>>28405611

So maybe the two things are linked, in some strange way. You’re locked in a zero-sum game. Everything one party gains, the other party must lose - that’s what it is, isn’t it? Strangely, you learned about this concept from the English Lit teacher, while he was discussing Othello and Iago.

Well, that’s what it is. Maybe not Othello or Iago, but it just so happens that the school is limited, that your lives are restrained by each other, yours and Gerald’s and Andrew’s and Caitlin’s and Elina’s and Tessa’s and so on, and if any one of you is to win, it would mean someone else has lost.

And for once, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve it or earn it, things are nonetheless going your way.

… Well, so much for your mind being quiet. You get to your feet and smile at Penny, who’s headed for the cycling machine, getting onto it with a certain grace. At least the voice goes away easily, once asked, maybe because Penny is less threatening.

But is she, though? Really? Your Da’s new girlfriend - you might have a step-mom who’s, like, 5 years older than you?

Penny comes to your rescue, somewhat, by speaking first, and you realise that you haven’t really heard her voice previously except when she’s murmuring romantically to Da. Or, uh, moaning in pleasure. Now it’s a different voice, lower and calmer. ‘So what’s your favourite machine?’

‘Hey.’ One step behind as always. ‘Oh, I was just trying out the rowing machine.’
‘That one’s hard work. Billy likes it though. You’re a chip off the old block, eh?’

> cont'd.

>>28405658

Perhaps - in that, and other ways. You smile and nod and try not to look at Penny’s cleavage as she bends low over the handlebars and her legs begin to pedal faster and faster. She seems to be in pretty good shape. ‘But rowing’s nice. Rowing gives you positive energy. Like cycling. I don’t like running, it feels very negative.’

‘I suppose.’ In fact, you don’t compute at all.

Penny chuckles as her whole body begins to move with the effort of pedalling. Positive and negative energy? Come think of it, that big tapestry-like thing of a multicoloured fractal pattern on the wall, and wasn’t that a dreamcatcher or something that you saw hanging at the kitchen window? Great. A college hippie.

A college hippie who’s noticed you looking though, you fool. ’So are you going to stand here and perv on me while I work out? I thought you’re with Tessa? I’ll tell on you, you know. Even if I don’t really mind. You do look a little like your dad, you know.'

You're all too willing to take that as a compliment.

> What do/say, Stan?
> Either way, you’re going to the library after this.

>>28405698
"Wha- Oh, sorry, I zone out a lot. Didn't really mean to stare, my eyes just end up wherever, and you're moving, so... Anyway, no, Not with Tessa. She's dating a softballer named Steve. But, you already know that, don't you? I kinda miss the cue when someone's yanking my chain, sorry. Anyway, I was just finishing up, so I'll leave you to it."

>>28405698

'Heh, thanks I guess. I'll see you around.'

Get out. She's weird.

>>28405922
>>28405888

Guilt, like fear, is also a trigger for you to start talking, and this time it's definitely what's operating as you look up from her gleaming, sweating chest to look at Penny's face. Well, if there's one good thing, it is that when you're looking at girls as hot as this, you no longer have any physical reaction.

It's pointless, and besides, it's dangerous.

Still, you don't manage to hit the stop button in time. 'Eh? Oh. I'm sorry. I don't mean to stare, just zoned out a little, and-'

'Come off it, Stan,' Penny giggles, sitting up, and the movement of her legs makes the rest of her move quite obviously under the tight-fitting top. 'I wonder if your dad hasn't told you about me because he's worried that he might be challenged?'

'Challenged? Hah, well, I really don't think it's that way, I mean after all, you're with him, right, and that's all nice, and why would you-' why would she, indeed? You stop and gulp. Look at the machine over there! It's a bicycle too, but no one's on it jiggling about! 'Anyway, I'm not with Tessa.'

'I know. Well, I figured.' Penny raises her arms and stretches, rocking this way and that in your peripheral vision. 'She wouldn't go with someone as beta as you.'

Woah. Woah. Now it's fear that takes over and flips the panic switch, while you finally find your feet and make for the exit. 'Well, I don't suppose Steve is a beta. He's in softball, isn't he, and... anyway, thanks very much for that. I'll see you around I guess.'

> Slam the door to make a statement.
> Slip out.

>>28406097
>"Love the confidence I'm getting here. Really."
> Walk out with a middle finger raised.

>>28406097

> Slip out.

She's a bitch, but she's dad's bitch. Let's not start on a bad footing.

>>28406097
>Slip out.
Attempt to exit like a non-beta. Fail.

>>28406097
>> Slip out.

Not worth it Stan

>>28406212
>>28406166
>>28406130

'Also, Stan,' Penny says as you grasp the door knob, 'I think Billy and I are going to take a little trip out seeing as it's the long weekend. Tomorrow we'll be taking a train trip down to Hendon Ponds.'

Hendon Ponds - you've heard about that before, some sort of egret refuge place, a place of outstanding natural beauty or something like that. Well, Da is into that sort of thing, you suppose, but with Penny it's a bit of a surprise. You wouldn't have expected her to...

See, this is why you can't make friends. You're expecting the worst of her already. Not that she hasn't proved your suspicions, but... 'that's nice,' you end up saying, after fumbling through several attempts at an angry response internally. What can you say to her? She'll tell Da, and then what?

You don't really want to get Da in a fix, you tell yourself, only to have that explanation rejected. Bollocks. You aren't so kind, you're just a pussy.

'So we'll be leaving Tessa with you at home,' Penny says. 'I'd tell you not to touch Tessa, but I suppose she can take care of herself, eh? Just kidding. Keep the house well, though.'

Yeah, no fucking shit you don't know that. It's *your* house. Well, your Da's, but guess who *his* family is? It's not you, lady.

> cont'd.

File: 1385000049797.jpg-(73 KB, 600x400, library_home.jpg)

73 KB JPG

>>28406312

There are probably so many short, snappy one liners for coming back at this point, but none of them are within easy reach of your mind. You aren't focused on those things now; you've learned, after four years, that there's no point.

A *point*. That's the thing - you've gone beyond to try and understand why people come back, or why people abuse, but there's nothing there. 'Thanks for the confidence,' you murmur to yourself, and then slip out to the sound of the bicycle whirring as she continues to pound at it.

The library upstairs is a lot more genial. As you walk there, you go past Tessa's room and pause when you hear her voice, raised, shouting behind the door. Heh, and so what? Not your business. Entering the library, you can't help smiling at the bookshelves which go all the way up to the sloped roof and follow its contour, filled with hardcovers on one side, paperbacks on the other. A large couch takes up much of the rest of the room; this place could probably host a nice party of 10 or 15, if Da was so inclined.

Does he bother with the neighbours at all? As far as you know he steers clear of them. But maybe it'd be good for him if he socialised. In any case, all this is lying empty and a little chilly... you can see how Penny might go for a guy with a home library. It's tasteful... isn't it?

> Go and browse the hardcovers.
> Go and browse the paperbacks.
> Sit and do something else. (write-in).
> Plan something. (write-in).
> Other.

>>28406405
>> Go and browse the hardcovers.
Find something to calm us down.

>>28406405
>> Go and browse the paperbacks.

Read some fantasy.

>>28406405
> Go and browse the hardcovers.

>>28406428

Second this. Look for the old stories dad used to read if they're hardcovers.

