Sunday, February 3, 2013
No Time
Fuck.
I just... fuck.
Christina's dead. She was the third one this whole time. I honestly never expected that. When I was going over to the laptop, she pulled out a dowel rod from the work room in the back of the mansion and started choking me. The schoolteacher tried taking her off of me, but Christina threw her against a wall. Randall took out a kitchen knife and began stabbing her in the back.
Finally, she let go of me, and from there it was easy to finally put her out of her tortured last moments.
Then when Randall looked at what he just did, he did the most fucking stupid thing I've ever seen. He slit his own throat. I guess he just realized he took part in aiding what he thought was a murder, and it may have gotten to him. Still a rat bastard thing to do. I passed out for thirty minutes. The battery's almost dead.
...it's just the schoolteacher and I. She says her legs are broken and I'm too fucking weak to do anything now. If either of us is possessed, the other can't do jack shit about it.
Agent Mandale
I just... fuck.
Christina's dead. She was the third one this whole time. I honestly never expected that. When I was going over to the laptop, she pulled out a dowel rod from the work room in the back of the mansion and started choking me. The schoolteacher tried taking her off of me, but Christina threw her against a wall. Randall took out a kitchen knife and began stabbing her in the back.
Finally, she let go of me, and from there it was easy to finally put her out of her tortured last moments.
Then when Randall looked at what he just did, he did the most fucking stupid thing I've ever seen. He slit his own throat. I guess he just realized he took part in aiding what he thought was a murder, and it may have gotten to him. Still a rat bastard thing to do. I passed out for thirty minutes. The battery's almost dead.
...it's just the schoolteacher and I. She says her legs are broken and I'm too fucking weak to do anything now. If either of us is possessed, the other can't do jack shit about it.
Agent Mandale
Mandatory Post
I'm posting this because I'm being told to. I don't like it. Hell, I don't even see why this is necessOKAY, MA'AM. Jesus. Okay, so it's me. Randall... the lawyer. Again. In case you forgot. I exist.
Yep.
Okay, is that all? What do you want me to do, write my life story?
...fuck, you're serious. Fine. Jesus, fine. I was born in 76. My family sucked, so I became a lawyer.
Happy? What!? More in depth? Fuck you two, man. Fuck. You. Two. Why don't you tell your own backstories, then? ...fine, whatever.
My name is Randall. I was born September 19th, 1976. I was born in an apartment outside of Chicago. My family was... I guess you could say they weren't the best of people. My father, specifically. He was an attorney. Not a good attorney. He was a defense attorney and stooped pretty low when it comes to his clientelle. He also practically abandoned my sister and I. Not quite- but he was never there. All around me, there were the kids, boasting about what they did with their fathers. Then, sometimes, when I was fairly rowdy, or he thought I was, he pulled out a rubber mallet, and crushed my pinky fingers. "Next time," he always said, "Next time, I'm going to cut it off, and I'm going to keep cutting until you have a stump for a hand, and nobody in the land could convict me. I'm that good a fucking lawyer, so you better keep your trap shut."
My mother was caring, but she was too afraid of nature to go outside. Once she said that if she went out, the mites would infest her hair, eat her eyes, and drain her blood. Either way, she wouldn't teach me what my dad could about nature. My dad was a boy scout, a pleasure I never got to experience.
Now onto the shitty ass time I call Law School-
fine.
But I'm finishing my story later.
Well, apparently I'm "wasting battery life", but I guess I'll finish this up when I can. Okay, which one of you two are next?
Yep.
Okay, is that all? What do you want me to do, write my life story?
...fuck, you're serious. Fine. Jesus, fine. I was born in 76. My family sucked, so I became a lawyer.
Happy? What!? More in depth? Fuck you two, man. Fuck. You. Two. Why don't you tell your own backstories, then? ...fine, whatever.
My name is Randall. I was born September 19th, 1976. I was born in an apartment outside of Chicago. My family was... I guess you could say they weren't the best of people. My father, specifically. He was an attorney. Not a good attorney. He was a defense attorney and stooped pretty low when it comes to his clientelle. He also practically abandoned my sister and I. Not quite- but he was never there. All around me, there were the kids, boasting about what they did with their fathers. Then, sometimes, when I was fairly rowdy, or he thought I was, he pulled out a rubber mallet, and crushed my pinky fingers. "Next time," he always said, "Next time, I'm going to cut it off, and I'm going to keep cutting until you have a stump for a hand, and nobody in the land could convict me. I'm that good a fucking lawyer, so you better keep your trap shut."
