Well, almost nothing. A bundle of love and cuteness paws your leg. You squeeze his fatty face, and murmur into his ear, “What should I do, Cookie? I'm...I'm scared.” Cookie does not reply. You hug him to your chest and kiss him on the head. His soft little body is an oven against your freezing limbs. It's so cold. Even in your coat it's cold. You shiver. A voice that sounds like the voice that you hear when you talk to yourself inside your head replies, cheerfully,
“Trust...not.”
“W-who don't I trust?”
The voice continues, in the tones of an excited girl a couple years younger than you: “The talking stone...it harms. It...lies.”
“I don't know, Cookie, please, tell me, what do I-”
“Seek again the place of consumption.”
“Consumption?”
“The burrow...fifth above this.”
It trails off. You put Cookie down. You feel dirty and tired. Having a bath should make everything better. Your clothes are sticky with sweat and you think it's gross. You go into the bathroom that's just off your bedroom. The room is filthy and dark. You're suddenly less enthusiastic about having a bath. The light keeps flashing, on and off and on and off like a heartbeat. You turn on the taps, and let the water flow into the brown-spotted bottom of the off-white bath. The water-level rises slowly. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look...sallow. That's a word you learned recently.

Sallow and bleary-eyed and messy-haired. As you trace the angle of your cheekbones in the mirror, something flits behind you. You rub your eyes. You're still waking up, after all. There it is again. If you squint...you swear you saw some fingertips behind you, long and narrow, with pearly nails. They looked as though they didn't have nice intentions. How can fingers have intentions? They twitch. You blink and they're gone. The tap roars as water splashes into the bath, and turns rust-coloured as it touches the bottom of the tub. To be honest, you've never quite liked taking a bath in here. You could go to the pool on the twelfth floor. But that would involve lots of stairs. Or testing the elevator. And even then, the idea of using the pool with all the lights out is a bit scary.

Do you want to go to use the pool?
>Yes
>No

>>36611948
>No

>>36611948
>Yes
Eh, nothing ventured.

>>36612012
>>36612133
I'll wait a couple minutes for a decider. Or you guys decide amongst yourselves. Or I'll make a roll.

>>36611948
>>36612133
I guess I can switch to no just to get things moving then.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>36612254
>>36612133
>>36612012

You take off your jeans and sweater and put them in a neat pile on the floor. You sit on the floor and wrestle each of your socks off your feet. You've never really liked socks, but they're a necessary annoyance. The carpet feels scritchy against the back of your thighs. Steam rises from the bathtub. Something bobs lazily at the far end of the bath. It's probably a dust bunny. You'll fish it out and flush it down the toilet if it touches you. You put one leg over the side. The water feels heavy and warm and clean and purifying. You sigh to yourself. As you're about to properly get in, something brushes against your leg. In the brevity of light, you see curled legs and a hairy body. You see a couple shiny, dead eyes. You see mandibles. You run out of the room and slam the door. You lean against it, panting, you're almost expecting it to smash into the door, trying to throw you over so it can eat you. You're almost surprised to see your bedroom. You heave in great breathes, and quickly go into the kitchen and grab a chair and prop it up against the door. You were actually going to get into a bath with that thing. It was just sitting there, waiting for you to join it.Waiting, so it could sink its fangs into your leg and pump you full of venom so you that you would sink to the bottom of the bath and never leave it.

You decide that having a bath now isn't your highest priority, despite how much you want to have one. You don't think that you have another clean pair of jeans. Instead, you take a blouse from the closet and a skirt. You sit, shaking terribly, clutching Cookie. Two things have always calmed you down when you've been afraid. Coming your hair and stroking your bunnies. You're going to look pretty when you're doing this, because you have a little something called pride in yourself! Skirts aren't impractical in the least. They don't get caught like dresses and aren't overtight like jeans.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

After ten minutes of cuddling, you take Cookie's leash and harness and wrap it around him. You're going to take him with you. It's unsafe otherwise. Your main goal is to get some soup from a certain restaurant on the third floor, and bring it to a room on the sixteenth. You are going to do this, and you will get another bun! Or at least, that is what you've been promised.