>>28406472
>>28406461
>>28406450
>>28406428

Maybe the paperback section has got something fantasy-like that you can read, something light and relaxing to take your mind off... off everything. It's a strange middle ground now - you're in reality, no doubt, everything around you is real, which makes it worse because quite a bit of it is shit. But then there's also so much that doesn't make sense.

Sighing in frustration when it turns out most of the paperbacks are non-fiction - current affairs, politics and stuff like that, but it seems Da has maintained his slightly liberal bent - you wander over to the other side, the darker side away from the window and the fading sunlight. That's where proper books are kept, no doubt. So much that doesn't make sense.

And you have a feeling things are about to get worse before they get better.

Browsing the shelves, you catch notice of a title that sounds like the sort of thing Da used to be into, horror - before horror, again, became real. Is this why he's dipped so hard into real life now, into current affairs and housebuilding and sex? Stretching a little, you take it off the second highest shelf.

'Beasts of the Imaginary and Potential Nature'

'C. E. Lindström'

No, this merely looks like what was read to you as a kid to ensure you couldn't sleep a wink. But you have no recollection of this. What was it that drawn you? Maybe the last name. Come think of it, you don't know Elina's last name either. Lindström? That'd be a nice last name. Flows off the tongue, plenty of l's and n's.

Or maybe it's the little tag in the side, poking out of the glossy, golden-yellow pages of the book. How old is this thing?

> cont'd.

>>28406651

The tag is nothing more than a small strip of a Post-it note, blue against the yellowed paper. And on its surface is scrawled something, in Da's usual, tiny but painfully neat handwriting. That, too, it seems you've inherited. You've inherited basically everything Da has in terms of thinking, except for the courage to be expressive about it.

Maybe if you talked more - no, maybe if you talked more coherently - you might be seen as clever, instead of just a twat. Maybe if you wrote more and talked less - maybe if you fucking stayed home and just wrote, wrote every thought and story that spins out of the things you see, tumbling out of control half the time - then maybe...

Well, what's the point of wondering this? You read the note instead and take a deep breath.

'If this is her fate - if this is real - is it any comfort to me?'

You know exactly who he's talking about, of course. Who is on his mind, as well as yours, and Mom's. Tying everything together, like to a stone. Then throwing that stone into a pond. Flipping open to the page, you sit down and read.

> cont'd.

>>28406771

'The Finns call it Suollapeto, 'Beast of the Swamp', and the older folk of many a village in the Grand Ducal lands swear to their existence. They will not let anyone play in the woods alone, and when they are compelled to enter those night-like territories of the Finnish swamp forests, they sing and chant and whoop with the abandon of Negro or American savages - from which much of the oral music of the Grand Ducal lands, especially of Karelen, is derived.'

'Dr. Torstensson, renowned of the University of Åbo, is a foremost collector of stories, as well as material evidence where such may be found, of the Suollapeto, and he is of the opinion that they function, both in folklore and physically if they are real, not unlike the vampires or werewolves much featured in rural folklore throughout Europe. He has collected specimens of teeth which are clearly not of a canine or ursine nature, and postulates that perhaps these beasts, if they no longer roam now, must have ranged widely in the past, as to form a nightmare shared by much of Christendom and even beyond...'

Absorbed by reading about the Suollapeto, you don't realise the passage of time until the sky has sunk into a deep, almost indistinguishable blue. The next chapter is something about a winged beast of Turkey, but never mind that... you look up at the black rectangles opening to the outside from the roof and sigh.

> Sleep here.
> Go back to room and faff around a little.
> Have a wank or something, it's evening.
> Talk to someone... if anyone's around to talk to.
> Other.

>>28406951

> Okay, someone's coming up to install Internet, so I'll be delayed.
> But keep on suggesting!

>>28406951
Go knock on Tessa's door and ask her if she wants dinner, then see if Penny or dad want dinner as well if they're still here.

>>28406951
>> Go back to room and faff around a little.
They won't find us here. Jerks. ;_;

>>28406951
>> Have a wank or something, it's evening.

Rolled 62

>>28406951
>> Have a wank or something, it's evening.
Do it in the shower. Sense memory, and less chance of getting caught.

> Reading and typing, will be back soon.

>>28406997
>>28407012
>>28407148
>>28407255

The sight of night, dark and foreboding and overwhelming and all above you, makes you lie back on the couch after a few moments. How many people are staring up into it now and seeing some image of something precious and beloved?

'Man, it'd be nice if she were here,' you mutter. And you kind of mean it. Hanging out with Elina is nice anywhere, of course, even in a dingy motel shower. But man, if you could bring her here... she'd probably like the library. You don't know if Elina would need the gym, though. Actually, you don't know if she'd like the library as well.

A little, vicious thought enters your mind as you lie there, and it feels as if you're dragging Elina into the shitpit that is your life. Wouldn't it be nice, Stan, to bring her here just to show that you've got a girlfriend? Your Da's got his, and Tessa's got hers - and Elina is still a little shadow, right? Maybe if you brought a squeeze here, then they would-

No, Stan. That's not the point of getting close to Elina!

You sit up, guilt seeming to make your guts gurgle. 'That's not why I said I like her,' you mutter, looking at the book in your lap. 'I said I like her because I do like her. Even though I don't know anything about her. I don't know if she'd like the music room or the library or the gym or the basement, or if she wouldn't care at all. I don't know. I don't know...'

> cont'd.

>>28408202

As you argue with yourself, both internally and a little outwardly, the guilt and memories of today - of meeting one hot girl, and another hot girl, of finding both of them outside of reach, and at least one of them in a seriously awkward position - combine and twist around until you feel a strange sort of arousal. Fucking hell.

Taking the book and putting it back in your room first, you get some PJ's and then run into the bathroom, a stark, large, white affair with a vast shower that could probably hold three or four people. The water is already warm when it comes out, spraying onto your bare skin with prickly intensity bordering on pain.

'You're in the water. I'll ask you a question.' Elina's eyes glance at yours, orange-yellow, almost teasing. Unlike Penny, or Tessa, whose shapes are filled out, it almost seems that much of Elina's body is a little hollow, shrunken - everything gathered into her gaze.

As you mull these things, your hand moves down to grab your appendage, and you try to imagine yourself with Tessa. For some reason Elina remains out of bounds to your mind, a flitting image. But Penny's cleavage, the rivulets of sweat running down her supple skin... Tessa's figure, concealed by a cardigan, then revealed later with a form-fitting t-shirt... Penny's little squeaks as she canoodles in Da's room...

'Ughh,' you let out a soft moan as the wave of climax washes over you, making you shudder. Almost immediately after that you feel a little disgusted. There's nothing about the two of them that's appealing, other than their flesh. And flesh is... is just flesh...

Haunted by that thought, you slump in bed.

> cont'd.

>>28408336

It's a beach you're on. Holy shit, this is Seafront Park again - you recognise it from the palms, the casuarina trees with their small, spiky fruit scattered on the thin pine needles. The sand, and then beyond that, the-

Oh. Right.

It no longer seems so disconcerting that you've been dreaming about blood. Well, you leak plenty of it anyway - people punching you in the nose, you 'falling' and splitting your lip. Sometimes you even bite the inside of your mouth accidentally, only to sit there wondering at the rich flavour of the liquid in your mouth, leaking over your tongue and teeth.

