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Post by superkamiguy1 on May 11, 2024 0:52:02 GMT
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Post by Valhalla Erikson on May 11, 2024 2:34:15 GMT
Katherine Wessix
Age: 12
Every night, you sit there in the comfort and safety of your home, but you have no idea of what is going on outside in the darkness. Not far from your home, there is a dark and lonely place. You may not know about it, but it’s there. All over the country, in small towns and cities, there are so many of these dark and lonely places.
(Just keep thinking about the lyrics from your favorite metal group The Weird Sisters and everything will be fine. And ignore the strong possibility they could be witches) I keep telling myself while walking down a long stretch of road. Even during the day, you'd have this weird vibe about it. It was just a shady place lined with old, gnarled trees and vacant lots where nothing had been built and nothing was ever going to be built. And there's that creep feeling like you're being watched by some unseen predator.
There were no houses nearby. No streetlights. It was pitch black. As black as black could be. Dark as the deepest night. The tall trees blocked out the moon and the stars, casting their long shadows across the road.
Whenever you had to go that way, you walked slower and slower. It was like stepping into a dark tunnel. Behind you were the lights of the houses, the sound of cars, and people walking along the sidewalk. Ahead of you, there was just a long, lonely stretch of darkness in which anything could be lurking, anything at all.
The moment I stepped foot here that sense of dread just kept building and building. I want to put my headphones on and listen to some Weird Sisters but I want to be fully aware of my surroundings. So I think of my favorite fantasy novel Phoenix Reborn and thought to myself 'What would Robin do?'
As I walked along that dark stretch of road, I would keep my eyes fixed on the trees, half-expecting to see something or someone lurking there in the darkness.
Out of the corner of my eye, I would catch glimpses of misshapen figures crouching there in the pitch black, waiting for the moment when they would burst forth and pounce on me. Then, in that silent and isolated area, they would begin tearing me and rending me and doing unspeakable things to me and nobody would ever see me again.
I’m not sure what I expected to see lurking in that lonely place at night. My imagination always got the better of me. In my mind, it was a hideous creature, somewhere between animal and man. It had long, spindly limbs and huge, sharp claws. It had wet, slimy skin and eyes that burned like fire. I imagined it hiding in the branches of those old trees, dropping down without a sound and stalking the unwary boys and girls who passed along the dark and lonely road at night.
One night, it almost got me. I was walking down the lonely road and all of a sudden there wasn't any light up ahead. That’s when I knew it was coming. I could just feel it waiting there in the darkness. I started running, desperate to get away, but I could feel it behind me. It was gaining on me. I could feel its breath on the back of my neck. I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I ran until I thought my heart would burst.
It was so close I could hear a low primal snarl that is more audible behind me.
"DROP!"
I did as the familiar voice mentioned, I was running so fast that my hands scrapped at the gravel of the road but I was too hopped on adrenaline to care. I covered my ears to lessen the volume of an RPG shooting past me. Followed by an explosion, and me covered in some kind of warm icky substance. The smell was...undescribable. I could feel the bile rising but I fought the urge to throw up.
"BOOO YA! GOT HIM" I hear my older sister cheer
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Post by superkamiguy1 on May 11, 2024 3:15:20 GMT
Jade West
Age: 12 Every night, you sit there in the comfort and safety of your home, but you have no idea of what is going on outside in the darkness. Not far from your home, there is a dark and lonely place. You may not know about it, but it’s there. All over the country, in small towns and cities, there are so many of these dark and lonely places. (Just keep thinking about the lyrics from your favorite metal group The Weird Sisters and everything will be fine. And ignore the strong possibility they could be witches) I keep telling myself while walking down a long stretch of road. Even during the day, you'd have this weird vibe about it. It was just a shady place lined with old, gnarled trees and vacant lots where nothing had been built and nothing was ever going to be built. And there's that creep feeling like you're being watched by some unseen predator. There were no houses nearby. No streetlights. It was pitch black. As black as black could be. Dark as the deepest night. The tall trees blocked out the moon and the stars, casting their long shadows across the road. Whenever you had to go that way, you walked slower and slower. It was like stepping into a dark tunnel. Behind you were the lights of the houses, the sound of cars, and people walking along the sidewalk. Ahead of you, there was just a long, lonely stretch of darkness in which anything could be lurking, anything at all. The moment I stepped foot here that sense of dread just kept building and building. I want to put my headphones on and listen to some Weird Sisters but I want to be fully aware of my surroundings. So I think of my favorite fantasy novel Phoenix Reborn and thought to myself 'What would Robin do?'
As I walked along that dark stretch of road, I would keep my eyes fixed on the trees, half-expecting to see something or someone lurking there in the darkness. Out of the corner of my eye, I would catch glimpses of misshapen figures crouching there in the pitch black, waiting for the moment when they would burst forth and pounce on me. Then, in that silent and isolated area, they would begin tearing me and rending me and doing unspeakable things to me and nobody would ever see me again. I’m not sure what I expected to see lurking in that lonely place at night. My imagination always got the better of me. In my mind, it was a hideous creature, somewhere between animal and man. It had long, spindly limbs and huge, sharp claws. It had wet, slimy skin and eyes that burned like fire. I imagined it hiding in the branches of those old trees, dropping down without a sound and stalking the unwary boys and girls who passed along the dark and lonely road at night. One night, it almost got me. I was walking down the lonely road and all of a sudden there wasn't any light up ahead. That’s when I knew it was coming. I could just feel it waiting there in the darkness. I started running, desperate to get away, but I could feel it behind me. It was gaining on me. I could feel its breath on the back of my neck. I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I ran until I thought my heart would burst. It was so close I could hear a low primal snarl that is more audible behind me. "DROP!" I did as the familiar voice mentioned, I was running so fast that my hands scrapped at the gravel of the road but I was too hopped on adrenaline to care. I covered my ears to lessen the volume of an RPG shooting past me. Followed by an explosion, and me covered in some kind of warm icky substance. The smell was...indescribable. I could feel the bile rising but I fought the urge to throw up. "BOOO YA! GOT HIM" I hear my older sister cheer Oh The Weird Sisters band are most definitely witches!  A fantastic way to open up the series! Something about it honestly reminded me of Silent Hill...maybe the PT Trailer? Although I guess Alone In The Dark would be more appropriate.  ANYWAY! Nice touch with The Doctor Who Shout-Out! The Weeping Angel Episode right? And of course, blowing up the monster with an RPG, Resident Evil Style, is just a fantastic way to cap off the scene! Badass opening for the story man!  |
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Post by Valhalla Erikson on Jun 11, 2024 7:25:49 GMT
Katherine Wessix
Age: 12 Every night, you sit there in the comfort and safety of your home, but you have no idea of what is going on outside in the darkness. Not far from your home, there is a dark and lonely place. You may not know about it, but it’s there. All over the country, in small towns and cities, there are so many of these dark and lonely places. (Just keep thinking about the lyrics from your favorite metal group The Weird Sisters and everything will be fine. And ignore the strong possibility they could be witches) I keep telling myself while walking down a long stretch of road. Even during the day, you'd have this weird vibe about it. It was just a shady place lined with old, gnarled trees and vacant lots where nothing had been built and nothing was ever going to be built. And there's that creep feeling like you're being watched by some unseen predator. There were no houses nearby. No streetlights. It was pitch black. As black as black could be. Dark as the deepest night. The tall trees blocked out the moon and the stars, casting their long shadows across the road. Whenever you had to go that way, you walked slower and slower. It was like stepping into a dark tunnel. Behind you were the lights of the houses, the sound of cars, and people walking along the sidewalk. Ahead of you, there was just a long, lonely stretch of darkness in which anything could be lurking, anything at all. The moment I stepped foot here that sense of dread just kept building and building. I want to put my headphones on and listen to some Weird Sisters but I want to be fully aware of my surroundings. So I think of my favorite fantasy novel Phoenix Reborn and thought to myself 'What would Robin do?'
