The flaming rose bears you away, and a demigoddess spins the gigantic rose, skyscraper tall, between her fingers while you cling on for dear life, until with a rip, a petal of silk rips free, and you and the petal spiral down to land on your back on a wooden floor with the petal, no the hand between your fingers.

You open your eyes to see an elderly, but ferociously intent black woman, dressed in faded gingham with red roses dotting its dark field, and well-worn bone needles stuck through her wiry hair.  Her bony hand is clasped in yours, and she is trying to say something, but you cannot hear it for the bells ringing in your ears.

With obvious strain, and yet focused strength, she gets you to your feet.  You assist, embarrassed to have an old woman doing most of the work, and look past her down a dark and decrepit hallway.  The wallpaper is faded, and peeled, and one of the several doors is off its hinges, and the lights look antique.

To your right, most immediately, you see a railing, of exquisite quality, except for the crudely patched spot, with more modern lumber.  You look back to see the old woman in front of you, but she's not there.  Nor did she move on the creaking and unsteady floor underfoot...

Playtester

I try to regain my bearings and shake away the cobwebs which seem to accompany Versing. I stick a finger into my ears to try to settle my inner ear's insistance on ringing. While doing so I glance about furiously attempting to answer the question of the disappearing old woman. When it doesn't seem to work, I resort to cursing under my breath about hallucinations and highschool irresponsibility.

Reaching into the pack, the comforting weight of the pack, I retrieve the altimeter and compass. I check these with a piece of paper, noting them and making a quick description about the layout where I am when I first come to in this place. I look for windows in the vacinity first to try to get an idea of where this house is. It's obviously a large rundown hotel or something, maybe a slum apartment building but I want to be sure of the locale outside. I want to know if I have anything to deal with as far as residents.

I also try to be quiet that way if there is anyone else here, I wanna know about it before they do.

The ringing has gone away like a will-o-wisp, wondering if it was ever there, you turn about to view your surroundings.  An upper level railed walkway with bannisters knocked off overlooks a once grand and capacious entrance hall that has been divided and diminished.  Off to one side is a curving staircase, that leads downward, and you can see where its twin would be, but evidently a later resident thought it best to remove the gracious span, and replace it with a cheaply panelled office space or something for that corner of the hall.  This "office" is also roofed by the same pannelling.

To your left and right runs this upper walkway, leading at both ends into the dark.  Mold, and heavy humid air compete with the webs of spiders for the attention of your senses, but somehow it occurs to you as you look back down into the roof of the "office" how bad a fall that could be.  Perhaps its the somewhat modern looking timber blocking off what would have been the entrance to the second stair case, and some more.

With a bead of sweat forming on your neck, you check the compass, which gives you north, which is away from the staircases,and deeper into the house.  The altimeter reads sixty feet above sea level.

PT

Lets see if we can create a visual to help out the readers...


This is what McCallister can see of the decrepit and moldy "mansion".

sssshhhhh/ohhhhh/chhhhh/h-ohhhhh/c-----ssssssssssss
ssss                     M                   ssssss
ssss-----/C--"    "--------nn"nnn"----/?-----ssssss
              "    "      !          W
               "    "     !          W
               "    "     !          W
              "    "      !          W
               "    "     !          W
                "     "   !!!!!!!!!!!W
                                     W
                                     W
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss/o

s=shadow
/=door
-=railing
"=staircase
n=new railing
!=new panelling
W=old two to three story tall interior wall
h-o=half-open
C=Closed
M=McCallister
h=hallway wall

Now hopefully the local software won't mangle this crude map...

PT

Close enough, not that badly mangled.

PT

After recording and noting my entry point to this world, at least what my conscious mind is capable of concieving as the entry point, I take another look around. Studying the scene carefully. This seemed like a pretty old place, but I did notice some touchup, perhaps a bit of care given, perhaps even a failed attempts at renovations. I place my notebook, pencil and instuments back into the framepack.

This was a weird place to end up though. It almost seemed calculated....For a brief instant I wonder if there could be some force guiding Versers around the 'multiverse' as Vars had called it. Well, whatever the case was it stuck me into a stinky ol' decrepit place, probably condemned now. Well it wouldn't do to just sit here and stare at the walls. Lets get outside where I belong, get my bearings.

So I carefully begin to descend the staircase, still not wanting to alert anyone who might be in this house. Like the old lady, that was still on my mind too. On top of it all, the place was starting to give me the creeps.

The staircase is mostly sound, but you would not want to run up it.  And there is one step, the ninth from the top that creaks and crackles and settles under your foot so that you decide to bypass it.  It looked normal, but you might have fallen through on it.

At the bottom, you see off to your left a 1950's? era kitchen, with thin carpetting, and popcorn in the carpet.  In front of you is a huge double door, and to your right is an ornate door that is closed with the paint peeling.

There's a dirt and grime laden sheet of newspaper at your feet, which is only one of the pieces of junk filling the room.  Coke and Budweiser cans fill one corner of the room, and off to your right is a skeleton of a six foot long snake that looks as if it was heading toward the front door, and never made it that far.

PT

As I step off the stairs a thought crosses my mind. Something about a Verser popping into my living room and how frickin crazy that would be. I'm sure that the old woman was the tenent of this place, however, it now seems like it would be a little out of character with the popcorn mess and the beercans. Old women just don't do this. And my god, wtf is a skeletal snake doing here? If I'm not mistaken this has been the site of a recent party...

Propelled by this realization(I reallly enjoyed the parties in highschool but this was looking ridiculous and more than a little wild),  to the door I fly stepping over the snake. When I reach the it, I crack open the door to make sure that no one is milling about the outside grounds. Whoever is around here, was probably not the sort of people I would love to get to know a little better.

I then scan beyond the doorway.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:53, Wed 02 Nov 2005.

As you look outside the mansion, you notice that the yard is of a similar quality as the inside of the mansion, with a dark cobbled driveway leading up to the building.  Just outside the main doors is a small platform potmarked with pebbles; along the edges and the three or four stairs leading to the driveway, is an old-looking iron railing.  Besides that, there are merely a few trees dotted across the lawn here and there.  The lawn itself appears well-kept, but you easily notice a few patches of weeds.  While you can't see anything, you can swear you hear a car off in the distance.  The noise quickly fades away, however.

Off in the distance, behind several clumps of trees, you manage to catch a glimpse of a body of water.  While you cannot exactly tell the size of it from the angle you're at, you assume it's a bit larger than a pond.

OoC: I'm just slipping back into the reigns here.  ^_^

Thanks for keeping it going in my absence, PT.

The view outside is alright so I head out to take a peak around the place and maybe figure out where this place is. Before doing so though I grab that bit of newspaper I had come across. I take it outside with me so I can get a good look at it in the daylight. Sarcastically I think to myself, I have always been a sucker for the long walks by the beach. Though last one was more like a track, with big black cats no less.... sound of the car in the distance is bothering me immensely, Was it the old woman?

So I head in that direction. Maybe I will catch a glimpse of road or something else that seems likely to give me some direction. As I walk, I take a gander at the paper.

As you step outside the house, and read the paper, your mind begins to spin as you look at the date at the top of the first page.  It seems to scream at you, almost like a banshee's wail.  1971.  You blink a couple times to make sure it wasn't an illusion; the date is still there.  As you look over the front page, you notice that there are pictures in it that wouldn't be in most pictures.  Plane crashes with bodies strewn around, accidents at industrial plants where limbs have been mangled in machinery, and that's just the top half of the front page.  As you scan the lower areas of the page, you see that this trend is continued.  Giving a quick flip through the paper, you notice that destruction seems to be the prevelant theme.

