Beware the Boogeyman (CVnU; RPG; closed)

Avatar image for thisisgonnahurt
ThisIsGonnaHurt

42559

Forum Posts

840

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 4

There is one road leading to St. Annabelle's.

It is isolated and kept secret from the world, to better comfort disturbed patients. Long ago it was a center to treat tuberculosis during the plague. Hundreds died within its walls. During the 1950s and the socioecological health system reform, the building's massive occupancy potential and sheer distance from any nearby cities kept it on the chopping block for a few years.

Tax dollars just couldn't be funneled into rennovating it completely for normal hospital use. It was thought to have been left to the decay of time until an anonymous buyer took it. With a series of unknown investors, St. Annabelle's was reborn as a mental hospital and a major psychiatric ward for the area.

That was in 1964.

There is still only one road leading to St. Annabelle's.

Steven Barnes flipped his FBI badge back and forth over his knuckles. The parking lot up front was nonexistent, so he pulled over in the grass. He was supposed to meet someone here, a specialist. He didn't ask too many questions over the phone. He didn't want to sound crazy.

There was a deer carcass on the side of the road coming in. It wasn't fresh, and grew bloated with gas and maggots. He had a fleeting image of it, but grew curious about it nonetheless.

The sign glowed above him: Berkley's Market. He wanted to have lunch here before going up to... that place.

He wanted a Reuben with seasoned fries.

There were no other people in sight, just the owner's truck off to the side. She would cook and clean all day by herself, given the climate of people simply not going to restaurants anymore.

It was a small place, about half kitchen and half dining area with a single set of matching bathrooms. Steven was about to walk inside and wait and took one more look around the block.

Avatar image for dxx
DXX

271

Forum Posts

0

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 0

The night held a chill in it's air, and a dew blanket on the dim streets of this sleepy town. The ambience was almost nonexistent, other than the light drips from pipes and clatter of wayward creatures in the night. Among this dreary song, was the tapping footsteps of fine dress shoes, worn, but still fine enough to clack on the pavement.

These worn shoes belonged to "The Specialist" in which the agent sought out. He was a man who snapped the attention of whoever gazed upon him. Not of his own intent, no, but because his very image was uncanny and eerie, recognizable. This was a man who bore the perfect appearance of Edgar Allan Poe.

So the recreation of a once troubled writer pressed towards the diner, pulling out a stunningly antique pocket watch to ensure that his arrival was in line with what he assured over the telephone.

It was simple enough to suss out the special agent known as Barnes, as his vehicle had been the only one parked there in the reflective parking lot, the neon sign illuminating the rain speckled paint. The writer knew he would catch Barnes' eye, as he seemed to catch everyone's.

It was with a eerie, still hand raised up that he greeted Barnes, now standing at the door to the Diner. His gaunt expression revealed a smile, small and subdued, but a promise of no harm nonetheless.

"Salutations, Agent Barnes." "Edgar", as he called himself, finally croaked. His tone has a peculiar antiquity to it, the edges refined by years as a practiced gentleman. "We spoke over the phone."

Avatar image for thisisgonnahurt
ThisIsGonnaHurt

42559

Forum Posts

840

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 4

Steven was told to be prepared for an uncanny likeness to a certain writer, but as he watched his guest approach he couldn't help but have his mouth slightly ajar. He shook his hand and covered his face slightly, pushing the door open for Edgar.

"Has anyone told you that uh..." he began slowly, broken. "I'm sure they have, you look exactly like him,"

It was a face burned into his memory over the course of a year of AP English. He sat down at a booth, across from where Edgar would sit.

He told Edgar about the mental hospital in name only. It was time to fully explain why it was important. Steven leaned back against the booth cushion, popping his back and groaning.

"Alright... so St. Annabelle's. Something is wrong with that place,"

A woman came from behind the counter and Steven ordered coffee and a Reuben sandwich like he wanted along with some seasoned fries. Edgar was free to get anything he wanted, they probably had it.

"15 years ago a boy murdered his brother in cold blood. St. Annabelle's took him in, doesn't seem too bad. But I've visited him once. I want someone else, someone who's been around the block before... to tell me that I'm not crazy you know?"

Steven got his coffee, and drank it black.

"There's one road going there. It's eerie. You don't see anything moving or hear anything in the woods. You'd probably like it."

He wanted to break the growing, tense atmosphere of dread with a bit of humor. But it wasnt working.