As I walked along that dark stretch of road, I would keep my eyes fixed on the trees, half-expecting to see something or someone lurking there in the darkness. Out of the corner of my eye, I would catch glimpses of misshapen figures crouching there in the pitch black, waiting for the moment when they would burst forth and pounce on me. Then, in that silent and isolated area, they would begin tearing me and rending me and doing unspeakable things to me and nobody would ever see me again. I’m not sure what I expected to see lurking in that lonely place at night. My imagination always got the better of me. In my mind, it was a hideous creature, somewhere between animal and man. It had long, spindly limbs and huge, sharp claws. It had wet, slimy skin and eyes that burned like fire. I imagined it hiding in the branches of those old trees, dropping down without a sound and stalking the unwary boys and girls who passed along the dark and lonely road at night. One night, it almost got me. I was walking down the lonely road and all of a sudden there wasn't any light up ahead. That’s when I knew it was coming. I could just feel it waiting there in the darkness. I started running, desperate to get away, but I could feel it behind me. It was gaining on me. I could feel its breath on the back of my neck. I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I ran until I thought my heart would burst. It was so close I could hear a low primal snarl that is more audible behind me. "DROP!" I did as the familiar voice mentioned, I was running so fast that my hands scrapped at the gravel of the road, but I was too hopped on adrenaline to care. I covered my ears to lessen the volume of an RPG shooting past me. Followed by an explosion, and me covered in some kind of warm icky substance. The smell was...undescribable. I could feel the bile rising but I fought the urge to throw up. "BOOO YA! GOT HIM" I hear my older sister cheer I felt two hands helping me up to my feet. When I looked up, I recognized my mother before me. She and my sister Jasmine were wearing matching black suits and ties. You’d be forgiven if you thought they looked like they just stepped out of a spy movie, but honestly, they resembled more like those criminals from "Reservoir Dogs." “Are you okay, baby?” Mom asked, concern etched in her face as she eyed me up and down, checking for any signs of injury. I fought the urge to groan in embarrassment. Her protective instincts were as fierce as ever, and her nicknames, unfortunately, stuck. I glared at Jasmine, who was snickering behind Mom. “Given the fact I almost became monster food, I believe that earns me a spot at the grown-ups’ table.” “But you look so cute at the kiddie table,” Rogue teased, pinching my cheek. I swatted her hand away, my irritation simmering. “Girls, girls, this is a good day. Let’s not ruin it,” Mom interjected, her voice calm but firm. “And Jade, once the check from this job clears, you get a little extra.” That made me smile a little. Extra meant more ammo for my crossbow, or maybe even that new set of daggers I'd been eyeing. The creature we had just taken down lay in a heap; its parts twisted form slowly dissolving into a puddle of black goo. Typical Tuesday for us. “Remember when you tripped over your own feet trying to dodge one of these things?” Rogue asked, smirking. “Remember when you screamed because you saw a rat?” I shot back, enjoying the way her smirk faltered. Mom gave us both a look that could melt steel. “Enough, both of you." she glanced at me then continued. “You did good today,” Mom said quietly as we exited the building. “I’m proud of you.” Her words warmed me more than I cared to admit. Being a part of this family of monster hunters was more than just a job; it was a legacy, a duty passed down from one generation to the next. And every hunt, every close call, brought us closer together. We huddled together next to the puddle of what was once the monster we took down and Jasmine held her phone up to do a family selfie before sending it to the agency as proof of a job well done. As we reached our car, I glanced back at the creature we defeated. Another job done, another monster down. We weren’t heroes, not in the traditional sense, but we made the world a little safer, one nightmare at a time. And as much as Rogue’s teasing grated on my nerves, and Mom’s overprotectiveness sometimes made me cringe, I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. We were a team, a family, and together, there was nothing we couldn’t face. “Next time, though,” I said, sliding into the car, “I get to drive.” Rogue rolled her eyes, but Mom just smiled. “We’ll see, Kitty. We’ll see.” For now, that was enough. |
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Post by superkamiguy1 on Jun 12, 2024 1:15:17 GMT
Jade West
Age: 12 Every night, you sit there in the comfort and safety of your home, but you have no idea of what is going on outside in the darkness. Not far from your home, there is a dark and lonely place. You may not know about it, but it’s there. All over the country, in small towns and cities, there are so many of these dark and lonely places. (Just keep thinking about the lyrics from your favorite metal group The Weird Sisters and everything will be fine. And ignore the strong possibility they could be witches) I keep telling myself while walking down a long stretch of road. Even during the day, you'd have this weird vibe about it. It was just a shady place lined with old, gnarled trees and vacant lots where nothing had been built and nothing was ever going to be built. And there's that creep feeling like you're being watched by some unseen predator. There were no houses nearby. No streetlights. It was pitch black. As black as black could be. Dark as the deepest night. The tall trees blocked out the moon and the stars, casting their long shadows across the road. Whenever you had to go that way, you walked slower and slower. It was like stepping into a dark tunnel. Behind you were the lights of the houses, the sound of cars, and people walking along the sidewalk. Ahead of you, there was just a long, lonely stretch of darkness in which anything could be lurking, anything at all. The moment I stepped foot here that sense of dread just kept building and building. I want to put my headphones on and listen to some Weird Sisters but I want to be fully aware of my surroundings. So I think of my favorite fantasy novel Phoenix Reborn and thought to myself 'What would Robin do?'