As you flip through the paper, you come across the local section.  The attitude of this world becomes blatantly clear as you read it; the page is covered in morbid jokes, more photos of death, and perhaps one of the most disturbing things of all: a contest.  Not just any contest, a contest to see if "we can pass Washington DC as the Murder Capital of the Nation."

Your mind barely has time to take this in before you hear a dog growling.  As you look up, you see a large German Shepherd standing in front of you.  Its teeth are bared, and the guttural sound coming from it shows you it doesn't want to play "fetch."  As you look at the dog, your ears pick up the sound of the car again; it's still faint, but it's definetely growing louder, slowly but surely.

Two thoughts,
Sh*t!!!!! I've just landed in a world full of chainsaw masacre wannabees!........ooooh, and I have never liked huge dogs all that much, slips through my mind as I calmly reach both hands back. One to my pack where it searches out my package of beef jerky; the other unclipping my hatchet's holster, very carefully. The paper floats limply to the ground, as I back away slowly.

I am strained to my fullest sensory limit at the moment, my ears are wide-open listening to the sound of the car's approach and to the curdling growl of the canine in front of me.

The dog continues growling at you as your move your hands to your pack.  You pull out the beef jerky and raise it towards the dog.  As it sees and smells the food, it stops growling and begins wagging its tail at you.  It sits down on its hind legs and opens it mouth, anticipating the food.

The sound of the car continues to grow louder.

An oasis of relief washes over me as the dog begins to wag it's tail.
I tear off a good chunk and toss it to the dog. "There'll be more of that if youre a good doggy..." I whisper. Time to go back into the house I'm thinking. Who knows what that car has behind the wheel.

I scramble back into the house.
Inside I take a quick look around. Then bolt up the stairs, hopping over the ninth step from the top. As I climb I am careful to keep to the areas where there is more support, usually on the sides of them, and less creaking too. I wander if Aunt Jemima is back. She'd seemed nice enough.....but who can say for sure, and honestly I'm starting to think that the man with the Hummer was right about some things being worse than death.

Like being stuck in a murderworld.

Top of the staircase again. Okay, well lets see what is behind door number one.... I finish opening the half open doorway to the right of the stairs when I get to the top.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:09, Wed 02 Nov 2005.

After recieving his food and seeing you return to the house, the dog walks away, presumably to wherever he was before you entered the house.  You climb to the top of the stairs without incident and, despite what you hoped, there is no-one at the top of the stairs.  Shortly after you reach the top, you hear the car outside get louder rapidly.  As you look through one of the windows on the main floor, you see a green car pull up into the driveway.  The door opens and a man with rolled-up shirt sleeves and a sports jacket step out of his car.  He is of average height, and his face is relatively well-groomed.  Perhaps he isn't as psychopathic as the world in the newspaper appears to be.

As he gets out of the car, the German Shepherd runs up to him, wagging its tail.  The man reaches into a pocket and pulls out a treat.  Getting the dog to sit first, he tosses the treat to it before beginning the walk up the path to the house.  As you see him beginning to walk towards the house, you realize you have around ten seconds before he gets to the door.

I am not taking any chances.
After reading the paper, I am sufficiently unsettled. This guy coming in although he looks plainly enough is probably not the character I think he is, very deceptive this world seems to be. Probably not alot of good friends to be made here either, 'cept the dog. Now I couldn't rely on him for anything either.

I quickly look into the partly opened doorway at the top of the stairs just to see what's inside, before I jump in, it would just not do to be hiding in this guy's bedroom.

As you look into the room, you see an old wooden bed and a small table beside it.  By the size of the bed, you judge that it belonged to a young child.  The room is covered in dust, and you assume it hasn't been used in quite some time.  Having no other option, you jump into the room and hide behind the door.  You leave it open a crack, like it was before you entered.

The man walks up to the door and stands there for a second.  You faintly hear a jingling sound, presumably his keys.  As he enters the house, you see a surprised look over his face; he obviously expected the door to have been locked.  Mumbling something to himself, he walks over to a small panel near the door and takes a look at it.  As you look at it closer, you realize that it's the control panel for a burglar alarm.

Shrugging, the man turns around and begins to walk around the main floor.  There is a slightly concerned look on his face, and you notice his right hand is nestled inside his jacket.

Great, he's packing a gun.

I continue to watch with great interest as he moves around. At this point I have no choice but to wait him out. I did make some critical errors though. I didn't even know that they had burglar alarms in the seventies. Course this wasn't the seventies he was born into.

Hopefully he'll eventually just writes the whole locked door thing off. I can be a sneaky bastard when I wanna be though. I pay attention to the light and shadows that I throw off from the window in the room so that he won't notice movement around that door frame. I will pay attention to the creakiness that the individual boards make and do my best not to use those as footing. I do my best to find a vantage/position that won't cast any of those pesky shadows downstairs and continue to observe the man's habits. I'll know in just a little while what he's up to here, I'm sure of it.

Doing my best to minimize any noise made by me, I listen when he can't be heard and watch when I can't hear him.

The man continues to walk around the main floor.  As he walks, he pulls his hand out of his pocket; you see that he's carrying a mid-sized revolver.  He finishes checking the main floor and then begins to slowly climb the stairs up to the second floor, mumbling to himself.  Partially because of his volume, and partially because of an obvious Southern accent, you have to strain your ear to pick up what little he says.  While you don't hear it perfectly, you assume he's saying something along the lines of "stupid house, old pile of junk."

As he climbs, I quietly slide towards the corner behind the doorway. I want this to be quick and easy, if I have to do it.

I methodically move myself at the same time that I can hear the creaking of the stairway,moving with this man's own feet. That way if I do make a sound it will be covered by the man's own sounds and provide me the cover I need.

When I get into position behind the door, I simply withdraw my hatchet, flip it around as smoothly and quietly as possible, so that the blunt end is the end I will swing with. Then I wait.
If the man comes in and I see the gun, I will swing, aiming for his neck with the blunt side of the hatchet.....

The man continues to walk up the stairs.  He peers to the left before turning to his right and begins to walk down that way.  You lunge out with your hatchet, aiming for his neck.  Your hands have become moist with perspiration, however, and the hatchet slips slightly as you strike him.  You end up hitting him between his shoulderblades and knocking him down.  The man grunts and hits the ground, rolling to the side and pulling his gun up at you; he fires it off, and you feel a blaze of pain and heat blast through your right arm.  It's obvious what's happened, and the pain causes you to drop to your knees and the hatchet to slip from your fingers.  The man with the gun stands up, takes a couple of steps backwards, and points it at you.  "Wha... what the devil are you doing in this house!?"  The man's Southern accent, coupled with your pain, makes it hard for you to understand exactly what he's saying, but the message is clear enough.

OoC: Hey, sorry about that, but you got a set of unlucky rolls.  Thankfully, you got a half-decent roll at the last second and he didn't blow your head off.

*laughs*

Crap weasels!!!

I clutch at the torn arm, my mind reeling from the realization of the smell, heat, and amount of blood flowing from me. I've never been shot, though I've seen a few of the wounds they make. I try, I try hard to regain that hold on my otherwise organized thought process. To no avail.

"Aarrgghh, don't, don't shoot me", my hand flies up in my defense for a momen before the pain not having it clamped to my arm causes, "...I...didn't know anybody was here. You gotta help me....pleeez."

Somewhere in the part of my mind that is always calm and collected(way back there...), goddddd, that is pathetic.........he's gonna shoot you just because of principle nowww. Your like a wounded animal aren't you, ready to be put down...

The man with the gun relaxes a tiny bit, his stance becoming a little less tense. "Hey, hey there... I..." he continues talking, but his accent combined with the pain slurs his words to the point that they're incomprehensible.  "... mean, not know anyone here?"  He remains standing where he is, obviously still wary of you.  "Why," his voice trails off again for a couple of seconds, "-elp you?"

