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October Spooks

Raesins

Good people are few and far between, cherish them.
Staff member

Camp.png

October is here! This is the month of tricks and treats, that is right it is time to grab you pillow case and get yourself some candy from some strangers. Nothing wrong with a showing up at peoples doors and demanding candy... Anyway this is my favorite month, or rather it is the month of my favorite holiday. Halloween the greatest holiday to ever grace us, and no I'm not addicted to candy. Its all about the spooks! So lets dust off out closet skeletons and get right into this.

All the rules and guidelines can be found in the rules thread.
This is a spooky story telling challenge, all who participate will receive a badge.
At the end of the month we will put all the stories in a poll and the winner will receive a special badge.
If you have any questions, please PM a staff member or post in the questions thread
Try not to get to scared~

Some of you may have sat around the campfire at night with people you may or may not know roasting things on that open fire. As the cold night closed in around you and you sat in you island of warmth and light one of you chimes in and says lets tell scary stories. You get your usually scary stories of creatures of the night, stories built to scare you as they seem all to like what is currently happening around you. So that brings us to this prompt.

The idea of this prompt is to tell a campfire story, but instead of it just being any ol campfire story that have been repeated for centuries it is going to have to be original. Yes! I want you to create your own monster and story. It can take inspiration from already existing monsters and stories, but I want it to be fairly original. So keep an eye on your marshmallow to make sure it doesn't get burnt, and lets get into the spooks!​
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@Member
 
Vampyr

In the shadows does he wait
the one with eyes of crimson red
to be sure, your never late
else the beast becomes well-fed
it hungers now, forevermore
the darkness grows consuming all
Lost alone aching, sore
hold to light, lest you fall
In the darkness does he wait
the one with eyes of crimson red

Fangs of blood dripping slowly
Crimson Red spreading, pooling
Filling all, with most unholy
In the darkness Secrets Ruling
Fetid smells of deaths embrace
Turns the eyes of crimson red
Searching out the pained disgrace
Filling all, a sense of dread
In the shadows does he wait
the one with eyes of crimson red

Ripping tearing, pains apart
the silence of hearts, don't beat
the smell of death does reassert
the undone world is incomplete
Thus the one with eyes of red
does take from you the life of blood
he does feed well when foes are bled
then hit the ground with not a thud.
In the Darkness does he wait
The one with eyes of Crimson Red.

~the lost Dae

((hope this works for a poem of unnerving :p))
 
"Your grandfather loved this spot. Under the stars, right in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. You know he was one of the best rock climbers in his day, climbed almost every mountain that he could set foot on. Back in 2000 he even went up Mount Everest.

You know Mount Everest Timmy, they went over it in school.

Your grandfather spent most of his life enjoying the time that he had. He wasn't the kind of person to put off what he loved for something else. He wrestled bears and sang folk songs to the sheepherders. He was a lover, met a fair few lasses among the hills.”

The fireplace before them flickered in and out before resuming it’s bright light.

“Back in the day your grandfather was famous for the meals that he made at the fireside. Restaurants asked for his secret and the only thing he could tell them was it’s the taste of the wilderness. They laughed at him, but they didn’t know that the real world was so much different than the world that they built around themselves. It was different than touch-screens and door knobs and stuck up patrons at fancy hotels. The animals of the wild knew. Bears that roamed the woods knew, raccoons that were forced to dig through human waste knew, birds that flew into windows knew.

No Timmy we aren’t going to spend the energy to simulate a bear. We don’t have that much extra stored up.

I met your mother on one of the trips into the woods, my camping group was a bunch of idiots and got themselves washed down the river-

Okay Emmy I won’t rehash it. I know I’ve told you just about a dozen times.

Your mother is an amazing woman. She was the bravest person that I had ever seen. She is still out there, making sure that we’re safe.”

The fire and stars that shone down above them went out, pitch darkness flooding the three humans. There was a small cuss from the man, who stumbled through the darkness to flip a switch on and off a few times before searching the darkness for the two children and bringing them into a gentle hug. The smell of dirt and metal refilled their noses, and the soft rumbling of the world above them shook their home. The children shook more than the home did, and the father pressed a soft kiss onto each of their heads.