After a wee bit of walking, you're in the atrium again. You could check if the elevator is working, I mean, all other power sources seem to be totally okay, so why not that? But then again you could also climb up the tree in the middle of the atrium and leap off the top of it because that'll totally make you a bird. You've seen too many scary movies to not be so stupid as to touch the elevator with a ten foot pole. You'd better get used to taking the stairs.

The third floor is an awful lot less scary the second time around. Except...
As you wander around the floor, You pass a Chinese restaurant, with a name something like Jade Kitchen, with a dark green facade and a gold-lined awning. Two small, squat sculptures sit outside. They have curling, whirling fur and furious angry faces. You think they could be lions. But they're peculiar lions. The door has about eight locks on it. The owner must want absolutely nobody getting inside at this hour. you can understand. If you owned a restaurant, you wouldn't want people touching your ingredients at three in the morning.

Next to it is an Italian place. It has a white front, and isn't particularly interesting looking. You pass it by, but Cookie sniffs the air and lurches towards the restaurant's metal shutter. You yank him towards you and give him a strict and serious telling-off. You tell him that he did a bad bad thing and that if he kept up with an attitude like that he'd get no carrots when he got back to the hutch.

There's an empty lot after the Italian place. You wrack your brains. Something, something was here. There isn't even a storefront, just empty concrete floor and bare walls, all the way back into the darkness. A present, a perfect cube, wrapped in red paper, tied with a bow, sits quiety directly in the centre of the room. Or rather, the lack of room. I'm going to need you guys to make a 1d20 memory check, please.

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>36612374
Alrighty

Rolled 5 (1d10)

>>36612374
I gotta sleep, thanks for the thread OP.

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>36612374

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>36612539
Durr, wrong dice.

>>36612539
>>36612557
N-no problem
>>36612439
Neat.

Something was definitely there. You're completely sure of it. There can't just have been some empty lot. The Clocktower just doesn't work like that. When a store changes hands, it doesn't get completely destroyed. The owners may rip out the outsides, but the inside is still there. It happened to the café that Mummy liked. She took you there, and you'd sit on a stool facing out onto the thoroughfare and sip hot chocolate. She would sip next to you and stir her coffee and stroke your hair. You never liked the taste of coffee, but the smell has always enchanted you. You can't quite say why, though. But the owners apparently ran out of money, so one day the shop was locked and the front was blacked out, as though someone'd taken a Sharpie and scribbled all over it until it was all gone. And then six months later, there was another café. You never went there. They took away something that Mummy clearly loved. How could they be so mean?

You think further. When you passed, it went Chinese, Italian...what? You remember that the store that was previously here had its lights on. It couldn't have just disappeared in...how long were you working in the Benston? An hour, at most? And how long were you asleep? What time did you even originally wake up? You inhale deep and slow. That'll help the process. Take five deep breaths, and think, you silly girl.

Your eyes fall again on the red present. Juliet warned you against touching them, and he seems like he knows what he's talking about. But you're not sure whether to trust him. He's scary. And he almost hurt you. Perhaps you want a second opinion. Henderson. She could help. But she wants you to get the chicken soup. Cookie told you to get the soup. Getting the soup seems like the best course of action, right now. Perhaps you'll remember once you've got it.

Most of the upscale restaurants should be serving soup. They're on the third row, for the most part. You could go investigate the Benston's freezer. They've got to have something other than that fridge. And you never did look in that pot that Juliet asked you to boil over. Maybe there was soup in it! That would be nice. Yes. You could also go poke around in the other restaurant, the one that the two thieves were breaking into. They could have been soup thieves! In any case, it'd be a good idea to check if their bags are still there. Because it'd be very useful to get some more stuff. You never know when you need a spirit level. You don't even know what a spirit level is, you just know it's something to do with toolboxes. And that it's yellow.