As I walked along that dark stretch of road, I would keep my eyes fixed on the trees, half-expecting to see something or someone lurking there in the darkness. Out of the corner of my eye, I would catch glimpses of misshapen figures crouching there in the pitch black, waiting for the moment when they would burst forth and pounce on me. Then, in that silent and isolated area, they would begin tearing me and rending me and doing unspeakable things to me and nobody would ever see me again. I’m not sure what I expected to see lurking in that lonely place at night. My imagination always got the better of me. In my mind, it was a hideous creature, somewhere between animal and man. It had long, spindly limbs and huge, sharp claws. It had wet, slimy skin and eyes that burned like fire. I imagined it hiding in the branches of those old trees, dropping down without a sound and stalking the unwary boys and girls who passed along the dark and lonely road at night. One night, it almost got me. I was walking down the lonely road and all of a sudden there wasn't any light up ahead. That’s when I knew it was coming. I could just feel it waiting there in the darkness. I started running, desperate to get away, but I could feel it behind me. It was gaining on me. I could feel its breath on the back of my neck. I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I ran until I thought my heart would burst. It was so close I could hear a low primal snarl that is more audible behind me. "DROP!" I did as the familiar voice mentioned, I was running so fast that my hands scrapped at the gravel of the road, but I was too hopped on adrenaline to care. I covered my ears to lessen the volume of an RPG shooting past me. Followed by an explosion, and me covered in some kind of warm icky substance. The smell was...undescribable. I could feel the bile rising but I fought the urge to throw up. "BOOO YA! GOT HIM" I hear my older sister cheer I felt two hands helping me up to my feet. When I looked up, I recognized my mother before me. She and my sister Jasmine were wearing matching black suits and ties. You’d be forgiven if you thought they looked like they just stepped out of a spy movie, but honestly, they resembled more like those criminals from "Reservoir Dogs." “Are you okay, baby?” Mom asked, concern etched in her face as she eyed me up and down, checking for any signs of injury. I fought the urge to groan in embarrassment. Her protective instincts were as fierce as ever, and her nicknames, unfortunately, stuck. I glared at Jasmine, who was snickering behind Mom. “Given the fact I almost became monster food, I believe that earns me a spot at the grown-ups’ table.” “But you look so cute at the kiddie table,” Jasmine teased, pinching my cheek. I swatted her hand away, my irritation simmering. “Girls, girls, this is a good day. Let’s not ruin it,” Mom interjected, her voice calm but firm. “And Jade, once the check from this job clears, you get a little extra.” That made me smile a little. Extra meant more ammo for my crossbow, or maybe even that new set of daggers I'd been eyeing. The creature we had just taken down lay in a heap; its parts twisted form slowly dissolving into a puddle of black goo. Typical Tuesday for us. “Remember when you tripped over your own feet trying to dodge one of these things?” Jasmine asked, smirking. “Remember when you screamed because you saw a rat?” I shot back, enjoying the way her smirk faltered. Mom gave us both a look that could melt steel. “Enough, both of you." she glanced at me then continued. “You did good today,” Mom said quietly as we exited the building. “I’m proud of you.” Her words warmed me more than I cared to admit. Being a part of this family of monster hunters was more than just a job; it was a legacy, a duty passed down from one generation to the next. And every hunt, every close call, brought us closer together. We huddled together next to the puddle of what was once the monster we took down and Jasmine held her phone up to do a family selfie before sending it to the agency as proof of a job well done. As we reached our car, I glanced back at the creature we defeated. Another job done, another monster down. We weren’t heroes, not in the traditional sense, but we made the world a little safer, one nightmare at a time. And as much as Jasmine’s teasing grated on my nerves, and Mom’s overprotectiveness sometimes made me cringe, I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. We were a team, a family, and together, there was nothing we couldn’t face. “Next time, though,” I said, sliding into the car, “I get to drive.” Jasmine rolled her eyes, but Mom just smiled. “We’ll see, Jade. We’ll see.” For now, that was enough.
Author's Note: The Mom in one intro already is leaps and bounds a better parent than John Winchester ever was. Her name in this is Jackie West. As in Jackie Lee? Yup! Sometime after the No One films and a couple of other movies in Japan she tried her luck doing movies in the United Republic over in Starville(The Serenity Verse's Hollywood). She had a few hit movies but eventually decided to do some tv roles. Wayward Sisters is her debut series. Awesomeness! Jackie Lee cannot be stopped! And The West Family are adorable together! Their mom is amazing and the sisters relationship is really sweet and humorous. I can tell that this story, naturally, is going to go do some dark places later but for now, as an opening, it's fantastic! |
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Post by Valhalla Erikson on Oct 5, 2024 16:59:42 GMT
Author's note: So I've did a little retcon by having what was once a stand alone horror story about monster hunting siblings now connected to the Serenity Verse. I feel it's nice to see the supernatural world from the lense of those who protect humanity from dangerous supernatural forces. Also, slight spoiler, the first segment of VHS Beyond inspired me to go back into this well. Jean Wessix  Mother of Rogue and Kitty Wessix. Veteran Huntsmen Rogue Wessix  Oldest of the Wessix Sisters. Katherine "Kitty" Wessix  The youngest of the Wessix family.
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Post by Valhalla Erikson on Oct 5, 2024 20:35:10 GMT
Issue #1 "The Case of The Missing Vlogger"Katherine "Kitty" West Age: 16 Monsters are real. People think it’s just a line from a scary story, but trust me, it’s not. Name any monster, and I can almost guarantee it exists—and, worse, we’ve probably had to deal with it. In fact, it’s hard to say which ones haven’t crawled out of the dark corners of the world at some point. You want werewolves? Got the scars to prove it. Vampires? Yeah, don't let their good looks fool you. They'll literally rip your throat out with your teeth. And that's the fortunate way to go out. Wendigos? Nasty business, that one. I still can’t stomach the smell of rotting meat without getting a flashback to that winter in Sunstone Park. Skinwalkers? Rogue and I put that on the 'don't think about it' list. And don’t even get me started on the zombies. They’re like cockroaches. Show up everywhere and hard to put down, but we manage. “Mermaids, though…” I sighed, snapping the clasp on my suit and shaking my head. “The jury’s still out. I’m not convinced they exist, no matter what Rogue says.” Behind me, Rogue chuckled as she adjusted her own suit, black and sleek like mine, molded to move easily yet still look official. Her smirk mirrored the faint amusement that danced in her bright eyes. “You just don’t want to admit I might be right about something for once.” I rolled my eyes, ignoring her smug tone. “I need proof. That’s all. Until then, they’re staying in the ‘maybe’ column.” We were nearly finished gearing up in our bunker—a base of operations hidden beneath our family home. It was cold, concrete walls lined with shelves of books and weaponry, the air smelling faintly of steel and old leather. An overhead light buzzed softly, casting sharp shadows across the room as we finished zipping up our suits. Our badges—aliases printed in bold letters—sat on the nearby table: James for me and Holiday for Rogue. Mom had ensured we knew the importance of code names since we were old enough to handle monsters. Mom—Jean West, the legendary Huntsman herself—was off having a much-needed break with her best friend, our godmother, and legendary superhero, Izumi Quan Sun. After the chaos of the Basque Grand mission, she’d earned that weekend off. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure how we survived that one. But, in her absence, it was just Rogue and me, gearing up for a routine interview. Or, at least, what we hoped would be routine. I clipped my badge to my suit. “You ready?” Rogue flashed a grin that always made me wonder if she got just a little too much thrill out of these jobs. “Born ready.” I glared at her for saying such a cliched response, "You just said that to fuck with me did you" "A day without fucking with you is a day without sunshine" Author's Note: I took a story that once belonged in Shepard and placed it here. The siblings investigating a haunted house sounds like the makings of a story suitable for the Halloween season after all  The Bunker in question  |
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Post by Valhalla Erikson on Oct 5, 2024 23:38:16 GMT
Tara’s apartment was tucked away on the edge of the city, in a quieter neighborhood where the buildings looked like they were holding onto a past they were slowly losing. It was one of those older structures—five stories, a dull brick façade, the occasional vine creeping up the sides, clinging to the cracks in the mortar like it knew its time was short. The air outside had that crisp, almost too-clean smell that made you think it was about to rain any minute now, the kind that always made me feel like something was watching from just around the corner.