The hologram flickered in and out as the raid continued it’s bombing, the serene woods and whistling cliffside coming in and out of existence.

Once upon a time there had been a programmer who went on a camping trip. His friends were washed down a river and were saved by a mountain man. He fell in love with the man’s daughter and brought her back to the city after visiting her in the woods every weekend for a year.

Once upon a time a man and woman were married and had two beautiful children, a year apart. A little boy named Timothy Ash Borlend, and a girl named Emily Patricha Borlend. Two children who barely opened their eyes to meet their mother, not even long enough to remember her long brown hair or her smile that could warm even the coldest of hearts.

Once upon a time a man had quit his programming job, and focused his time on building a shelter under the home that they had built on the edge of the wilderness. He spent his days and nights digging out the dirt and putting in the supports to make it safe for his family. He watched the news coverage of the devastation across the ocean, the horror pictures of the survivors walking towards the reporters as something that could barely be classified as human. Skeletons, dripping with their own burnt and oozing flesh that was being torn apart bit by bit with the flood of radiation.

Once upon a time a strong woman picked up arms and joined the military, leaving her infant and toddler in the care of a programmer. She kissed them all goodbye, retold the man how much food would last for how long down and away from the world. How there wasn’t enough time to make his own canned goods, and that he needed to stock up now with what could be bought. She told them that she loved him, and her waving as they left the military base was the last they saw of her.

Once upon a time a man, his two children, and the photograph of his wife, sat in a shelter with only enough food for them to last another four months. They sat cowered in a corner, waiting for either the bombs to stop or the lights to come back on.

Remember the real monsters are human.
 
It was funny really.... Looking back on my life I never really thought the things I had seen were all that odd. But this time of the year, October, always makes my mind wander back to when I was very young.

It was a long time back, I was nothing more then 2 or 3 from how my mother told the tale.
Like most children I had an Imaginary Friend.
We always played together, what was her name again?

Oh Now I remember, it was Blue Girl.
She had Black hair.
Wore a tattered and slightly messy
blue dress
She even had a light blue skin color.
What an odd girl I often think looking back on her.
But she was about 4 from what I told my mother as a kid.
And like all children, eventually my imaginary friend left me.
UNLIKE most though. Mine did NOT travel to a far off land,
like my wife's did.
Nor did they leave earth to battle monsters in space
Like my little brothers
Mine...died.
we lived in a trailer behind my grandfathers house when I was very little.
And all around us, aside from my grandfathers home, were the woods.
As a child these woods were endless and mysterious.
I still sometimes feel that way looking into the vast expanse of woodland.
Never the less jsut a little further into the woods was another trailer. and another family.
They didn't get along with my family so my grandpa and them seemed to just respect each others space.
One day in mid October I ran out to play in those very woods with
Blue Girl.
After a few hours of play, I returned home.
My mother noted that I looked very sad and was staring at a far off place that didn't exist.
When she asked me what was wrong, she told me that my words were very quiet, unusual for the hyperactive child that I was.
"She died."
Was all that I had told her.
"Who died sweety?"
After she asked that She said I just sighed and finally told her

Blue girl. She died. We were out playing in the woods. But she ran ahead of me. I tried to tag her, but she tripped over a log and fell into glass."
Needless to say this worried my mother.
She read that those who kill off their imaginary friend have a decent chance to develop psychopathic tendencies.
Luckly I didn't. But my grandfather told me and my mother a story after I told him about me killing off my friend.
He told us that a few years before I was born, another family lived in the home in the woods.
Much like the new people that lived there, my grandfather respected their land, and they his.
But they had a little 4 year old who was the subject of a lot of secrets and gossip around the town.
Many said that the father was a bad drunk and beat the little 4 year old nightly.
One night in the winter, the little girl ran away from home.
It was snowing really badly that night. And the girl ran out in nothing more then her favorite blue dress that her mother bought her for her birthday.
There is an old shed, or was, ou tin those woods where the girls father worked on various things to fix their home up.
including window panes.
The girl tripped as she tried to climb over a froze over log and into the glass.
it didn't kill her, the cold did.
Her little body, was a light blue from the cold
 

Robyn

The Phoenix
Staff member
Crappy story ahead, but I figured I should write Lyra's origin story at some point...
Maybe tag it for M? Though nothing is really happening...