Your back pressed against the wall of a tavern, trying to be as quiet as possible, you inch your head around the corner. You don't think that anyone's there. In any case, it's too dark to see anything further than a couple metres. You can't hear anyone. You pick Cookie up, just so that he doesn't try to make any escape attempts. You nuzzle the back of his wonderous mane. It smells like hay and sweet, milky tea. He's a good bun! He's a very good bun! You take out your flashlight. Cookie in one arm, light in the other, you inch around the corner, slow and brave. The bags are still there. You hope nobody's touched them. It's so dark, even with the flashlight.
“What do I do, Cookie?”
Of course, no answer.

You look along the shopfronts. There could be someone hiding in the darkness, just waiting. Waiting and watching. Because they're hungry, but not quite hungry enough. There's nothing. Nobody. You set Cookie down, and empty the bags onto the grey-green floor. They're heavy, but you manage it. There's about five scratchcards, held together with a paperclip, a small box of nails, a cigarette lighter, a small box of batteries, some of which have a red cross on them.

There are a clip of bobbypins, about a dozen of them, and some small, shiny metal tools. They remind you of dentist equipment, but for machines. The biggest one is about as long as your middle finger to the base of your wrist. The toolbox still has all the usual toolbox things, awl, chisel, a few more screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a tape measure. But the hammer is gone. You remember it clearly. It had a dark blue rubber grip, and a dark metal head, covered in tiny dents. It looked as though it had been recently washed. If it's not here, and the two thieves are dead...someone must have taken it.

What do you want to take? You reckon that two items will be enough to help you.

To clarify
>Scratchcards
>Nails
>Lighter
Batteries
>Pins
>Tools
>Toolbox [specify, pls]

>>36613360
>Cordless drill

>Batteries

>>36613254
>cordless drill
>spirit level

Hey, Specificity. Didn't know you were running tonight

>>36613767
Um, I said so in my Twitter, and again in /qtg/. I'm sorry, but my studies don't let me have a consistent running time. Because there are two of you, I'm going to roll a d2 to make the decision

>Spirit level
You're aware that Miko doesn't know what a spirit level looks like. Only that it's yellow. You'll need to roll a d20 Knowledge/Memory to do that. DC:16

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>36613835
Sure, alternitively we could just grab everything that's yellow.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>36613939
Alright. That'll be interesting.

Drill/batteries=1
Yellow/drill=2

You grab the cordless drill from the toolbox. Forunately, it takes double-As, which you have. You load it up, and pull the trigger. It makes a satisfying NNNNNNNNGHHHH noise as the drillbit spins. You giggle. It's a great noise. You turn it off, and put it into your backpack, for safekeeping. You root through the tool box, looking for what a spirit level might be. It's a good idea to have one, after all! There are three yellow things: a tape measure, a screwdriver, and something you've never seen before. It looks a bit like an iron for ironing clothes with. Except it has a big handle, and a place where you think that if it were an iron, clothes would go, that is really really thin, like, as thick as your thumb. It also has a big trigger. You have to hold it in both hands, it's so heavy. You decide that this is indeed a spirit level, and put it in your backpack as well, and head off towards the Benston. But then you stop. The glass that had littered the floor is gone. All the windows are good as new. You remember staring into the caved-in façade of a gelateria, looking at the stools that stood in a straight line along the counter, with the chalkboard sign listing the flavours of the day. The glass had been punched in so that it resembled the maw of a hungry creature. But now it's all nice again. You're happy that you don't have to negotiate your way through all that glass, though. As you're thinking this, the beam of your flashlight begins to sputter and die. You do have batteries, but changing them here probably isn't a good idea.