My mother was caring, but she was too afraid of nature to go outside. Once she said that if she went out, the mites would infest her hair, eat her eyes, and drain her blood. Either way, she wouldn't teach me what my dad could about nature. My dad was a boy scout, a pleasure I never got to experience.
Now onto the shitty ass time I call Law School-
fine.
But I'm finishing my story later.
Well, apparently I'm "wasting battery life", but I guess I'll finish this up when I can. Okay, which one of you two are next?
Conversations With A Corpse
It's Officer Andrews. Christina. Whatever you'd like to call me, I guess. Well... that was strange. I've never had to talk with the living dead before. I- just... wow. I'm kind of at a loss for words here. It was possibly one of the most terrifying experiences I've ever had.
Agent Mandale told me. First of all, he jostled me awake. Then he told me, only loud enough for me to hear, that there was something in the bedroom I needed to see. After about fifteen awkward seconds with my gun aimed at his ribs, he finally explained what he meant.
Did I believe him? No. Hell no. Who would? Nobody... well... Father Daniels, maybe, considering he was up and walking with a gaping hole in his neck.
I didn't believe it when I saw it. Again, who could possibly believe that?
He said hello to us. It was strange the way he said it. He said it in a monotone, as if rising from the dead and greeting us was routine. But the way he said it hinted at... something between playful and malicious.
Hang on... I'll try paraphrasing the conversation.
"Hello, Ms. Andrews. Hello, Mr. Mandale. Make it brief, I only have so much time in this body."
Agent Mandale asked the first question, and it was probably the most logical question in the entire interrogation- if you can call it that, even... "Father Daniels, how are you- how are you even alive?"
"Father Daniels? No, no, my child, you got it all wrong. Well, you can call me Twelve, if you wish."
I asked the next question. "Twelve, why Twelve?"
"Because once the clock strikes twelve, the game resets."
I tried not to emote, but I did glance towards Mandale, who did, for a split second, glance towards his watch.
"It's still 10:23, Mr. Daniels... Twelve. Would you mind telling us your little game?"
Then Mr. Daniel's hand slowly rotted into grotesque shades of green, purple, and black and fell off- well, I think it had been since the beginning, but it was noticed only when he stooped down to pick up the remains of his right hand. "Oh, time's running out before I move on. I can hold a body for a good week without rotting, and some of my brothers and sisters can hold it for almost a year, but dead meat... is a little tricky. What were you asking?"
"What is your game, Twelve?" I was getting tired of this conversation already.
"Well..." (I don't remember too much of what he said, but I'll still put the jist of it in quotes...) "...you see, I've been playing this game for a long, long time. Always brought people somewhere. Maybe six- like yourselves, maybe sixteen, maybe sixty four, at some points. But the goal is mainly the same. I- hop- into bodies, I suppose you could say. Like this man, Daniels. And the rotted sack over in the far corner. Easy enough, I suppose. I hop into one person, just one, and I start picking people off, one by one. The goal is to kill my hosts until we're down to only two. Then, it all depends on who survives- me..." (I think it was this point that his legs fell off) "...or not me."
"That's a sick game, Twelve. But how am I sure you're not still Daniels, but... ...ill?"
"Ill? Very funny, Mr. Mandale... in any case, my time runs out. Who shall I hop into next? Hmm..."
Finally, his head gave in and rolled off its neck, hitting and rolling on the floor. Then the entire corpse fell over, motionless.
That... was a painful process, I will admit.
Even remembering it is painful enough.
I suppose that... we're supposed to pick each other off...
Mandale's talking about food and rations. He found a cellar stocked with alcoholic beverages as well as cheese, bread, and produce. All fresh, somehow. He's reluctant to believe a single word of what "Twelve" was saying. I want to go along with him, believe everything is fine if we can hold out long enough, but... I just don't see that happening.
I just don't.
Agent Mandale told me. First of all, he jostled me awake. Then he told me, only loud enough for me to hear, that there was something in the bedroom I needed to see. After about fifteen awkward seconds with my gun aimed at his ribs, he finally explained what he meant.
Did I believe him? No. Hell no. Who would? Nobody... well... Father Daniels, maybe, considering he was up and walking with a gaping hole in his neck.
I didn't believe it when I saw it. Again, who could possibly believe that?
He said hello to us. It was strange the way he said it. He said it in a monotone, as if rising from the dead and greeting us was routine. But the way he said it hinted at... something between playful and malicious.
Hang on... I'll try paraphrasing the conversation.
"Hello, Ms. Andrews. Hello, Mr. Mandale. Make it brief, I only have so much time in this body."
Agent Mandale asked the first question, and it was probably the most logical question in the entire interrogation- if you can call it that, even... "Father Daniels, how are you- how are you even alive?"