We sat around the campfire, enjoying the pleasant night and the stars, as the fire crackled and melted our chocolate and mashmellows. The only way to make this better was a good beer. I’d been surprised when Lyra accepted the invitation to come along. We always invited her but she never said yes. To be honest, it was more of a politeness invite than anything. Lyra is many things, but a natural camper and nature lover isn’t one of them. Smarter than most people I know, hot as well, hot temper but not a nature lover.
Soon it would be time for campfire stories. I wonder if Lyra would enjoy them.

If I’m being honest, I don’t know much about her. She became part of our group because of Sammy. Aside from him, nobody really knows Lyra. I doubt Sammy knows her very well and probably just wants to get into her pants. I know he hasn’t yet, or he’d be bragging about it already. Samual K. Ortega is not a classy guy like that. Which makes Lyra’s interest in him all the stranger. When you look at Lyra, you think important, rich, well-educated. You expect her to know which fork to use for the fish and which for the steak.
Then again, as said I don’t really know her, so maybe she’s just playing with him.

As we enjoyed a good laugh and a s’more or two, we started to tell stories. Some more ridiculous than others. Throughout it all, Lyra kept fairly quiet. She smiled on occasion, chuckled even. Eventually, she offered
“Wanna hear something scary?”
I was surprised by the question she posed. Not wanting to discourage her participation, we said sure.
She leaned back and looked at all of us. In this light and angle it was like her eyes had a red glint to them.
“Eons ago there was a man. Like all of humanity, he was created in God’s image. However, unlike most of His creations, this man was pure evil. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it and hurt whoever crossed him. He let nothing and nobody would stand in his way. Not even God himself, or Death, for that matter. Knowing somebody would kill him if he didn’t cheat death, he found a witch to grant him immortality. For who knows what reason, she granted his wish. In addition, he became stronger and more cunning than humanly imaginable. His already insatiable lust for disaster and death increased.”

She eyed each of us. I found myself wanting to hear more. It was an interesting start, at least. Her tone was serious
“He found himself hungry for something other than death and disaster, though. He wanted souls. The longer he went without devouring a soul, the more hungry he became. In this, he was not unlike the vampires. One day, he discovered that, like vampires, he could turn others into the same kind of Daemon he was. At first, it was an accident but soon he learned to control this newfound power. He created himself a small army of daemons. Each of them craved souls, and with every soul devoured, their power grew. There was infighting, a hierarchy established. Naturally, they were expected to deliver souls to he who created them.”
Our eyes locked, and in the darkness they had a glint I couldn’t quite place.

She looked us all over again. I didn’t look around, my eyes focussed on her. She looked serene as she told her tale.
“In thirteen-sixty-two, there was a woman in Venice. She was in her early twenties, a miller's daughter. It’s said she was beautiful with her fair skin, brown curls, petite figure and charming smile. Even the lords turned their heads and it was said a few ladies were envious. She had a cold demeanor, and few knew her.

Nobody knows if word of her beauty spread and he came looking, or if it was chance… He choose to turn her. She soon became his favourite, as she showed a coldness and heartlessness, and even pleasure he’d not seen before. Taking the souls wasn’t enough for her. She made them suffer. It’s said that some of them had to suffer for a week before she finished them and took their souls… Race, gender, appearances… It mattered little to her.”

Lyra paused again. While it wasn’t a scary story, it was an interesting one, at least.
“Stories and tales about this daemoness spread around the globe, even as she did. Just for fun, she stayed in an area and played with the media. Make them think there was a serial killer in the area. Well, that was true of course. She even wandered these woods a few years ago. Various bodies of different genders, ages and sexes were found severely mutilated. They were tortured before they died. Body parts were missing, burn marks and cuts covered them. One even had traces of salt in a wound... They did not die peacefully. The mountain murderer was never caught...Let's hope she doesn't return tonight... "

Her voice died in a tactful silence. It was a cute story.
I couldn't resist asking; “Just curious, what was her name?”

She chuckled. Her eyes appeared to have a red glint as she locked eyes with me.
“Lyra.”
 
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