We made our way up the creaking stairs, the kind that always gave themselves away when you were trying to be sneaky, and stopped at apartment 3B. Tara’s apartment. The door was painted a fading green and bore more locks than I cared to count. Someone was cautious. I knocked, and after a few heartbeats, we heard the faint shuffling inside.
The door opened, and Tara stood there, small and nervous, glancing from me to Rogue like she was measuring how much trust we deserved.
"Agents James and Holiday," Rogue said smoothly, flashing a grin that would’ve charmed the pants off a skeptic. “We’re here to help, Tara. May we come in?”
Tara blinked once, then stepped aside, letting us into her space.
The apartment itself was a reflection of her and her brother’s shared lives: orderly, yet filled with subtle chaos in the details. Bookshelves lined the walls, overflowing with old, worn paperbacks and hardcovers, some tilted sideways, others stuffed with loose papers between the pages. A large corkboard in the corner was pinned with maps, sketches, and photos, many of them connected by strings of red yarn. It was the kind of thing you’d expect from someone knee-deep in paranormal investigation. On a nearby table, stacks of notebooks and odd trinkets cluttered the surface—everything from crystals to what looked like an old, rusted key.
“This is where Xander works?” I asked, more out of curiosity than necessity as I jotted down notes. The apartment gave off the feeling of a workspace, one that hummed with unfinished ideas and an overactive mind.
Tara nodded, her movements precise and deliberate. “Yes. He… he likes to have everything in front of him. It helps him think.”
Rogue stepped in, cool as ever, surveying the place with her usual air of quiet confidence. “I can see why,” she said, flashing Tara a warm smile that immediately put the girl at ease. “Looks like he’s pretty thorough. Smart guy.”
Tara’s lips curved slightly at the compliment, but there was still worry in her eyes. “He is. Xander… he’s very good at what he does. But sometimes, he gets too excited. Doesn’t think things through.”
Rogue pulled out a chair from the small dining table and gestured for Tara to sit. “That’s why we’re here, Tara. To help. We just need to know what he was working on before he disappeared.”
Tara hesitated, fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt, but Rogue didn’t rush her. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, relaxed, giving Tara space to process.
Finally, Tara spoke, her voice soft but steady. “There’s a place. Xander wanted to check it out… a manor. It’s in a town about an hour’s drive from here. Crescent Hollow.” She paused, her eyes flicking between Rogue and me. “It’s supposed to be haunted. That’s what he told me, anyway. He wouldn’t stop talking about it. Said it was the ‘real deal.’”
I raised an eyebrow, scribbling down the name of the town and the manor. Crescent Hollow. The name didn’t ring any immediate bells, but Rogue and I would dig into it. Haunted manors weren’t exactly rare, but when Xander Grayson—a paranormal investigator with a reputation for being level-headed—suddenly went missing, it raised flags.
“Do you remember the name of the manor?” Rogue asked, her tone gentle but probing just enough to keep Tara talking without overwhelming her.
“Wisteria Manor,” she said quietly. “He was obsessed with it. Said something about... disappearances. People who went to investigate and never came back. But I thought... I thought he’d be careful.”
I exchanged a glance with Rogue. Wisteria Manor wasn’t just another old haunted house. Xander had dug up something that had him excited. Too excited, from the looks of it.
Rogue smiled, reassuring as ever. “Thanks, Tara. That gives us something to go on. We’ll check out Crescent Hollow and see if we can find any trace of him.”
Tara’s shoulders slumped in relief, but she didn’t say much more after that. Rogue stood up and reached into her jacket, pulling out a business card—our usual alias line: Republic Agents, James, and Holiday. The card was plain, and professional, with just enough weight to make it seem official.
“If anything comes to mind—anything at all—give us a call, okay?”
Tara nodded, clutching the card like it was a lifeline.
We left the apartment, the door clicking softly shut behind us as we stepped back out into the cool night. Rogue’s eyes were already gleaming with the excitement of what lay ahead, her mind undoubtedly already racing with possibilities. “So, Wisteria Manor, huh?”
I shrugged. “It’s a lead. And judging by Tara’s description, it’s more than just a bump-in-the-night kind of place.”
“We’ll see soon enough,” Rogue said, her smile widening. “What’s your take?”
“Classic haunted manor situation, if I had to guess. Abandoned property, whispers about disappearances, local legends blown out of proportion. But if Xander went off the grid, we’re dealing with something more than urban myths.”
“Exactly,” Rogue replied. “So we better be ready for whatever’s holed up in that place.”
As we reached our car, I flipped through my notes. The name Wisteria Manor stuck with me, a faint chill creeping down my spine. It wasn’t the place itself that bothered me—it was what might be waiting for us inside.
“I’ll dig into the town’s history on the drive,” I said, slipping into the passenger seat. “See if anything stands out. If people are going missing, there’s bound to be some records. Old news clippings, strange reports. Maybe even some sightings.”
