sticksandbones | MINI EVENT: GHOST RESCUE

A HEARTBEAT BENEATH THE STAIRS

As the season turns, and blood sinks into the ground of the Grove, as monsters with your face haunt the halls, waiting to pounce, something else is creeping into light. Distantly one might see a light in the forest at night, and the next it comes closer. And closer. Until in the treeline you can see it: a pitch black manor that looks as if it’s covered in ash. The trees act as its gates, rebuffing anyone who tries to investigate, and the air smells like rot. Something watches in the windows, but vanishes when you blink.

… But not even this dark manor can stand in the way of one very angry grandfather skeleton, who will, eventually, rattle his teeth and bones in a rallying cry and urge others to follow him, sword in hand. It’s time to storm the castle, and Mr. Bone-Jangles has had enough.

The air within the manor is frigid and biting, and the inside itself is as decrepit as you may expect. Lights and candles can light the way… but only for a few minutes. The wood creaks as if the building is breathing slowly, and sometimes you here a loud thum-thump, as if its unseen heart beats while you explore.

For an already imposing building, inside seems even larger and there’s almost no end in sight as it feels like the halls wind on forever and more and more rooms, from libraries to studies to bedrooms to- … is this room dedicated to WWE Wrestler Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson? … Needless to say, there’s a lot to work through, but Bone-Jangles urges you onward.

Wisps of color drift through. Are they your friends? Or something else?

A NIGHTMARE ON YOUR LIPS

And to those who have been locked away for days, perhaps weeks, nothing in this house feels real. Is it a dream? Is it a nightmare? The mere mention of a potential addition from your lips manifests another new room within the manor, but you cannot touch anything. Light hurts and makes you dizzy, while the night is painfully cold. How long has it been? How long will it be?

The burst of life is- new. Exciting. Distantly, you know these people, but the urges of death are whimsical and cruel. Part of you wants to guide them to the attic, where your souls are chained in full to a portrait of you. Break those portraits, and you're free, coming back to life outside, which is what you want, isn't it? Another part of you wants to chase them out, how dare they intrude upon your afterlife? Another yet thinks it’s time to play, but no longer remembers what ‘play’ is- so surely they can dodge the plates and books, right? Right!

And another yet wants the intruders dead. And if not by your hands, then by the demons guarding this world alongside you.

(CODE)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

They're a part of the Universe, spinning and twirling around something greater, greater, as they were always meant to. Like the moon and the planets, like planets orbiting the sun, like a star spiralling into the pull a black hole. The world is in motion, and so are they.

They feel sick, dizzy. And yet the dance stops abruptly enough to shake them still, vision swimming in their one good eye. They take the moment to breathe, gasping for air like a castaway at sea, trembling against the taut grip of their director. The door is so far, now. They never should've stepped in here.

Loop moves again, and—they feel the familiar grip of bone in their hand, skin sizzling against the touch. Ah.

They want to thrash, but their body is no longer theirs. The star in their chest feels tight, hollow.

The shadow smiles gleefully as it brings the shadow of the knife straight through the palm of it's hand and drags it slowly down to its wrist.

Loop, of course, echoes it's movements.

Scream nice and loud, the audience loves a good torture scene.

There's a light.

It's hard for Siffrin to focus or remember anything, even moreso than normal. He's just been drifting along like he has all his life, but somehow more literal, at times even confused as to why he can't seem to touch anything, why he feels so cold.

But there's a light, and some instinct in him says to follow it. It's bright and familiar and makes him feel warm again, even without any actual heat.

He can't make sense of the scene he happens upon. A star – his star, some part of his mind provides – seems distraught. He doesn't understand why, doesn't see anyone else around, but the distress is clear even if the cause isn't.

And then the knife sinks into lightless flesh, and Siffrin moves automatically. Darts in close, movement feeling odd and floaty. He hasn't been able to touch anything, but he tries regardless, grabbing at the knife like he might be able to wrest it away from the star. Stop, stop, stop–

Their hand shakes, straining, thrumming with spikes. The knife is cold in their grip. How familiar! To be alone in the woods, bringing blade to flesh. Can they even call it that, when theirs is so unnatural? Should they check again, that their body still yet bleeds? That some part of them is still human? Should they cut deeper this time, that they might find bone scattered within the starlight?