"I was surprised when you came in here....so I hid. Then you were walking around with a gun...." I hear these words spilling out of my mouth and I'm not sure if I'm really saying this stuff. "J,just lemme get a bandage on it....C,c'mon, do I look like a burglarr?.......I was just hiking around....aand saw this pplace. There's not even a car anywhere near this place to prove it....."

I can tell, because of my training that for every cup of blood that drops out of this wound in my arm, I am an inch closer to going into shock. Inside my head I can hear submariners saying, We're loosing pressure Captain, we've got a hull breach on decks 1,3,4........

This is not a good sign.

The man appeared to be thinking for a few seconds before answering.  "All right, fine."  He grabs your hatched and proceeds to cut off a section of your shirt and then wraps it around your wound, helping you to make a makeshift tourniquet.  "That'll do for now."  He kicks the hatchet down to the main floor and steps back again, still aiming his gun at you.  His accent once again slurs his word, but you manage to pick out "bullet... bone... over here..."  The man steps around you and walks over to the doorframe.  He picks at something at it and pulls it out of the frame; it's a crushed bullet.  "Go and..." a jolt of pain cuts off your hearing for a second, "... bandage better."

I stumble to my feet nodding that I understand, sort of. Still clenching the arm and wary of the gun trained on me. I do my best not to make any sudden moves. It all starts to seem like a crazy waking dream.

So down the stairs I go, trying to use the sides of the stairway's steps to avoid falling through. Then I let my pack slide off of my back, and I go in for the bandages in the first aid kit...slowly. I don't want to spook ol' Sling-blade over here. If he says anything about the bible......I'm outta here....

(OOC: Don't apologize for the rolls Goofball...this is fun!)

The man follows you down the stairs and watches you take the bandages out of your pack carefully.  He kicks the hatchet further away from you as he pulls up a chair and takes a seat roughly ten feet away from you.  You take out various bandages from your pack and begin to wrap your arm.  After a few layers, the bleeding appears to have stopped, or at least slowed down.  You realize that you'll survive this, albeit, your arm will hurt for a while.  After you finish bandaging your arm up, the man with the gun stands up and points to the front door.  "Come on," he says, "I'll give you a lift to town."  He stand up and begins walking towards the front door.  On his way, he grabs your hatchet and sticks it in his belt.

OoC: Okee-dokee.

^_^

Alrighty, that voice in my head says, I stand corrected.....oh man when you get to town though you are dead meat buddy...

I ignore that voice and try a smile and a nod of respect for the man's decision. I head towards the door. What about the dog? Well, I'd see what it was all about. The natural drugs that are kicking in about now are good ones and I start to feel a little giddy, hey, maybe things are going to be alright after all...

I open the door and experimentally step out, the dog will come rushing...3...2...1...My hand goes back to get him a treat from my jerky bag again, also slowly, just to make sure. In fact I think I might have piece myself.

The dog does run up, as you thought.  The man pets him and continues walking to his car.  "Haha, ol' Hugo here's a nice dog.  He's a little friendly to strangers, though, so that kinda limits him as a guard dog."  The man opened his door and motioned for you to get into the passenger side.  You do so, and the man proceeds to get the car out of the driveway and onto the road.  "The name's Bill," he said, his Southern accent thick yet somehow more managable now that the pain's gone away.  "Bill Smith, to be exact.  I'd be obliged to know what your name is."  He laughed.  "I was really expecting you to kill me there for a second, even after I shot you.  I stopped trusting people back in the summer of '72, but I suppose you're all right."  Bill whistled as he drove his car down the highway.

As I got into the car and listened to the man I got the feeling I had pegged him all wrong, letting my fears get in the way of proper judgement. His thoughts on me were essentially almost correct. I might've killed him, by accident at least, if he hadn't shot me. Though if I would've actually been a little more clear headed it wouldn't have gotten as messy as it had. One to chalk up to the ol'learning curve. I chuckle a bit when he says it though to put him at ease. I find that when I am exposed to an accent it quickly works it's way into my own vocabulary, "Name's McCallister, alot of my ol'friends call me Mac."

"Generally I don't make it a habit of meeting people that way, but I'm sorry that it came to that. I was pretty freaked out myself, I wasn't sure if you were gonna end it for me or not either," I said as they sped down the highway,"so what was it exactly that made you stop trusting people back in '72?"

Bill's face turned serious as he listened to your question.  "I..." he looked down for a few seconds.  "I don't like talking about it.  Let's just say I trusted someone, and it ended up bad."  His face returned to normal relatively fast.

The road whizzed by relatively fast.  As the car goes along, you see the body of water from earlier; it's a decently sized river.  "You're not from around here, are you?  Where are you from, Mac?"

OoC: Forget to mention this earlier, but I'm raising your skill in fast-talking.  I'm also going to be raising your first aid skill.  Finally (yes, another one, lol), I'm raising your tracking skill (from your previous world).  Yay for lucky rolls on your part.

I keep my eyes on the scenery and do my best to start mapping landmarks and where this road goes. "Is that why you live so far outside of town," I say reflecting on my own memories, "I'm sorry, you said you didn't want to talk about it anymore. I'm originally from up north," I repeat vaguely.

There are days when everything can be summed up with a word. Today is not one of those days...

So what is there to do in town, if ya don't mind my asking," I say attempting to change the subject. "I'm still pretty new to the area."

(OOC: Wow, nice, but you mean to tell me that I don't get a stealth bonus...lol ^.^)

"No, I just don't like the town that much.  A bit too much violence for my taste, honestly."  Bill continued to whistle as he drove.  "As to what to do in town, well, there are a couple pool halls and a bar, but that's 'bout it.  You just want to stay away from the gangs and you should have yourself a fun time."  As he drives, he becomes more agitated.  "I don't know why, but a big chill's come over my body all of a sudden."

A few seconds later, the car turns, following a curve in the highway.  As you continue to look at the scenery, Bill suddenly yells in surprise.  As you look up, you see another car veering straight towards your own.

You barely have time to take in what's happening before the sickening crunch of metal upon metal fills your ears.  The other car, a larger blue SUV, pushes Bill's car out of the way of its path and keeps on going, albeit with a totalled front end.  Inside the car, the entire left side has caved in.  Bill, whether through lack of intellegence or simply because he forgot, wasn't wearing a seatbelt.  As you look over at him, you see that he's been thrown the front windshield and is stuck halfway through.  His face is cut up badly, and there are glass shards stuck in him everywhere.  He gurgles slightly before becoming still.

Adrenaline fills your body as you attempt to take in what just happened.  As you check over yourself, you see that you have somehow managed to come out with merely some minor cuts and bruises; how, you don't know.

OoC: lol, nice try, but no  ;)

After blinking for a couple seconds and regaining my own composure. Thoughts, words and ultimately the teachings of my training provided me leapt to the foreground. I suddenly just start moving.

The first thing on the list is to call for more help, if he has a cell or something equally usable; a radio, ceebee, or something along those lines will work. As I look, I am trying to acertain if there is a chance that Bill is alive in any way, shape or form. After checking for his pulse, I weaken the the windshield further by smashing my side of it with my hiking boots. I do what I can to get out of the vehicle and make a quick assesment of whether the car is smoking, like it is on fire maybe. Whatever the case I leap onto the hood and cradling Bill's neck in the specialized fireman's carry, pull him through the windshield. Even though he's a heavy guy and I might end up busting my guts, I do what I can to move him away from the car and onto the grass. I position him so that blood will be moving towards his head and torso. At this point his feet aren't as important as his head and guts, so they are propped up.

