody, pulling at the edges of comprehension before slipping away.
The air takes on a strange density, the kind that makes every breath feel labored, each inhale dragging in cold that stings the throat and lungs. The ground beneath her seems to shift subtly, a vibration just on the edge of sensation. From the corner of her eye, movement flickers. A shadow, more solid than the others, seems to form and dissolve at the edge of the trailer park. Its shape is indistinct, more suggestion than substance, but its presence is undeniable.
The unnatural shadow lingers, its form flickering between jagged and smooth, never settling into anything recognizable. It pulses in and out of view, each appearance closer than the last, though its motion defies logic. It doesn't approach so much as the space between it and the car seems to fold and collapse, bringing it nearer without movement. The hum intensifies, joined now by an erratic crackling, like ice fracturing under pressure. The whispers rise in volume, overlapping until they become a cacophony of soundless voices pressing in from every direction.
For a moment, the entire world feels as though it holds its breath. The light, the sound, the air itself- everything pauses, suspended in a single, agonizing instant. Then, with a sound like shattering glass, the frost on the windshield fractures outward, spidering cracks radiating from an unseen point. The car's interior plunges into total darkness as the windows go black, reflecting nothing but void.
The oppressive presence lingers, filling the space with a weight that feels almost physical. Something unseen presses against the edges of reality, its form and intent alien, unknowable. The frost continues its slow, deliberate crawl, encasing the car further, as if sealing it in for something or someone. The whispering fades once more, leaving only the deep, resonant hum, pulsing like the heartbeat of the unseen- that has now become the seen. A pair of darkly rimmed eyes peer out through the frost of her splintered windshield, illuminates the darkenss with eyes cruelly bent and purposefully trained on her. Hungry, starved - even more so when white teeth gleam and glisten from within, spreading into a wholly fanged smile beneath eyes and no other discernible facial features.
Madeline lets out a silent scream as the face if whatever creature this might be materializes in the windshield. She steps back, staggering and falling on her ass as she quickly scoots back along the gravel, the idea of getting up to run coming to her all too late. She attempts to get to her feet in panic, finally getting up and making for the front door of her trailer.
Her trailer door slams shut behind Madeline, the echoing clang reverberating through the hollow structure. For a brief, agonizing moment, silence reigns. Then the lock clicks audibly, as if twisted by an unseen hand, sealing her inside. The dim light filtering through the frost-covered window fades, swallowed whole by an encroaching blackness that seeps into every corner of the room. The air grows thick, pressing down with a suffocating weight that makes each breath a struggle.
The trailer begins to vibrate subtly, a low, tremorous hum that feels alive, resonating deep in the bones. At first, it seems like the vibration comes from the cold wind rattling the flimsy walls, but it grows stronger, shifting into an erratic, rhythmic pulse. Objects on the shelves tremble and clatter. A half-empty bottle of whiskey tips over, spilling its contents in slow, syrupy rivulets that pool on the warped floor. The sound of liquid hitting the ground seems unnaturally loud, amplified as though the trailer itself is listening.
Then it happens.
The darkness in the room thickens, taking on form and substance. From the far corner, where shadows seem to pool unnaturally deep, something moves. A shape emerges, dragging itself into view with grotesque, jerking motions, as though it's unused to the act of locomotion. It's vast and amorphous, its edges constantly shifting and reforming, making it impossible to discern where it begins or ends. Tendrils of shadow snake out from its core, curling through the air like the limbs of a predatory beast testing its environment.
The temperature plummets further, the frost creeping along the trailer walls now advancing at a visible pace. Each breath Madeline takes crystallizes instantly, her exhalations adding to the oppressive chill. The air carries a fetid stench- rotting meat and stagnant water- a smell that seems to coil in her nostrils and cling to the back of her throat.
From the amorphous darkness, a face begins to take shape. At first, it's little more than a vague impression, a hollow suggestion of eyes and a mouth. But as it forms, it solidifies into something far worse. The eyes are pits of searing red, glowing faintly at first but growing brighter, their light pulsating in time with the trailer's vibrations. They are not eyes that see; they are eyes that consume, devouring light and hope in equal measure. The mouth, when it comes into focus, is impossibly wide, filled with jagged, uneven teeth that look more like splinters of bone than anything natural. From the gaps between them, a viscous, black ichor drips, sizzling and hissing as it hits the floor.
It doesn't move like a living creature. It doesn't move like anything Madeline could comprehend. One moment, it's across the room, writhing in the corner. The next, it's directly in front of her, its mass pressed against the door, trapping her with no room to escape. The tendrils reach out, one slamming into the wall beside her with a wet, meaty thud, the impact strong enough to rattle the doorframe. Another tendril curls around her wrist, its touch ice-cold and unyielding, pinning her to the door with a force that leaves her gasping.
This thing, it leans closer, its face mere inches from hers. It doesn't have breath, not in any sense she recognizes, but the space between them vibrates with a soundless pressure, as though the creature's presence itself exerts a force against her lungs. Its mouth opens wider, and the sound that erupts from it is not a scream but something far worse. It's a wet, gurgling howl, like water forced through broken pipes, layered with a deep, guttural growl that vibrates through her chest and stomach. The sound carries no words, yet it conveys an unmistakable intent: malice, rage, and hunger.
The trailer's vibrations intensify, growing so violent that the walls groan in protest. The single exposed lightbulb swings wildly, casting erratic shadows that seem to dance and mock her terror. The frost on the walls cracks and splits, spiderwebbing outward as though the trailer itself is coming apart at the seams. Cabinets burst open, their contents spilling out in chaotic disarray, adding to the cacophony of noise and movement.
The tendril around Madeline's wrist tightens, the pressure unbearable, as though it means to crush bone. More tendrils reach out, their tips brushing against her shoulders, her neck, her face, leaving trails of freezing numbness in their wake. The creature's gurgling howl shifts into something resembling laughter, a broken, wheezing sound that lacks any mirth. Its red eyes burn brighter, locking onto hers with a ferocity that makes her feel as though she is being dragged into them, into that endless, consuming void.
The walls of the trailer bow inward slightly, the entire structure groaning as though under some immense weight. The vibrating hum rises in pitch, becoming a shrill, piercing whine that sets her teeth on edge and makes the world seem to tilt and blur. The darkness grows deeper, pressing against her vision, blotting out everything but the creature's face, those eyes, that mouth.
And then, all at once, the vibrations stop. The darkness recoils slightly, the tendrils withdrawing just enough to leave her pinned but not crushed. The red eyes dim ever so slightly, the creature's attention seeming to shift as though it's listening to something she cannot hear. For a brief, agonizing moment, the world holds its breath again, the only sound the faint, wet dripping of ichor from the creature's teeth.
Then, with a sound like tearing fabric, the creature lets out another unearthly howl, its form shuddering violently. The frost on the walls cracks further, chunks falling away to reveal splintered wood and jagged metal beneath. The trailer feels as though it might collapse entirely, the air heavy with a tension that promises more terror to come. If she can do anything at all, here and now - this is the time to do it. Her window of opportunity, come hell or high water. There is a cracked window she could dip through - or if she has other methods to resort in the face of horror, it is her time to sing her tune.
Madeline takes the opportunity to wrench herself free while the creature is distracted. She runs for the window, snagging a decent sized book on the ground, throwing it out the window before climbing through it's tattered remains herself. She recovers the book off the ground, a sigh of relief as she grabbed what she believes to be the right one. She opens the book, quickly trying to find the right pages, hoping the creature remains distracted long enough for her to find it. Finding what she believes to be the right incantation, she takes a shard of the broken window, slicing her hand to let the blood fall on the pages, as she recites the words "Klaatu Verata Nikto!". She sits there on her knees, hoping that her efforts were not in vain.
Frigid frost gnaws at Madeline as she kneels on the frost-crusted ground outside her trailer, the weight of desperation pressing down on her shoulders. The book feels heavy in her hands, its cracked leather cover rough against her bleeding fingers. Her breath fogs in uneven puffs as she flips hurriedly through the brittle pages, their edges fraying beneath her frantic movements. She mutters the words aloud, her voice trembling with equal parts terror and resolve.
