#skitters back to my friend to ask for another sinner

[checkadii]

what the fuck is r corp armor dude

[sagasofazeria]

Short Story - Wanderer’s Warning

One of my spooky stories I made for October! This is the one I mentioned in this post.

Just gonna go ahead and tag the usuals? But if anyone wants to be tagged in further spooky stories (or doesn’t want to be tagged) lemme know! @talesfromaurea @hellishhin @thelaughingstag

content warnings: ghosts/the afterlife, general scariness, weird reality/fourth wall fuckery :)

word count: ~2000

This story begins at the end. With a corpse, lying in a grave that was never marked, deep in soil that was just as dead as the body itself.

No one knew whose body it was, but no one wondered either. It was just another grave. No one to remember them, no one to mourn them. The body had been buried and forgotten, simple as that.

Only, it wasn’t simple, not really. But in order to know the rest of the story, we have to go to another place entirely. Somewhere between here and there, both before and after, somewhere where you really shouldn’t linger too long if you’ve a mind for caution.

This is the place where we find the very very lost soul of the person who’d been buried in that oh-so-pitiful grave.

The wandering spirit of this long-forgotten person was adrift in a sea of silent yellow grass. No trees dotted these empty plains, no animals skittered across the ground. Above this empty place, the stars twinkled joyfully, shining and dancing along their river in the sky. But the lost soul wasn't dancing with them. No, they were pushing through the endless grasses, alone. They hadn’t stopped to think about where they were going, only that they wanted to go there, that they did not want to be here. And it was difficult for them to recall why they were here, or even where here was. It was hard to remember much of anything at all, actually. Besides walking, walking and the endless grasses.

Unable to stop, that was, until something spoke up from the shadows of the high grass.

“You there! Say, what are you doing, wandering about here? Shouldn’t you be among the stars by now?” the voice called.

The soul turned, but saw no one. Unsure they had even heard anything at all, they responded cautiously. “Maybe, but I... can’t remember. Who are you? Where are you? Where am I?” they asked into the empty air.

“Why, I’m right here,” the voice said, its sound seeming to solidify behind the lost soul.

They turned back around to see a figure step out of the grasses, wearing a long cloak that shrouded their face and brushed across the ground.

“I’m a friend, don’t worry,” the figure assured, as the soul took an instinctive step back.

“How do I know?” the soul asked, still keeping their distance.

“Don’t friends help each other?” the figure asked, stepping closer.

The soul paused. They couldn’t remember any of their friends. Surely they had had some, but it was all obscured by a fog they couldn’t clear. But that did sound like a thing friends did.

“Yes, they do, I think.”

“Well, then let me offer a helping hand, so you will know I’m a friend,” the figure said, stretching one long hand from beneath the cloak.

Distressed but desperate, the lost soul hesitated. “How?”

“Why, I’ll show you a wonderful place! A place for all the lost souls, the sinners and the wanderers, the carefree and the forgotten. The happy people! A place where travelers and spirits like us can rest and be merry! No more ambling aimlessly, my friend, those days can be over! All you’ve got to do is follow me,” the figure grinned, clasping the other hand on the soul’s incorporeal shoulder.

They thought for a moment. They looked between the figure and the plains. Maybe this was where they were supposed to go? It certainly seemed better than continuing to walk toward a horizon that would never come.

“Lead the way,” said the soul.

So the cloaked figure led them inward, and in some amount of time that felt quick but could’ve been forever, the two came upon a hole in the ground.

Not too big, just enough for them to walk into with comfort.

“Well, my friend, here we are!” the figure said, beckoning as they stepped into the tunnel. “Home at last.”

The wanderer nodded, then followed into the darkness.

The figure produced an eerie lantern from within the folds of their cloak, the light reminiscent of a firefly’s as it cast across the walls of the tunnel and illuminated the faintest outline of the grin they wore beneath the cloak.

The two walked through what seemed to be a labyrinth of tunnels, and it seemed the cloaked spirit was choosing which way to go at random. Eventually, they reached a place that the soul was sure they’d been before, even in their lack of memory.

“Spirit, we have been to this intersection of tunnels before, I’m quite sure,” they said.

“That’s true,” said the spirit. “But that’s the point!”