The next few seconds will decide whether or not this guy'll ever regain consciousness. I know this and so after getting him positioned, I will scan his body for deep cuts and trauma, ripping off his shirt if I have to. The next thing to do was to get that chest of his moving again...the brain only needs two things: oxygen and sugar. I needed to supply the former.

During this period I go into what is known as conditioned movement. It's a weird place to be, but I don't really have any conscious thoughts other than my training. It was a learned behavior while I was riding with the ambulances, and it ended up making me one of those who could do the job and not be scarred because of what I was seeing.

You dig through his pockets, sadly finding nothing that could help you out.  You find his wallet, which you leave in his pocket.  You quickly scan over his body, checking the damage.  Most of it is superficial, however, there is blood coming out of his mouth and there are dozens of shards of glass stuck in his throat.  You tear pieces of his shirt off, removing the glass one at a time and holding the shirt in place to stop the bleeding.

After a few seconds of this, you take his pulse: it's weak, incredibly weak.  His breathing has become increasingly shallow and laboured.

You look back at the car and, thankfully, it isn't on fire anywhere.  You smell gasoline, however, and you guess that the impact ruptured the tank.

As you turn back to Bill, still desperately trying to save his life, you hear growling behind you.  Turning, you see half a dozen large dogs slowly walking towards you.  Right now they're around 30 feet from you, but their bloodlust is obvious.

I hate big feral dogs like Indiana hates snakes.......

"I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS S**T!" I scream at the top of my lungs, fumbling through Bill's jacket feeling for the revolver with one hand and keeping pressure on Bill's neck with the other. I hope this is enough to startle the canine beasts for a minute or dispatch them all together. I've never hunted because I have always felt sympathy pangs for the creatures and with my EMT training I also know what's happening to them. Dogs fit into a little different catergory though, crazy animals like these at least. They have succeeded in making me mad and more than a little scared all at the same time.

It stands to reason that self-defense is the only viable excuse for taking another life. You only half believe that though, the little voice is back and it sends doubts and little tremors through my hands as I fumble through his pockets. If all else fails there's my hatchet at least...

You find the gun within a few seconds and pull it out.  All six chambers have a round in them, but you aren't sure if Bill ever reloaded the revolver after he shot you or not.  The dogs begin to run towards you, and you aim and fire.  The first shot goes wiry, missing the dogs by a good 6 feet or so.

You steady your aim and take another shot...

This time, the bullet hits one of the dogs.  It yelps in pain as the bullet tears through its side.  It falls over onto one side; surprisingly, it continues to crawl towards you with what strength it has.  Quickly, however, the rest of the dogs descend upon it and begin tearing it apart.  With how they're eating, you see it's only a matter of seconds before the dog will be torn to shreds.

The dogs are roughly 20 feet away from you.  Fresh blood continues to pump out from Bill's wounds, which means he's still alive, at least for now.

OoC: When you cover up a swear, please do it like this: **** (i.e. no letters left uncovered).  And, when possible, try and find alternatives (i.e. in your last post, crap would've worked).

Counting the shell that went through my arm, I should have three shots left. Not enough to put all these doggies down. I have a really difficult choice here. So think through the choice here Mac...

On the one hand, I have a dying man here and no help coming. There are dogs over there that will 'take care' of the man if I let them. If I do that, I might be able to get away. At least back to that house. From there who knows what?

On the otherhand, I have a dying man here and no help coming. If I give those dogs a couple more fresh kills I won't have to worry about wether or not they get us. Once that happens, I might be able to drag Bill to the car use some bandages and get him at least more stabilized. Then go into town for help.

Yeah, that seems like the best way. I can't abandon Bill here....

I raise the pistol getting a little closer to the dogs. I know they are ravenous, but I only need to get close enough to take out another couple of them and I'm not about to waste another shot. I only want two more to go down. I respect the threat range of the dogs as well, so if they start to growl from getting to close, I take a step back.


(OOC: K, Sorry. I have the mouth of a sailor sometimes....*mumbles a prayer to MVgod* Don't strike me down!I promise I won't ever swear again if you help me get through this one...lol  -.-)

You slowly approach the dogs, keeping the gun steady.  Barely thirty seconds after they had started, the rest of the small pack has finished eating the easy bits of the dog you previously shot.  They turn to face you, preparing to charge yet again.

The gun roars, and a dog falls, its face ripped apart.  The remaining four dogs descend upon it voraciously, tearing pieces of it apart.  You take aim and fire again, and another dog drops from a wound to the neck.  The three dogs left ensure that it's dead and then continue tearing the flesh from your second kill.

OoC: lol, 'tis all good.

Okay new plan now that they are distracted for a bit longer....

The idea hits me like a ton of bricks. However I have to pop the trunk and take a quick inventory. First though I have to get Bill's wounds to stop shooting blood. So working as fast as possible I get my bandaging out and begin to wrap the wounds. To do this I use quite a bit of gauze, first wadding some cloth up and holding it to the wounds, then wrapping from neck to the opposite armpit and around back to the neck. I repeat this as much as possible. This method won't choke him and will keep the bandages against the wounds. Next I drag him carefully from the spot over to the car, where I will be doing my inventory taking. I am still making sure that his legs are propped up so that blood needed by his vitals are being forced by gravity to center in that area.

Next I go through the car. I check it thoroghly while keeping an eye on the dogs who if they get too close to Bill, I charge on with my hatchet I take from Bill's waistline. After getting anything important or useful out of the vehicle I pull Bill's body away again a fair distance and light the car on fire.

That will bring help and I won't have to leave Bill. No one can ignore smoke in the distance, someone will come.....and if all else fails I have that last shot to escape with.....like Vars said.

In the car, you find:

A 12-guage shotgun
A box of 50 shotgun shells (roughly half-empty ])
A box of revolver shells (totally empty, hmm...)
A sandwhich (ham+cheese)
A small baggie full of trail mix
A wool blanket
A small pillow
A bag of potato chips (salt and vinegar, bleh)
A bag of doggie treats

As you're attempting to wrap Bill's neck up, your hand slips and Bill wheezes as his airway is cut off for a second.  You manage to finish bandaging him up, however, and you don't think you did any major harm to him earlier.  His pulse is still fading, however, and you can barely feel it now.  If he doesn't get help within a couple of minutes, he'll most likely die.

You light the car on fire succesfully, the leaking gas making a nice fuse.  You misjudged the size of the explosion it would make, however, and you yell in pain as your shirt catches fire.  You roll around the ground a few times and it gets put out, but your chest is still burned decently.

By now, the wolves have finished with their comrades.  By some strange curse, they still look hungry, as they eye you through the haze of the smoke.  One of the wolves begins running at you head-on, and the other two break off in order to flank around you.

Well, apparently these wolves are okay with large fires, that really stinks for us Bill...Thanks for the shotgun though.

From my position by Bill's side, I pump the gun and take aim, bracing it against my armpit. I know that the kick on these things are bad, I also know that it only takes a decent aim to hit, instead of a perfect aim. They are however best at close range and maybe they will abandon their futile quest for blood if I take another of their numbers down with a boom that should scare the living daylights out of any wild creature.

As it gets closer, I fire.

(OOC: Probably not going to be able to get back on until later tonight, heading out for some winetasting...ooh yay!)

The shotgun roared, the kickback pushing your shoulder back.  It's relatively easy to control, however, and you suppose you may just have been lucky in how you're holding it.  The shot itself misses horribly: you hit the car at a strange angle, and the buck begans flying everywhere.  A couple of the pieces fly back and hit you in the leg, sending ribbons of firey pain up your side.

The dogs get scared by the loud noise for a second and pause, giving you a chance to reload.  They began charging in a couple of seconds, however, and you barely have any time to get the shot off.

The kickback seems a bit more forceful this time, probably because of the pain in your leg.  The shot is true this time: it literally tears the dog's head off of its body.  The dog collapses in the ground, twitching.