"Klaatu Verata Nikto," Her voice rises and falls against the howling wind.
The world remains eerily silent for a beat, as if the very fabric of reality holds its breath. The ghost does not respond, does not falter in its intent. It simply watches her, a nightmare etched into the frame of the shattered window. Its hulking, amorphous form spills into view like ink bleeding into water. The jagged crimson of its eyes burns brighter, pulsating with a rage that seems to consume even the surrounding darkness. Its gaping maw drips with viscous ichor, the liquid sizzling where it touches the remnants of the shattered glass.
The creature lurches forward, its tendrils slipping through the jagged window frame. They writhe and flex as it drags itself closer, the jagged shards tearing at its grotesque form but failing to slow its progress. Its movements are unnatural, jerking and spasmodic, its limbs contorting as though it's unraveling and reforming with each step. The faint light from the pale afternoon sun casts monstrous shadows behind it, stretching and twisting across the frost-rimmed trailer walls. For all of a second, that shadow resembles an uncannily large wolf.
Madeline's voice grows louder as she continues the incantation, her words tripping over each other in her panic. The ghost's jagged claws scrape against the broken frame, splintering wood and metal with a sound that sets her teeth on edge. Its body writhes as it forces its bulk through the opening, ichor spilling in thick, black streams that pool and steam against the frozen ground.
Nothing happens. The book offers no resistance, no flash of light, no divine reprieve. Her words echo hollowly in the air, swallowed by the oppressive weight of the creature's presence. The creature pauses for the briefest of moments, its head cocking unnaturally to one side as if mocking her futile attempt. Then it surges forward, slamming its bulk through the window and onto the ground. Its limbs splay out, dragging its weight as it begins to run on all fours toward her, its movements horrifyingly fast and disjointed.
Madeline doesn't even have time to scream as the creature barrels toward her, the frozen earth trembling beneath its weight. It's a mere feet from her, its tendrils outstretched and writhing, its maw opening impossibly wide to reveal rows of jagged, broken teeth. The air grows unbearably cold, frost forming rapidly on her face and clothing as the creature closes in.
Then, with a deafening crack, it slams into an unseen wall. The impact reverberates through the air, sending a shockwave that ripples through the frost-covered ground. The ghost recoils violently, its form splintering and shuddering as it crashes backward into the side of the trailer. The force of the collision bends the aluminum walls inward with a thunderous groan, leaving a massive dent where the creature's body struck.
It writhes in agony, its form flickering and distorting as though it's unraveling from the inside out. The red glow of its eyes dims, pulsing weakly as the creature lets out a guttural, ear-splitting howl that shakes the very air around it. Its tendrils lash out wildly, leaving deep gouges in the ground as it thrashes in pain. The ichor pouring from its mouth and wounds grows thinner, its once-viscous consistency now watery and faintly luminous, as if its essence is bleeding away.
The disintegration is slow, agonizingly so. Its limbs collapse in on themselves, folding and twisting at unnatural angles before crumbling into ash-like fragments. The glow in its eyes gutters like a dying flame, flickering sporadically before finally extinguishing. The tendrils retract spasmodically, shrinking back into its core as its mass continues to dissolve. The ichor pooling beneath it evaporates, leaving behind scorched, blackened earth that steams in the icy air.
The ghost lets out one final, keening wail- a sound that carries not just rage, but something deeper: anguish, despair, and a terrible, consuming hunger. The sound tapers off into a ragged gurgle as the last remnants of its form collapse inward, vanishing in a final, smoky puff of darkness. The air around Madeline grows still, the oppressive chill lifting slightly as the creature's presence fades entirely.
Silence falls over the trailer park once more. The faint wind stirs the frost-dusted leaves, carrying with it the lingering scent of burnt metal and decay. The book rests in Madeline's trembling hands, its pages still open and stained with her blood. Whatever force had protected her is gone now, leaving her alone in the frigid aftermath. But the shadows remain, stretched long and deep across the frozen ground, as if to remind her that this place- and what's within it- is far from safe. It even bubbles on the ground, last throes of a dying creature, glowing eyes in a puddle of shadow, swirling, shivering, desiring to rise. It surely will again, in time, but it is up to Madeline whether she leaves it be, or does something. Either to destroy it for good, to let it fester for another day, or anything else.
Madeline watches in horror as the creature seems to fold in on itself. The pain from the cut on her hand completely in the back of her mind and soon all she hears is what feels like the deafening silence of a still trailer park. Watching as the creature becomes a wet puddle of ichor, she can't help but laugh, soft at first, but growing more hysterical as she believes that her little stunt must have worked. Maybe it was the book and her poor attempt at an incantation, or perhaps her gods don't see fit to let her go just yet, but she lets it all out, tears streaming down her face as she realizes that maybe she just got lucky. She sits there in the cold for a few moments, the sting of the cut on her hand beginning to remind her of it's presence. She presses her palm against her lag, putting pressure on the wound as the blood stains her jeans. Recovering the book, she staggers around to what is left of her trailer, disappearing inside to lick her wounds and study her recollection of the encounter.
The stillness of the trailer park remains oppressive, a fragile quiet settling over the frostbitten landscape as the last vestiges of the sun dip lower on the horizon. The puddle of black ichor, steaming faintly in the cold, begins to shift. What was once the terrifying, amorphous specter now lies as a viscous pool, its movements slow and deliberate, almost contemplative. The eerie red glow that once radiated from its eyes flickers faintly within the dark liquid, pulsing weakly like a dying ember.
A faint sound disturbs the silence- a low, wet gurgle, as though the ichor itself is breathing. The pool contracts, tightening in on itself, pulling inward with unnatural precision. Tendrils of the substance snake outward, dragging the mass across the frozen ground in a grotesque, slithering motion. It moves without hesitation, guided by some unseen purpose, heading directly for the base of the trailer. The frost-covered earth beneath it sizzles and steams as it passes, leaving dark, scorched trails in its wake.
The trailer's warped and dented walls cast long shadows in the dying light, their sharp angles stretching like skeletal fingers across the ground. Something for Madeline to fix, a monumental work, possibly, as the remnant of what she's encountered living with her in her home. The mass reaches the underside of the trailer and pauses, quivering as though considering its next move. Then, with a sickening squelch, it seeps into the shadows beneath the structure, disappearing inch by inch into the darkness. The faint glow of red fades entirely, leaving no trace of the creature's presence but the faint, acrid smell of burnt metal and decay lingering in the air.
Inside the trailer, the quiet is almost suffocating, but slowly waning. The battered walls groan softly in the cold, their surfaces streaked with frost and warped from the earlier assault. The broken window lets in a draft of icy wind, stirring the debris scattered across the floor. A faint drip echoes through the space as melted frost collects in small puddles, the rhythmic sound a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded moments before. Regular hum of machinery, of household appliances returns as it once was - if they were not broken from the ordeals.
Beneath the trailer, the shadows remain unnaturally deep, an oppressive blackness that defies the faint light from the cracked streetlamps outside. The mass lies dormant now, nestled within the frozen earth and shadowed recesses, its form still and quiet. But the air around it hums faintly with latent energy, a subtle vibration that hints at a life not entirely extinguished. It could return, it might return, but it will live here with her, under her abode.
As the evening stretches into night, the temperature drops further, the frost creeping across the ground like a living thing. The trailer park remains silent, the other structures dark and lifeless, their occupants either absent or hiding behind locked doors. The faint glow of a television screen flickers in one window, the only sign of life in an otherwise desolate scene.
The trailer itself stands as a monument, one dedicated to the horror. Its warped walls and shattered window are silent witnesses, bearing the scars of a battle fought and survived. Inside, the darkness is pierced only by the faint light of a single bulb swinging gently from the ceiling, casting erratic shadows that dance and flicker across the room. The book lies on the floor after she's left and discarded it to tend to her wounds, its blood-stained pages open to the incantation that had seemingly saved a life and yet offered no clear answers.