If a trickle, then why not a tide?

No one's around at Seafront Park. Well, when the oceans have turned into blood, you suppose the appeal of a beach party is seriously reduced. Da is not here; Mom neither; Cath neither. But then you recognise a form, sitting on the sand, legs curled up and hugging her knees, and the world itself seems to pull towards her, so that despite walking on loose sand and prickly fruit you make it to Elina's side without effort. Like falling. Falling is without effort.

She looks... much better than that little vision you had of her while fapping. The dress is stretched over her body tightly to show off what little she has by the way of assets. Sitting in direct sun when you're so pale must be a bit uncomfortable, but she doesn't show it.

> Greet Elina.
> Sit down and cuddle.
> Keep your distance.
> Other.

>>28408474
>> Other.
>"Hey."

>>28408474
>> Sit down and cuddle.

>>28408474
>Sit down shoulder-to-shoulder, then>>28408512

>>28408474
>"Hey Elina. You like the view?"

>>28408577
>>28408576
>>28408519
>>28408512

You fall, numbly, happily, towards Elina, and then sit down in the soft sand, moving a little so your shoulder just brushes against her bare arm. Her skin is warm, warmed by the sun, and she smells of lemons again, summer, freshness.

'Stan,' she says.

'Hey, Elina.' The redness of the sea seems to change everything, including the colour of the sky as well. Even the colour of the sand, of you - reflected in a deep, sanguinary glow. 'You like the view?'

'Stan, it's blood. All of it.'

'So it is.' Blood, bleeding. Suffering.

'If I did something bad, Stan-'

'We've been through this before,' you say, and on impulse you reach around to grab her shoulder, pulling her to you. Elina grunts a little, as if from pain, but before you can react she leans against you, her face rubbing against your t-shirt. 'Still yes.'

'Even if it's truly awful?' She whispers. 'Stan, the sea is rising at us.'

So it is. Elina stretches out her feet, almost as if welcoming the viscous, slightly foul-smelling liquid. It's lapping up; the sand is stained with it and doesn't run and flow around like when caressed by water. There are no birds around. There's probably no fish in there either, you don't think. It's lapping, lapping, lapping.

> Get up and walk away. It's *blood*.
> Pull Elina away with you.
> It's blood. She doesn't mind. Hold Elina.
> Other.

>>28408770
>> Pull Elina away with you.

>>28408770
>> Pull Elina away with you.
elina stahp

>>28408770
> It's blood. She doesn't mind. Hold Elina.

>>28408856

Second this. We trust her.

>>28408770
> Pull Elina away with you.

>>28408770
>Other.
"We're getting wet. Do you want to go?"

>>28408891
>>28408869
>>28408856
>>28408818
>>28408805

Oh god, it's coming at you, it really is. You watch Elina's toes wriggle a moment, a little like maggots, and at the blood oozing and sending little fingers up through the sand, and while you'd really like to sit here and cuddle, your instincts to run soon win out. As you get to your feet, Elina looks up at you.

'Stan? What are you doing?'

Her hand is small as it always is, and hard as it always is, the skin like smooth, wood. 'Elina, we're getting wet. Come on, let's go.'

Elina doesn't answer. You pull and tug, but her body, sitting frail and motionless before the rising tide of blood, has taken on a sudden, terrible weight. Even leaning backwards with all your might, you can't make her move a single mote, and meanwhile the blood simply cannot be stopped, relentlessly washing up, licking her soles, then beginning to caress her toes. Were it the usual, real sea, it would have been really romantic.

But now, traces and smears of dark red and purple on her skin...

'Elina! We have to *go*!'

Before you can say or move any more, though, her hand moves from accepting your grip to a flat, firm palm. The shove surprises you; stumbling on the loose sand, you fall and roll on it, looking wide-eyed at Elina who turns to look at you.

The blood is at her. The blood is all around her...

'Go, Stan, you're getting wet!' Elina's face remains inscrutable, her eyes remain bright. Then they narrow, and you feel as if they're boring into you.

'Go,' she commands. 'Be safe.'

> Run. Run!
> No! Run back into the blood.
> Other.

>>28409370
>> Run. Run!
>>"Why won't you come with me!?"

>>28409370
>> No! Run back into the blood.

>>28409370
Seconding >>28409395

>>28409400

This! Hold her. We go together or we stay together.

>>28409370
> Run. Run!

>>28409370
>Other.
Back up a few steps.
"Go? Be safe? That's pointless if you aren't safe too!"

>>28409395
>>28409400
>>28409420
>>28409467
>>28409528
>>28409610

'Elina!' Goddamn it, if you aren't going to stick by her, then what the fuck are you going to do? Even if it defies her? Trying your best to ignore her ferocious gaze, you yell and plunge on into the blood, splashing in it as it soaks straight into your legs, sloshing around you.

But even if you defy Elina, you can't quite defy the waves. Great, horrible red waves, rolling and surging and gurgling, wash over your hips, then your abdomen. The liquid is already almost up to Elina's neck! At this rate, she'll- she'll-

'ELINA!'

'Go, Stan.'

'No! No-'

The next wave sweeps you slightly off your feet, and then the one after that slams into you, toppling you over like a little stick. You can't help shrieking as you splash into the sticky liquid, which seems almost to grab you and to try and pull you under, into its horrible depths. Flailing about, you manage to grab a little air before the blackness washes over you, and then bob up again. Your feet find the surface. It's the surface again.

'Why aren't you running?!'

'If you're not safe-' FUCK THIS THING TASTES FOUL- 'what's the point!'

'You are the point!' But Elina is getting to her feet too, or at least it seems that way. The thin, white dress comes out heavy and soaked with red, and with little, sticky clots all over the fabric...

> Roll d100.

Rolled 54

>>28409700
H-Here I go!

Rolled 48

>>28409700

Rolled 13

>>28409700

Rolled 29

>>28409700

Struggle!!

Rolled 53

>>28409700

>>28409776
>>28409749
>>28409746
>>28409742
>>28409721

> 53, 54: failure...

There's no dealing with this - this isn't even water with an undertow. The thickness of the blood, its gooeyness as it curls around your calves and legs and clings to your body, dragging you down with it, is irresistible.

Your arms - your legs - despite your rowing and struggling, they can't move against this. You groan as the liquid pulls you one way, then another, and the second time you're off your feet, there's nothing you can do to resist it.

Splash.

> cont'd.

>>28409836

Typical, isn't it, Stan? This is just typical. All you can do is to take from others - that's what you are, a fucking parasite.

When Mom and Da were around - well, even now, since they're still around - you depended on them. When Cath was around, you depended on her to defend you - this girl, smaller than you but fiercer and harder, standing in front of you as you tried to stanch your nosebleed.

Your blood, her blood. Now she's gone, and you can't depend anymore because you're not a child. But still you do it. First it's Da, but now he's got his own life. Mom? She's got her own life. School? What's there in school? The hunt, wherein you're the prey, all the time. The buttmonkey.

And even *then*, aren't you just a parasite on the attention they're willing to give you? Consider how much it takes for them to think up something horrible to do to you, Stan! Think about that!

And now it's Elina.

Your hand swings blindly in the blood, and everything moves in slow motion, the horrible feeling of fluid gurgling up your nostrils and seeking to fill you up and kill you. Nothing you do helps. Your arms can hardly move.