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Post by superkamiguy1 on Oct 6, 2024 1:11:09 GMT
Issue #1 "The Case of The Missing Vlogger"Katherine "Kitty" West Age: 16 Monsters are real. People think it’s just a line from a scary story, but trust me, it’s not. Name any monster, and I can almost guarantee it exists—and, worse, we’ve probably had to deal with it. In fact, it’s hard to say which ones haven’t crawled out of the dark corners of the world at some point. You want werewolves? Got the scars to prove it. Vampires? Yeah, don't let their good looks fool you. They'll literally rip your throat out with your teeth. And that's the fortunate way to go out. Wendigos? Nasty business, that one. I still can’t stomach the smell of rotting meat without getting a flashback to that winter in Sunstone Park. Skinwalkers? Rogue and I put that on the 'don't think about it' list. And don’t even get me started on the zombies. They’re like cockroaches. Show up everywhere and hard to put down, but we manage. “Mermaids, though…” I sighed, snapping the clasp on my suit and shaking my head. “The jury’s still out. I’m not convinced they exist, no matter what Rogue says.” Behind me, Rogue chuckled as she adjusted her own suit, black and sleek like mine, molded to move easily yet still look official. Her smirk mirrored the faint amusement that danced in her bright eyes. “You just don’t want to admit I might be right about something for once.” I rolled my eyes, ignoring her smug tone. “I need proof. That’s all. Until then, they’re staying in the ‘maybe’ column.” We were nearly finished gearing up in our bunker—a base of operations hidden beneath our family home. It was cold, concrete walls lined with shelves of books and weaponry, the air smelling faintly of steel and old leather. An overhead light buzzed softly, casting sharp shadows across the room as we finished zipping up our suits. Our badges—aliases printed in bold letters—sat on the nearby table: James for me and Holiday for Rogue. Mom had ensured we knew the importance of code names since we were old enough to handle monsters. Mom—Jean West, the legendary Huntsman herself—was off having a much-needed break with her best friend, our godmother, and legendary superhero, Izumi Quan Sun. After the chaos of the Basque Grand mission, she’d earned that weekend off. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure how we survived that one. But, in her absence, it was just Rogue and me, gearing up for a routine interview. Or, at least, what we hoped would be routine. I clipped my badge to my suit. “You ready?” Rogue flashed a grin that always made me wonder if she got just a little too much thrill out of these jobs. “Born ready.” I glared at her for saying such a cliched response, "You just said that to fuck with me did you" "A day without fucking with you is a day without sunshine" Author's Note: I took a story that once belonged in Shepard and placed it here. The siblings investigating a haunted house sounds like the makings of a story suitable for the Halloween season after all The Bunker in question Tara’s apartment was tucked away on the edge of the city, in a quieter neighborhood where the buildings looked like they were holding onto a past they were slowly losing. It was one of those older structures—five stories, a dull brick façade, the occasional vine creeping up the sides, clinging to the cracks in the mortar like it knew its time was short. The air outside had that crisp, almost too-clean smell that made you think it was about to rain any minute now, the kind that always made me feel like something was watching from just around the corner. We made our way up the creaking stairs, the kind that always gave themselves away when you were trying to be sneaky, and stopped at apartment 3B. Tara’s apartment. The door was painted a fading green and bore more locks than I cared to count. Someone was cautious. I knocked, and after a few heartbeats, we heard the faint shuffling inside. The door opened, and Tara stood there, small and nervous, glancing from me to Rogue like she was measuring how much trust we deserved. "Agents James and Holiday," Rogue said smoothly, flashing a grin that would’ve charmed the pants off a skeptic. “We’re here to help, Tara. May we come in?” Tara blinked once, then stepped aside, letting us into her space. The apartment itself was a reflection of her and her brother’s shared lives: orderly, yet filled with subtle chaos in the details. Bookshelves lined the walls, overflowing with old, worn paperbacks and hardcovers, some tilted sideways, others stuffed with loose papers between the pages. A large corkboard in the corner was pinned with maps, sketches, and photos, many of them connected by strings of red yarn. It was the kind of thing you’d expect from someone knee-deep in paranormal investigation. On a nearby table, stacks of notebooks and odd trinkets cluttered the surface—everything from crystals to what looked like an old, rusted key. “This is where Xander works?” I asked, more out of curiosity than necessity as I jotted down notes. The apartment gave off the feeling of a workspace, one that hummed with unfinished ideas and an overactive mind. Tara nodded, her movements precise and deliberate. “Yes. He… he likes to have everything in front of him. It helps him think.” Rogue stepped in, cool as ever, surveying the place with her usual air of quiet confidence. “I can see why,” she said, flashing Tara a warm smile that immediately put the girl at ease. “Looks like he’s pretty thorough. Smart guy.” Tara’s lips curved slightly at the compliment, but there was still worry in her eyes. “He is. Xander… he’s very good at what he does. But sometimes, he gets too excited. Doesn’t think things through.” Rogue pulled out a chair from the small dining table and gestured for Tara to sit. “That’s why we’re here, Tara. To help. We just need to know what he was working on before he disappeared.” Tara hesitated, fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt, but Rogue didn’t rush her. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, relaxed, giving Tara space to process. Finally, Tara spoke, her voice soft but steady. “There’s a place. Xander wanted to check it out… a manor. It’s in a town about an hour’s drive from here. Crescent Hollow.” She paused, her eyes flicking between Rogue and me. “It’s supposed to be haunted. That’s what he told me, anyway. He wouldn’t stop talking about it. Said it was the ‘real deal.’” I raised an eyebrow, scribbling down the name of the town and the manor. Crescent Hollow. The name didn’t ring any immediate bells, but Rogue and I would dig into it. Haunted manors weren’t exactly rare, but when Xander Grayson—a paranormal investigator with a reputation for being level-headed—suddenly went missing, it raised flags. “Do you remember the name of the manor?” Rogue asked, her tone gentle but probing just enough to keep Tara talking without overwhelming her. “Wisteria Manor,” she said quietly. “He was obsessed with it. Said something about... disappearances. People who went to investigate and never came back. But I thought... I thought he’d be careful.” I exchanged a glance with Rogue. Wisteria Manor wasn’t just another old haunted house. Xander had dug up something that had him excited. Too excited, from the looks of it. Rogue smiled, reassuring as ever. “Thanks, Tara. That gives us something to go on. We’ll check out Crescent Hollow and see if we can find any trace of him.” Tara’s shoulders slumped in relief, but she didn’t say much more after that. Rogue stood up and reached into her jacket, pulling out a business card—our usual alias line: Republic Agents, James, and Holiday. The card was plain, and professional, with just enough weight to make it seem official. “If anything comes to mind—anything at all—give us a call, okay?” Tara nodded, clutching the card like it was a lifeline. We left the apartment, the door clicking softly shut behind us as we stepped back out into the cool night. Rogue’s eyes were already gleaming with the excitement of what lay ahead, her mind undoubtedly already racing with possibilities. “So, Wisteria Manor, huh?” I shrugged. “It’s a lead. And judging by Tara’s description, it’s more than just a bump-in-the-night kind of place.” “We’ll see soon enough,” Rogue said, her smile widening. “What’s your take?” “Classic haunted manor situation, if I had to guess. Abandoned property, whispers about disappearances, local legends blown out of proportion. But if Xander went off the grid, we’re dealing with something more than urban myths.” “Exactly,” Rogue replied. “So we better be ready for whatever’s holed up in that place.” As we reached our car, I flipped through my notes. The name Wisteria Manor stuck with me, a faint chill creeping down my spine. It wasn’t the place itself that bothered me—it was what might be waiting for us inside. “I’ll dig into the town’s history on the drive,” I said, slipping into the passenger seat. “See if anything stands out. If people are going missing, there’s bound to be some records. Old news clippings, strange reports. Maybe even some sightings.” A very intriguing start to the investigation! The siblings have a fantastic dynamic already, some vibes from old school Supernatural Seasons, and it's fun to see them bounce off of each other! And the usage of aliases is a really good idea considering the possibility of true-name magic. Plus it makes it easier to move around freely. The talk with Xander's mom is a great way to set up for the adventure with the threat of the manor now looming over them and the possible horrors that Xander could be experiencing. Fantastic start to the story man! Looking forward to where it goes! Great touch on the Izumi shout-out too! |
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Post by Valhalla Erikson on Nov 1, 2024 12:20:36 GMT
Kitty Wessix
I had to admit, there was a certain thrill to gripping the wheel for the very first time and feeling the engine rumble under my control. It was like riding a wild beast—a very obedient, heavily armored beast, but still, it was mine to command. And for Rogue to let me take the reins? That was rare. Downright unheard of, actually. This was a woman who wouldn’t trust another soul to handle her hairdryer, let alone the family getaway vehicle.
The open road stretched ahead, dark and winding, framed by trees that reached out like they were trying to snatch unwary travelers right off the asphalt. Our usual arsenal was stashed in the backseat: guns loaded with holy-powder bullets, a few stakes, a pouch of rock salt, and a couple of vials that smelled faintly of sage and rosemary. Standard fare for a day trip to ghost country or an evening stroll through vampire territory.