You barely have time to celebrate before you realize there's a dog charging at you on each side.  The one to your left is roughly 10 feet away and the one to the right roughly 15.

OoC: lol, have fun.  I like red wines, myself, never been big on them as a whole.  I've always liked rum a lot more.

^_^

You're a funny one, ya know.  You get good rolls on the stuff that doesn't really matter (finding stuff, bandaging yourself well, etc.), and then you do horribly when it comes to important things (i.e. shooting a charging dog).

I grab ahold of the gun's barrel, disgusted that I shot myself. I swing like a cleanup batter. Flat side and just go to town on 'em when they do their thing. These things didn't even have the sense to run after I blew their pack away. I guess food will drive some creatures to madness. I swing at them until I can get them to sit still. I am pissed and on top of it all, I burned my damn shirt....

(OOC: I too am a pirate at heart, Capt.Morgan's Silver...yum. Wine tasting was good though, I'm learning to refine my palette....lol. :P)

As the first one runs up to you, you give it a good, solid, thwap on the head.  It yelps and falls to the ground, skidding past you.  The second dog stops barely 5 feet from you, looks around a couple of times, and the runs away yelping.  The dog you hit before twitches a couple of times before it stands up weakly and runs away after its companion.

You put down the shotgun and breathe in deeply for a few seconds, calming yourself.  As you look around, you ascertain that all of the dogs are dead.  Now that they've been taken care of, you still have the problem of Bill to attend to...

You feel along Bill's neck, desperately searching for a pulse; you can't find one.  You grab his wrist, none there.  Feeling the side of his head, you search for the temple...

... no pulse there, either.

I start performing CPR right away.

I need to get that heart to remember how to pump, and the only way to do that is to get some oxygen in there. So I keep trying for as longs as I can, hoping for the best.

Bill happens to be my lifeline in this world, I can't let him die just yet. I am at once both relieved that the dogs are gone but dread begins to descend on me as I think of what's gonna happen to me if I can't get this red neck breathing again. Whether I I realize it consciously or not, I am really scared of losing the guy that happens to think that the city is too violent. In this place it might be the only friend I'll ever have.

(OOC: Come on big rolls, no whammy, no whammy, STOP! I loved that ol' game show...)

You put your ear by his mouth, checking just in case he's breathing; he isn't.  You immediately put your mouth over his and pinch his nose shut, sealing the air you're blowing in.  His lips are cold, and you're worried if you've already lost him.  After emptying your lungs, you get off of him and begin chest compressions.  After completing the set, you check to see if he's breathing yet.

He isn't.

Your repeat the CPR two more times before checking again.  Bill still isn't breathing.

Roughly 30 seconds have passed since you discovered his pulse had gone away.

You continue at it, not wanting him to die.

6 more repitions later, you check again.  By some miracle, you hear him breathing slowly.  You check his pulse: it's weak, but there, chugging along.

OoC: You got a 13, then a 12, then an 11.  Hmm... I think the dice were telling me to keep him alive.

lol

Whew! I wipe the beads of sweat from my brow.

I grab the wool blanket and cover him tightly. Replacing the bandage when necessary. Now begins the wait. Either help will come or it won't. In the latter case I'll have to drag him home. I look around outside to take in my surroundings. I dig out my pocket watch and wind it up, setting it to whatever Bill's watch says, and start monitoring him every five minutes. I give him soem water and I chew up some of the beef I have left and put it into his mouth turning his head sideways to keep him from choking on it. It's the most gross thing I had to learn in mountaineering camp.

I almost forgot myself too. I take out another flanel shirt and change it for my burnt one. I make sure to bundle up too and check my leg out and stop any more bleeding.

Bill's breathing and heartbeat slowly return to slightly more normal standards, but it's obviously incredibly laboured.

Time passes, and it seems as though people don't really care for huge smokestacks around here.

Finally, though, you hear a car coming up the road.  You take a look at your watch: it shows 3:26.

A couple minutes later, the car pulls up.  It's an average-sized yellow convertable with four teens (two of each sex) in it.  The car pulls up to you and the guy driving hops out.  "Hey, buddy, what's happened?"  He's smiling as he says it, his hands behind his back.  His friends get out of the car and lean against it.

"Hey, this guy needs help. We got into a doozy of an accident," the words spill out of my mouth,"do you think you guys could take us to the hospital?"

As I say this stuff, I begin to understand that they may not care one wit. Their smiles are telling me they think this is kinda funny. It's a yellow convertible though full of curious teens. Maybe just maybe.....

"Yeah, sure thing, let's take a look at him."  The teen, who's apparently the leader of the group, walks up to you and kneels down.  He looks at Bill carefully.  "My, oh my, it seems as though he's in a bit of rough spot, now doesn't it?  Well, let's see what we can do here."  In the time it takes you to blink, a switchblade has appeared in the teen's hand and he's holding it above Bill's throat.

"Give us everything you have or he dies."  As you look up, you see the other three teens have pulled pistols out on you.

"What're ya doing this for?" I say between clenched teeth, "Does it look like I have anything you want? Everything I have is right here...."

I'm stuck in the middle of now where and have the pistol in my own pocket, but that one is for me, or maybe this guy. I have to do something, I can't just let them walk all over me like this and take everything. DiVars was a pretty cool guy, if I were him what would I do?.....

I leap at him as he's leaned over the guy diving across Bill tackling Leaderboy. A moment later my own pistol is lodged into the back of his neck, my other hand is going to my considerably larger survival knife. If there was going to be a struggle that would be where I end it. If he moves I decorate the ground with his brains. "Don't try anything," I tell him, "if you're looking forward to seeing prom night. Tell your friends to put their guns down."

Your attack surprises him, and he drops his gun.  The other teens obviously don't hold an incredibly high regard for their "leader," as they keep their guns trained on your two.  "Hey!"  The one you're holding yelled out in frustration.  "What the **** are you guys doing?  Drop your ****ing guns!"  The other teens smiled, and then one of the girls replied: "No.  Good-bye, Alex."  She fired her gun, hitting him square in the chest.

The force of the shot caused you to become unsteady on your feet, and you fell backwards, Alex on top of you.  "Now," said the girl who had just killed one of their own.  "Give us everything you have."

The one thing that makes me a really dangerous person is that I know what wounds will do the most damage without necessarily killing. I understand sorta like my conditioned responses with my EMT training, that I have no time to be shocked at this point. It's down to do or die. My training is still working overtime in this scenario seeing a well placed shot.

My gun comes up and under Alex's armpit and since they are fairly close, I let one go at this girl. The spot I'm aiming for is her stomache, she won't die but it'll keep her from moving a whole lot because of the pain. Which she would feel all the way around her midsection and mostly in her back because of the sudden weakening in her stomache musculature. Not to mention the liquification of her intestines. In the confusion that will probably follow I grab for Alex's gun on the ground too still using him as my meat shield.

Your bullet is true: it hits her square in the stomach.  The girl falls to her knees, clenching her get.  "You *******!  You'll pay for that!"  The two teens that are still standing begin peppering Alex's corpses with rounds.  The bullets strike his corpse, forcing it onto you.  The pressure hurts your arm, but you don't get hit by any of the bullets.  You being firing back, aiming to drop them both without killing them.

You fire at the guy that's still standing and a bullet grazes his leg.  His face grimaces in pain, but he continues standing.  He hobbles to the back of the car and opens the trunk, but from your angle you can't see nor shoot at him.  The last girl standing in your firing range empties her clip at you, one of the bullets striking your leg; you can't tell exactly, but the pain's on the side of it so you think the injury might not be anything major.