And then a hand plunge through, audibly, and grips your elbow, and suddenly you feel a little lighter. The world becomes slightly bright, and then it is burning bright, sunlight hurting your eyes through a red screen. Your feet find the sandy surface again, and you see that the blood is receding, slowly but surely, as if the moon has fled just in time.

Elina is facing you, staring at you.

> What do/say now, Stan?
> You'll be waking up soon.

>>28409956
> You'll be waking up soon.

>>28409956

Hug and thank her.

>>28409956
"See? I'll be able to stand anything when you're with me. I just hope you'll let me do the same for you."
>Stare back.

>>28409956
>reach out for her and hug
i...can learn to take care of myself..but if you're not there...not safe then I stand by you until you are

>>28409985
>>28410012
>>28410015
>>28410042

The world hurts. The sunlight hurts. Your eyes hurt, your body hurts, and Elina no longer draws you in naturally like falling. But nonetheless, with the blood restricted to sloshing around your knees, you take one exhausting step forward, then another. She doesn't move.

'You didn't run,' she says, still not moving. 'You'll be waking up soon.'

'Then... let me do this first...' please, don't step away, you haven't the strength to- but finally she is within reach of your arms, and you throw them around her, sliding round her back to her shoulderblades, then pulling close until she's against you again. She feels sticky, slimy. But the smell of citrus has only gotten stronger.

'Why didn't you go?'

'Because with you I can stand anything. Because if we're together, then things can work out. Then I can learn to take care of myself.' You squeeze what little of her can be squeezed, is soft and responds to you. 'Thank you.'

She says nothing more. Her hands, you notice, are slowly reaching for you, until they're wrapped around your shoulders too. That's okay. These things don't need saying...

> cont'd.

>>28410218

You are jolted awake by the sound of thumping luggage, and hurry to open the door a crack. A piece of luggage has fallen on the floor - wait, why do you even need luggage if you're going to Hendon Ponds, it's only 30 minutes away by car... unless, what, they're staying there for a night or something? - and just lies there, slightly forlorn.

Then your eyes move a little and catch sight of Penny and Da, on the couch, where you were sitting. Da is sitting back, his arms on Penny's shoulders as she straddles him, both of them kissing deeply.

They're all turning away. All of you are here in the house, your backs turned to each other. And then something bad happens, and everyone's like 'why did we not see this', and of *course* you know why you did not see this.

You close the door, lie in bed sleepless and fretting - are those dreams connected with reality? Are they just your fears? You can't *actually* be telepathic, can you? - until light, blue and grey and cold, filters in between the curtains. You open the door again. They're not there anymore.

> Go out and shop for a gift for Elina. Things aren't as bad, come on.
> Wait for Tessa to wake up, go out with her.
> Continue reading the book.
> Go to the gym or something. Fuck, your muscles all over are aching... not that you're not used to this.
> Other.

>>28410260
>> Wait for Tessa to wake up, cook breakfast for her (and Da and Penny, if they aren't gone yet), and let her know we're going gift-shopping. She can come or not, her choice.

>>28410260
>> Wait for Tessa to wake up, go out with her.

>>28410260
> Wait for Tessa to wake up, go out with her.

>>28410309
>>28410365
>>28410375

Padding your way down to the ground floor, you go around the rooms and living room, wondering at how spacious and vast it is. Da and Penny have definitely gone, and by the looks of it, they might be gone for the whole day or even more.

It's nice to be in a big house alone. A small flat feels cramped, but a new place, with no one to consider, no one to have to accommodate... the dream is no longer very fresh in your memory - you only remember that Elina is there, and that something unpleasant might have happened.

Well, let something unpleasant happen. Fuck'em all. You really ought to bring her here one day. But for now, maybe you should wait for Tessa to get up and then go and look for a gift, just to placate her.

Meanwhile, with nothing to do, you turn on the TV. Holy shit, why do breakfast programmes include graphic shots of people lying in operating rooms having their pancreases fiddled with? Why would they do that? Turning it off in a moment of disgust, you go up and fetch the book by Lindström instead, sitting down to read.

> cont'd.

>>28410629

'As with a lot of stories concerning vampires, werewolves and other malevolent creatures of an animalistic nature, the stories of the Suollapeto often combine both a terror of naturalistic elements, with an acknowledgement of the magical beauty and attraction that the woodlands hold for civilised peoples. In most folklore, the true identity of the monstrosity is never revealed in the beginning; instead a young, vulnerable man or woman is the subject of pity and acceptance within a community, which is then undermined and destroyed by his or her predations.

'Of course, the moralistic elements of these tales in a traditional rural setting, with the emphasis on the protection of a community as a whole and of its influence even on individual lives, cannot be discounted. Torstensson himself has commented on this - the swamp monster is as much a replacement for a philandering man, or an unfaithful wife, as it is an actual predator of people. Nonetheless, where the moralistic and scientific bases lie for this frightful conception of a half animal, with certain weaknesses but generally of superior strength and power, have yet to be explored in full...'

You close the book when you hear someone padding down the stairs; it's Tessa, her hair a little mussed, mouth opened in a great big yawn. Look away at her legs, Stan.

'Oh... hey, Stan.'

'Hey. Do you want breakfast?'

'Oh, it's okay...' you insist once, though, and Tessa smiles and accepts the offer. 'You're so sweet, Stan.'

'I've got plans today, actually, Tessa...' you head into the kitchen and turn to look at her slender body, stretched and leaning against the doorframe. Man. 'Was thinking of heading to the high street, get a present. You want to come along?'

'Sure! I'll give you some advice,' she smiles.

> Make a nice, big breakfast.
> Also, set the priorities for your gift ideas. What would you be looking for first? So far we've got Rubik's Cube, piano sheet music and a musical box as ideas.

>>28410757
Maybe a gameboy or something.

>>28410757
I think the musical box is the best bet

>>28410757

Shit, I forgot to put the other options in. It just looks like I gave you one choice. Sorry.

> Make a nice, big breakfast.
> Something simple will do.

> Do/say anything to Tessa while you're eating?

>>28410757
>Make a nice, lightweight breakfast. We're gonna be walking a bunch today, and Tessa might turn down something too fatty/rich.
Music box and gameboy might be out of our price range, but they are good choices. If we cant find anything like that on our budget, go with the hand-puzzle, like a rubix cube or something similar.

>>28410904
>> Make a nice, big breakfast.
>>28410934
Used ones are pretty cheap. Hell, even PSPs are pretty affordable now.

A relatively simple breakfast should do.

>>28410904
> Make a nice, big breakfast.

>>28410934
>>28410991
>>28411031
>>28411042

You open Da's vast fridge, which is not exactly very well-stocked - he works a lot, anyway, and it's not like he has a habit of cooking. Still, it seems he has prepared for this weekend, anticipating you would cook and putting in plenty of things. But you're not particularly hungry, and Tessa probably isn't after a massive breakfast either.

Well, a sausage, tomatoes, onions and toast should do. Oh, and eggs too. 'Sunny side up or scrambled, Tessa?'

'Ooh, scrambled please!' You and me both, mate. You grin and get the milk out, and then realise a few minutes in that Tessa's watching you make breakfast, still leaning against the door. How does someone get this tall and willowy? It's as if, like with trees, she's been grown specifically to be tall and willowy. Along the way, just as you take out the ingredients, she moves up and taps your shoulder.