Beneath it all, the mass waits. Dormant, but not gone. Its presence lingers, a silent promise that whatever force had been unleashed is far from finished. The trailer park's quiet is not peace but a fragile truce, the calm before a storm yet to come. And in the frigid stillness of the night, the darkness watches, patient and eternal. Just another day in Haven, really.
Vacancy here, of the trailer park, remains oppressive, just as much as the inside Madeline has returned to, a fragile quiet settling over the frostbitten landscape as the last vestiges of the sun dip lower on the horizon. The puddle of black ichor, steaming faintly in the cold, begins to shift. What was once the terrifying, amorphous specter now lies as a viscous pool, its movements slow and deliberate, almost contemplative. The eerie red glow that once radiated from its eyes flickers faintly within the dark liquid, pulsing weakly like a dying ember.
A faint sound disturbs the silence- a low, wet gurgle, as though the ichor itself is breathing. The pool contracts, tightening in on itself, pulling inward with unnatural precision. Tendrils of the substance snake outward, dragging the mass across the frozen ground in a grotesque, slithering motion. It moves without hesitation, guided by some unseen purpose, heading directly for the base of the trailer. The frost-covered earth beneath it sizzles and steams as it passes, leaving dark, scorched trails in its wake.
The trailer's warped and dented walls cast long shadows in the dying light, their sharp angles stretching like skeletal fingers across the ground. Something for Madeline to fix, a monumental work, possibly, as the remnant of what she's encountered living with her in her home. The mass reaches the underside of the trailer and pauses, quivering as though considering its next move. Then, with a sickening squelch, it seeps into the shadows beneath the structure, disappearing inch by inch into the darkness. The faint glow of red fades entirely, leaving no trace of the creature's presence but the faint, acrid smell of burnt metal and decay lingering in the air.
Inside the trailer, the quiet is almost suffocating, but slowly waning. The battered walls groan softly in the cold, their surfaces streaked with frost and warped from the earlier assault. The broken window lets in a draft of icy wind, stirring the debris scattered across the floor. A faint drip echoes through the space as melted frost collects in small puddles, the rhythmic sound a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded moments before. Regular hum of machinery, of household appliances returns as it once was - if they were not broken from the ordeals.
Beneath the trailer, the shadows remain unnaturally deep, an oppressive blackness that defies the faint light from the cracked streetlamps outside. The mass lies dormant now, nestled within the frozen earth and shadowed recesses, its form still and quiet. But the air around it hums faintly with latent energy, a subtle vibration that hints at a life not entirely extinguished. It could return, it might return, but it will live here with her, under her abode.
As the evening stretches into night, the temperature drops further, the frost creeping across the ground like a living thing. The trailer park remains silent, the other structures dark and lifeless, their occupants either absent or hiding behind locked doors. The faint glow of a television screen flickers in one window, the only sign of life in an otherwise desolate scene.
The trailer itself stands as a monument, one dedicated to the horror. Its warped walls and shattered window are silent witnesses, bearing the scars of a battle fought and survived. Inside, the darkness is pierced only by the faint light of a single bulb swinging gently from the ceiling, casting erratic shadows that dance and flicker across the room. The book lies on the floor after she's left and discarded it to tend to her wounds, its blood-stained pages open to the incantation that had seemingly saved a life and yet offered no clear answers.
Beneath it all, the mass waits. Dormant, but not gone. Its presence lingers, a silent promise that whatever force had been unleashed is far from finished. The trailer park's quiet is not peace but a fragile truce, the calm before a storm yet to come. And in the frigid stillness of the night, the darkness watches, patient and eternal. Just another day in Haven, really.
(A demon from hell has become interested in your target, they decide to see if they can tempt them into becoming one of their instruments on earth.
)
In Haven, even laying about your own bedroom isn't always safe from something happening. Sometimes its the mundane like a knock on the door or a noise outside. Other times a phone call drags you to something important. But today, its more personal for Ember. In her room that she so carefully decorated for her own comfort there is an increasing heat as if the heating system is malfunctioning.
There is no window to the outside but things seem to get rather dark as the backlight dims significantly. There is a feeling that Ember isn't alone suddenly despite these changes easily being written off as malfunctions.
Ember pulls at the neck of her sweater, blowing a cooling breath upwards over her face as her cheeks pink with the increasing warmth in the room. A glance over to the radiator follows her lean, pressing a hand to it, but it's the same, moderate warm she expected. Why is it so fucking hot in here?
Rising, Ember walks to the dresser, reaching in to find something cooler than the oppressively clingy sweater that shrouds her.
From under the door a smoke begins to seep into the room. At first it crawls across the floor. Almost unnoticed but as it keeps coming, and coming it starts to rise gradually covering the floor at Ember's feet and working its way to her knees. Where there is smoke and heat there is often only one thing that can explain this. The scent of brimstone overtakes Ember's nostrils before the smoke even rises to her face.
Ember pulls her hands back from the dresser, looking down at her feet, her legs as the smoke rises. Concern spurs a sharp inhale, the scent of brimstone hitting her at the same time. Covering her nose with a hand, Ember looks to the door, follows the passage of the smoke and it's seeping beneath the door. "Fuck.. fuck.. Oh Gods. Did I leave.. the stove on?"
The problem with underground living, is the lack of windows, and that smoke-passage of a door, is the only way out. Pulling her sweater up over her nose and tucking her face half into it, Ember reaches for the door handle.
There is no heat when Ember touches the handle but the handle does not move, its jammed tight and wont even wiggle. Its then a voice behind Ember intrudes on the woman, "Watching you panic is exciting." the masculine voice says.
Upon looking, there is no man, no woman. No person here but soon the smoke begins to coalesce from a formless miasma into a somewhat human like shape without features. It could be a trick of the eyes, while the words might be a trick of the ears. Panic does strange things to a person.
Ember shakes the handle, or tries to, grunting softly into the soft wool of her sweater with frustration and effort. As the voice brushes against her senses, Ember freezes, handle in her grasp. Turning suddenly, she presses her back against the door, almost bracing for heat and shocked when none comes. From her pinned position she searches the room with her gaze as best she can through the smoky air.
For a moment or two, Ember is convinced the intruder must lie behind the bed, in the darkened gap that hides from her vision, but when the human-like shape coalesces, she lets the sweater fall from her nose. "Is someone.. you.. who.. what are you?"
Smoke forms into a more defined shape of a man, but never quite becomes real. There is the illusion of a mouth, eyes, a nose. Even the lips seem to move as he talks, "My name is not important, but why I'm here is." The figure reaches out towards Ember but is out of reach to touch her. "I've always enjoyed this place, so much suffering. I thought to come and enjoy myself some more only to find you here."
Cocking its head the 'man' shows some expression with its movements, this expression inquisitive, "You belong to no one. Curious."
As the barely-formed hand reaches out to Ember, she tries to press herself harder against the door despite his lack of reach. "Who would I belong to? Why would I belong to someone? I don't need to belong to anyone." A touch defensive there, Ember, considering this is a smoky intruder.
Narrowing her eyes, Ember tries to focus on the shifting smoke, a need to pigeon-hole the creation into something understandable, "You were looking for the asylum? This.. this was, once.. did I leave the door open? There's no asylum here any longer, do you need some.. help?"
Suddenly the man's arm extends beyond it's normal reach, striking out like a coiled snake to reach Ember, its a cold touch that takes hold of her limbs as the smoke splits into multiple tendrils. The ropes of smoke that grab Ember have real tangibility as they tug Ember down to try and force her to her knees. "Show some respect!" the voice barks. "You are property of no one, and so I have an offer to you" there is an edge to the voice that suggest violence is within easy reach beyond what has already happened.