And then there was my trusty iron knife, tucked into the left leg of my pants, just brushing my ankle. I’d discovered the iron thing by accident—apparently, ghosts really don’t like it when you stab them with iron. You live, you learn. I patted my leg as if to reassure it, then checked my speed for the fourth time, making sure I hadn’t started veering toward warp speed without noticing. I did manage to sneak in a recent album by Sirena Valentine to help keep me focused as I drive while Rogue sleeps. I never played it when Mom is driving as she doesn't have a trustful view towards The Fae and my older sister is ruled out due to an unpleasant relationship she had with one a while back. Less said about that one the better. So this is the closest rebellion I get to have towards my family.
Rogue had fallen asleep somewhere between "Kitty, don’t you dare scratch my car," and "If I wake up and we’re in a ditch, you'll be the one I’m hunting." She's all charm. Now she was slouched against the passenger door, snoring faintly, a surprisingly serene sight given the fact that she spent most of her waking hours looking like she could chew glass and spit nails. I risked a glance her way, smiling to myself.
Rogue asleep was a rare phenomenon, and watching her now, I couldn’t help but wonder what went on in that head of hers. I could guess. Rogue wasn’t exactly subtle with her dreams. She was probably off in some fantasy land, sword in hand, playing knight to some fanciful princess. Charming the pants off her, no doubt.
*Hard pause.*
I shook that thought right out of my mind, focusing back on the road. This was no time for pondering Rogue’s knightly fantasies. Still, I’d give it to her—she’d make a fine knight if knighthood involved charging recklessly into danger and casually dishing out witty one-liners. She’d have a dragon sidekick, of course, and probably manage to make even the dragon blush.
Just as I settled back into my rhythm, a weathered green sign loomed up out of the darkness. “Welcome to Crescent Hollow,” it read, as if we were about to enter the sort of town where everyone smiles a little too widely and “innocent” really means “probably possessed by a minor demon.” I nudged Rogue’s arm.
She blinked awake, looking groggy but instantly alert, her instincts kicking in as her eyes darted to the sign. "Crescent Hollow," she murmured, rubbing her eyes and straightening up. "Game face on, Kitty."
"Game face on," I echoed, pressing down just a bit harder on the gas, the iron knife feeling suddenly heavier against my ankle as we rolled into the unknown.
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Post by superkamiguy1 on Nov 1, 2024 21:01:51 GMT
Kitty WessixI had to admit, there was a certain thrill to gripping the wheel for the very first time and feeling the engine rumble under my control. It was like riding a wild beast—a very obedient, heavily armored beast, but still, it was mine to command. And for Rogue to let me take the reins? That was rare. Downright unheard of, actually. This was a woman who wouldn’t trust another soul to handle her hairdryer, let alone the family getaway vehicle. The open road stretched ahead, dark and winding, framed by trees that reached out like they were trying to snatch unwary travelers right off the asphalt. Our usual arsenal was stashed in the backseat: guns loaded with holy-powder bullets, a few stakes, a pouch of rock salt, and a couple of vials that smelled faintly of sage and rosemary. Standard fare for a day trip to ghost country or an evening stroll through vampire territory. And then there was my trusty iron knife, tucked into the left leg of my pants, just brushing my ankle. I’d discovered the iron thing by accident—apparently, ghosts really don’t like it when you stab them with iron. You live, you learn. I patted my leg as if to reassure it, then checked my speed for the fourth time, making sure I hadn’t started veering toward warp speed without noticing. I did manage to sneak in a recent album by Sirena Valentine to help keep me focused as I drive while Rogue sleeps. I never played it when Mom is driving as she doesn't have a trustful view towards The Fae and my older sister is ruled out due to an unpleasant relationship she had with one a while back. Less said about that one the better. So this is the closest rebellion I get to have towards my family. Rogue had fallen asleep somewhere between "Kitty, don’t you dare scratch my car," and "If I wake up and we’re in a ditch, you'll be the one I’m hunting." She's all charm. Now she was slouched against the passenger door, snoring faintly, a surprisingly serene sight given the fact that she spent most of her waking hours looking like she could chew glass and spit nails. I risked a glance her way, smiling to myself. Rogue asleep was a rare phenomenon, and watching her now, I couldn’t help but wonder what went on in that head of hers. I could guess. Rogue wasn’t exactly subtle with her dreams. She was probably off in some fantasy land, sword in hand, playing knight to some fanciful princess. Charming the pants off her, no doubt. *Hard pause.* I shook that thought right out of my mind, focusing back on the road. This was no time for pondering Rogue’s knightly fantasies. Still, I’d give it to her—she’d make a fine knight if knighthood involved charging recklessly into danger and casually dishing out witty one-liners. She’d have a dragon sidekick, of course, and probably manage to make even the dragon blush. Just as I settled back into my rhythm, a weathered green sign loomed up out of the darkness. “Welcome to Crescent Hollow,” it read, as if we were about to enter the sort of town where everyone smiles a little too widely and “innocent” really means “probably possessed by a minor demon.” I nudged Rogue’s arm. She blinked awake, looking groggy but instantly alert, her instincts kicking in as her eyes darted to the sign. "Crescent Hollow," she murmured, rubbing her eyes and straightening up. "Game face on, Kitty." "Game face on," I echoed, pressing down just a bit harder on the gas, the iron knife feeling suddenly heavier against my ankle as we rolled into the unknown. Sounds like a pleasant dream! Go for it, Rogue! Nice update to the story man! Great way to make even the drive over to Crescent Hollow interesting! These two are going to be a whole lot of fun! And also? I like how they're all locked and loaded and geared up for battle. They're definitely taking it seriously and have the vibe of real professionals in their field. Looking forward to the great hunt! |
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Post by Valhalla Erikson on Nov 2, 2024 17:12:29 GMT
Crescent Hollow was the kind of place that looked like it was used to seeing strange things and, quite frankly, wasn’t impressed by any of them. It was tucked away from the highways and hemmed in by dense, ancient trees that seemed to have made a quiet agreement with the town: *we won’t fall on your houses if you don’t complain about the shadows.*
The town sat at the end of a winding road, cradled by mist and surrounded by hills that had long since decided they were too old for any nonsense. Every building in Crescent Hollow looked a little worn, as if it had been reluctantly dragged through a horror movie or two. The street lamps flickered even on nights when there wasn’t a storm for miles, casting long, uneven shadows that seemed to skulk across the cobbled streets rather than stand at attention. The buildings themselves were a patchwork of clapboard and brick, with porches that leaned sideways like they were trying to whisper secrets to each other about the things they'd seen in the dead of night.
And oh, Crescent Hollow had secrets. You could tell by the way the townsfolk moved, those few unlucky souls brave enough to be outside after dark. They walked quickly, heads down, with an air of resignation, as if they'd made peace with the fact that something would inevitably go *bump* tonight. There was a general policy of *Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, Just Keep Walking* that everyone seemed to abide by.