Avatar image for dxx
DXX

271

Forum Posts

0

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 0

The pleasantries were exactly where Edgar had predicted they'd be, on the matter of his uncanny resemblance. The dreary man could only chuckle, sounding always woeful no matter his mood, and nodded in acknowledgment.

"Indeed they do, Agent, indeed they do."

Of course, this individual, like many, would never really no the truth. A machine was all Edgar was, a future humanity's product. This was not his story to tell, though, not while on the case.

Barnes begun to tell his story, one depicting a place so eerie and hopeless that it must be of the supernatural. St. Annabelle's was a facility unknown to the Specialist , other than what Barnes briefly told him over the phone. Though the construct was not of focus here, and was merely a domicile for who, or what, resided inside.

Edgar order after the agent, requesting a coffee with a splash of Irish persuasion. Ironic, as alcohol seemed to have no true effect on his fabricated biology. His eyes never left the gaze of Barnes, already enthralled with what he had to say.

And so it was then that Edgar learned of the boy in quesiton. While the origin of this patient's residency was "mundane" in the broad strokes of murder, it even reminded him of his own- the original Poe's work, there was something to the agent's expression that added depth and intrigue.

There was no bluffing, or acting that could portray such a pale shade such as Agent Barnes' in that very moment. Sickly, a sheen of sweat, a heaviness in the eyes of an emotional burden. This was a man that has seen evil in the flesh.

After sipping his coffee, Edgar laced his fingers together and leaned in with a slightly unsettling smile as Barnes painted the scenery.

"That does sound rather... Relaxing, Mr. Barnes. There is something to be said about a lonesome road, and the solace that can be found in such symbolism." He took another sip, checking his pocket watch. "And for that, Agent, I would be happy to oblige your request. After all, I think we can all relate to the need to not feel mad. As I last checked, an Agent has the means of access at all hours of the evening to such a facility... So why bother dallying, hm?"

Avatar image for thisisgonnahurt
ThisIsGonnaHurt

42559

Forum Posts

840

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 4

Agent Barnes looked at the bottom of his cup of coffee. He was already fatter than he wanted to be at this age, more unshaven than his mother expected him to be - God rest her soul. He sighed and set the mug down, walking over to the grill.

After a moment explaining why he wanted his favorite sandwich and fries canceled, he gave Mama Berkley two twenties for the two drinks and sat back down to finish his coffee. Edgar finished his, and without further to do Steven led him back to his car. It was a modest black affair, make and model changing twice a month.

He stood outside the driver's door for a second longer than usual, staring out at the woods he was about to venture into for just the second time in his life. It was already too many times. With a sigh, he sank into the seat and cranked the ignition.

They were off.

A few moments would pass between the two of Steven mumbling about how little traffic came this way. It always weirded him out, how not even the supposed families came to visit the patients. It was in a very quiet part of the county, too.

There was a small amount of joy in that car. It was a sort of lukewarm appreciation for littler things, not very many jokes but rather a shared dry humor. Steven turned on the radio slightly. It wasn't to add stimulation to their conversation, and he even apologized shortly afterwards.

It was because he took a right turn, off the main road. Barely any amount of signs pointed them towards it. Any normal person would assume that he took a wrong guess and happened upon some bleak part of the world.

The abnormal amount of tree coverage certainly alluded to that. No root chipped away at the actual concrete but the canopies and thick trunks of the bloated foliage begged to asphyxiate whatever was beneath them. Steven watched the road carefully, and flipped on his brights despite it being broad daylight. Otherwise, he could barely see in front of him.

"This is it," he muttered anxiously. "About thirty minutes through all of this, and we're there,"

For all of those agonizing seconds, the trees grew maddeningly close in some places. There was nowhere to pull over. If someone else came thundering through the woods heading towards town, there was no option to move. The sheer weight of apprehension, that uncertain feeling of what was ahead, caused Steven to hang onto his steering wheel and lean over it with a hunch in his back. His shoulders kissed his ears constantly, and he was visibly sweating.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to be free of this oppressive grip. But he had only been there for thirteen minutes, going on a hundred - a thousand.

It felt like marching to his own grave, wrapped in linens. He was driving his own casket. Edgar was probably not as concerned. He already lived through one death, maybe the looming unknown variable of another was only mildly distressing. He did call this comforting after all.

Steven could only imagine that was part of Edgar's dark humor.

For now, and until they reached the end, the drive was pure torture.

Though, inevitably, those thirty minutes did pass. Right on the dot, actually. Steven followed the small road to the right as a fork presented itself. True to form, it was only one road. It curved in front of an imposing castle-like structure that doninated the clearing. Towers rose along a mismatched collision of circles and rhombus shapes. The layout was altogether puzzling from above, in a helicopters position.