Arching from the door, Ember is pulled, drawn towards the smoky being, a complaint lost in her throat as her breath is torn from her in shock. Thrust to her knees, Ember seems too stunned to question or condemn him, managing only to breathe, albeit quickened as she looks up at him with an open mouth.
Is it smiling? The apparitions face appears to contort into the vague outlines of a grin but one can't be certain. The tendrils of smoke that put Ember on her knees linger but don't grip. They feel like nothing except thick fluid if Ember tries to move through the smoke to resist. "I will watch over you, before someone does you great harm. I only ask a few small things in return." there is a gap of silence before it shouts at her with sudden hostility, "Are you listening to me?!"
Ember seems almost lulled into a wary sense of security as the tendrils' grip softens and as the beings words spill the offer, making the sudden aggression in his shout all the more startling. Ember is quick to reply, her words almost tripping over the ends of his, "I am listening, I am... I am listening." No real bravado or mouthiness here for once.
Ember seems almost lulled into a wary sense of security as the tendrils' grip softens and as the beings words spill the offer, making the sudden aggression in his shout all the more startling. Ember is quick to reply, her words almost tripping over the ends of his, "I am listening, I am... I am listening." No real bravado or mouthiness here for once.
"I enjoy suffering." the thing tells Ember, not much of a surprise really. "Yours, others. It does not matter." The proposition then comes and he says, "I will stay with you, protect you and you will give me suffering..yours or others you find. I do not care how this achieved."
"Protect me from whom? Give you how? It's not something I can bottle.. and gift..?" Ember gazes up at the being, confusion mingling with fear mingling with.. something else as more questions are pushed at him. "What do you do with it?" A quiet lamentation falls from her lips, "I think I have plenty of suffering, not sure you'll need anyone elses."
The smoke begins to travel up Ember's arms, its a creeping sensation. The invasive touch of a creep boss giving an unwanted massage when it reaches her shoulders. "From others, vampires, wolves. demons, Angels. It matters not. I will keep you from greater harm.." then a silence ensues again waiting on Ember
Ember tilts her head to one side, either away from the smoke tendrils or towards it, who knows. She seems to be thinking this over as she lapses into silence, eyes falling to linger around the beings 'knees' if he has them.
Looking back up, with certainty in her gaze, Ember asserts, "I'll agree. If you really are this field of good that can protect me from the things that lurk around here, I'll agree. If the suffering is happening anyway and I'm not...causing it.. what harm can that be?"
As if a contract has been signed the apparition dissolves into a formless mass and begins to rush towards Ember. The tendrils that crept up her arms also continue moving up, all the smoke in the room begins to rapidly seek to enter Ember through nose and mouth, its choking, tasting of sulfur and smelling just as terrible. Within moments all the smoke in the room is gone but not from the room, its found refuge in Ember. Eventually she feels 'normal' the presence undetectable but it most certainly went inside Ember without clarifying any of her questions.
Ember throws her head back, gasping as she inhales, the roughly scented smoke pouring itself into her body in a rush. Hanging her head backwards for a moment in stunned silence, eventually she slumps down to her haunches, breathing hard.
Driven to desperation, Madeline invokes a presumably powerful incantation, "Klaatu Verata Nikto," beseeching salvation through an old tome, bound in cracked leather and stained with her blood. Her invocation appears to falter, contributing to the mounting despair, when suddenly, the entity recoils as if struck by an unseen force. This momentary respite allows Madeline to escape its immediate grasp, though not without consequence; the creature’s essence persists, ominously hinting at its lurking return beneath the very foundations of her home. This harrowing ordeal leaves Madeline—and the reader—with the haunting realization that the events are but a prelude to further darkness. The entity, seemingly defeated, retreats into a quiescent state under her trailer, suggesting that its malevolent presence is far from eradicated and eerily poised for resurgence.
Parallel to Madeline’s supernatural plight, Ember confronts her own demonic intrusion within the confines of her heat-stricken room. Initially mistaking the phenomenon for a mundane malfunction, Ember quickly finds herself ensnared by an opaquely manifested demon with intentions as cryptic as its form. The demon's proposition, steeped in the currency of suffering and protection, tempts Ember with a nebulous promise of safety against the myriad threats lurking within their haunted reality. Despite the nebulous guarantees, Ember consents, unwittingly binding herself to the demon in an exchange that portends a complex blend of protection and complicity in unseen covenants of suffering. This agreement, sealed by the invasive suffusion of the demon into her very being, leaves Ember laden with an uninvited presence, ushering a profound alteration in her life’s trajectory under the omnipresent watch of her cryptic, newfound guardian.
The interweaving of Madeline and Ember's encounters with the supernatural elements of their world reveals a tapestry of existential entrapment and uneasy bargains. Both narratives punctuate the relentless presence of otherworldly beings, whose motives and methods blur the lines between salvation and subjugation, protection and torment, manifesting a haunting overlay upon their reality that is both cryptic and indelibly marked by the uncanny.
(Madeline's odd encounter(SRCastiel):SRCastiel)
[Sat Dec 28 2024]
In a trailer bedroom that looks more like a garage
It is afternoon, about 18F(-7C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target encounters a ghost who's fixated on some past tragedy from their life, they need to either give the spirit some sense of closure, or send it on it's way through more violent means.
)
Madeline dons her winter apparel to brave the cold outside as she steps out her front door to head for her vehicle.
The bedroom has the dimensions of a garage, and that isn't by accident. Dusty, industrial shelving units line the walls, filled with an assortment of items: power tools whose edges gleam faintly even in the low light, half-empty cans of motor oil, and heaps of tangled extension cords that seem to nest together like coiled serpents. The bed, an incongruously luxurious king-sized monstrosity, occupies the center of the space, its wrought-iron frame jagged and ornamental, like something dragged out of an antique salvage yard. The mattress is covered in a patchwork quilt, the kind that should be cozy but looks perpetually damp, with stains creeping along its edges as if the fabric itself is rotting.
The floor is bare concrete, cold enough to leech warmth through thick socks. It has been swept in haphazard streaks, though patches of grime cling stubbornly to its surface, forming shapes that look uncomfortably organic when stared at too long. A single window, high and narrow like a prison slot, lets in a pallid beam of daylight that barely reaches the bed. The air has a biting chill, a sub-zero draft that seems to seep up from the ground itself, defying logic and insulation. Frost clings to the edges of the windowpane, etching jagged patterns like skeletal fingers splayed in a desperate grip.
The walls bear evidence of a haphazard attempt at decoration- old license plates arranged in uneven rows, posters of heavy metal bands whose edges curl with age, and a single, defiant streak of graffiti sprayed directly onto the drywall. Unknown writing it reads, in uneven black scrawl, though what isn't to be forgotten is left unstated. Beneath the graffiti sits a hulking tool chest, its drawers slightly ajar to reveal wrenches, screwdrivers, and other tools of precision, all dusted with a fine layer of frost that makes them glitter like weapons in a dragon's hoard.
An exposed bulb hangs from the ceiling, its light harsh and sterile, illuminating every grimy detail. Shadows stretch and warp unnaturally in the flicker of the bulb, as though the room itself is breathing. The faint hum of electricity buzzes in the silence, accompanied by the occasional creak of the metal shelving, as if some invisible weight shifts among the objects.
Madeline sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, her breath visible in the icy air. Each exhale forms a ghostly wisp that dissipates too quickly, as though something unseen devours it. The cold isn't just physical; it gnaws at the edges of her thoughts, prickling her skin with a sensation that feels less like discomfort and more like a warning. Even as she rises and moves to leave, a subtle sense of being observed clings to her, as though the air itself has eyes.
Whether she does or not, grabs her coat from a hook driven into the wall- a crude, bent nail- and to pull it tight around her shoulders, the frigid air is hostile. Her boots echo sharply on the concrete as she heads for the door. The metal door handle is cold enough to sting her palm as she turns it, the chill seeping through. Along with it, something else. A distraught sensation of being watched by something. Not too dissimilar to a predator of sorts that is beyond the veil of normalcy, trained its sights upon her and watching from elsewere, from a place outside of here and now.