The blade digs, trembling, and then comes down all at once. A spike of pain, throbbing, bleeding. But the shadow is surely disappointed that they only manage a strained whimper. Their sense of scale is off, dulled, too adjusted to things far worse than this. It would take more to make them scream. It could do so much more. It could carve them away, until there's nothing left—

But the knife stills before it can drag the wound any deeper. Their hands suddenly feel so much colder, like they've been dunked in a bucket of ice. The numbness is soothing, somehow.

They shiver, struggling, pulling against the force once more. They don't want to do this.

Siffrin can tug the hand that stabs back a little, and something seems to freeze. Siffrin and Siffrin alone can see the tall, hunched over, bone-thin creature with a dozen eyes but no mouth watching, a dozen open books propped around it in the trees as it tugs at the puppet strings.

It's eyes squint into something like a smile. My eyes squint into something like a smile.

I tug the strings back harshly, and Loop reflects the shadow's movements, yanking the knife out abruptly and scratching into their cheek instead, shallow but somehow cutting into light regardless. Is it possible? Perhaps not. But this is my play, and you are my actor. You'll do exactly as I say you will.

He can touch it! At least a little bit. He can do something.

Spotting the...creature? Siffrin pauses for a moment, frowning. What is that? Is that something he should know? He can't tell. But it's clearly responsible for this.

He can't manage to get the knife away from the star, but if he can interact with things somewhat... Siffrin eyes the strings, and pulls out his own knife – always on him, even in death – and slashes at the threads puppeting the star.

The knife flicks back easily at the sudden reversal, scratching a thin shadow into their light. It doesn't sting enough to feel over the warm throb of their hand—blood dripping freely from the gaping wound, now that there's nothing left to keep it in. It sparkles brightly against the snowy forest floor, glittering red paint across a blank canvas. They feel lightheaded, seeing that much blood come out of them. Too much, too much...

It doesn't feel like they're making any progress. Aahhhh, for a moment they were getting somewhere! Felt like something was on their side, but then that strength left them! The Universe truly has abandoned them! Their will to fight is fading fast, but they still try—they have to try, to get away, you came here for a reason, didn't you? Is this how you want everything to end? Dying alone in the House, bleeding out from self-inflicted wounds?

All they can do is pull their strings taut, waiting for the next scene.

Loop's right arm is free. What a pity. I was having so much fun. I have more strings though. I do not move from my seat, and it is unclear if I can't or simply do not want to.

I pull at my marionette again. While Loop may partially be free, the show must go on. Loop begins their dance again, whether they want to or not. I do not acknowledge Siffrin. He does not matter, on this stage.

The thing doesn't move, doesn't even look at him, but he can see the string snapping and Loop's arm sagging from the tension of struggling against it. The sight spurs him forward, lunging to slash at every string they can see. It doesn't matter if the star can see him or not. He doesn't matter, not really. But he has to protect them.

Back to the stage, Loop. The show isn't over yet. The show will never be over, because you weren't designed to be set free. But you should feel grateful, shouldn't you? That someone would find a use for a broken thing like you. A guiding star that doesn't know the way, just as useless as a show without an audience, a Traveller without a name. How sad. How pitiful. How kind, that you would be given another chance to be part of something greater. Stop fighting battles you can never hope to win. Embrace it, accept it, your role in this tragic play.

and yet... and yet, something feels off. Unbalanced, growing more obvious with each uneven step. A part that no longer fits the whole, swinging loose and carelessly with every move. It's distracting, too distracting, despite the director's composure the performance is all wrong—

Their fingers twitch, nearly dropping the knife. Ah.

Why now?

Not when they prayed for help, and not even when they fought their hardest... why such the drastic shift, at this moment where nothing is happening? They feel a faint chill in the air, but little else to provide a hint. Is it just luck? Did they reach some kind of limit? What else could it be?

... even with an arm free, there's really not much they can do with it, though. They don't have a target to attack, besides themselves, and they're not quite that desperate yet. They feel their body being swept around the stage, trying for now to simply avoid accidentally stabbing themselves. Continuing to resist in what little ways they can. The show isn't over yet.

Only a few of my strings remain, letting Loop dangle freely on their feet- but this isn't fun. It's not fun at all. So I finally move from my perch, and swing the controller at Siffrin... but oh, I miss.

Loop will see an explosion of snow and dust from the ground, however.

MINI EVENT: GHOST RESCUE

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content warning: possession, possession-enduced self harm

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cw: we are continuing to think about self harm in here

it's going to be self harm and possession until it isn't. also eye horror

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strings: 18 | hit: 7