It was massive as well, with several floors dictating an ultimate patient capacity somewhere in the thousands. The two visitors were only here to see one.

Avatar image for dxx
DXX

271

Forum Posts

0

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 0

Barnes humored Edgar's enthusiasm to leave for Annabelle's, but he would soon feel guilty shortly after the request. It did not feel as if he was spurring on his "partner" in a chase for clarity, but rather Edgar felt as if he had taken this man hostage, the only thing missing was a gun sticking into his back.

From the moment they left the diner, the agent was not in his right mind, having surrendered to his frayed nerves from the moment the case truly began. Edgar could only watch in silence, like how one would watch a mouse wriggle in a sprung trap. It was his morbid curiosity that kept him silent for most of the journey.

Edgar was never one for comforting words, some could even say he was incapable of such warmth. No, the only thing he could share were his cold observations, and twisted intrigue in what awaited them at the decrepit place of care. So silence it was.

It was simply an awkward car ride, until they turned off the marked path, and into the forgotten. It was here, on this road that was choking from dense fog, that Edgar's face finally lit up, even if that too was just as subdued as the rest of his expressions.

He was a fanciful child in a man's figure, eyes wandering in keen observation of the demented woods encroaching on the road they drove upon. It was peace, a solace that Edgar felt safe in, from the complications and excessive stress of the world just outside of this canopy. Where Barnes' very soul no doubt felt squeezed, Edgar could hardly notice his compatriot's turmoil in his own moment of eerie wonder.

Just as the agent foretold, the asylum presented itself after thirty minutes of travel. The dense forest grew so freely, so aggressively, that coming upon a building of such size was almost a jumping shock, as if it was a living thing that waited to lurch out at whoever stumbled on it's presence.

Edgar was convinced that the architect of this place had to have been committed shortly after, as their work was the image of madness itself. For this did not bring any feeling of calm, or healing in the aggressive display of cracked stone and withered vine. It brought a feeling of dread, a feeling that pumped Edgar's hollow breast with anticipation.

The specialist stepped out of the car, his wide gaze looking back at the road from which they arrived. The fog seemed to have grown into a wall, from how impossible retreat felt at that very moment. There was no turning back now, and even this place knew it.

"By your lead, Agent Barnes." Edgar raised his arm out, a delicate hand gesturing to the most apparent entrance.

Avatar image for thisisgonnahurt
ThisIsGonnaHurt

42559

Forum Posts

840

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 4

#7  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

Steven was unfortunately the only one between the two who knew his way around the hospital. Perhaps he was the only one in the whole of the LAPD who did. He made sure that his car was locked, wasting as much time as he could before marching solemnly towards the door.

The heavy metal constructs weren't replaced since the foundation of the building during the 1910s. There were small panes of bulletproof glass, multilayered and pressed together with iron mesh. It was impossible to see through. Any attempt would bring confusion and uncertainty.

He pushed it open, holding it for Edgar out of an invisible plea that he would follow. Steven noticed that he took far more pleasure in being here than he was. Perhaps it was how his chest was slightly puffed out, or how his feet were moving more freely of care.

Steven approached the front desk. There were no discernable seating arrangements for guests. The elevators were tucked away in the corner as soon as they walked in, practically antique things at this point in history. As he approached, the only other person in sight looked up from her apparent paperwork and smiled at them.

"Welcome to St. Annabelle's, how may I help you?" she gave with an almost routine and manufactured amount of cheer.

There was something off about her smile, particularly her teeth. One too many, or were some longer than they should have been? Steven shook his head and looked at the floor rather than her face.

"We're visitors for Mr. North in Room 1260," he scratched his neck.

She didn't look at anything else or even try to flip through any sort of note. She smiled at Edgar with that same odd grin and pointed down the hallway to her right.

"Elevators are around the surgical waiting room. Don't disturb anyone. Have a nice day," she replied, turning to face her paperwork again before shutting off her smile.

Steven took the lead again, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"Don't look at them,"

He took his own advice and raised his coat towards the waiting room as they passed it, but if he did dare a glance he would see them staring at the two as they walked around. Their dark eyes were emptied of any sort of compassion or happiness. Ten or so people, finding nothing better to do in that derelict waiting area than to stare at passers-by. Steven made a sharp turn into the service elevators rather than the patient ones.

He was breathing irregularly.