The door creaks open with a sound that seems unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. Beyond it, a short hallway stretches, dimly lit and equally unwelcoming, its walls lined with peeling paint that reveals layers of forgotten colors beneath. A faint smell of mildew and motor oil hangs in the air, blending into an oddly metallic tang that makes her stomach churn. Without hesitation, Madeline steps into the hall, letting the door swing shut behind her with a hollow clang that reverberates through the space.
She makes her way outside, her boots crunching against gravel as she approaches her vehicle.
Madeline shivers in the cold, in spite of the several layers making an earnest attempt to keep the cold at bay. She unlocks the car door and manages to rip it free from the grip of ice holding it in place. She turns the key, and the engine groans in complaint as if it can't be bothered to start. Several turns later, and the engine finally sputters to life. Turning the heat and defrost on, she takes the ice scraper from the floor of the car and begins to work on the clearing the windshield. The whole time she is filled with a sense of unease, as the afternoon cold seems to be a bit too silent for the trailer park. No fights, no wild life, nothing but the howl of wind and the protesting engine. She attempts to clear the ice faster, her urge to get in the car and out of the cold and away from whatever unease lingers here palpable to her.
Afternoon sun hangs stubbornly in the sky, but its light seems thin and pale, as if the cold has stolen its warmth and luster. The shadows cast by the trailer park's skeletal trees and sagging structures stretch unnaturally long, bleeding across the frostbitten ground like black veins. The wind picks up in uneven gusts, hissing through the gaps in weather-worn trailers and rattling loose metal sheets with a sound like distant, hollow laughter. Yet, for all its noise, the air feels oppressively silent, as if the wind itself is trying to mask something far more unsettling.
The frost on the surrounding vehicles glimmers faintly, catching the light in ways that make their surfaces seem almost liquid. The ice doesn't merely cling to the glass and metal- it appears to grow, curling in delicate, fractal tendrils as though it's alive. Beneath the frost's crystalline beauty, a faint pattern emerges, spidering across surfaces in whorls and lines that resemble some arcane script, the meaning of which is mercifully obscured.
All air near Madeline's car feels heavier now, laden with a damp chill that seems to seep into the skin and settle deep in the bones. The frost on her windshield, thick and defiant, reflects the surroundings in a way that doesn't quite match the world beyond it. The warped reflections twist unnaturally, bending angles that shouldn't be bendable. The tree limbs seem to sway in the reflection even when the wind dies down, their movements jerky and stilted, like marionettes under clumsy control. For an instant, the shadow of something large and angular passes across the glass, though the sky beyond remains empty.
The engine's grumbling protests echo across the empty trailer park, each sound seeming to bounce back distorted, as though the space itself resents the noise. The sputtering motor grows louder, then abruptly chokes off into silence. The moment stretches long, the quiet now so profound that even the faintest scrape of the ice scraper against glass sounds deafening. Somewhere, in the distance, the faintest of whispers seems to rise, too soft to discern words but carrying an unmistakable tone of grief, or perhaps anger. It ebbs and flows, just below the threshold of understanding, like the memory of a dream rapidly fading upon waking.
Shadows deepen unnaturally around the car, pooling at its tires and stretching up its sides. Despite the open expanse of the trailer park, a sense of confinement presses in, as if the space around her has shrunk. The afternoon light dims inexplicably, taking on a strange, grayish hue that desaturates the world, sapping the colors from the faded trailers and frost-rimed gravel. The windows of the surrounding trailers, already dark, seem to grow darker still, their glass opaque and unyielding, like blind eyes refusing to see.
Wind picks up again, but this time it carries a sound that doesn't belong- a faint, rhythmic tapping, like fingernails on glass. It isn't coming from her car, but from somewhere nearby, moving slowly but deliberately closer. The sound fades momentarily, only to return from the opposite direction, accompanied by the faint crunch of gravel that doesn't sync with her own movements.
Frost on her windshield thickens visibly, a crawling motion that advances with unnerving purpose. Patterns form again, sharper and more distinct this time: looping symbols that seem to pulse faintly, as though they carry some latent energy. As she works to clear it, the ice refuses to yield entirely, leaving behind faint ghostly imprints that stubbornly resist her efforts. Each stroke of the scraper feels less like clearing ice and more like trying to erase something etched deeply into the glass.
The car's interior grows colder still, and the defrost function does nothing to push back the frost creeping along the edges of the glass. The dashboard lights flicker weakly, their glow diminishing before the entire console dies, leaving the interior bathed in an unnatural shadow. The sudden death of the car feels less like a mechanical failure and more like a deliberate choice, as though something unseen has reached in and snuffed it out.
Oppressive silence is broken again, this time by a low, resonant hum that seems to vibrate through the air. It doesn't come from the car or the wind but feels as though it's emanating from the ground itself, rising and falling in rhythmic pulses. Alongside the hum, the faint whispers return, clearer now but still impossible to parse. They weave through the soundscape like threads of a melody, pulling at the edges of comprehension before slipping away.
The air takes on a strange density, the kind that makes every breath feel labored, each inhale dragging in cold that stings the throat and lungs. The ground beneath her seems to shift subtly, a vibration just on the edge of sensation. From the corner of her eye, movement flickers. A shadow, more solid than the others, seems to form and dissolve at the edge of the trailer park. Its shape is indistinct, more suggestion than substance, but its presence is undeniable.
The unnatural shadow lingers, its form flickering between jagged and smooth, never settling into anything recognizable. It pulses in and out of view, each appearance closer than the last, though its motion defies logic. It doesn't approach so much as the space between it and the car seems to fold and collapse, bringing it nearer without movement. The hum intensifies, joined now by an erratic crackling, like ice fracturing under pressure. The whispers rise in volume, overlapping until they become a cacophony of soundless voices pressing in from every direction.
For a moment, the entire world feels as though it holds its breath. The light, the sound, the air itself- everything pauses, suspended in a single, agonizing instant. Then, with a sound like shattering glass, the frost on the windshield fractures outward, spidering cracks radiating from an unseen point. The car's interior plunges into total darkness as the windows go black, reflecting nothing but void.
The oppressive presence lingers, filling the space with a weight that feels almost physical. Something unseen presses against the edges of reality, its form and intent alien, unknowable. The frost continues its slow, deliberate crawl, encasing the car further, as if sealing it in for something or someone. The whispering fades once more, leaving only the deep, resonant hum, pulsing like the heartbeat of the unseen- that has now become the seen. A pair of darkly rimmed eyes peer out through the frost of her splintered windshield, illuminates the darkenss with eyes cruelly bent and purposefully trained on her. Hungry, starved - even more so when white teeth gleam and glisten from within, spreading into a wholly fanged smile beneath eyes and no other discernible facial features.
Madeline lets out a silent scream as the face if whatever creature this might be materializes in the windshield. She steps back, staggering and falling on her ass as she quickly scoots back along the gravel, the idea of getting up to run coming to her all too late. She attempts to get to her feet in panic, finally getting up and making for the front door of her trailer.
Her trailer door slams shut behind Madeline, the echoing clang reverberating through the hollow structure. For a brief, agonizing moment, silence reigns. Then the lock clicks audibly, as if twisted by an unseen hand, sealing her inside. The dim light filtering through the frost-covered window fades, swallowed whole by an encroaching blackness that seeps into every corner of the room. The air grows thick, pressing down with a suffocating weight that makes each breath a struggle.
The trailer begins to vibrate subtly, a low, tremorous hum that feels alive, resonating deep in the bones. At first, it seems like the vibration comes from the cold wind rattling the flimsy walls, but it grows stronger, shifting into an erratic, rhythmic pulse. Objects on the shelves tremble and clatter. A half-empty bottle of whiskey tips over, spilling its contents in slow, syrupy rivulets that pool on the warped floor. The sound of liquid hitting the ground seems unnaturally loud, amplified as though the trailer itself is listening.