“What? How is that the point?” asked the soul, bewildered.

The spirit turned to smile at them.

“Well my friend, just think about it. It’s quite simple, actually. In order to find the refuge of lost folk, you must first get a little lost!” they said. Chuckling, a deep, resonating hum, the spirit turned back around, choosing another random tunnel with glee.

They went on like this for who knows how long. Just when the soul was sure they were so desperately lost they might die again, they found it.

The tunnel opened wide, and there lie a grand metropolis.

Walking toward the city, laughing, the spirit cried: “Behold and rejoice, my good companion, we’ve arrived!”

The figure led the lost soul through all the sights and sounds of the great city, spinning and leaping to reveal wildly colored garments beneath the cloak that fit in well amongst the shining chaos of the city.

Souls and spirits of all sorts were playing games of chance in the streets, cheering and groaning with each throw of the dice or turn of the cards. People called out from the rooftops to sing songs, and the whole place rang with the sounds of excitement. Luxurious bath houses and a thousand other places to rest and do just about nothing lined the streets.

In short, the place was far more amazing than the lost soul had ever expected. So full of excitement they were, that they immediately took off into the city, to explore and partake in all there was to experience.

They played the games, listened to the music, even got an incorporeal manicure. They did whatever they wanted, and were filled with joy for the first time in their very limited memory. And they spent much time like that. Time is fluid in this place, of course, so we can’t know whether it was an eternity or a second, or even both at once. But to that wandering soul, it was a lifetime’s worth of unbridled, unchallenged, elation.

It started with a lost dice game. A turn of bad luck, an argument, over in a few minutes before they moved on to something new. Or, until they tried, at least. After a few wrong turns, they hadn’t found something else to grab their attention, and they found themself on the first empty street they’d seen in the whole city.

Shaken out of what seemed like a trance of constant excitement, they came to a stop in the middle of the lonely avenue. No people rejoiced here. Remnants of festivals and celebrations and stalls were scattered across the stones, but it was desolate and abandoned.

The soul looked around at their surroundings, bewildered. How long had it been that they’d been living with such reckless speed that they had never actually stood still and looked at the streets before? Had they been here? Would they even know?

As these doubts and whispering realizations flooded their mind, they began to hear the music again. It was familiar by now, the songs being sung from the rooftops. Only, they thought they heard another, deeper song. Far more ominous, it beckoned and called, using the same words the cloaked spirit had said way back in the grasses under the stars. Its sinister notes echoed throughout the streets, and pried at the soul’s consciousness.

And they felt it now. The tug keeping them in the city, trapped in an illusion of happiness, and they realized they hadn’t found a home. They were just as lost as before.

They had to leave. Now.

So they ran. This time, they didn’t meander. They forced all thoughts of games or music out of their mind, pushing forward in a straight line, hoping they might be able to break the spell of this place if they could just escape

Just as they reached the edge of the city, they stumbled, crashing to the ground. When they tried to stand again, they found they couldn’t, and turned to see a long bony hand clasped around their ankle.

“Ah, ah, ah. What are you doing?” asked a familiar voice, as the cloaked figure stepped from the shadows of an alleyway, their elongated arm shrinking back to its original size as they approached.

“I’m leaving. I don’t know what sorcery keeps me here but I want no part of it! Let me go, foul spirit!” said the wanderer, trying to kick away the hand. Their struggle was no use, and the spirit held on with iron grip.

“But you’re lost! You’ve got nowhere to leave to, my friend, no home, no place! And it’s fun here! Nothing is the same! It’s all new, always! Life is here! Out there is only death, and endless empty!” the cloaked thing growled, falling to all fours as it stalked forward.

“Wh- What are you?” asked the soul, suddenly fearing for something greater than their life.

There was a light beneath the cloak, illuminating a long-toothed grin. “A something! Something something is what I am. I’m a lot of things, but the most important thing is that you’re mine. I found you, I brought you here, a perfect little lost soul. You and the others! And you’re gonna like it! And if you don’t, then you will! Because nothing is the same here, nothing! Not even you.”

With that, the spirit pounced. Growing claws twice the length of a man, it was only a few seconds of searing screams, and it had slashed the soul to shreds. Wisps of spiritual essence floated in the air where the soul once was, and the grinning figure began to collect them. Once it had them all, it began to weave. Trails of light gathered in intricate braids, stitching the shreds back together with thin fingers.