You continue firing off Alex's gun.  One of the bullets hits the teen in the knee, and she falls, screaming in pain.  The one who had previously gone to the trunk of the car appears back in your view; he's carrying a large shotgun, and doesn't hesitate in firing.  The blast rips apart Alex's corpse, virtually tearing him in half.  A few of the pieces of buck hit your gut and go in an inch or so.  While the pure amount of damage is relatively low, the pain shoots up your side and causing you to yell out.

Seeing he hit you, the teen begins to slowly walk towards you.  He cocks the shotgun and a shell falls out of it, a new one taking its place.

"See we're in a difficult place you and I...I have been shooting to survive. You on the otherhand have been only trying to take what's mine. Aren't you going to be disappointed if I don't have anything worth taking?" I say to him as I seeth on the pain, "I mean do want this guy's blanket? Or my empty wallet? Maybe you want the change of clothes in my backpack....I doubt I have anything worth value to you."

I toss the gun down to the dirt. Behind Alex's torn body is my survival knife though and I intend on using it when he comes to check on my stuff. The best place to stick a knife, were I the sort to do so, would be straight into the guy's right armpit. It would cut a major arterie and puncture his lung. I'm not that sort of person though, so I will only go for the middle of his spine...

"Here," I toss my pack to the ground next to me, "you win."

The kid with the shotgun relaxed a tiny bit, thinking he might have won.  He slowly walks towards you and then kneels down, inspecting your supplies.  You take the opportunity to jump forward and attempt to stab him.

Unfortunately, your wound decided to pick that moment to flare up, and then pain caused you to crumple over.  The teen jumped up from his crouching position and looked over at you.  "What the **** do you think you're doing!?"  He took a couple of running steps and kicked the knife you're holding away.  A sickly cracking sound emminates from your hand, and you think he may have broken a finger or two of yours.

"Okay, okay..." the teen put his hand on his head and began walking in slow circles.  "Now what am I supposed to do wit ya?  HUH?  WHAT!?"  He's obviously gotten overpumped on adrenaline, and possibly another drug.

OoC: You finally got a good roll where it mattered!  You survived getting your head blown off immediately by 1, congratulations!  But then you utterly bombed trying to stab him... but then you got a great roll for him not blowing your head off again!

¬_¬

"Well you really have to think about that don't you," I say, the pain making tears well up, but the adrenaline in my own body giving me a strange kind of calm, "your friends are dead or dying...and you don't seem all that interested in my stuff. You could just get in the car and drive away, or you could shoot me and drive away. Really the choice is yours, but the end result is the same."

I let myself fall into the dirt bloody and torn. If you get out of this I'll be surprised.

"Or maybe you just hand me that shotgun over there and I'll finish what you started myself."

"Ya know what?  You're right.  I like option number 2."  He cocked the shotgun and pointed it at your face.  "Buh-bye, *****!"  You close your eyes, preparing for the end.

The gun clicks...

... nothing.

"WHAT THE **** IS GOING ON!?"  You hear the teen yell.  He furiously cocks the shotgun repeatedly, attempting to load another shell in.  You see Alex's pistol lying next to you...

EDIT: Forgot the knife had been kicked away for a second there.  :P
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:19, Wed 09 Nov 2005.

I mouth a silent prayer and grab the gun firing it into his guts as well. I don't take kindly to that sorta talk. Somebody needed to teach these kids some manners. Apparently only learned with some scar tissue.

Then when I can muster the strength to rise, I will take that shotgun from him along with all the pistols and knives. I will take their wallets and any cash will go into Bill's monery clip. The rest of the contents, after some perusal(that's a mighty fine way to get some info on this world...) I will toss whatever's left into the burning car. After gathering what's mine, I'd then let them fend off some dogs, and wait for help alongside the road. As I drive off in search of the mansion again in my new yellow convertible, with Bill riding shotgun of course, reclined.

None of that had happened just yet though, so I pulled the trigger, aiming for a nasty gut shot again.


OOC: that wouldn't have been so bad...lol, I could've used that...

The gun booms, the force of the bullet shaking up your arm.  The teen with the shotgun lets out a cry of pain and falls to his knees, dropping the shotgun.  He holds his stomach tightly, swearing his head off at you.

You stand up weakly, blood pouring from your gut.  You pick up the kid's shotgun and look at it; the idiot had only put one shell into it: the one that's in your gut right now.  Procrastination has finally paid off for you, it seems, too bad it was someone else's.

You gather their pistols and knives.  Each one of them had a Beretta 9mm and a spare clip, plus a switchblade.  You search through their wallets and find $250 in cash.  That brings your total amount of cash (including Bill's and what you had originally) to roughly $400.

In their car, you find various tools: half a dozen different screwdrivers, a slim jim, and a crowbar.  You also find a blue T-Shirt that's roughly your size.  The car itself is relatively neat, and you just half to gather a few blank pieces of crumped paper (with grease stains on them) to empty the car out.  You check the glove box and find a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter.

OoC: I'm raising your skill with pistols.  Also, if you want to find out info, you gotta ask the questions.

;)

I pile everything into the vehicle and drag Bill over to it puttinghim in the backseat as carefully as possible. I grab the shirt off of the kid who went a little cuckoo and use it to insulate Bill's neck. After looking through the wallets I check out what sort of cards are inside, picture IDs and so forth. The useless things such as purses and the emptied wallets go into the burning car. I then use the prom queen's shirt to sop up my own bloodiness. Once everything is packed up and ready to go, I take off for the Mansion once again.

(OOC: Since I don't know what sort of things are found in a wallet of this world, I wasn't sure what to ask for and didn't want to exclude anything that maybe of some import.

Inside the wallets, you find little more than used chewing gum wrappers.  In the purses, you find normal "feminine" products.

You finish packing everything you think is useful and take off for the mansion.

The ride is smooth and easy-going, and you don't encounter anything noteworthy along the way.  You arrive back at the mansion and pull Bill out of the car, dragging him up the path.  Hugo appears, almost out of nowhere, and walks up to you, whimpering.  He paws at Bill, possibly wondering what's wrong.

OoC: Oh, okay.

I give Hugo a doggy treat and once Bill is situated in the house, I go out and pull the yellow car around back of the house to hide it the best I can, keeping the keys in my pocket. Then I unload what I found and bring it inside for inspection.

After I do that I check on Bill, give him a bit of water and change the dressings on his neck. I pop a couple of the nutritional/vitamin pills from my pack into his mouth and wash it down with some more water. After seeing him taken care of I dress my own wounds and change my arm bandage.

Once finished I take my flashlight and look around this mansion, as I hadn't gotten the chance to before. First checking the kitchen area to take stock of food and other survival tidbits like running water.

You dress your wounds, taking care with your gut.  The shot isn't in extremely far, and you manage to (you think) take it all out.

Bill is lying comfortably, his heartrate still a little laboured, but his breathing is more relaxed than it was a while ago.

You enter the kitchen and look in the fridge.  Its light bulb is burnt out and there's little more than a carton milk.  You sniff it and cringe; the best-by date is May 1st, 1970.  You toss it back in the semi-cold fridge, sure that there's something in the carton that wants to jump out and eat you.

You go to the taps and try them: black water pours out, cleaning the gunk.  After about 10 seconds, relatively clean water comes through.  You taste some with the tip of your tongue and it seems all right.

The rest of the kitchen isn't noteworthy.  There are a couple cupboards, but they're both entirely empty.

I fill the canteen and take a bit more to Bill, checking on him once again. After seeing all the good stuff in the kitchen I slump to the floor exhausted by the day that never seems to end through two worlds no less. I take some ibuprophen and sip some water myself and down a vitamin c tablet. I guess we're gonna be porking out on PB sandwiches for a while Bill....at least you have ammo and there's gotta be game around, so that I don't have to go into town. Oh, well....I just can't believe that I walked away from all that today...kinda makes me feel good about myself.

