The peace doesn’t last, however. Just as he remains there, mind clear and indulged in ignorant bliss, a muted howl shatters the quiet reality and dread slithers back on his beat shoulders, igniting panic in the settling stillness. He does nothing and waits, eyes searching about the room as he removes the blanket from his arms, then chest, one tiny motion at a time. Did he mishear? The howl echoes back from wall to wall, the intervals between each appearance unstructured and spontaneous. What is it? Where is it coming from?
Another came.
It’s low in pitch, he notes. It’s unsteady in volume, wavering in length. It’s almost like a whistle but not quite, and it doesn’t sound like it’s made by another living being. Another. The final patch of the fabric gone from his legs, he stands up and surveys the interior with wide, alarming eyes. His clothing rustles as he takes a wobbly step to the right, and it is with a pleasant surprise he discovers that gone are the rags he was wearing in his entrance, replaced by a beige sweater whose sleeves are a perfect fit to his arms.
He brightens at the blue-grey snowflakes woven over its surface, as well as the brown turtleneck popping out from the V-neck opening. Paired with the pitch-black jeans, he, at last, has an air of decency and civilization about him. But how did this happen?
Another howl, and his head snaps up in attention. The question can wait; more pressing matters are at hand. In wide, careful strides, the stranger makes his way over to the counter and uncovers a small dining room setup. Four chairs are arranged lovingly around a circular wooden table: its tablecloth a unique splatter of maroon-and-pine green dye with two festive table mats on opposite sides, the space between them filled with a stack of bread and glass water jar that mirror the position of a box of eating utensils nearby.
Another.
He’s not sure where it’s coming from, nor is he certain that he’s getting any closer to its origin. Sighing, he staggers back to the couches and sees the screen door to the patio pulled back, the translucent curtains flapping idly in the Birchwood wind.
~~~~~ Double Update! Happy 2019!!
I'm thinking wolf howls, but that's probably not the case here.
Ayyyy, Not-Bert's awake and alive! *hugs him joyfully* I knew you would live, totally wasn't worried at all, nope.
Suggested Music: "5:30 am"-Hiroyuki Komagata They feel heavy, weighted down, and it took all his might to accomplish the feat. His body aches as he next tries to shift his arms and legs, grasping aimlessly at the empty air. He does this slow, hands tracing the ghostly outlines of waves tugging at his legs, the transparent waters choking him free of breath. He wants to—he has to—make sure. After the third attempt, he pushes himself up and, stunned with relief, a single thought flashes across his mind.
He’s alive.
A sudden pain flares up in the back of his head and he gasps to keep his eyes attuned to the world, ever so bright and unmerciful with its brilliant colors and lights. Everything blur together into a spinning mess of flickering images and piercing wail, and he places his hands on the focus of the mental quake, suddenly terrified by their unnatural stiffness and foreign touch. Trying to ignore the drag on his weakened muscles, he continues to hold them: a desperate make-shift stronghold against the agonizing rumble. His will loosens with each increased shock, and he soon finds himself hissing in anguish and misery. Even the silence is too loud, and its quiet buzzing builds up to a sharp, blaring screech. It rises in frequency, jumbling his muddled thoughts and worsening his distress. His mouth isdry, and it is only then that he realizes he is screaming, eyes lined with tears, yet the pain only grew.
He takes a jagged breath and lowers his sore limbs, trembling uncontrollably as he raises his head in puzzlement and fear. Then, after a moment or two, he starts to recognize parts of his surroundings. The dusty pile of logs, the artificial ember lights, the rough kitchen counter…He is back at the Wesley House, laying on one of the living room couches. With a cushion rested behind his head and a blanket wrapped messily around his torso, warmth flows to every part of his frozen body and his consciousness begins to unwind. Though he still shivers from time to time, the fabric provided a much-needed comfort, and he finally lets out a sigh of relief.
Good, he's alive and he's awake! There's still the question though, who is he?