"When this place was built it was meant to isolate tuberculosis patients so that they wouldn't infect others. Treatment was hit and miss. Thousands died despite the best efforts of the doctors here. I think a lot of faith was tested back then," he pressed the button for the elevator, and it opened instantly.

Whereas the hospital proper had little in the way of actual lighting, the elevator strangely had an air of safety within it. It was more modern, hydraulic and efficient.

Perhaps that was why these were used primarily to shuttle bodies to the morgue chute somewhere beyond where the two dared to go.

"Maybe they're trying really hard to make this a good place despite all that history. But where can you actually go? With all that blood in the walls, with all that death in the floorboards, can you actually go back to having a normal life?"

They ascended the slow grind to Floor 12. It was practically at the top of the tower.

"I think a lot of people fear death, even those who know where it takes them."

Avatar image for dxx
DXX

271

Forum Posts

0

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 0

Edgar followed the agent as if he were his shadow, silently stepping where he stepped while taking in the foreboding architecture, feeling the air compress around them as they walked through the crooked and dank maw.

Awaiting them was the secretary, who behaved and spoke more like an extension of the building itself, than a person of free thought and will. Her visage was of the uncanny sort, looking almost too eager for visitors to arrive in such a place of decay. While Barnes lowered his head at the sight, Edgar himself stared at her with his head titled curiously, looking her over like one looks at a statue's wandering eyes.

With a grin to his person, and a mild nod and smile returned, the two were pointed in the next direction of their eerie journey. They passed what seemed to be the waiting room, looking to Barnes once more to see him avert his gaze. From what? He wondered, until he noticed the people sitting inside. Much like the woman at the front desk, Edgar hardly noticed them at all, as if they blended in to the background with how little they moved and shuffled about.

It was the lift for them, and Edgar stood face forward while he listened intently to Barnes commiserate the ambient dread practically crushing at his shoulders. After wetting his dry lips, he chose to join in the commiseration.

"I believe there is some truth to that, Sir. I find myself thinking along a different path, though. In most circumstances, I would agree that a place such as this collects the weak and weary, and feeds on their hopelessness..." His brow furrowed, losing himself in thought. "As for where we stand? This building for the sickly and mad? I believe, Agent Barnes, that the denizens are here of their own choice. Yes, I would even say that they are drawn to the suffering, and the madness. Who's to say, perhaps, that such a place, the bricks and steel, don't encourage such woe?"

The lift bounced to a halt, and Edgar finally looked over to his companion with a crooked, but sincere smile. "And as us mortals fear death, there are those who's curiosity drives them through the ether..." He raised his hand, once again finding himself following the actions of Agent Barnes. "Let us find out together, hm?"

Avatar image for thisisgonnahurt
ThisIsGonnaHurt

42559

Forum Posts

840

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 4

#9  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

Steven smiled. It was the first sincere act of such facial demeanor Edgar would see, perhaps the first one for the entire day. He put his hands in his pockets and shuffled forward, his pace returning to a solid and well-kept investigator's stride. Doctors and nurses stared at them from the shadows of the front desk, from the echoes of the work areas inteled into the walls. They were antiques of a different time, perhaps kept here to preserve the illusion of time standing still for the patients. Thick cloth masks obscured their features, all except for the ubiquitous dark eyes staring coldly at the backs of the privately-contracted detective and his guide.

"How can I help you?" one of them finally said. She was brighter than the others, pale by contrast. Curly locks of dark hair flickered down from underneath her cap. Her name tag clattered, drawing attention to itself.

Virginia.

"We're here to see Mr. North, room 1260," Steven looked around, avoiding her eyes directly.

"Mr. North is no longer in this tower, he is in room 2203," she replied emphatically, eyeing Edgar from the corner of her gaze.

Steven shook his head, pulling away from the conversation without finishing his next statement. "Goodbye."

There were indeed times that the hospital seemed to shift around in places. He was sure of it. Rooms never stayed in the same place. Patients he heard screaming behind one door would be behind another elsewhere, locked away. He stopped trying to memorize it all. He even stopped trying to open those impossible doors. Long ago, like he was here before himself. He would know the hallway when he saw it, he was sure of that. Certainty in the back of his mind grew into confidence. His steps became erratic as he hunted the elusive corridor.

It wasn't marked on any sort of map that leered at them from the walls. Why would it be? Those engravings were just as much the culprit of the same conspiracy as the nurses, as the doctors watching them. Steven rounded a corner, but stopped himself. He leaned on the wall for a second. His breaths were suddenly gone, his lungs empty and shriveling. He caught some measure of life in his body again.