After laying down for a minute, I feel pretty good again, though wether it's the Ibuprophen kicking in or just plain resting for a second, I'm not too sure. I get up and start taking a look around the main floor too looking in all the rooms to be sure.

The first room you enter is bleak, with walls darkened to the point of unrecognizability.  There is a small TV (most likely black and white, judging by its appearance) and a couch.  The floor is littered with popcorn that's who-knows how old.  You exit the room and move along.

You enter the third and final room on this floor.  Inside is a nice-looking wooden desk, an easy chair, some fishing rods, and a typewriter on the desk.  Along the walls are several bookcases.  As you look at the bookcases, you glimpse over the titles.  Many of the books appear to be area history, and many of them are occult speculation.  There are dozens of other topics covered in the bookcases, but none really interest you.

There is a large, sturdy rug placed strangely in the corner of the room.  On the desk is a stack of parchment paper.

Bill, Billl, Billl......what were you working on here?

First I go to the desk, and take a look at the parchment that is lying in stacks. Then I peek through the books on area history, looking through for any bent corners or bookmarks, it might give me an idea of what he was researching. I repeat this with the occult books to find some theme to Bill's solitude in this old mansion.

I sit down in the easy chair and peruse until it's time to go and check on Bill once again.

You look at the parchment.  It appears to be an unfinished novel.  The first page seems to be autobiographical in style.   You take a look at the books about area history.

They're what you'd expect, really, from this kind of place.  The books talk about how the plantation you're own, owned by the Graydon Family, was very prosperous back in the 1860s.  The rest of the books are your standard everyday history books: boring and full of useless information.

You then move on to the books on the occult.  They're filled with various theories on ghosts, spirits, necromancy, and the dead.  Apparently, whoever bought these books had a really big thing about ghosts.

You sit down on the easy chair, milling through the latest book you picked up.

I read a few pages of Bill's autobiography, I am specifically looking for some kind of decription about the summer of '72, maybe talking about the incident that took place and made him not trust others. Something he had mentioned earlier before the accident. I don't know why I'd be interested in it save that it must have changed Bill quite a bit and this is only hypothesis, but that it may be the reason that he's holed himself up here in this old mansion. Beyond that, I'm not sure.

I take a good look at any of the books that might describe the Graydon family in more detail. Noting any servants or such. I'm just interested in figuring out if that old woman who helped me get up might have ties to this place, maybe distant relatives. You already know what you think you saw Mac. Considering the books that are around here......you know.

You take a look at the unfinished book.  Apparently, it isn't Bill's autobigraphy, or anyone's at all!  The novel is about a man writing a novel!  When you realize this, you look at it slightly strangely before reading the next couple pages.  During the first few pages, you learn that the main character is a rationalist, dismissing the strange superstitions and strange customs of the locals.

You put the book down, and attempt to find a book that explains the Graydon family in more detail.  You find a book, where you learn that, inn 1862, the Graydon Family holds the plantation.  North of the manor in the Camp Woods is a Southern prisoner of war camp filled with Union prisoners.  There were many slaves on the plantation, who were worked hard but fairly.

The information barely scratches the surface of your questions, but it doesn't appear like any of the books here will answer all of your questions.

So the question of Bill's life would remain elusive for now. Now it was time to go and check on him. I get up and feel the weariness of the really long day, and decide it's time for me to keep checking this place out. So first things first go and check on Bill, then lock the front doors as I had seen Bill do and then tak a look up the stairs and find anything useful there too.

You exit the room and walk over to Bill: his heartbeat's normal but his breathing is still laboured.  His throat may have been damaged a bit more than you think; he may survive without one, but a hospital would be his best bet.

You go up the stairs, taking care to avoid the weak one.  You look at the first room; it's the one you hid in from Bill.  You move to the next room and look in: newspapers cover the floor, and it looks as though freshish paint has covered the walls.  You step into the room and look at the walls; underneath the paint, barely hidden at all, are the words "I hate this house" etched into the wall.  As you look around the room, you realize that the phrase has been drawn all over the wall: virtually every square inch of the room is covered in it.

This is one creepy place and I can now see the reason why Bill might be interested in clearing out the 'bad energies' of a house....

I needed to find a phone and a phone book. That was the next goal. If there were other rooms that I hadn't checked out on the top floor, that would be the place to start looking because Bill's survival depended on it.

You exit the room and continue down the hall.  The next room you enter is virtually identical to the room you had hid in earlier from Bill, except that the bed is slightly larger.  You continue down the hall and enter the last room.  Here, there's a large double bed.  It appears to be the master suite.

You walk around, noticing that everything in this room (as is the rest of the house) is totally covered in dust.  As you walk around, you notice a picture on the mantelpiece.  You walk up to it and take a look.

There are three children in the picture.  The oldest boy seems to look as though trouble may be brewing; the middle girl looks out with strange, eery eyes; and the littlest girl is hugging her teddy bear incredibly close, to the point where if it was a person, the person would be struggling to breath.

Sadly, you cannot find a phone anywhere on the upper floor, and you don't remember noticing one on the main floor.

Okay, this place is definitely starting to get to me.

There's got to be something more to it though. Suddenly I remember that suspiciously sturdy rug...I head downstairs hopping over the nearly broken stair. I meant to do that earlier but in my sleepiness I must've forgotten. Sleep, I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to accomplish that in this house. The strange thing is that at this point, I'm more scared of the people of the town than this old house. I bet with some tools though I could really fix this place up though. Make a nice little commune and invite some peace loving hippies, living happily ever after...

I go into Bill's study and lift the rug up.

The rug is slightly coarse yet soft, definetely not a cheap rug.  As you pull the rug up, you hear a piercing scream coming from the main lobby; it's a woman's scream, and it doesn't sound very sweet.  As you listen, you hear a sickening thud sound coming from the lobby.

What now?!?!.......

I run as fast as I can to the front room, where I've lain Bill. The source of the scream should be out here.

God, I hope that someone hasn't killed Bill. How on earth could a woman get in here without a key? More importantly why would someone be out here unless it's to steal or pillage this place further?

You run into the room and look around.

Bill is still lying there soundly, not looking affected by the scream at all.  As you look around, you notice that everything seems to be exactly the same as it was; not even the dust on the floor appears to be disturbed.

What is this? Some kind of joke.....is there someone outside perhaps?

I can feel some of the adrenaline starting to flow through my veins again and my heart begins to beat louder in my ears. I walk to the door and peek outside. That failing to notice anything, I pop back inside and look around some more. I shout through my cupped hands, "ANYBODY HERE?"

The house is silent, brooding.  Bill stirs in his sleep and coughs, some blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

A bit of dust shakes itself loose from your voice, and it slowly sifts downwards from the roof.

Cool...its just me.

Time to give Bill some more water and check his vitals again and cover him in the cotton blanket. What a weird place. Though, he was now a 'verser', he could face any kind of strangeness, after learning that. I think I should do some picture taking of this room, would'nt it be great if I was the first person in history to have real proof of hauntings. Either that or I'm going insane which is a strong possibility.....

After taking a couple shots with the camera I go back to the Bill's study to lift that rug up again and see what's down there.

Bill's vitals have weakened slightly since you last checked.  It's apparent that, without a hospital, his chances of surviving are relatively low.  You figure that there's most likely some glass stuck in his throat somewhere you can't see, and it's possible there's more internal damage to his head than is apparant.

You go back into the study and lift up the rug again.  An incredible feeling comes over you like someone's watching you.  You're so sure of it you can almost feel the person breathing on your neck.

Under the rug itself is just a continuation of the rest of the floor.

Well, I guess it's time to go to the hospital. I can't leave Bill barely hanging on here. It's time.