The peace doesn’t last, however. Just as he remains there, mind clear and indulged in ignorant bliss, a muted howl shatters the quiet reality and dread slithers back on his beat shoulders, igniting panic in the settling stillness. He does nothing and waits, eyes searching about the room as he removes the blanket from his arms, then chest, one tiny motion at a time. Did he mishear? The howl echoes back from wall to wall, the intervals between each appearance unstructured and spontaneous. What is it? Where is it coming from?
Another came.
It’s low in pitch, he notes. It’s unsteady in volume, wavering in length. It’s almost like a whistle but not quite, and it doesn’t sound like it’s made by another living being. Another. The final patch of the fabric gone from his legs, he stands up and surveys the interior with wide, alarming eyes. His clothing rustles as he takes a wobbly step to the right, and it is with a pleasant surprise he discovers that gone are the rags he was wearing in his entrance, replaced by a beige sweater whose sleeves are a perfect fit to his arms.
He brightens at the blue-grey snowflakes woven over its surface, as well as the brown turtleneck popping out from the V-neck opening. Paired with the pitch-black jeans, he, at last, has an air of decency and civilization about him. But how did this happen?
Another howl, and his head snaps up in attention. The question can wait; more pressing matters are at hand. In wide, careful strides, the stranger makes his way over to the counter and uncovers a small dining room setup. Four chairs are arranged lovingly around a circular wooden table: its tablecloth a unique splatter of maroon-and-pine green dye with two festive table mats on opposite sides, the space between them filled with a stack of bread and glass water jar that mirror the position of a box of eating utensils nearby.
Another.
He’s not sure where it’s coming from, nor is he certain that he’s getting any closer to its origin. Sighing, he staggers back to the couches and sees the screen door to the patio pulled back, the translucent curtains flapping idly in the Birchwood wind.
Suggested Music: "5:30 am"-Hiroyuki Komagata They feel heavy, weighted down, and it took all his might to accomplish the feat. His body aches as he next tries to shift his arms and legs, grasping aimlessly at the empty air. He does this slow, hands tracing the ghostly outlines of waves tugging at his legs, the transparent waters choking him free of breath. He wants to—he has to—make sure. After the third attempt, he pushes himself up and, stunned with relief, a single thought flashes across his mind.
He’s alive.
A sudden pain flares up in the back of his head and he gasps to keep his eyes attuned to the world, ever so bright and unmerciful with its brilliant colors and lights. Everything blur together into a spinning mess of flickering images and piercing wail, and he places his hands on the focus of the mental quake, suddenly terrified by their unnatural stiffness and foreign touch. Trying to ignore the drag on his weakened muscles, he continues to hold them: a desperate make-shift stronghold against the agonizing rumble. His will loosens with each increased shock, and he soon finds himself hissing in anguish and misery. Even the silence is too loud, and its quiet buzzing builds up to a sharp, blaring screech. It rises in frequency, jumbling his muddled thoughts and worsening his distress. His mouth isdry, and it is only then that he realizes he is screaming, eyes lined with tears, yet the pain only grew.
He takes a jagged breath and lowers his sore limbs, trembling uncontrollably as he raises his head in puzzlement and fear. Then, after a moment or two, he starts to recognize parts of his surroundings. The dusty pile of logs, the artificial ember lights, the rough kitchen counter…He is back at the Wesley House, laying on one of the living room couches. With a cushion rested behind his head and a blanket wrapped messily around his torso, warmth flows to every part of his frozen body and his consciousness begins to unwind. Though he still shivers from time to time, the fabric provided a much-needed comfort, and he finally lets out a sigh of relief.
Good, he's alive and he's awake! There's still the question though, who is he?
it's like being awake but not quite---the sounds of others no more than a whisper and you aren't sure if they are real or just a hallucination... Thank you! Coming up with the words was a haunting experience. ovo
YOU SLEPT INTO 2019, NOT-BERT. GET UP!
Yeah. 25% of your grade, right there. Got it! You can pick one more letter, actually. What will it be?
its awesome.. I'm sure it was. o.o
*slaps him with a pillow* Wakie-wakie, Sleeping Beauty.
OH. Um. Wow. No pressure there. O,O W.
C..?