The town had a single diner, of course, a place called "Mabel’s," though no one could say they’d ever actually seen Mabel. The walls were decorated with the kind of paintings you find in antique stores that might be haunted. It was the sort of place that served coffee strong enough to keep you awake through a séance, and pie that seemed to be at least 50% conspiracy.
As Rogue and Kitty drove deeper into the town, the mist seemed to cling tighter to their car, almost as if it were curious. Or, more likely, as if it were warning them not to get too close to the manor that loomed on the far side of Crescent Hollow like a particularly bad idea.
The manor had no official name, not on record, anyway. People just called it "that place" or "you know where." It was the kind of house that looked like it had opinions about visitors, and none of them polite. The place had more broken windows than whole ones, and somewhere in its crumbling stonework, a gargoyle had managed to cling on, glowering at the town below as if *it* had a bone to pick with whoever built it there.The kind of haunted house that wouldn't be out of place from one of those Hammer Horror movies that Rogue loves to watch so much.
Kitty squinted through the windshield, mentally cataloging all the potential points of entry as they passed. She didn’t trust a place like this to have just one.
Rogue, however, was more focused on their surroundings in her own way. "Maine vibes," she muttered, watching the mist roll through the empty streets like it had clocked in for the night shift. “Stephen King meets *bad decisions.*”
They pulled into a narrow street just outside of the manor’s grounds. Kitty cut the engine, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The air here seemed thicker, almost tangible, like it was holding its breath. She glanced at her sister, who was already getting out and adjusting her gun holster as if she were strolling into a coffee shop and not, quite possibly, the house that had terrified the entire town for decades.
“So,” Rogue said, a gleam of excitement flickering in her eyes
"Game plan?" Rogue’s voice was softer now, less casual, as if she were tasting each word before letting it out. She didn’t meet Kitty's eyes, her gaze fixed on the looming outline of the manor ahead. The facade, dark and brooding, seemed to press down on them with an almost physical weight. Kitty could tell Rogue was already playing out possible scenarios in her head, running through what they knew, what they’d packed, and—if she’d guessed right—what would happen if all their plans went south.
Kitty took a breath, feeling the air thicken as she stepped out of the car. “We stick to the basics,” she replied, trying to sound solid, reliable—the voice of reason, even if her insides were quietly turning somersaults.
Rogue’s jaw tightened, her hand moving to rest over her gun, fingers tapping the grip in a slow, steady rhythm. "Basics. Right." She let out a breath, as if letting go of some hidden, coiled-up tension, and then gave a small, humorless chuckle. “Just keep reminding me of that if I get any bright ideas.”
Kitty watched her for a moment, searching her sister’s face, then forced a nod. Rogue’s confidence had always been the kind of thing Kitty envied—bold, unbreakable, and effortless. But now, with Crescent Hollow stretching its shadows out in greeting, Kitty couldn’t shake the feeling that even Rogue’s armor wasn’t quite as invincible as it looked.
The manor held its breath.
Through layers of shadow and silence, something waited, watching as Rogue and Kitty crossed the threshold. It had known intruders before—loud, blundering ones, drunken teenagers daring each other to spend a night in the haunted old house, or the occasional thrill-seeker with a camera and a flashlight, half hoping to catch a glimpse of a ghost. They had all come and gone, leaving little more than echoes behind.
But these two were different.
The watcher felt them enter, sensed the weight of their weapons, the tang of iron and holy powder carried in like an unwelcome scent. They moved with purpose, with caution, like predators on unfamiliar ground. And yet, there was something about the younger one—Kitty, the one whose eyes flicked over every shadow with an almost desperate curiosity—that drew the watcher’s attention.
She was different from her sister. Rogue moved like a soldier, sharp and deliberate, her gaze slicing through the darkness. Kitty, though... there was a softness to her, a kind of nervous, bright-eyed wonder that seeped through her cautious expression. Even in her guarded stance, something about her felt inviting, vulnerable, like a glimmer of warmth in the cold emptiness of the manor.
The watcher drifted closer, slipping through the shadows like smoke, taking its time, savoring the unfamiliar pulse of life within these walls. It could sense Rogue’s steady heartbeat, a controlled rhythm, like the ticking of a well-kept clock. But Kitty’s… Kitty’s was quick, fluttering, almost electric. Her heart thumped in a way that hinted at fear, but not enough to hold her back. Her pulse spoke of curiosity, a hunger for knowledge, a dangerous kind of yearning.
Yes, she was the interesting one.
It followed her as they moved deeper into the foyer, her flashlight sweeping across the peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles, her eyes wide and alert. When she passed by a dusty, broken mirror, the watcher lingered, catching the briefest glimpse of her reflection—a fleeting, pale image in the glass that seemed to watch her back with an unsettling, hungry patience.
Kitty paused, her gaze lingering on the mirror as if she sensed something. She reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of the frame, stirring up a thin layer of dust. The watcher felt a spark of excitement, a thrill it hadn’t experienced in years. She could feel it, couldn’t she? She sensed it watching, lurking just beyond the reach of her light.
A smile, faint and twisted, seemed to ripple through the shadows.
It moved closer still, wrapping itself around the corners of the room, slipping just out of sight whenever her flashlight swung its way. It found itself drawn to her, fascinated by the way she’d bite her lip, the way her breath would catch every now and then, betraying the flickers of unease she tried to hide.
Kitty. Young, brave, curious Kitty. "My sweet innocent Little Doe."
The watcher drifted toward her, close enough to almost touch, if it had hands, if it had form. It imagined leaning in, whispering her name, just to watch the shiver crawl up her spine. It could almost hear the sound of her voice, soft and uncertain, calling out, asking if someone was there. Her voice would tremble, just a little, betraying that thrill of fear she was trying so hard to mask.
The idea of it made something in the darkness hum with anticipation.
Yes, it thought, lingering close, watching her every move with a hunger it barely understood. Let her come closer. Let her step deeper into the dark. Rogue was cautious, controlled, hardened—but Kitty… Kitty was a crack in the armor. She was the one who might listen to that faint whisper in the back of her mind, the one who might stop and look just a little too long at a shadow that wasn’t quite empty.
The watcher would wait for that moment, savor it.
And when it came, it would be ready.