I take him to the car and load him in ever so carefully. I like this guy and so i take extra care to make sure I don't accidentally smash his arm in the door. Then I head into the car myself and start it up. I'm assuming that the town is down this road and so hopefully there will be a few signs to let me know where to go.

Bill grunts in his sleep as you bring him to the car.  You start the car up and pull out of the driveway.

You drive down the road, signs pointing you in the same direction as Bill was previously driving.  As you drive along, you realize that you're coming up to where you had the gunfight.

Strangely, you notice that all the teens are gone.  No sooner have you noticed this than bursts of gunfire lance out from the side of the road, taking out your tires.

The car begins controlling itself, and you barely manage to keep it from rolling.  You manage to stop the car, and as you look up, you notice a dozen teens or so advancing towards the car holding either large pistols or small submachineguns.

I bring the guns to bear and start firing back in surprise.

They were looking suprisingly healthy for a bunch of wounded teens. Where did these new people come from? Were they pissed off about me taking their car? How would I get bill to the hospital now?
This message was last edited by the player at 22:25, Wed 23 Nov 2005.

Your shotgun roars, and one of the teens falls down grasping his leg.  He curses you and fires weakly in your direction as he pulls himself back to cover.

"You killed her!  You killed her, you *******!"  One of them yells as he runs at you flailing a knife wildly.  You put a slug into his gut and he flips backwards into the dust.

The other teens, obviously not expecting you to fight back, take cover behind various trees and bushed along the side of the road.  A couple of them duck behind a car parked at the side.

Ha, ha....they're using Bill's vehicle to hide behind!

I spin the wheel and hit the gas. Despite the blown tires, it'll move, just not fast or well. At this point I just wanna get the heck outta this situation. So I try to keep my head low and keep my self on the road. I have to get my charge to the hospital or this will all be for nothing. I know that for me death is much less dramatic than for Bill, but I have to try.

A couple teens dive out of the way as you begin driving the car again.  The two blown out tires screech as the metal scrapes along the road, and it's hard to handle, but you manage to keep the car relatively straight as you pick up speed.

Bullets ping against the back of your car as you drive, and soon the teens jump into their own cars that were hidden behind the bushes.

Two cars; both obviously faster than yours.  Three teens in each car are firing at you as you drive down the road.  The rear window breaks apart, and you duck your head as bullets fly through the windshield.

As I duck to avoid the bullets I swerve a bit to attempt to shake them.

"WHAT THE SMEG!! GET OFF OF ME!" I yell at them as they shoot out the windows. I think to myself through the exploding windows and fog of sleep dep, why are they so crazy here? It's like Mad Max out here......yeah....what would Max do?

I whip out my gun and spend a few shells out the window in each direction to get try to get them to drop the tail.

Your shots roar out, making you thankful for the open windows in your car, and you hear what you think is a couple impacts, and a bit of a brake squeal, but then a Vroom lets you know they've regathered their maniac determination to do you in.

You're racing down the highway, a two-lane narrow thing between trees with no siderails or shoulders wider than two feet, and you've gained on them just a bit as you roar around a tiny corner, a mere five percent turn...of course with the the thick undergrowth thats still a bit of a blind turn.

About fifty feet in front of you, you see a ninety degree to the left turn, and beyond that a large drop-off with no blocking trees, and a long way away the sparkle of water.  There's a river down there, just waiting to swallow you.

"Dead Man's Curve." You hear your passenger moan, and then seemingly subside.

PT

"Whoa," I say glancing at Bill's momentary wakefulness, a bit surprized.

A plan begins to form in my mind....

....It might be a stupid plan, but it was something and not enough time to rethink it.

I begin to slow the car down a bit as I pull into the leftmost lane, just enough to let my pursuers believe that I might slow down enough for them to come up beside me or stop altogether. Maybe just ahead of the pursuer on the left.

Pending I can lure them that way, I'm gonna try to use them as a bumper between me and the side of the cliff....I pick up some speed when they decide to take the chance.

As you pull over, you hear the tires screech, and your car wavers a bit as you fight it back into control.  You're going faster than you knew, nearly sixty miles per hour. And you realize they already had a plan...you don't slow down fast enough, and go over the edge of Dead Man's Curve, and into the river.

You think that you should be able to stop if you hit the brakes full force, yeah, almost certainly...but then a car rams you in back...maybe you can get around the "left-angle" curve...maybe you can do...

PT

I throw the wheel to the left in vain hope that I might be able to get the motorized beast to obey. I put the pedal to the metal, except the brake instead of the gas and hopefully, spin the car around slightly uphill and (fingers crossed) on a ninety degree angle going left...

I just hope this thing is front wheel drive. Course, four wheel drive would be nice too...

Front wheel drive? This is the Seventies, and its not an AMC.  Rear-wheel drive.

You wobble the car, and then try to skid it into the turn, and you're sliding sideways down the road, almost about to flip on your side, and you come to a halt.  You're facing the right direction, you made your ninety degree turn, but the back right wheel is hanging over the edge of the cliff.

The other two cars have skidded to a haltabout twenty feet from your driver's side, and they seem to behanging out their windows, cheering for the cliff to take you, but in about a few seconds, you figure they're going to get impatient, in fact, already one driver is yelling at his buddies and girlfriends to get back in the car...

PT

I smirk and gun the gas pedal; the blokes I stole this car from left it shiny and in one piece and I didn't mind trashing it to save Bill's life. I grabbed the gun from my lap and opened up on the malevolent kids. If I could even take them down by one or two members it might help Bill and I survive this encounter.

What had happened to me? Only this morning I was so reverant of life. Now it seemed this violent world had worked it's magic on me too...Forcing me to succumb to the killer inside me.

You slam on the gas, and the car zags to the left, and then as the tire bits to the right, over-correcting you find yourself spinning in place with your  both your back tires, and half the car over the edge which crumbles like dry cheese underneath your car.

Its..tipping...the river is about fifty feet beneath you down an almost vertical cliff dotted with small trees, but nothing likely to catch the sheer massive weight of this car.

One of the other cars that came forward in a screech to try to shove you off the road misses their target since you've moved forward a bit, and despite slamming on their brakes you see them barrel on past you.  As you look to your left into the driver's eyes, he looks back at you, both of you aware that this is the last thing he will see on Earth.

No, he doesn't have a seatbelt on, because that would crinkle his shirt.

PT

My weary muscles ache from the tension, but I reach over and grab Bill, lying in the seat next to me. I pull him with me out the side door. I'm not a weight lifter so doing it one handed is probably difficult, but I try nevertheless. With my other hand I pop open the car door and as soon as its open my face scrunches with concentration and I bring my weapon to bear and fire. I'm going for the first imposing force I come across. I drag Bill, the best that I can over to their car, unloading my weapon as I go.

A single thought is driving me, get my friend to a hospital.

You drag Bill out as the car settles further, and the brushing of the door against his leg almost drives him from your hand, and wrenches your shoulder. A dozen more steps, and down the tunnel of your concentration you see someone with a gun.

Bam!Bam!Bam!

He's down, and you've not slowed in your trek.  A bullet whips by you, and across from the car you approach, from the far side door someone is lining up a shot.

Bam! Their head explodes.

You walk around to the driver's side, and notice the car is empty.  The back door is swinging open, and the pelting of tennis shoes fades in the distance.  You drive. It seems to take forever. And you nearly fade out right as you head up to a bridge.

But slapping your face, and gritting your teeth, you press on into town. With some worry, faint, but still there, you note that your breathing is growing harder, and you see the lower half of your shirt is red.

It hurts. Suddenly. A lot.

Driving like a drunk, grazing cars, you get the car up to the emergency room door, and as attendants rush out of the doors, you pass out....

PT