Then it happens.
The darkness in the room thickens, taking on form and substance. From the far corner, where shadows seem to pool unnaturally deep, something moves. A shape emerges, dragging itself into view with grotesque, jerking motions, as though it's unused to the act of locomotion. It's vast and amorphous, its edges constantly shifting and reforming, making it impossible to discern where it begins or ends. Tendrils of shadow snake out from its core, curling through the air like the limbs of a predatory beast testing its environment.
The temperature plummets further, the frost creeping along the trailer walls now advancing at a visible pace. Each breath Madeline takes crystallizes instantly, her exhalations adding to the oppressive chill. The air carries a fetid stench- rotting meat and stagnant water- a smell that seems to coil in her nostrils and cling to the back of her throat.
From the amorphous darkness, a face begins to take shape. At first, it's little more than a vague impression, a hollow suggestion of eyes and a mouth. But as it forms, it solidifies into something far worse. The eyes are pits of searing red, glowing faintly at first but growing brighter, their light pulsating in time with the trailer's vibrations. They are not eyes that see; they are eyes that consume, devouring light and hope in equal measure. The mouth, when it comes into focus, is impossibly wide, filled with jagged, uneven teeth that look more like splinters of bone than anything natural. From the gaps between them, a viscous, black ichor drips, sizzling and hissing as it hits the floor.
It doesn't move like a living creature. It doesn't move like anything Madeline could comprehend. One moment, it's across the room, writhing in the corner. The next, it's directly in front of her, its mass pressed against the door, trapping her with no room to escape. The tendrils reach out, one slamming into the wall beside her with a wet, meaty thud, the impact strong enough to rattle the doorframe. Another tendril curls around her wrist, its touch ice-cold and unyielding, pinning her to the door with a force that leaves her gasping.
This thing, it leans closer, its face mere inches from hers. It doesn't have breath, not in any sense she recognizes, but the space between them vibrates with a soundless pressure, as though the creature's presence itself exerts a force against her lungs. Its mouth opens wider, and the sound that erupts from it is not a scream but something far worse. It's a wet, gurgling howl, like water forced through broken pipes, layered with a deep, guttural growl that vibrates through her chest and stomach. The sound carries no words, yet it conveys an unmistakable intent: malice, rage, and hunger.
The trailer's vibrations intensify, growing so violent that the walls groan in protest. The single exposed lightbulb swings wildly, casting erratic shadows that seem to dance and mock her terror. The frost on the walls cracks and splits, spiderwebbing outward as though the trailer itself is coming apart at the seams. Cabinets burst open, their contents spilling out in chaotic disarray, adding to the cacophony of noise and movement.
The tendril around Madeline's wrist tightens, the pressure unbearable, as though it means to crush bone. More tendrils reach out, their tips brushing against her shoulders, her neck, her face, leaving trails of freezing numbness in their wake. The creature's gurgling howl shifts into something resembling laughter, a broken, wheezing sound that lacks any mirth. Its red eyes burn brighter, locking onto hers with a ferocity that makes her feel as though she is being dragged into them, into that endless, consuming void.
The walls of the trailer bow inward slightly, the entire structure groaning as though under some immense weight. The vibrating hum rises in pitch, becoming a shrill, piercing whine that sets her teeth on edge and makes the world seem to tilt and blur. The darkness grows deeper, pressing against her vision, blotting out everything but the creature's face, those eyes, that mouth.
And then, all at once, the vibrations stop. The darkness recoils slightly, the tendrils withdrawing just enough to leave her pinned but not crushed. The red eyes dim ever so slightly, the creature's attention seeming to shift as though it's listening to something she cannot hear. For a brief, agonizing moment, the world holds its breath again, the only sound the faint, wet dripping of ichor from the creature's teeth.
Then, with a sound like tearing fabric, the creature lets out another unearthly howl, its form shuddering violently. The frost on the walls cracks further, chunks falling away to reveal splintered wood and jagged metal beneath. The trailer feels as though it might collapse entirely, the air heavy with a tension that promises more terror to come. If she can do anything at all, here and now - this is the time to do it. Her window of opportunity, come hell or high water. There is a cracked window she could dip through - or if she has other methods to resort in the face of horror, it is her time to sing her tune.
Madeline takes the opportunity to wrench herself free while the creature is distracted. She runs for the window, snagging a decent sized book on the ground, throwing it out the window before climbing through it's tattered remains herself. She recovers the book off the ground, a sigh of relief as she grabbed what she believes to be the right one. She opens the book, quickly trying to find the right pages, hoping the creature remains distracted long enough for her to find it. Finding what she believes to be the right incantation, she takes a shard of the broken window, slicing her hand to let the blood fall on the pages, as she recites the words "Klaatu Verata Nikto!". She sits there on her knees, hoping that her efforts were not in vain.
Frigid frost gnaws at Madeline as she kneels on the frost-crusted ground outside her trailer, the weight of desperation pressing down on her shoulders. The book feels heavy in her hands, its cracked leather cover rough against her bleeding fingers. Her breath fogs in uneven puffs as she flips hurriedly through the brittle pages, their edges fraying beneath her frantic movements. She mutters the words aloud, her voice trembling with equal parts terror and resolve.
"Klaatu Verata Nikto," Her voice rises and falls against the howling wind.
The world remains eerily silent for a beat, as if the very fabric of reality holds its breath. The ghost does not respond, does not falter in its intent. It simply watches her, a nightmare etched into the frame of the shattered window. Its hulking, amorphous form spills into view like ink bleeding into water. The jagged crimson of its eyes burns brighter, pulsating with a rage that seems to consume even the surrounding darkness. Its gaping maw drips with viscous ichor, the liquid sizzling where it touches the remnants of the shattered glass.
The creature lurches forward, its tendrils slipping through the jagged window frame. They writhe and flex as it drags itself closer, the jagged shards tearing at its grotesque form but failing to slow its progress. Its movements are unnatural, jerking and spasmodic, its limbs contorting as though it's unraveling and reforming with each step. The faint light from the pale afternoon sun casts monstrous shadows behind it, stretching and twisting across the frost-rimmed trailer walls. For all of a second, that shadow resembles an uncannily large wolf.
Madeline's voice grows louder as she continues the incantation, her words tripping over each other in her panic. The ghost's jagged claws scrape against the broken frame, splintering wood and metal with a sound that sets her teeth on edge. Its body writhes as it forces its bulk through the opening, ichor spilling in thick, black streams that pool and steam against the frozen ground.
Nothing happens. The book offers no resistance, no flash of light, no divine reprieve. Her words echo hollowly in the air, swallowed by the oppressive weight of the creature's presence. The creature pauses for the briefest of moments, its head cocking unnaturally to one side as if mocking her futile attempt. Then it surges forward, slamming its bulk through the window and onto the ground. Its limbs splay out, dragging its weight as it begins to run on all fours toward her, its movements horrifyingly fast and disjointed.
Madeline doesn't even have time to scream as the creature barrels toward her, the frozen earth trembling beneath its weight. It's a mere feet from her, its tendrils outstretched and writhing, its maw opening impossibly wide to reveal rows of jagged, broken teeth. The air grows unbearably cold, frost forming rapidly on her face and clothing as the creature closes in.
Then, with a deafening crack, it slams into an unseen wall. The impact reverberates through the air, sending a shockwave that ripples through the frost-covered ground. The ghost recoils violently, its form splintering and shuddering as it crashes backward into the side of the trailer. The force of the collision bends the aluminum walls inward with a thunderous groan, leaving a massive dent where the creature's body struck.
It writhes in agony, its form flickering and distorting as though it's unraveling from the inside out. The red glow of its eyes dims, pulsing weakly as the creature lets out a guttural, ear-splitting howl that shakes the very air around it. Its tendrils lash out wildly, leaving deep gouges in the ground as it thrashes in pain. The ichor pouring from its mouth and wounds grows thinner, its once-viscous consistency now watery and faintly luminous, as if its essence is bleeding away.