Once the soul had been woven anew, the spirit sent it off back into the streets to return to the false joys of the city.

And the soul went back, content as ever, unaware of anything that had happened before.

“My, my. What a spitfire! Awful strong-willed for a soul that’s been forgotten so thoroughly. How cute. It’s always so fun, chasing them down. I do love a good thrill, don’t you?” the spirit says.

It turns, its lantern-like eyes focusing on something on the edge of its senses.

“That is why you’re here, isn’t it? For a thrill! A tale to delight! Yes, you have lingered here for a very long time. I see you, watching from the other side of your screen. You were warned, you know, but it’s been so lovely to meet you. And you waited so long, I thought it rude not to say hello. Besides, it's far too late now. Welcome home, lost one.”

[ichaisme]

Ink Demonth Days 4 and 5: Light and Dark

The public face versus the private eye (or in this case, ear) is a very powerful thing. 

But we’ve known for a while that Joey isn’t all that he seems on the surface, now is he?

Joey drew leaned back in his chair, hands neatly folded in his lap and his signature half-smile on his face.

Picture perfect.

In fact, that was the purpose of the pose: a flash, and he relaxed again, gladly shaking hands with the reporter before him. They settled in for his interview.

[It was the best of times]

Reporter: I see a photo on your desk. Who is the man there with you?

JD: Oh! [His voice trembles. The sound of wood scraping against woods. Silence beyond shaky breath.] …This was my old friend. And… my business partner. During our first year at the studio it was just the two of us, slaving away at the old drawing board. Oh, those were the days… [The scraping returns, heading towards the recording device. When he speaks, it’s resolute, determined to sound happy.] Ah, but he left, and things have picked up, haven’t they? If only he could have seen where we’d end up!

Reporter: What was his name?

JD: …Henry.

A tape recorder, tucked in the corner of Joey Drew’s office catches your eye. You look over it curiously, seeking a label.

VOICE OF [Indiscernible], 19XX

Your confusion grows. You press the play button.

[It was the worst of times]

Henry: Joey is a man of big words… so many promises made, and so few real actions. Short deadlines? Always my burden to bear. Oh, but Joey just walks right up to the investors, smiles, and says, “Look what I’ve done!” Joey? [he scoffs] Joey drew nothing.

[It was the age of wisdom]

Reporter: How did you move on from your partner leaving the company? Many others fold under the pressure of a rift like that.

JD: I won’t lie, it was difficult, but I am not a man who just lays down and takes what is given to me. No, I reach out and grab my future by the collar, chart my course! You know what they say: ‘when the going gets tough, the tough get going’. And that is true for any struggling man or woman out there.

Reporter: Words to live by. Thank, Mr. Drew.

[It was the age of foolishness]

Wally: I swear things are getting weirder by the day around here! [His voice gets further away. There’s a scratching noise of hay against wood. Sweeping?] The crew Mr. Drew hired doesn’t get their work done as fast as Henry did, and he’s maaad. And those little ‘offerings’ that took over the break room? I’m not saying anything to him, but if you ask me, the guy’s a little off his rocker, if you know what I’m saying. As long as he keeps paying my check though, I can’t complain. [A pause. When he speaks again, it’s much closer to the recording device] But if he asks me to help with one more pipe, I’m outta here!

[It was the epoch of belief]

Reporter: What do you attribute to your success? How did you do it?

JD: How? Why, with the power of belief, my good man! You come into an industry like this, just a pencil and dream, determination to succeed the only thing keeping you afloat… you have to believe in yourself. And you see, people are attracted to confidence. [Footsteps, coming around closer to the device] Just look at this! We’re thriving! [The voice lowers to a hush, barely heard] Off-the-record, we’ve got an amusement park in the works, and a new character people are going to love. The sky is the limit!

[It was the epoch of incredulity]

Tom: Joey acts like there’s magic in these pipes. Oh, there’s something there alright, but it’s not magic. You put your blood, sweat, and tears into your work, and what comes out? Ink. Tens of gallons of the stuff. What does he need it for? He’s a man of many secrets, and the truth… it’s not something you want to find out.