As you step over the threshold, you're welcomed by that gagging, moist, stale smell. Cookie doesn't want to go in, he scrabbles out of your hands and runs away. Fortunately, he's still wearing his leash, so you don't lose him.
“Are you okay, honey? I'm sorry, but we have to do this. I have to take you with me, because it's not safe out here.”
Cookie snorts and grunts. “Please, Cookie.”

“I'll keep you safe.” You hold him close to your chest as you again step over the threshold. The door that the thieves had kicked in is where they left it. You hear a quiet whirring, and then that same jazz song scratches on. It's a bit warped at first, like how you imagine the hull of a ship to sound, but then returns to normal. You feel at ease. Cookie stops his scrabbling. You breathe in deeply. The paintings on the walls have been straightened. The present, with its bright red paper and snowy bow, is still there, sitting patiently, beckoning. You really want to open it. The carpet around it is a darker shade. You can't quite figure out why. Maybe, hopefully someone spilt water on it. That's right! Of course. How could it be anything else? The table and chair bits have been stacked neatly. Each disc of glass covering each table sits on top of another. The legs of the chairs form four piles, each about as tall as you are. You can't find the seats, or the rest of the tables, though. The wood-panelled walls are covered in deep and furious scratches. You look at the paintings again. You remember them showing glorious cities, with busy rivers, full of ships and boatsmen, all at work. They were nice in their motion. You climb onto one of the slashed banquettes to take a closer look. In the dark, you can barely make it out, but you're sure something's not quite right. As you get closer, you see tiny pinpricks in the canvas. Just enough to peek through at anyone inside.
You squint into one of the holes. It's completely dark. You get down, your curiosity satisfied.

At the back of the restaurant, there's the kitchen door, again. The small table with the stack of books. You don't want to even see those books again. You entertain the notion of drilling them. That'd be fun. But you're not sure what'd be gained from doing that.

You open the door to the kitchen, and hold back a retch. Cookie squirms in your arms. It's worse than before. A sweet-thick smell like wet, week-old meat. A slimy smell. Like if someone had...you don't want to think about that. Thinking about puking has always only made you want to puke more, and doing that here would just make everything worse. The mould has intensified, gotten fluffier, deeper. The room is bathed deeply in the sharp red, as light peeks through from the small window near the ceiling. You feel yourself starting to hyperventilate as you notice that the cracks in the cupboard are sealed with mould as well. You would not have liked to be inside one when that happened. The pot is still on the hob, a monstrous, hulking thing. It takes up much of the space here, and is black with burns. You remember the tall tongues of flame. It's a raw chuck of engineering, built for function rather than beauty, and that function seems to be to burn things until there is nothing more of them. As your eyes readjust, you see something that looks like two grey-green hillocks, lying in front of the open refrigerator. You go over to investigate. Taking your phone out of your pocket, you turn it on, and step, on your haunches, slowly towards them. Each one is about twice your height in length. From your phone's light, you can just about make out a shape. You move to the far end of one, the one furthest from the fridge, and turn your phone to face it.

You see a curve in the hillock. Well, curve is a bit of a nice word for what you see. A twisted, contorted line. You follow it with your eyes. As you lean in closer, you begin to make out what exactly the hillock is. A deep and dark hole, lined gently with a pure whiteness, and...that line, that line it was-you breathe in deeply, and scratch a little at the line with your fingernails. It's a mouth.

You hug Cookie very closely to yourself and suppress the urge to scream. You're a brave girl. You're not going to cry. You're not! It's just a meanie. He was mean and then he stopped living. It's fine. It's fine, I promise. The mouth was smiling when the meanie died. A huge smile. Too big to fit a normal mouth. His teeth are grey, and mould-covered, clenched together in his final moments. What could he have found so funny, you think. Hopefully you'll never visit this horrible place ever again, after you get that soup. There's a quiet groaning noise, like an ancient door being pulled open, like skin ripping apart. A slit in the hillock widens, inching open, ever so slowly. A maniacal, bloodshot eye meets yours. You lose grasp of Cookie, and let out a yelp. You sink to the floor, and drag yourself away from them on your hands and knees. You don't care that you're getting the mould all over yourself, you just want to be away from that, that thing.