The disintegration is slow, agonizingly so. Its limbs collapse in on themselves, folding and twisting at unnatural angles before crumbling into ash-like fragments. The glow in its eyes gutters like a dying flame, flickering sporadically before finally extinguishing. The tendrils retract spasmodically, shrinking back into its core as its mass continues to dissolve. The ichor pooling beneath it evaporates, leaving behind scorched, blackened earth that steams in the icy air.
The ghost lets out one final, keening wail- a sound that carries not just rage, but something deeper: anguish, despair, and a terrible, consuming hunger. The sound tapers off into a ragged gurgle as the last remnants of its form collapse inward, vanishing in a final, smoky puff of darkness. The air around Madeline grows still, the oppressive chill lifting slightly as the creature's presence fades entirely.
Silence falls over the trailer park once more. The faint wind stirs the frost-dusted leaves, carrying with it the lingering scent of burnt metal and decay. The book rests in Madeline's trembling hands, its pages still open and stained with her blood. Whatever force had protected her is gone now, leaving her alone in the frigid aftermath. But the shadows remain, stretched long and deep across the frozen ground, as if to remind her that this place- and what's within it- is far from safe. It even bubbles on the ground, last throes of a dying creature, glowing eyes in a puddle of shadow, swirling, shivering, desiring to rise. It surely will again, in time, but it is up to Madeline whether she leaves it be, or does something. Either to destroy it for good, to let it fester for another day, or anything else.
Madeline watches in horror as the creature seems to fold in on itself. The pain from the cut on her hand completely in the back of her mind and soon all she hears is what feels like the deafening silence of a still trailer park. Watching as the creature becomes a wet puddle of ichor, she can't help but laugh, soft at first, but growing more hysterical as she believes that her little stunt must have worked. Maybe it was the book and her poor attempt at an incantation, or perhaps her gods don't see fit to let her go just yet, but she lets it all out, tears streaming down her face as she realizes that maybe she just got lucky. She sits there in the cold for a few moments, the sting of the cut on her hand beginning to remind her of it's presence. She presses her palm against her lag, putting pressure on the wound as the blood stains her jeans. Recovering the book, she staggers around to what is left of her trailer, disappearing inside to lick her wounds and study her recollection of the encounter.
The stillness of the trailer park remains oppressive, a fragile quiet settling over the frostbitten landscape as the last vestiges of the sun dip lower on the horizon. The puddle of black ichor, steaming faintly in the cold, begins to shift. What was once the terrifying, amorphous specter now lies as a viscous pool, its movements slow and deliberate, almost contemplative. The eerie red glow that once radiated from its eyes flickers faintly within the dark liquid, pulsing weakly like a dying ember.
A faint sound disturbs the silence- a low, wet gurgle, as though the ichor itself is breathing. The pool contracts, tightening in on itself, pulling inward with unnatural precision. Tendrils of the substance snake outward, dragging the mass across the frozen ground in a grotesque, slithering motion. It moves without hesitation, guided by some unseen purpose, heading directly for the base of the trailer. The frost-covered earth beneath it sizzles and steams as it passes, leaving dark, scorched trails in its wake.
The trailer's warped and dented walls cast long shadows in the dying light, their sharp angles stretching like skeletal fingers across the ground. Something for Madeline to fix, a monumental work, possibly, as the remnant of what she's encountered living with her in her home. The mass reaches the underside of the trailer and pauses, quivering as though considering its next move. Then, with a sickening squelch, it seeps into the shadows beneath the structure, disappearing inch by inch into the darkness. The faint glow of red fades entirely, leaving no trace of the creature's presence but the faint, acrid smell of burnt metal and decay lingering in the air.
Inside the trailer, the quiet is almost suffocating, but slowly waning. The battered walls groan softly in the cold, their surfaces streaked with frost and warped from the earlier assault. The broken window lets in a draft of icy wind, stirring the debris scattered across the floor. A faint drip echoes through the space as melted frost collects in small puddles, the rhythmic sound a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded moments before. Regular hum of machinery, of household appliances returns as it once was - if they were not broken from the ordeals.
Beneath the trailer, the shadows remain unnaturally deep, an oppressive blackness that defies the faint light from the cracked streetlamps outside. The mass lies dormant now, nestled within the frozen earth and shadowed recesses, its form still and quiet. But the air around it hums faintly with latent energy, a subtle vibration that hints at a life not entirely extinguished. It could return, it might return, but it will live here with her, under her abode.
As the evening stretches into night, the temperature drops further, the frost creeping across the ground like a living thing. The trailer park remains silent, the other structures dark and lifeless, their occupants either absent or hiding behind locked doors. The faint glow of a television screen flickers in one window, the only sign of life in an otherwise desolate scene.
The trailer itself stands as a monument, one dedicated to the horror. Its warped walls and shattered window are silent witnesses, bearing the scars of a battle fought and survived. Inside, the darkness is pierced only by the faint light of a single bulb swinging gently from the ceiling, casting erratic shadows that dance and flicker across the room. The book lies on the floor after she's left and discarded it to tend to her wounds, its blood-stained pages open to the incantation that had seemingly saved a life and yet offered no clear answers.
Beneath it all, the mass waits. Dormant, but not gone. Its presence lingers, a silent promise that whatever force had been unleashed is far from finished. The trailer park's quiet is not peace but a fragile truce, the calm before a storm yet to come. And in the frigid stillness of the night, the darkness watches, patient and eternal. Just another day in Haven, really.
Vacancy here, of the trailer park, remains oppressive, just as much as the inside Madeline has returned to, a fragile quiet settling over the frostbitten landscape as the last vestiges of the sun dip lower on the horizon. The puddle of black ichor, steaming faintly in the cold, begins to shift. What was once the terrifying, amorphous specter now lies as a viscous pool, its movements slow and deliberate, almost contemplative. The eerie red glow that once radiated from its eyes flickers faintly within the dark liquid, pulsing weakly like a dying ember.
A faint sound disturbs the silence- a low, wet gurgle, as though the ichor itself is breathing. The pool contracts, tightening in on itself, pulling inward with unnatural precision. Tendrils of the substance snake outward, dragging the mass across the frozen ground in a grotesque, slithering motion. It moves without hesitation, guided by some unseen purpose, heading directly for the base of the trailer. The frost-covered earth beneath it sizzles and steams as it passes, leaving dark, scorched trails in its wake.
The trailer's warped and dented walls cast long shadows in the dying light, their sharp angles stretching like skeletal fingers across the ground. Something for Madeline to fix, a monumental work, possibly, as the remnant of what she's encountered living with her in her home. The mass reaches the underside of the trailer and pauses, quivering as though considering its next move. Then, with a sickening squelch, it seeps into the shadows beneath the structure, disappearing inch by inch into the darkness. The faint glow of red fades entirely, leaving no trace of the creature's presence but the faint, acrid smell of burnt metal and decay lingering in the air.
Inside the trailer, the quiet is almost suffocating, but slowly waning. The battered walls groan softly in the cold, their surfaces streaked with frost and warped from the earlier assault. The broken window lets in a draft of icy wind, stirring the debris scattered across the floor. A faint drip echoes through the space as melted frost collects in small puddles, the rhythmic sound a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded moments before. Regular hum of machinery, of household appliances returns as it once was - if they were not broken from the ordeals.
Beneath the trailer, the shadows remain unnaturally deep, an oppressive blackness that defies the faint light from the cracked streetlamps outside. The mass lies dormant now, nestled within the frozen earth and shadowed recesses, its form still and quiet. But the air around it hums faintly with latent energy, a subtle vibration that hints at a life not entirely extinguished. It could return, it might return, but it will live here with her, under her abode.
As the evening stretches into night, the temperature drops further, the frost creeping across the ground like a living thing. The trailer park remains silent, the other structures dark and lifeless, their occupants either absent or hiding behind locked doors. The faint glow of a television screen flickers in one window, the only sign of life in an otherwise desolate scene.