Was it really only the second time he saw the door? 1260 stared at him from a hundred yards away and the weight still clung to him like water refusing to leave his skin.

"I hate this part," he found himself saying, not of his own volition.

Evil had a place in this world, in the great beyond. It decided the fates of those who wanted to use it for personal gain, for personal pleasure. In those globes of individual Heaven, they would only find Hell. But what if, by some measure of insanity or lost individuality, Hell became Heaven? There were those who pursued evil because they completely disregarded the light. Devils in human skin, their souls forfeit long ago.

Thousands of years of human ingenuity and passion, and still the prospect of death lingered over all accomplishments. Man-made death and suffering, torture and genocide. Those products of evil reflected themselves in the individual, their genetic inheritance, perhaps even deeper than parental nurturing would allow. What happened on that Halloween night fifteen years ago was truly an act of evil, and the door locking it away reflected that. The blood of Tommy North was still fresh in the mind of the man nurtured within these walls.

At six years old he committed a heinous murder for unknown reasons. Perhaps it ran deeper than the psychological. But that was for Edgar to discern for himself, to confirm with Steven.

Agent Barnes found his feet moving on their own, and he had already cleared half of the distance necessary. It became harder with each step. He couldn't help but feel that Roger North only grew more dangerous with each passing day. The fact that he was lost amidst several dozen locked rooms did not help. They were keeping him in much the same way as one would keep a wild animal.

Eventually it would escape.

Steven pressed his hand on the door, and turned the handle. The tumblers inside clicked.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, cracking it open.

"Mr. North?" he began slowly, concisely.

He pushed the door further against the wall. It was completely quiet, despite the derelict condition of everything else around it. Everything seemed disturbingly still and silent. The temperature dropped sharply as they entered. Steven could even see his own breath at times, though he shook his head and it was back to normal. His heart hung in his chest rather than beat.

"I'm Agent... Barnes," he stopped once he had a good look at the room itself.

It was small, drawing in close on all sides. The ceiling was higher than it should have been otherwise, and the light flickered only once or twice during the entirety of the visit. Roger's bed was clean, practically untouched.

But he sat in a wooden chair facing the window. It was tightly closed to the outside, letting no light inside. Roger gave no reply to what Steven said. Edgar could only see his back from the angle they were standing at. He was heavily muscled, tense at all times. His fingers were clasped around the armrest, squeezing the wood slightly. He sat straight up, his messy brown hair sprouting into cowlicks practically everywhere.

"Do you remember me?" he said to no reply.

He looked at Edgar, but didn't dare to step closer.

Avatar image for dxx
DXX

271

Forum Posts

0

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 0

This place was not of this world, Edgar was certain of this. With each step taken, the building felt more alive in it's opposition of the visiting investigators. Much like how a predator creased it's snout to reveal it's fangs, the oddities found in these corridors were becoming more apparent.

Edgar, of course, only found a detached fascination with the phenomenon. Where Barnes felt like his reality was peeling away, rotting away, the pale shade of a poet found his more sobering than ever. He silently followed the agent even still, glaring at the man as if intending to bolster him with nothing but his hazel eyes.

As they two reached the precipice of this madness, an eerily elongated hallway, Edgar now walked at Barnes' side, occasionally glancing to him, insuring that he was still sane. Finally, they arrived at the gateway. Edgar's mouth slacked slightly as Barnes pressed forward, opening the door, entranced with the rapid range of emotions the agent experienced in a single breath.

If it weren't for his more mortal associate, Edgar wouldn't have even realized that the air became frigid. His skin could not feel such things, nor could his false lungs even produce a harrowed breath to be seen. It mattered not, as the specialist was now glaring at the "man" they came all this way for.

His eyes became slits, his head slowly turning to the side upon looking over this beastly specimen. Everything about Mr. North was suspect, everything. Only an aged corpse could be so still, so stiff. Not a frayed hair on his large head shook or twitched. His rigid hands were so tight, that the man's unkempt nails had carved up the chair's arms. Was it from a single clutch? Edgar wondered, or was this entity's only solace to make marks to pass the time in this tiny room?

Edgar's eyes twitched back and forth, from Barnes to North, eagerly awaiting some sort of response from the hulk of flesh. Alas, there was nothing but a silence only found in a grave. Eventually, the agent would look over, spurring the specialist to take action.