^)^ I have this bad habit to write at 1~3 in the morning and it was very chilly o-o
*he mumbles angrily before turning to sleep the other way*
*taps report card* M. Interesting interesting. Got it^^
The peace doesn’t last, however. Just as he remains there, mind clear and indulged in ignorant bliss, a muted howl shatters the quiet reality and dread slithers back on his beat shoulders, igniting panic in the settling stillness. He does nothing and waits, eyes searching about the room as he removes the blanket from his arms, then chest, one tiny motion at a time. Did he mishear? The howl echoes back from wall to wall, the intervals between each appearance unstructured and spontaneous. What is it? Where is it coming from?
Another came.
It’s low in pitch, he notes. It’s unsteady in volume, wavering in length. It’s almost like a whistle but not quite, and it doesn’t sound like it’s made by another living being. Another. The final patch of the fabric gone from his legs, he stands up and surveys the interior with wide, alarming eyes. His clothing rustles as he takes a wobbly step to the right, and it is with a pleasant surprise he discovers that gone are the rags he was wearing in his entrance, replaced by a beige sweater whose sleeves are a perfect fit to his arms.
He brightens at the blue-grey snowflakes woven over its surface, as well as the brown turtleneck popping out from the V-neck opening. Paired with the pitch-black jeans, he, at last, has an air of decency and civilization about him. But how did this happen?
Another howl, and his head snaps up in attention. The question can wait; more pressing matters are at hand. In wide, careful strides, the stranger makes his way over to the counter and uncovers a small dining room setup. Four chairs are arranged lovingly around a circular wooden table: its tablecloth a unique splatter of maroon-and-pine green dye with two festive table mats on opposite sides, the space between them filled with a stack of bread and glass water jar that mirror the position of a box of eating utensils nearby.
Another.
He’s not sure where it’s coming from, nor is he certain that he’s getting any closer to its origin. Sighing, he staggers back to the couches and sees the screen door to the patio pulled back, the translucent curtains flapping idly in the Birchwood wind.
~~~~~ Double Update! Happy 2019!!
I'm thinking wolf howls, but that's probably not the case here.
Ayyyy, Not-Bert's awake and alive! *hugs him joyfully* I knew you would live, totally wasn't worried at all, nope.
-last edited on Jan 3, 2019 23:50:11 GMT by TeaLeaf❀
Post by TeaLeaf❀ on Jan 3, 2019 23:49:21 GMT
Of course! The wind! How did he not think of that? A light chuckle escapes him, and he hauls the door shut with ridicule, unrolling the curtains for emphasis. The outside air gone, the living room drops into complete silence, and the stranger stays standing tall with a feeling of pride at solving the mystery.
Another. His blood runs cold.
Nervousness swells within his stomach, and he backs away from the small patio in brief, cautious steps. It wasn’t the wind. It never was. Who—what—is it, then? Something deadly? Dangerous? How did “it” get into the house? Where—?
Another howl, but his focus falters. Where, his heart races, where is Lillian? Théo? It isn’t up until now that he notices how lifeless the Wesley Home is, how hushed all the other residents are in their townhouses compared to his earlier visit. Where is everyone? What—? The pain resurfaces, and the sharp sensation tingles threateningly at the edge of his skull. What time is it? he asks himself, lips bite down in frustration. Why is it so bright? He—he promised he would spend the night in a hotel, did he…did he ended up staying, after all…? What…what happened that—?
There…there was…a zipline…there…in the water…THERE WAS—!
Another. He lifts his gaze in the direction of the howl. He knows where it is now.
His right hand occupied by the mental pain, the stranger limps over to the counter once again, this time passing the dining table and heading straight to the center of the kitchen, his left hand the only paddle propelling him forward in the imaginary stream. Right as he arrives, a howl cries out loud and sound among the stove and scattered appliances coating every available surface on the opposite countertop. It was a kettle all along. Its handle looms a head over the rest that lay either broken or knocked over, and it is the only one clear of the chaos, heating up its contents in solitude while the flame and cooktop flare as its sole companions.