'Could I have another sausage please?'

Eh, that's unexpected. 'Sure. Help me put these back...'

'Oh wait, there's bacon too!' She says, opening the fridge. 'How about I help you cut the onions? Let's have bacon as well...'

> cont'd.

>>28411085

You're a little reluctant to let a novice cut onions; the only other cutting knife is pretty big, too, so you switch around instead and hand the knife over to Tessa. 'Just half them, then slice them, like vertically.'

'Okay.'

'I thought you said you didn't do any cooking.' This is turning out to be a big breakfast, actually.

'I don't... but I knit, and I do other things. So I'm pretty nimble with my fingers too.' She chuckles, as if to pre-empt any bad jokes. 'Just like that girl you were talking about. So it's a present for her?'

'Yeah...' this is a little uncomfortable, but also pleasant. You only hope it's not pleasant because of your instinct to show off. You haven't anything to show off, Stan.

'Sweet. You really sound like you'd be a keeper.' Turns out she *is* good with the knife; you watch the pile of onion slivers grow, not very even, but all thin enough. 'You can cook... you talk about her... you buy her gifts... so have the two of you...?'

Woah, that was close - the knife slicing down just beyond the skin of your finger, halving the ripe, firm tomato. You really don't know how much you want to reveal. 'No...? We only met a few days ago.'

'See, that's sweet too.' She sighs lightly. 'Steve was always talking about it. On our first date we kissed and he felt me up and was like, let's go to the gym. I held out, and he got quite pissed too. But stand your ground, you know?'

> He sounds like a right douchebag, Steve.
> Thanks for the onions, Tessa!
> Zip it, buster.
> Other.

>>28411163
>> Thanks for the onions, Tessa!

>>28411163
> He sounds like a right douchebag, Steve.
> Thanks for the onions, Tessa!
Because why not?

>>28411234
>>28411178

'Yeah, stand your ground sounds about right,' you say, and then reach over to get the onions. 'Thanks for this.'

'Anything else to do?'

'I should be fine...' you spend the next half an hour frying things up, occasionally turning around to explain to Tessa how things work. Sausages can sear by themselves. Bacon should sear first, so all the fat comes out. And then you can use the bacon fat to fry the onions.

'That smells *amazing*,' she says. 'Man, that girl - Elina, was it? She's a lucky one.'

There's no point telling her too much, of course. You're still worrying about that. What if it turns out neither of you have anything to do with the other? What will you do then? Can you like someone if you don't like the same things at all? But then looking at Tessa, who's in drama, and Steve, who's in softball, and how they're getting along...

... then again, are they even getting along that well? You decide to probe, taking a dare on Tessa's niceness as you put down breakfast. 'You know...' is as far as you go, though.

'I know what?'

'You know, Steve... that's the softballer, right? He sounds... a bit... unpleasant.' Oh, come on you little coward, say it! You meant 'douchebag', say 'douchebag'! 'A bit, well...'

'Of a douchebag?'

Touche. You scan Tessa's face for anger but find none, and she shrugs. 'Well, you know how it is when you like someone and even though you think, maybe objectively he or she is not that nice, but still, you're in love with them, right? Besides he's under stress now. Softball's not doing too well these two seasons. And Rob's girlfriend - you know, Caitlin?'

You shudder involuntarily. Caitlin. The girl you nearly heard being raped and murdered.

> Do/say anything else over breakfast? Tessa seems like the philosophical sort, almost.
> Or you can eat quietly and just head out.

>>28411494
Ask her what she wants to learn how to cook later on today.

>>28411494
>> Or you can eat quietly and just head out.
Go find some gifts.

>>28411518
>>28411585

'So... Steve is stressed out too, you're saying?' You try to turn the topic elsewhere.

'Yeah, well. He and Rob have been buddies since forever. Since before he knew me.' Tessa sighs at that, as if there is some deep history in Steve's life she will never know. Well, probably everyone has that problem. 'Rob is really angry. I don't think he knows how to do anything else.'

'Huh. Well. Talk about other things... so is there anything you'd like to learn to cook in particular? Like, later today?'

'Oh man I almost forgot! Well, well... do you know how to make, like, pancakes?'

'Pancakes? That's more breakfast food, isn't it?' Of course you know, though. Mom taught you. And now you make them for Mom when she stumbles back... well, sometimes.

'Yeah, but whatever. Let's teach me how to make pancakes, please. Then I can make some for Steve. He really loves pancakes...'

Moral of the story - liking someone is completely irrational. 'Yeah, sure. I think we're out of eggs, though, will have to get some.'

'Fantastic! Wait, pancakes require eggs? Really?'

Pfffft.

> cont'd.

>>28411680

You know that Sunday morning is always quiet - even in the city, with its millions of people, Sunday is quiet. And of course, seeing as you're living in a corner of a small town right now, it's no surprise that you emerge into a chilled landscape, sketched mostly in greys. The buildings look white and grey, under a white-grey sky; even the trees' colour seems to have been leached out of them by the continuous drizzling. Both of you have black umbrellas overhead.

Following the cracked, rather beaten-up strip of tarmac, you wind downhill to the algae-ridden sign saying 'HIGH STREET <==', and turn left until you reach it. It is... a disheartening sight, to say the least. The old cobblestone road, which must have been a market place since forever, is scoured clean of people; other than the rain on your umbrellas, the only sounds are those of distant cars skimming water as they hurtle down the road towards the city and some sort of activity and life.

'Man, kinda forgot about Sunday rules,' Tessa chuckles. She's got her cardigan on again. 'But there's some shops open there, I think...'

Well, nothing for it. One of the shops turns out to be the sort you're looking for - a dimly lit space, most of which is visible looking in from the street - or it would be, if not for the piles and piles of shit all over the place. VINTAGE, says the sign. Yeah, vintage sounds about right. A rack of vinyl records to one side; antique bric-a-brac sitting on antique chests of drawers; a gramophone, then another and another. Boxes, armchairs, tables... old embroidered lace curtains...

You walk in, Tessa following you, glancing about. She seems fascinated. And then, all of a sudden, a person who is technically very much in the present, seeing as he's alive and wearing glasses and staring at you. A tremor runs through you, but you hold it down; Tessa, however, doesn't. 'Woah!' she says, nearly stumbling over an old stool.

'Looking for something?'

> What do/say?

>>28411777
Ask if he has a music box or puzzle box, like a rubix cube.

>>28410934
this

>>28411883

Second this. If we can have something that's both, better still.

>>28411957
>>28411920

You are just about to say something when Tessa starts, and then pats her pocket and reaches into it. 'Sorry, give me a second...' you watch her go out, and then turn back to the man to see that he wasn't watching her. Instead he stares at you, over the top of his turtleshell frames.

'So it's not for her then,' he says, as if he's already answered his own question on your behalf. That, and a few others too. The man is old - wrinkles radiate from his eyes, mouth, creasing his cheeks. The dark skin is strewn all over with little splotches and spots.

'Oh, not for her, no. Uh, I was after either a puzzle thing, like maybe a rubik's cube, or-'

'This is not a toy shop, young man, the toy shop's up the road. Probably aren't open right now, though...'