You sit, back against the door, and take out the spirit level. They're supposed to be useful. It will have to do. If it comes around the corner, you're going to have to shoot it with the spirit level. You balance your shaking wrists on your bent knees. It's going to hurt you. Unless you hurt it first. If you do hurt it, you're not being naughty because it was going to hurt you. You're sure of it. You breathe in great gasps of the disgusting air. And you realise that Cookie's gone.

I'm going to need you guys to make a san check, please.

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>36615435
Oh joy, San loss.

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>36615435

>>36615475
Oh shit. I hope we didn't just shoot Cookie.

>>36615475
>>36615478
>>36615517
The room is swathed in white. You feel an urge to start singing and dancing. You find yourself in the ballroom on the 19th floor. It's full of people, all in suits. The ballroom has slickly oiled pine-wood floors, white plaster walls, curtained with purple velvet, and a brass band playing on stage. You're in the centre, pirouetting again and again, around and around. Nobody's dancing with you. You don't know whether you want this. Where's Cookie? Just as the thought of him comes into mind, you see a girl, about your age, in a mask. It's very similar to Cookie's face.

Your skin feels prickly, as though someone's rubbed it in glass, like how you'd rub cookie dough in sprinkles so that they're delicious. You scratch your arm and it feels good, like a warm blanket covering your body entirely. You don't think you can stop. And around and around and around. You're twirling and again and again. Everyone is dancing around you, stomping, left foot, right foot, left foot right foot, left foot- and then the fireworks go off, bursting bright explosions and raining pink and green and red and god it's beautiful, their noise, you don't even notice it, it's nothing, the room is filled with colour and flame. Some of the dancers catch alight, and they incinerate like twigs.

They keep dancing, hugging their partners to their chests, close, deep, and grinning, everyone's having a great time, their eyes are bright and full of joy! The girl in the Cookie mask steps towards you. She's wearing a pure white sunhat, with a pink band. The one Mummy gave you as a birthday present last year. She's wearing your dress. In her right hand, she's holding the hammer from the toolbox. It's covered in blood. She waves. You wave back. She seems nice. You keep dancing, dancing, dancing. You don't want to stop. And around and around and around, your body is full of light, the room is full of light. You trip, and one of the men catch you. It's Daddy!

He holds you close, picks you off the ground, his strong arms under your armpits. You look into his face and his eyes are empty, but he's still smiling, as though you've offered him the most delicious cake in the world and he isn't on a diet. Except that the smile is somewhat meaner, like as though he's offered his worst enemy that cake, but it's also poisoned, and they're about to eat it. '
“Daddy! Where were you I've been looking for you everywhere I was so worried-”
and...throws you into the floor. The floor is sticky and pale and you're being swallowed by it and you can't stop and you're still twirling. You scream. Your voice comes out as a gagging whimper, the sick noise of a dying animal. You decide that the best thing to do is to find that girl. To find her. And...you're not sure. Just to find her. But how can you...you're looking up at the ballroom floor, as though through frosty glass, thick and deep and yellow, and their feet stomp left and right like soldiers marching on the spot. You scream for Daddy to notice, to help and he keeps dancing. A hand bursts through the floor and drags you upwards. It's the girl in the Cookie mask. She holds your arm tightly, and you feel a blinding pain at the side of your head...

You open your eyes and you're in the dank kitchen again. Your shaking hands are wrapped tightly around the spirit level. The wall in front of you is dotted with dozens of...something. They're small, inch long, and there are so many of them. Cookie! Where...? You haven't, have you- you start sobbing uncontrollably at the thought that you might have- you couldn't have- certainly not- no. You drop the spirit level and weep. You're the worst bunny-owner in the world. You shouldn't be allowed. No. Not even once. You don't even want to look at his...if you find it.