"...Mr. North..." Edgar's cool tone filled the silence, somehow not even echoing off the empty walls. The machine took a step closer, and pulled out his pocket watch. "...We've come to talk of sins that have long passed..." His words lingered with each step, now handing his watch over to Agent Barnes without even an aside glance. His finger was raised ever so gently, silently assuring Barnes of his intentions, and his request to be uninterrupted.

Edgar now stood directly behind Mr. North, his entire being attempting to emulate his impossible stillness. "It's the tale of a young boy, no older than six. For reasons unknown to any living soul, this young man decided to slaughter his brother in cold blood. Please tell me, if this sounds familiar to you... Roger."

Avatar image for thisisgonnahurt
ThisIsGonnaHurt

42559

Forum Posts

840

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 4

Steven thumbed over the stopwatch in his hand. It was a relic of reality, an anchor by which he could see himself breathing and acclimating again. The cold pricked against his skin rather than stabbed into his chest. It was temporary reprieve, if anything, but he could find comfort in it. Edgar moved and spoke carefully. Each word was meticulously chosen, each twitch of his body calculated. Had he done something like this before? Faced down an irredeemable man?

Agent Barnes had no way of knowing. At this point it didn't really matter. His chest was practically nestled against Roger's head, stiff as a board. They remained together, in the impermeable dark of the room, facing down one another through sheer force of will without eye contact. But what Edgar contended with was no mere man. Something was wrong.

"He's not going to speak with you," Steven muttered after a moment of painful silence. He didn't seem to notice that words even came out of his mouth.

Staring into the black recesses of 1260, he watched as shapes crawled along the wall. They were vaguely human, and he traced their point of origin back towards the foot of the chair Roger rested upon. They disappeared into the floor.

He wanted to move, far away from here. His legs locked into a fight or flight scenario, his soul ensnared by the abyss. He could feel it biting into him. He couldn't budge. He was trapped in here, and he had also led Edgar into the same trap. Roger remained completely still.

Sweat formed bullets along his body. The cold was back. No amount of rubbing the pocket watch could keep it from claiming his blood. It dug deep into his veins, his arteries. His toes curled, he was trying to do anything against the numbing freeze. How it was suddenly simultaneously hot and cold did not immediately fixate itself into his mind. He kept staring at the back of the patient's head.

Roger remained completely still.

"Edgar," he whispered - louder now, more concise and purposefully.

"Get back from there," he reached out a hand, plunging it into the darkness.

He felt like he was putting his arm into the raging sea. He could not save Edgar without putting his neck into the same water, without diving into the same torrents and waves.

His fingers stretched with a familiar anticipation, an anxiety he remembered. Had he done this before - condemned souls when he tried to save them? And what made Edgar's so special that he was recollecting this horror now of all times?

Before their very eyes, the room practically seemed to stretch. The dark began to swallow Edgar into the same place as Roger inhabited. Steven kept fighting through with his hand, his own presence in the room about to be snuffed out and forgotten. There was a great crash of lightning outside and the thunderhead rolled over. The eerie calm from before was gone, replaced with the heart of a furious storm.

The windows started to clatter and shake violently, hurricane winds blasting into the room to sow confusion and havoc. In that moment, chaos reigned. They were deeper in Hell than Steven had realized. He could not dig them out alone.

"Tua anima, Dante!"

Avatar image for dxx
DXX

271

Forum Posts

0

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 0

"Get back from there."

Barnes called out to Edgar, with his voice feeling so impossibly distant in doing so. Edgar turned his head slowly, his gaunt eyes widening just slightly at what he witnessed. His partner stood at least ten feet away, no, twenty feet. The longer he stood there, just staring in frozen fascination, the room stretched beyond like a black hole.

A triumph of roaring thunder vibrated his very teeth, his mouth dropped in one corner as if he was attempting to keep his composure, even now. His dress shoes twitched and scraped against the tile flooring, as it was here he experienced a single second of sheer terror, but not a second more.

Edgar's feet now stood firm again, his chin raising as he looked upon agent Barnes. His entire stature spoke volumes, knowing his compatriot in this nightmare would know full well where he stood. When Edgar was born- When he was built, his creators instilled in him a great desire for the unknown, for the macabre and for when stands behind the void. This was the void.

"Abandon all hope..." Edgar mused, turning away from Barnes, and back to Mr. North. With his curiosity possessing his entire person, the specialist started walking around the chair, in which this entity sat, so that he could finally see what was at the end of this journey... Or was it only the beginning? "...Ye who enter here..." He concluded, now standing face to face with North, as the world around them was stripped like flesh from a bone.