It takes you a few moments longer than that to recover from the surprise of being cut off by someone ostensibly serving you. But then this man doesn't radiate that kind of vibe, and suddenly you feel the familiar tingle of threat crawling up your arms and legs again, like you're here on someone else's sufferance and had better watch yourself. In some places, like shops or someone's house on invitation, you only have to obey some ground rules. In others, like school, no amount of obedience is enough. But not knowing which it is, when you were expecting neither...

'Yeah, I don't suppose it's open, no,' you smile. 'Well it was either that - I don't suppose you have it, but well - or something like... you know those, uh, boxes with the wound spring and then a lovely tune plays?'

'What, a music box?'

Fuck, that's what it's called, yes.

> cont'd.

>>28412062

The old man leans forward over his counter - only now do you realise there's a counter between you and him, not just random junk - and for a while you try to resist turning to look at Tessa, outside the shop. But in the end you succumb. She's standing there, very still, both hands cupped over the phone. 'Well.'

'Yes?' Your gaze follows him as he gets off waht is probably a stool and hobbles into a corner. Then, shaking his head, into another corner, pushing aside an old, old fixie. He stretches up, then stoops, and all the while Tessa is there, being very still, almost held in place by a strange force.

Finally, he comes back, and in his hands is a beautiful, lacquered box, the wood a pale gold. A little circular knob is on the top, and a few other square buttons protrude around it, forming a strange circular formation. 'Well, there's this. This thing is a puzzle...'

You were never really much good at puzzles. Maybe Elina is... still, you try to memorise the moves as the old man turns the knob, holds it, then presses a button. Turn, press, turn, hold press, release, press, press, hold... fuck, this is too fast! Then all of a sudden the lid pops open to reveal a golden mechanism that begins turning by itself.

'The lock also winds the spring,' the old man says. 'Bloody nifty, innit?'

But it's the tune that gets you - a slow, tinkling, the low notes steady beating 1-2-3.

> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dDLTmnPB2yk&hl=en-GB&gl=SG

'How much is this?'

'Twenty,' the man says. Wait, *what*? 'Or, if you're short or something, ten.'

> What do/say? This thing has to be worth hundreds!

>>28412151
Nothing good ever happens to us - he must screwing us over somehow. Say "this thing has to be worth hundreds!" and see how he reacts.

>>28412151
you can't be serious, what's the catch?

>>28412200
Agreed. This seems to easy.

File: 1385023387604.gif-(445 KB, 400x220, Whaaaat.gif)

445 KB GIF

>>28412151

>>28412151
"Throw in some written instructions for how to open it, and you've got yourself a deal."
>>28412200
>>28412218
You people are nuts, never argue to pay more. It's probably just been taking up shelf space, and he wants it and us both gone.

>>28412269
>>28412218
>>28412212
>>28412200

Uh... wait, no, he's fucking kidding, right? Look at the old fogey - maybe he's winding up to give a lecture on how people have no appreciation for old things or whatever? You look down at the open box, and then start slightly as he closes it heavily, the mechanisms immediately responding with a series of clicks and rattling and whirring. Damn, that mechanism *alone* must have cost hundreds, it's probably all gears and stuff...

No, this guy is fucking you over somehow. And yet, if that's what he's doing, maybe if you say yes you'll force him to sell it for twenty? But then the ominous look in his eyes makes that unlikely. This guy just seems weird, which makes the good offer even less like a good offer.

'You can't be serious,' you end up saying, in all honesty. 'This thing can't be worth twenty. The lock itself must be worth hundreds.'

'Perhaps it is,' the old man says. 'It probably is, yeah. But... let's put it this way, young man. Do you believe in the existence of evil?'

You try hard not to flinch at that question, as all the proofs you have experienced for the concrete, firm, unshakeable and irresolvable existence of evil flood into your mind. You live it every day. Your parents do, too. And so many others you know. But... what answer is this guy looking for? He must be looking for *some* answer...

> Course I do.
> Oh, bollocks.
> Is there going to be a story of some sort?
> Other.

>>28412375
What kind of evil?

>>28412375
>> Is there going to be a story of some sort?
Story time.

>>28412422

Sigh. This.

>>28412422
I'd go with this if it didn't made us sound insufferable. Wait. We're a teenager. Go with it.

>>28412375
>> Is there going to be a story of some sort?
Evil can be subjective, good intentions can be evil intent to others

>>28412375
"Are you saying this thing is cursed? Well, I doubt it could make things any worse than they are, so I still want it, but go ahead and tell me the tale."

>>28412375
"Depends, sometimes evil is simply what we don't understand"
>>28412422
was there any other answer

>>28412497
>>28412443
>>28412422
>>28412404

Well, evil - you're inclined to say yes, of course. But you can't help guessing at the old man's intentions, and the only easy possibility you can think of is that he wants to rant about something. What, did the guy who sold this to him swindle him or something? What kind of evil does an antique shop owner see?

'Is there going to be a story behind this? I mean... I've seen people who mean the best and mess it all up. That's not evil, is it?'

'No, perhaps not. But this isn't one of those stories, young man.' He backs a little and sits down on his stool. 'The guy who owned this used to live just outside the town, actually, over Gresom way. A very rich man, very rich, but reclusive. Didn't want to talk to people or anything. People said he got his money during the war.'

'The war? Like, the War?'

'Yeah.' Bloody hell, that was *ages* ago. 'They say he looted paintings; they say that when they deported all those, you know... he was there, taking their belongings. When they interned the wetbacks, he took a lot of their stuff. Never gave it back. Didn't want anyone in his house because it was full of his art and his antiques and things.'

> cont'd.

>>28412584

'And... that's the evil bit?' You try to consider the mind of someone who would do that, staring at the mass of faces - yellow faces, black faces, brown faces, pleading eyes, gaping mouths. And the only thing you see being a music box here... maybe a nice necklace or pendant there. A mass of humans. A mass of cattle, a mass of flesh.

'Perhaps, a little. Maybe that's how he drew the attention of... you know, karma, it is true, it is a real thing, isn't it? The thing is, a few years ago, something strange happened. A young woman moved into the house. Came from nowhere, miserable-looking thing - I'll admit it freely, I saw her, because every now and then I go over to his place to help him repair his clocks and stuff. I was perhaps one of three people he'd talk to. Then suddenly, this young woman. Black hair. And eyes - insane, terrible eyes. I had nightmares for days seeing them. After she moved in, I really didn't want to visit Mike.

'So who was that?'

'No one knows. I asked Mike, and he just gave me this look. People said, maybe a granddaughter. Mike? A granddaughter?' He laughed, a little. 'Some even said, a daughter. Oh, bollocks! Others said, a Russian mail-order bride. Now, maybe that... but I don't know. But anyway, there she was. And then Mike began cutting me loose - even me! That was... four or five years ago.'

You feel yourself stiffen. Four or five years ago. You... know that time.

> cont'd.

>>28412662

'Anyway, you probably know what time that was, four or five years ago. Everyone out this part of the suburbs know, don't they?'

'The... the serial killer.'

'The Beast of Lackwell Hill, yes,' he nods. 'People started disappearing here first, young man. It eventually went into the city, didn't it? Even some girls there disappeared...'

The old man himself was beginning to disappear into the background, a background of whirring gears and grinding knives and dark woods and Cath, maybe tied up, maybe screaming. Maybe being raped. No one knows how she died. She wasn't the only one. The Beast, they say, has been around forever.