The trailer itself stands as a monument, one dedicated to the horror. Its warped walls and shattered window are silent witnesses, bearing the scars of a battle fought and survived. Inside, the darkness is pierced only by the faint light of a single bulb swinging gently from the ceiling, casting erratic shadows that dance and flicker across the room. The book lies on the floor after she's left and discarded it to tend to her wounds, its blood-stained pages open to the incantation that had seemingly saved a life and yet offered no clear answers.
Beneath it all, the mass waits. Dormant, but not gone. Its presence lingers, a silent promise that whatever force had been unleashed is far from finished. The trailer park's quiet is not peace but a fragile truce, the calm before a storm yet to come. And in the frigid stillness of the night, the darkness watches, patient and eternal. Just another day in Haven, really.
(A demon from hell has become interested in your target, they decide to see if they can tempt them into becoming one of their instruments on earth.
)
In Haven, even laying about your own bedroom isn't always safe from something happening. Sometimes its the mundane like a knock on the door or a noise outside. Other times a phone call drags you to something important. But today, its more personal for Ember. In her room that she so carefully decorated for her own comfort there is an increasing heat as if the heating system is malfunctioning.
There is no window to the outside but things seem to get rather dark as the backlight dims significantly. There is a feeling that Ember isn't alone suddenly despite these changes easily being written off as malfunctions.
Ember pulls at the neck of her sweater, blowing a cooling breath upwards over her face as her cheeks pink with the increasing warmth in the room. A glance over to the radiator follows her lean, pressing a hand to it, but it's the same, moderate warm she expected. Why is it so fucking hot in here?
Rising, Ember walks to the dresser, reaching in to find something cooler than the oppressively clingy sweater that shrouds her.
From under the door a smoke begins to seep into the room. At first it crawls across the floor. Almost unnoticed but as it keeps coming, and coming it starts to rise gradually covering the floor at Ember's feet and working its way to her knees. Where there is smoke and heat there is often only one thing that can explain this. The scent of brimstone overtakes Ember's nostrils before the smoke even rises to her face.
Ember pulls her hands back from the dresser, looking down at her feet, her legs as the smoke rises. Concern spurs a sharp inhale, the scent of brimstone hitting her at the same time. Covering her nose with a hand, Ember looks to the door, follows the passage of the smoke and it's seeping beneath the door. "Fuck.. fuck.. Oh Gods. Did I leave.. the stove on?"
The problem with underground living, is the lack of windows, and that smoke-passage of a door, is the only way out. Pulling her sweater up over her nose and tucking her face half into it, Ember reaches for the door handle.
There is no heat when Ember touches the handle but the handle does not move, its jammed tight and wont even wiggle. Its then a voice behind Ember intrudes on the woman, "Watching you panic is exciting." the masculine voice says.
Upon looking, there is no man, no woman. No person here but soon the smoke begins to coalesce from a formless miasma into a somewhat human like shape without features. It could be a trick of the eyes, while the words might be a trick of the ears. Panic does strange things to a person.
Ember shakes the handle, or tries to, grunting softly into the soft wool of her sweater with frustration and effort. As the voice brushes against her senses, Ember freezes, handle in her grasp. Turning suddenly, she presses her back against the door, almost bracing for heat and shocked when none comes. From her pinned position she searches the room with her gaze as best she can through the smoky air.
For a moment or two, Ember is convinced the intruder must lie behind the bed, in the darkened gap that hides from her vision, but when the human-like shape coalesces, she lets the sweater fall from her nose. "Is someone.. you.. who.. what are you?"
Smoke forms into a more defined shape of a man, but never quite becomes real. There is the illusion of a mouth, eyes, a nose. Even the lips seem to move as he talks, "My name is not important, but why I'm here is." The figure reaches out towards Ember but is out of reach to touch her. "I've always enjoyed this place, so much suffering. I thought to come and enjoy myself some more only to find you here."
Cocking its head the 'man' shows some expression with its movements, this expression inquisitive, "You belong to no one. Curious."
As the barely-formed hand reaches out to Ember, she tries to press herself harder against the door despite his lack of reach. "Who would I belong to? Why would I belong to someone? I don't need to belong to anyone." A touch defensive there, Ember, considering this is a smoky intruder.
Narrowing her eyes, Ember tries to focus on the shifting smoke, a need to pigeon-hole the creation into something understandable, "You were looking for the asylum? This.. this was, once.. did I leave the door open? There's no asylum here any longer, do you need some.. help?"
Suddenly the man's arm extends beyond it's normal reach, striking out like a coiled snake to reach Ember, its a cold touch that takes hold of her limbs as the smoke splits into multiple tendrils. The ropes of smoke that grab Ember have real tangibility as they tug Ember down to try and force her to her knees. "Show some respect!" the voice barks. "You are property of no one, and so I have an offer to you" there is an edge to the voice that suggest violence is within easy reach beyond what has already happened.
Arching from the door, Ember is pulled, drawn towards the smoky being, a complaint lost in her throat as her breath is torn from her in shock. Thrust to her knees, Ember seems too stunned to question or condemn him, managing only to breathe, albeit quickened as she looks up at him with an open mouth.
Is it smiling? The apparitions face appears to contort into the vague outlines of a grin but one can't be certain. The tendrils of smoke that put Ember on her knees linger but don't grip. They feel like nothing except thick fluid if Ember tries to move through the smoke to resist. "I will watch over you, before someone does you great harm. I only ask a few small things in return." there is a gap of silence before it shouts at her with sudden hostility, "Are you listening to me?!"
Ember seems almost lulled into a wary sense of security as the tendrils' grip softens and as the beings words spill the offer, making the sudden aggression in his shout all the more startling. Ember is quick to reply, her words almost tripping over the ends of his, "I am listening, I am... I am listening." No real bravado or mouthiness here for once.
Ember seems almost lulled into a wary sense of security as the tendrils' grip softens and as the beings words spill the offer, making the sudden aggression in his shout all the more startling. Ember is quick to reply, her words almost tripping over the ends of his, "I am listening, I am... I am listening." No real bravado or mouthiness here for once.
"I enjoy suffering." the thing tells Ember, not much of a surprise really. "Yours, others. It does not matter." The proposition then comes and he says, "I will stay with you, protect you and you will give me suffering..yours or others you find. I do not care how this achieved."
"Protect me from whom? Give you how? It's not something I can bottle.. and gift..?" Ember gazes up at the being, confusion mingling with fear mingling with.. something else as more questions are pushed at him. "What do you do with it?" A quiet lamentation falls from her lips, "I think I have plenty of suffering, not sure you'll need anyone elses."
The smoke begins to travel up Ember's arms, its a creeping sensation. The invasive touch of a creep boss giving an unwanted massage when it reaches her shoulders. "From others, vampires, wolves. demons, Angels. It matters not. I will keep you from greater harm.." then a silence ensues again waiting on Ember
Ember tilts her head to one side, either away from the smoke tendrils or towards it, who knows. She seems to be thinking this over as she lapses into silence, eyes falling to linger around the beings 'knees' if he has them.
Looking back up, with certainty in her gaze, Ember asserts, "I'll agree. If you really are this field of good that can protect me from the things that lurk around here, I'll agree. If the suffering is happening anyway and I'm not...causing it.. what harm can that be?"
As if a contract has been signed the apparition dissolves into a formless mass and begins to rush towards Ember. The tendrils that crept up her arms also continue moving up, all the smoke in the room begins to rapidly seek to enter Ember through nose and mouth, its choking, tasting of sulfur and smelling just as terrible. Within moments all the smoke in the room is gone but not from the room, its found refuge in Ember. Eventually she feels 'normal' the presence undetectable but it most certainly went inside Ember without clarifying any of her questions.
Ember throws her head back, gasping as she inhales, the roughly scented smoke pouring itself into her body in a rush. Hanging her head backwards for a moment in stunned silence, eventually she slumps down to her haunches, breathing hard.