Of course! The wind! How did he not think of that? A light chuckle escapes him, and he hauls the door shut with ridicule, unrolling the curtains for emphasis. The outside air gone, the living room drops into complete silence, and the stranger stays standing tall with a feeling of pride at solving the mystery.
Another. His blood runs cold.
Nervousness swells within his stomach, and he backs away from the small patio in brief, cautious steps. It wasn’t the wind. It never was. Who—what—is it, then? Something deadly? Dangerous? How did “it” get into the house? Where—?
Another howl, but his focus falters. Where, his heart races, where is Lillian? Théo? It isn’t up until now that he notices how lifeless the Wesley Home is, how hushed all the other residents are in their townhouses compared to his earlier visit. Where is everyone? What—? The pain resurfaces, and the sharp sensation tingles threateningly at the edge of his skull. What time is it? he asks himself, lips bite down in frustration. Why is it so bright? He—he promised he would spend the night in a hotel, did he…did he ended up staying, after all…? What…what happened that—?
There…there was…a zipline…there…in the water…THERE WAS—!
Another. He lifts his gaze in the direction of the howl. He knows where it is now.
His right hand occupied by the mental pain, the stranger limps over to the counter once again, this time passing the dining table and heading straight to the center of the kitchen, his left hand the only paddle propelling him forward in the imaginary stream. Right as he arrives, a howl cries out loud and sound among the stove and scattered appliances coating every available surface on the opposite countertop. It was a kettle all along. Its handle looms a head over the rest that lay either broken or knocked over, and it is the only one clear of the chaos, heating up its contents in solitude while the flame and cooktop flare as its sole companions.
~~~~ Science.
I swear that last paragraph sounded like something Charles Dickens would write..
oh it was the BRICKING KETTLE!?! FOR GOSH SAKES, PEOPLE, WATCH YOUR STUFF! YOU GAVE US ONE BRICK OF A SCARE! ŌmÓ
Of course! The wind! How did he not think of that? A light chuckle escapes him, and he hauls the door shut with ridicule, unrolling the curtains for emphasis. The outside air gone, the living room drops into complete silence, and the stranger stays standing tall with a feeling of pride at solving the mystery.
Another. His blood runs cold.
Nervousness swells within his stomach, and he backs away from the small patio in brief, cautious steps. It wasn’t the wind. It never was. Who—what—is it, then? Something deadly? Dangerous? How did “it” get into the house? Where—?
Another howl, but his focus falters. Where, his heart races, where is Lillian? Théo? It isn’t up until now that he notices how lifeless the Wesley Home is, how hushed all the other residents are in their townhouses compared to his earlier visit. Where is everyone? What—? The pain resurfaces, and the sharp sensation tingles threateningly at the edge of his skull. What time is it? he asks himself, lips bite down in frustration. Why is it so bright? He—he promised he would spend the night in a hotel, did he…did he ended up staying, after all…? What…what happened that—?
There…there was…a zipline…there…in the water…THERE WAS—!
Another. He lifts his gaze in the direction of the howl. He knows where it is now.
His right hand occupied by the mental pain, the stranger limps over to the counter once again, this time passing the dining table and heading straight to the center of the kitchen, his left hand the only paddle propelling him forward in the imaginary stream. Right as he arrives, a howl cries out loud and sound among the stove and scattered appliances coating every available surface on the opposite countertop. It was a kettle all along. Its handle looms a head over the rest that lay either broken or knocked over, and it is the only one clear of the chaos, heating up its contents in solitude while the flame and cooktop flare as its sole companions.
~~~~ Science.
Why must you scare us with simple things like science and common logic? Beautiful!
![[derp]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/YqNTPqyQUocVMYXZgUAI.png)
Interesting, so mysterious! 
We get two votes right? So B for my second. And pipe. 
Wise choice. 8)
![[lenny]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/7elNEqtPK2hcSAiIMFNh.png)
![[ba]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/uIdovocWRLyFpSJXOPwq.png)
![[cook]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/XSYwdAkTEQMsodaDBxbE.png)
![[*]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/xIQZyTih4o7KUiSh9m3I.png)
![[y]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/WYWPH2VRo26pOFDid7QZ.png)