> Control yourself and listen. (Roll d100)
> Stop the old man, get the fucking box and get out.

Rolled 83

>>28412682
All my listen

Rolled 96

>>28412682
>> Control yourself and listen. (Roll d100)
Not because we want to hear, but because we want to not freak.

>>28412716
>>28412704
I'm not rolling after theese

>>28412704
>>28412716
Stan you curious fucker...

>>28412704
>>28412716
Thanks for the good rolls anos

>>28412704
>>28412716
>>28412722

> Well, since 96 is a success, I'll take it.
> 96: Calm. Calm...

Your fingers are clenched, your toes are clenched, your fucking anus is clenched; it feels like someone is pouring ice over you, so cold that it burns. Stan. Stan! Remember what Elina told you before!

Glancing at the counter, you reach forward and grab it, remembering luckily to grab the wooden bit. Then, your fingers clasped like talons on the wood, you take a deep breath. Another, then another. One, two, three. Elina snuggling beside you, hand nudging your hand, giving you that rule. Then, half an hour later, even she is taking comfort and safety in you, her breath hot against your shoulder blades.

One, two, three.

This works, and it must have worked even quicker than you thought, for the old man doesn't seem to have cottoned on. He merely gives you a glance, and then goes on. 'People started disappearing, and Mike - who never had visitors, never had friends, who had cut even me away - well, of course people started saying it was him. No one had evidence, of course. But people keep talking.'

'And meanwhile he, too, got weirder and weirder. He started going out of the house. He once disappeared for a week before coming back, and when he came back they said his clothes were tattered, he had forgot to actually pack a change of clothes. That guy was already half mad from isolation, why would he even be outside? And then one day he went out, and he came back in a police van.'

'Wha... what did he do?'

'He had two people in the back of his car. More importantly, he had a fucking car. He *stole* the car, *kidnapped* two people, two college girls, and was on his way home. Those college girls were marathon runners. Mike was 62, couldn't hit a fly if you gave him a stick.'

> cont'd.

>>28412806

But... but that can't be. You know that isn't what it is. If it was, the police, the detectives, EVERYONE - EVERYONE would be lining up to at least tell your family what happened to their daughter, to Cath. Then at least you would all have someone to hate. You would all have someone to spit at while holding each other.

You wouldn't just end up drifting apart like a dock with all its moorings cut, in the middle of a storm. Breathing as evenly as you can, you nod, feign interest. 'So... that was it. They got him.'

'He got bailed, though. No one knows who by. And then people started to piece together what was happening over the last few months. There were men, occasionally, coming by, dropping in - men from out of town, foreigners - coming to Mike's house. And we thought, well, fuck, that might be why he's never gotten a wife or anything. He's a pedo, then, a pedo, who's now got his first girl, and is going to get some more. But then, just as we're wondering this, they find Mike, dead - missing much of the flesh on his face and body - hanging by his foot in his own house.'

'W-what?'

> cont'd.

>>28412874

'Yeah. They said there were maggots cascading out of the corpse when they found it, he'd been dead two weeks before someone smelled him. The police broke in, people told them what happened, but there was - there was no trace of girls. No trace of pedophilic behaviour. Nothing. Until they opened the basement, where Mike used to have his wine cellar.

'Bones. It was all bones. Some were boiled down, others were crushed, almost all of them were human. The police said, there must be at least 25 or 30 people's worth of bones in that cellar. Not a living body. Not even blood. And Mike also had to drag me into this mess. He wrote a letter to me, saying everything that's not been taken, in the house, is mine.'

You will yourself to keep quiet, to not run, to not clench, to stand there and listen. To the end. He's working his way to a moral, right? But he's stopped. He seems to want you to say or ask something. Goddamn it, how are you supposed to think of something to ask now? Your mind is just a whirl. You haven't even the presence of mind to glance at Tessa. Why is her call taking this long?

> What say, Stanley?

>>28412885
Ask him what else he got from the house.

>>28412885
And what he left you, was this?

>>28412885
"Are you trying to get me to -not- buy this,or something? Why didn't I hear about this on the news?"

>>28412885
So that is evil? That is the reason you are so keen on getting rid of this?
What about that girl?

>>28412885
Look at Tessa and see if she's still on the phone. Then ask if he ever found out anything else about the girl who stayed at Mike's house. Ask him to describe what she looked like exactly.

>>28412885
Examine Tessa closely.

>>28412885
Look at Tessa and see if she's still on the phone
Ask what happened to the girl?

>>28412989
Seconding

>>28412941
>>28412929
>>28412926

Don't talk about the people. Don't talk about the bones, Stan. Don't. Not the bones, not the people, not Mike the war profiteer and possible pedophilic rapist/murderer/suicide. None of that.

'I don't get it,' you say, after a while sifting through all the things you could not talk about. 'Are you trying to get me *not* to buy this? Is this thing all he left you?'

'All? No, no, not all! He'd left me practically *everything*, boy. Everything. The house wasn't touched. He'd even left an inventory, and the only things missing were some... manuscripts, you know, musical stuff. Only thing is, police took the lot, as evidence. This was about the only thing I got out of the whole, insane business. But you've missed the point, see, you-'

You pause him for a moment, and then turn to look at- wait, where's Tessa gone? She's not at the entrance anymore, though her umbrella is still there - which means she'll be back, certainly. When you look back at the old man, he looks a little miffed. 'Sorry. I missed the point... actually, what about the girl?'

> cont'd.

>>28413025

'Ah. You haven't missed the point, then.' He smiles at you, mysteriously. 'See, everyone thinks Mike is evil. He's the pedophile, the rapist, the abductor, the murderer. But then *how* did he do any of those things? He's 62. He's got kidney stones and a bad heart problem. When he left home and disappeared for more than two days, my first thought was, dear me he's a goner. He couldn't have done it. He *couldn't*.'

'What the hell are you trying to say, then?' But you already have a sense of it, and indeed he confirms that sense.

'It's the girl, it's not Mike. She's the one who came, and then suddenly, everything changes. She comes along, the basement used to be a mess, and suddenly it's clean except for the bones. See, son, I used to think the same of what you did. Which is that evil is inside us, it's a thought or an outcome, it *isn't*. But I know I'm wrong now. Evil walks. It enters, it tears everything down, and then it leaves. I never saw her leave, but she couldn't have been one of the victims. Just... no.'

'Why're you telling me this? It's got nothing to do with the musical box...'

'Because the musical box was *taken*, originally. I remembered it being around, but it wasn't in the house. It was taken. And then, about three weeks after the death, when the investigation had gone nowhere, the box appears at my doorstep. With a piece of paper saying how to unlock it. It's inside there.' He shakes his head. 'Now I believe she gave it back to me, for some reason. But if you don't believe evil works that way, you're free to have the box for ten. I won't give it away, that seems wrong.'

> What do/say, Stanley?

>>28413077
Buy the box for $10, ask him if he could recall what the girl looked like if he saw her again.

>>28413077
Take it. Lets see if Elina recognises it.

>>28413077
pay him, take Tessa's umbrella and go search for her trying to keep horrible thought out of your mind

>>28413077
Buy the box.

>>28413077
> With a piece of paper saying how to unlock it. It's inside there.
Look at the note.
Buy the box first.

>>28413077
Ask the man if Mike ever went to Sweden.

