1KM1KT Free RPG Community

Darrel Anderson:

It's another late night, you find yourself uncertain as to what you just saw when you opened the door to your dingy, one bedroom flat. Inside your place you find the corpses of cigarettes littering the ashtray on the dark wood, half broken coffee table that's held up by a book on one end. Next to the coffee table you have an abused and beaten couch that is filled with the scorch marks from forgotten cigarettes from forgotten times on the junk. There are a couple of needles, a reminder of what you're trying to avoid.

The place needs to be cleaned, but you've never really seen the point since it's just going to get dirty again, but this time there's a dark black stain that's seeping out from underneath your door. It's got to be from that grizzly death you just saw happen when you opened the door, someone just basically almost exploding in front of you but with no collateral damage. The walls didn't get destroyed, neither did the door you held but it was loud and explosive all the same.

[Darrel thinks to himself]
I've been to prison, I'm not going back. I don't know what the fuck I just saw. I got to get this shit cleaned. If the police find some of that DNA shit here I'm screwed!

no, wait. Should I go to the police? Tell them what I saw, I never did anything wrong.

Am I seeing things?

Darrel reaches down to run his fingers through the filthy carpet, it's sodden. The stinking metallic, rusty red slime clings to his fingers. It's all over the walls.

I can't clean this up, it's everywhere!

Darrel runs out into the street. He hurries down to Walmart, gets a pot of lime green paint, a 2" brush and a carton of bleach.

[he arrives back at the flat]
Darrel empties the bag onto the counter
fucking lime green! No wonder it was knocked down so cheap, it's awful.

Darrel attempts to swab and clean the walls with rags dipped in bleach and water. Once he's done he chucks the rags into the centre of the room and starts rolling up the carpet.

He drags the carpet down through the common areas of the apartment building, and dumps it into the communal bins.

Back up stairs he starts the task of painting the walls with what he now realises is a tiny paint brush.


{is this too long?}

Darrel Anderson:

The 2" brush and the lime green paint have a soothing effect on Darrel. It helps that the carpet that was covered in the ichor that was seeping from underneath the door soaked it all up and was waiting downstairs to be taken away. The smaller strokes such a brush needs to be effective creates this zen like state in Darrel and he finds that he's painted a whole wall before hunger pangs strike him hard. He hasn't eaten in a while and it's starting to be a little unpleasant.

Just then, there's a knock at the door.

{It's okay, write as much or as little as you want.}

Father Gregory Wilson:

The large Gothic Cathedral goes up and up and up, higher than the good Father can actually see. It's as if God himself was waiting if you could ever make it to the top. The walls of the Cathedral are all carved to be these giant pillars, with rather gruesome depictions carved into them. It takes a moment but you realize that they're all more lifelike versions from depicting the deaths of Christian Martyrs in very gory detail. Each pillar seems to have a ladder that circles it, moving up towards the great darkness above.

The pews are all roughly carved out stone and look about as comfortable as sitting on a rock, there are no cushions to be found anywhere at all, to try to make any wait for the Lord a little more pleasant.

When Father Gregory looks back, the door that he walked through is no longer there and there is the sound of moaning that he heard coming from the Presbytery, except that it seems to be coming from above as the soothing sounds of an organ begin to play.

[Darrel Anderson]

Darrel hears the sound of his breathing, rasp to a stop halfway though an inhalation.
His head swivels and stares at the door.

was that a knock?

His heart starts to gallop at a seemingly unnatural pace in his chest. He tries to calm it, the blood coursing through his veins, dulls his hearing as an ocean of noise washes through his ears.

listen, darrel

knock, knock

cold, hard realisation hits his stomach like a hunger pang.

it's the door

hello?

[Darrel Anderson]

The sound at the door is getting louder. It's like a knock, but more if someone took a newspaper, rolled it up and started banging on the door. The other strange thing is that the door seems to push outward with every knock. It returns to it's normal shape before the next blow, but the weird extension gets long and longer with each knock.

Whatever on the other side is rather insistent.

[Darrel Anderson]

whispers
it's unlocked...

Darrel slowly approaches the door, reaches out and pulls the handle down.

[Darrel Anderson]

The handle flies down faster than Darrel expects and it jerks him down with it putting him more than off balance. As he stumbles a flash bulb goes off, blinding him slightly, and before his vision clears he hears a voice full of whiskey and cigars demand, "How did you kill him?"

[Darrel Anderson]

what, who... I haven't killed anyone.

Gregory looked around, slowly, not quite knowing what to make of this new environment other than a cold shiver that came over him. He studies the wall, where the door which he came through use to sit, for a few moments, thinking that this must just be some illusion of some kind.

[Assuming he finds nothing unusual there]

Finding no sign of the door, panic starts to rise in Gregory. He looks around for a place to go - some way to get out of this place. Running to the nearest pillar, Gregory begins racing up it, taking a few steps at a time while trying not to trip over his cassock.