[It was the season of Light]

Reporter: Care to talk about your employees a moment? You’re a little studio, I imagine you must be close.

JD: Of course! My employees are some of the best of the best. We are all cogs in the well-oiled machine, and each are valued members of my studio family. Without them, none of this would be possible! I am the captain, steering the way, certainly, but they are the loyal crew that make us reach the shore.

[It was the season of Darkness]

Susie: …I’ve been replaced. [There’s a waver in her voice from the effort of holding back tears] I was MADE for this role; I can’t go back to the background again! Joey said if I want to be Alice, I’ll have to prove myself. [Anger mixes into her tone] I’ll show him. He wants an angel? He’ll get one.

[It was the spring of hope]

Reporter: May I go further off the record? I’m a fan of your cartoons, sir, and you’ve made me very interested in that comment about the amusement park.

JD: Of course. Bendyland, as I’ve been calling it, is going to be a marvel. Think of the fair, young man. All those wonderful memories of childhood, the magic of youth. All those games, those attractions… now theme them to my cartoons, and place them in my studio. Can you imagine? I certainly can! I’ve seen Bertie’s sketches of my designs, and it is going to be FANTASTIC!

Reporter: It sounds incredible, Mr. Drew. When you say themed to your cartoons, do you mean the rides themselves, or the prizes you win in the games?

JD: Both! That’s the beauty of it, not only is Bendyland in the works, but we are also creating toys to go with it. Consider this little plug on the record, because we’re going to have toys out on the market shelves very soon.

[It was the winter of despair]

Bertrum: Joey Drew… I have never met another man with the sheer gall he possesses. One should strive to show at least a modicum of respect for another’s profession when offering their opinions, but no, never Mr. Drew. A lesser man would have called the entire arrangement off and returned home, but Bertrum Piedmont does not intimidate so easily. I’m still here, Mr. Drew, and you will not insult my work with your inane edits.

Shawn: If Mr. Drew wants perfect, he should come down here and help out every once in a while, instead of barking orders from his desk like he’s so much better than us. If the work isn’t up to his standards, maybe he should consider that his standards are impossible to achieve, instead of saying we do shoddy work.

[We had everything before us]

Reporter: This all sounds fantastic, Mr. drew! But…

JD: You’re wondering about the funding, aren’t you?

Reporter: Well, yes. Those are some big projects. How-

JD: Oh, never ask a man how he keeps his affairs in order. Just know that I do.

[We had nothing before us]

Grant: He can’t do this. I can’t do this. [The scratch of pencil on paper. It’s quick and disjointed, almost sounding like a scribble with no meaning or legibility] I can’t do this. It’s not adding up, and it will never add up. Everything he does drives us further and further into a debt I can’t pull us out of. I can’t tell him. He can’t find out. We’re going to fail.

[We were all going direct to Heaven]

Reporter: [There’s the sound of shuffling papers as he speaks. He’s gathering his things] Thank you so much for your allowing me to interview you, Mr. Drew.  Are there any parting remarks you may have?

JD: Just one. Keep Dreaming.

[We were all going direct the other way]

Sammy: We are all sinners, the lot of us. We all fall short of the glory of Bendy’s grace, and in his shadow we fester. Skittering like roaches to hide behind him, we avoid his glorious face, his all-powerful wrath, but… why? Should we not embrace that which he was born from? The ink is equal parts life-giver and taker, and there is no other recourse but to accept this, sink into the black abyss. Can I get an amen?

The reporter stands, glancing down at his notes. He flashes Joey a bright smile. Joey returns it, thanking him for his time as he leaves… but the moment the door closes, the smile drops. Not quite melancholy, but at the very least somber, he lets out a slow, world-weary sigh and sinks back into his chair. His eyes lazily wander the room, settling back on the picture of him and Henry, the day they bought the studio property. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands. The genuine joy in his former partner’s expression burns. “Tell the people what they want to hear,” he mutters bitterly.

The recording shuts off with an audible click. You stand there a moment, wondering what to make of the descent to madness.

“I said, ‘Can I get an amen’?” You turn quickly.

Two thuds, first quiet, the second louder.

The sound of something heavy dragging against wood.

Then?

Silence.