>>28413077
So your are telling me that a mysterious girl that is able to vanish in thin air, just like the one that in going to give this, is evil and left the box specially for you? I'll buy it!

>>28413118
>>28413113
>>28413104
>>28413101
>>28413145
>>28413153
>>28413167

You look down at the box, no longer very sure what to think. 'So... uh...'

'Yeah, son? I take it you don't believe what I said,' he smiles, ruefully. 'But it's all right. Wasn't in the news because the police hadn't any clues. You don't want to wake up all sorts of people who were hunting the Beast and then tell them you haven't any clue what the hell's going on, right? So you didn't see it happen. You didn't see the girl. And that's fine. You can have the box, then.'

He has no idea who he's talking to, this old bastard. Yeah, of course you wouldn't want to wake those fucking whiners who lost their sisters and daughters and sons, do you? Wouldn't want to make them make too much noise and get in the way of your fucking peaceful town, would you?

But you don't say any of that. You've got a ten dollar note which drops, noiseless, on the counter's glass. 'Could you open the box for me, please? I want to see the note.'

'Sure, son. I'm quite grateful you got it, really. As you know now.'

You watch him click and unlock the box, slowly, working as if by muscle memory as he almost averts his eyes. 'Do you remember what the girl looked like? That... evil girl?'

> cont'd.

>>28413180

'Black hair, like I said. Her eyes were intense. But when you think about it, it could hardly have been her either, could it? Scrawny little thing that she was.' The box snaps open, and you grab for the note, paying no heed to the music.

The note is a beautifully written note, as if in fountain pen, the cursive letters flowing into each other in elaborate loops and flourishes, around a round, painstakingly lifelike drawing of the locking mechanism itself. Little arrows this way and that nudge towards the solution of the puzzle. It's... it's beautiful.

'Has Mike ever been to Sweden?' You ask, and almost immediately regret it. What the hell are you thinking of, Stan? Surely you can't be as crazy as to think...

'Don't think so, no,' the antique seller replies. 'Then again, what do I know? When you find thirty bodies' worth of bones in someone's basement, he could've been anywhere, couldn't he? No one would suspect Mike, you know. He's got no record of crime, outside of the war. Almost no record of *life*. You could say he'd make the perfect monster... or maybe a good tool for a monster as well. Well, it's all so long ago...

You nod and are just about to leave when Tessa comes in, and her face shocks you - her eyes suddenly swollen and red, sniffing loudly as she enters, glancing around in abject fear. You don't even need to ask before she volunteers an answer, coming and gripping your shoulder tightly.

'Something terrible's happened at school, last night, someone attacked Karen and Mel, Karen's in hospital, Mel is still missing, oh god, they took Mel, they took Mel...'

She's on the verge of a breakdown, tears already streaming down her pale cheeks. You turn to the counter, but the old man's buggered off quietly.

> What do/say, Stan?

>>28413207
"Holy shit. Are you ok?" Then ask where it happened.

>>28413207
"Penny and Da looked like they were gonna be gone for a while, you could head back early if you wanted. If they come back I'll tell them what happened."

>>28413207
Try to calm her, and then ask her to tell us everything she knows about the attack, and where it happened.

>>28413229
this, except offer to go with her

>>28413207
Calm down a little, panic wont help any one!
take a deep breath and tell me what did you heard worst case we can go back early to se what can be done

>>28413207
"Tessa, breathe. Now call your parents, tell them you're staying here. I'm sure Da and Penny will let you stick around until things go back to normal."
If we were less awkward I'd offer hugs, but...

>>28413223
>>28413229
>>28413259
>>28413262
>>28413270
>>28413292

> And this will be the last post for today, because let's end it on a nice note. Next thread should be tomorrow, we'll see.
> Hope the story was enjoyable, and thanks all of you for playing. Suggestions, etc. are highly welcome.
> Hope no one's getting too bored by the pacing so far?

Holy shit. And just when you'd heard all that too... you try to calm her and maybe find a place to lean her against, but before you can do that Tessa clamps her other hand on your shoulder and leans into you. Seeing as she's slightly taller than you, this is a little weird - okay, it's a little weird for all sorts of reasons including that - but you stand there, eventually reaching round to steady her a little as she cries and gasps and sobs into your shoulder. Her hair smells of strawberries and mint.

'Right... okay...' you've gone past the talk as much as you can stage now; this is the stage when they're readying to beat you, and you know nothing you can say will help. Except that's not really true here. Think carefully, Stan, think... 'Um... okay. What... what do you know about this? Was that the call? Was that why it took so long?'

> cont'd.

>>28413337

She continues to nuzzle and weep for a while before finally straightening a little, and you ease her onto an antique chair. 'It's... it happened last night. Basically they went out partying, like a lot of them, and then Karen followed Mel home because Mel was smashed and they live like in the same estate, so they were walking after the bus, and then someone attacked them, and then Izzy said... Izzy...'

Izzy - oh, that's Councillor Izzy, no doubt. Come think of it, you've got a lot of female student councillors. But that's beside the point. 'Izzy said...?'

'She said she went to see Karen, they're still operating, but she got stabbed like four or five times and her clothes were mostly gone, she was lying there in the rain, luckily some guys came round and got her an ambulance or she would be dead... the guy had a knife, he stabbed and slashed her also...'

Dear god. 'And that's when they figured Mel was missing as well?'

Suddenly you realise Tessa's reaction. You know Mel, kind of, you've seen her in netball and also doing dance demonstrations, but Mel and Tessa must have been really good friends. She even mentioned Mel yesterday to you. After a torrent of sobs, while you fumble out some tissues, Tessa manages to nod. 'She didn't go home last night. Or this morning. No one's seen her, oh god, she won't take any calls... why would someone do that? Why would someone do anything like that? What's Mel and Karen ever done to anyone?'

You don't know if it's ruder to stop her from yelling or to have her yell more, so you simply pat her until she calms down a little. It takes quite a while, unsurprisingly. You look at the music box on the floor beside you. Evil. Evil is. You didn't need the story to know that, yourself.

> Ask Tessa to go back early.
> Go back early with Tessa.
> Look, more panicky students won't help. You should all stay here.
> Other.

>>28413373
>> Look, more panicky students won't help. You should all stay here.

Stay away and have someone with us. Don't want people blaming us again.

>>28413373
>> Go back early with Tessa.
and check on Elina.

>>28413373
>Go back early with Tessa

>>28413393
how can they blame us? We were away when shit hit the fan and with a reliable witness

>>28413373
> Look, more panicky students won't help. You should all stay here.

>>28413398
>>28413396

These, probably.

How should we deal with Elina and the gift?

>>28413373
"Some were out there, hiding, there are monsters"
>>28413396
also this

>>28413373
>> Go back early with*out* Tessa.
>> Look, more panicky students won't help. Tessa should stay here.

>>28413337
Thaks for running

>>28413480
But then our witness is here and we're there.

>>28413969

He has a point. If we go back, who knows what might happen?

Unless we can find Elina. We need to go back with Tessa, but find Elina ourselves.

>>28413373
I vote we both stay here. Let it calm down a little and keep Tessa out of danger (also giving her time to make sure everyone knows we were with her and it couldn't have been us.

Or, since everyone else is voting to go back .. at the very least DO NOT GO BACK WITHOUT OUR WITNESS.

>>28414221

Stick together, either way - I think that makes sense too.