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Post by superkamiguy1 on Nov 2, 2024 23:34:51 GMT
Crescent Hollow was the kind of place that looked like it was used to seeing strange things and, quite frankly, wasn’t impressed by any of them. It was tucked away from the highways and hemmed in by dense, ancient trees that seemed to have made a quiet agreement with the town: *we won’t fall on your houses if you don’t complain about the shadows.* The town sat at the end of a winding road, cradled by mist and surrounded by hills that had long since decided they were too old for any nonsense. Every building in Crescent Hollow looked a little worn, as if it had been reluctantly dragged through a horror movie or two. The street lamps flickered even on nights when there wasn’t a storm for miles, casting long, uneven shadows that seemed to skulk across the cobbled streets rather than stand at attention. The buildings themselves were a patchwork of clapboard and brick, with porches that leaned sideways like they were trying to whisper secrets to each other about the things they'd seen in the dead of night. And oh, Crescent Hollow had secrets. You could tell by the way the townsfolk moved, those few unlucky souls brave enough to be outside after dark. They walked quickly, heads down, with an air of resignation, as if they'd made peace with the fact that something would inevitably go *bump* tonight. There was a general policy of *Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, Just Keep Walking* that everyone seemed to abide by. The town had a single diner, of course, a place called "Mabel’s," though no one could say they’d ever actually seen Mabel. The walls were decorated with the kind of paintings you find in antique stores that might be haunted. It was the sort of place that served coffee strong enough to keep you awake through a séance, and pie that seemed to be at least 50% conspiracy. As Rogue and Kitty drove deeper into the town, the mist seemed to cling tighter to their car, almost as if it were curious. Or, more likely, as if it were warning them not to get too close to the manor that loomed on the far side of Crescent Hollow like a particularly bad idea. The manor had no official name, not on record, anyway. People just called it "that place" or "you know where." It was the kind of house that looked like it had opinions about visitors, and none of them polite. The place had more broken windows than whole ones, and somewhere in its crumbling stonework, a gargoyle had managed to cling on, glowering at the town below as if *it* had a bone to pick with whoever built it there. The kind of haunted house that wouldn't be out of place from one of those Hammer Horror movies that Rogue loves to watch so much. Kitty squinted through the windshield, mentally cataloging all the potential points of entry as they passed. She didn’t trust a place like this to have just one. Rogue, however, was more focused on their surroundings in her own way. "Maine vibes," she muttered, watching the mist roll through the empty streets like it had clocked in for the night shift. “Stephen King meets *bad decisions.*” They pulled into a narrow street just outside of the manor’s grounds. Kitty cut the engine, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The air here seemed thicker, almost tangible, like it was holding its breath. She glanced at her sister, who was already getting out and adjusting her gun holster as if she were strolling into a coffee shop and not, quite possibly, the house that had terrified the entire town for decades. “So,” Rogue said, a gleam of excitement flickering in her eyes "Game plan?" Rogue’s voice was softer now, less casual, as if she were tasting each word before letting it out. She didn’t meet Kitty's eyes, her gaze fixed on the looming outline of the manor ahead. The facade, dark and brooding, seemed to press down on them with an almost physical weight. Kitty could tell Rogue was already playing out possible scenarios in her head, running through what they knew, what they’d packed, and—if she’d guessed right—what would happen if all their plans went south. Kitty took a breath, feeling the air thicken as she stepped out of the car. “We stick to the basics,” she replied, trying to sound solid, reliable—the voice of reason, even if her insides were quietly turning somersaults. Rogue’s jaw tightened, her hand moving to rest over her gun, fingers tapping the grip in a slow, steady rhythm. "Basics. Right." She let out a breath, as if letting go of some hidden, coiled-up tension, and then gave a small, humorless chuckle. “Just keep reminding me of that if I get any bright ideas.” Kitty watched her for a moment, searching her sister’s face, then forced a nod. Rogue’s confidence had always been the kind of thing Kitty envied—bold, unbreakable, and effortless. But now, with Crescent Hollow stretching its shadows out in greeting, Kitty couldn’t shake the feeling that even Rogue’s armor wasn’t quite as invincible as it looked.
The manor held its breath. Through layers of shadow and silence, something waited, watching as Rogue and Kitty crossed the threshold. It had known intruders before—loud, blundering ones, drunken teenagers daring each other to spend a night in the haunted old house, or the occasional thrill-seeker with a camera and a flashlight, half hoping to catch a glimpse of a ghost. They had all come and gone, leaving little more than echoes behind. But these two were different. The watcher felt them enter, sensed the weight of their weapons, the tang of iron and holy powder carried in like an unwelcome scent. They moved with purpose, with caution, like predators on unfamiliar ground. And yet, there was something about the younger one—Kitty, the one whose eyes flicked over every shadow with an almost desperate curiosity—that drew the watcher’s attention. She was different from her sister. Rogue moved like a soldier, sharp and deliberate, her gaze slicing through the darkness. Kitty, though... there was a softness to her, a kind of nervous, bright-eyed wonder that seeped through her cautious expression. Even in her guarded stance, something about her felt inviting, vulnerable, like a glimmer of warmth in the cold emptiness of the manor. The watcher drifted closer, slipping through the shadows like smoke, taking its time, savoring the unfamiliar pulse of life within these walls. It could sense Rogue’s steady heartbeat, a controlled rhythm, like the ticking of a well-kept clock. But Kitty’s… Kitty’s was quick, fluttering, almost electric. Her heart thumped in a way that hinted at fear, but not enough to hold her back. Her pulse spoke of curiosity, a hunger for knowledge, a dangerous kind of yearning. Yes, she was the interesting one. It followed her as they moved deeper into the foyer, her flashlight sweeping across the peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles, her eyes wide and alert. When she passed by a dusty, broken mirror, the watcher lingered, catching the briefest glimpse of her reflection—a fleeting, pale image in the glass that seemed to watch her back with an unsettling, hungry patience. Kitty paused, her gaze lingering on the mirror as if she sensed something. She reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of the frame, stirring up a thin layer of dust. The watcher felt a spark of excitement, a thrill it hadn’t experienced in years. She could feel it, couldn’t she? She sensed it watching, lurking just beyond the reach of her light. A smile, faint and twisted, seemed to ripple through the shadows. It moved closer still, wrapping itself around the corners of the room, slipping just out of sight whenever her flashlight swung its way. It found itself drawn to her, fascinated by the way she’d bite her lip, the way her breath would catch every now and then, betraying the flickers of unease she tried to hide. Kitty. Young, brave, curious Kitty. "My sweet innocent Little Doe."The watcher drifted toward her, close enough to almost touch, if it had hands, if it had form. It imagined leaning in, whispering her name, just to watch the shiver crawl up her spine. It could almost hear the sound of her voice, soft and uncertain, calling out, asking if someone was there. Her voice would tremble, just a little, betraying that thrill of fear she was trying so hard to mask. The idea of it made something in the darkness hum with anticipation. Yes, it thought, lingering close, watching her every move with a hunger it barely understood. Let her come closer. Let her step deeper into the dark. Rogue was cautious, controlled, hardened—but Kitty… Kitty was a crack in the armor. She was the one who might listen to that faint whisper in the back of her mind, the one who might stop and look just a little too long at a shadow that wasn’t quite empty. The watcher would wait for that moment, savor it. And when it came, it would be ready. The best X-Ladies Duo! Loving the creepy atmosphere and build up for the investigation! The horror vibes are awesome and we're even getting the PoV of The Presence and it's suitably creepy! You've got something special brewing here bro! |
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Post by Valhalla Erikson on Nov 8, 2024 0:17:10 GMT
Author's Note: So I'm going to end up doing a slight retool. Nothing too major as I'm still going to keep the opening that establishes the sisters. The change I'm going to make is Rogue and Kitty's Mom is dead. A tragic circumstance regarding a Huntsman. Died during a mission. If there's one small comfort they have they don't have to worry about avenging her. Their mom at least took the person responsible with her. But that event had caused Rogue to assume the responsibility as a parent to her younger sister Kitty.
Another thing I'm looking at changing is their last name. I feel Carpenter is more suitable.
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