You scour the floor on your hands and knees, even digging up great handfuls of mould. He's not there. He's not anywhere. You gasp and retch. It's never going to be okay. Not now, not ever. However, you know exactly what you must do now. You pick up the spirit level, and rest it gently against where you think the forehead of the hillock is. You pull the trigger. It makes a pleasant 'whunk' sound. You repeat it, in two different places, just to make sure. You do the same to the other body. Now they'll never scare anyone again.

Meanies. You sit down quietly in a corner, and barely hold back tears. You've lost one of your buns. It's...you're never...it's all too much. You can't fathom life without Cookie. It's too scary an idea to deal with. You entertain the notion of finding a knife in the kitchen drawer and...but no, that would be an awful idea. Awful and weak. What about all the other buns? What are they going to do without you?

You're not quite dressed for the occasion, but if the soup will be anywhere, it's here. The walk in freezer has racks and racks and racks. There's about five racks on either side of you. Fortunately, there's only one row. You wander down it quickly, looking for labels, something, anything. Give me a d20 perception, and a d15 fort please.

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>36616306

Rolled 2 (1d15)

>>36616306

>>36616486
>>36616504
You spot it immediately. There are loads of them, each in its own tupperware, sealed, and labelled and dated. You shudder, desperately. Your teeth chatter. You suck on your fingers and it hurts. Why, exactly, didn't they shut this off, you're not quite sure. Still. Your breath forms clouds here. You estimate you'll be able to stick around for about another minute. Probably less. You grab two, and, since you can't hold on to them properly with your fingers, you hug them to yourself. There's about a dozen paces to the door, and you'll be safe. Something small and brown scampers in front of you trailing something long and blue. You run to the door and throw the soups out into the damp kitchen. You kneel, retch, hugging yourself. The cold from the freezer starts to burn. But something's in there. You lurch back in.

Your body feels like it's slowly stiffening. Like you're becoming an ice sculpture or a snowgirl or a statue. Your actions, more mechanical. You see the blue leash perfectly. It's just-.You make a grab for it, and your fingers scrape empty, freezing air. If...if that's Cookie, he's going to...he's not going to leave here if you don't get him now. You growl and make another grab for the leash. This time, your fingers curl around it. You close your other hand around your fist on the leash, and gently drag Cookie towards you.

He looks mostly fine. You start crying again, and run the rest of the way out of the freezer. Back against the freezer door, you hug your bunny. But when you actually look at the brown thing in your hands, it's, it's...not. A cardboard box, under which there's a remote control car. And a note.

“I have it. You need to play. Eighth floor. Room T. Your victory will result in return. Failure will result in execution.”

Okay, since it's getting a bit late on my end, I think I'm going to turn in. Do you guys have any comments, questions, advice, requests, what?

>>36616837
No, just wanna say thanks for running.

>>36616742
damn good horror you got here
I don't what your inspirations but they're good

>>36616916
Yeah. This is properly scary in some places. I'm not sure why more players aren't biting.

>>36616916
>damn good horror you got here
Thanks so much, anon!
>I don't what your inspirations but they're good
As I said in the first thread:

>Bioshock
>Yume Nikki
>Corpse Party
>My actual IRL little sister
>Claire
>A touch of Killing Floor
>Alice in Wonderland
>Coraline

But also, to add to that,
>things that actually scare me
>my nightmares
>what I've observed upsets people from creepypasta, but doesn't really scare me at all.

>>36616957
Thanks so much! I do try to please!

Oh, and also: I'll be running most likely next Tuesday night at 9:30 EST.
My twitter is @Specificity_QM.

I'll probably have to keep it short next time because it is finals week, and I have two papers to write.

>>36617023
I'll be there. Good luck with your finals.

File: 1417502664660[1].jpg (166 KB, 997x2362)

166 KB JPG

>>36617057
Thanks, anon! Oh, and as a special goodnight treat, Pilgrim did some fanart:

>>36617140
Cool. Saved.