"Father Daniels? No, no, my child, you got it all wrong. Well, you can call me Twelve, if you wish."
I asked the next question. "Twelve, why Twelve?"
"Because once the clock strikes twelve, the game resets."
I tried not to emote, but I did glance towards Mandale, who did, for a split second, glance towards his watch.
"It's still 10:23, Mr. Daniels... Twelve. Would you mind telling us your little game?"
Then Mr. Daniel's hand slowly rotted into grotesque shades of green, purple, and black and fell off- well, I think it had been since the beginning, but it was noticed only when he stooped down to pick up the remains of his right hand. "Oh, time's running out before I move on. I can hold a body for a good week without rotting, and some of my brothers and sisters can hold it for almost a year, but dead meat... is a little tricky. What were you asking?"
"What is your game, Twelve?" I was getting tired of this conversation already.
"Well..." (I don't remember too much of what he said, but I'll still put the jist of it in quotes...) "...you see, I've been playing this game for a long, long time. Always brought people somewhere. Maybe six- like yourselves, maybe sixteen, maybe sixty four, at some points. But the goal is mainly the same. I- hop- into bodies, I suppose you could say. Like this man, Daniels. And the rotted sack over in the far corner. Easy enough, I suppose. I hop into one person, just one, and I start picking people off, one by one. The goal is to kill my hosts until we're down to only two. Then, it all depends on who survives- me..." (I think it was this point that his legs fell off) "...or not me."
"That's a sick game, Twelve. But how am I sure you're not still Daniels, but... ...ill?"
"Ill? Very funny, Mr. Mandale... in any case, my time runs out. Who shall I hop into next? Hmm..."
Finally, his head gave in and rolled off its neck, hitting and rolling on the floor. Then the entire corpse fell over, motionless.
That... was a painful process, I will admit.
Even remembering it is painful enough.
I suppose that... we're supposed to pick each other off...
Mandale's talking about food and rations. He found a cellar stocked with alcoholic beverages as well as cheese, bread, and produce. All fresh, somehow. He's reluctant to believe a single word of what "Twelve" was saying. I want to go along with him, believe everything is fine if we can hold out long enough, but... I just don't see that happening.
I just don't.
Living Dead
Okay, first of all, Jonah's gone. His body resembles burnt ash and is crumbling and rotting at a tremendous pace. Secondly, Father Daniels just got up. Which is impossible. He bled out and his vertebrae snapped. His head's just dangling awkwardly.
I need to wake Christina. This shit is... I've never fucking experienced something like this before.
The other two can stay down here if they want.
I need to wake Christina. This shit is... I've never fucking experienced something like this before.
The other two can stay down here if they want.
I've Been Told I Need To Do This
Hello there. It is I, Miss Sorenson, back yet again. Agent Mandale and Officer Andrews both told me to type in this. Well, I guess it isn't truly enforced right now- Mandale is upstairs and Officer Andrews is resting on the couch in the entry hall.
She said that the reason we're writing was to get rid ourselves of stress, but I'm stress free! I don't know why, but that entire moment... I don't know, that entire moment seemed surreal. I know... I know it happened, but I didn't feel anything at all about it. Maybe the shock from the first dead body is still lingering or maybe I've been desensitized to all of it. Either way, I think that they have an ulterior motive to all of this- of all of us, Jonah was the only one not to type in the blog at all. He was a nice conversationalist, but he didn't type. Well... except for after the shooting. I think they want us to talk about ourselves, our history, our lives, I guess. Just to make sure an accident like Jonah or Daniels doesn't happen again...
Well, let's see... I was born February 18th, 1986 in Vermont. I graduated high school in 2004 barely skirting a 3.5 GPA. I decided that I'd like to relive the school experience, albeit from a different angle, and also I love kids. So I decided to become a teacher. I taught 8th Grade Social Studies for the past year and a half.
I guess... that's all I can really say in so short a... Mandale's running back down the sta
She said that the reason we're writing was to get rid ourselves of stress, but I'm stress free! I don't know why, but that entire moment... I don't know, that entire moment seemed surreal. I know... I know it happened, but I didn't feel anything at all about it. Maybe the shock from the first dead body is still lingering or maybe I've been desensitized to all of it. Either way, I think that they have an ulterior motive to all of this- of all of us, Jonah was the only one not to type in the blog at all. He was a nice conversationalist, but he didn't type. Well... except for after the shooting. I think they want us to talk about ourselves, our history, our lives, I guess. Just to make sure an accident like Jonah or Daniels doesn't happen again...
Well, let's see... I was born February 18th, 1986 in Vermont. I graduated high school in 2004 barely skirting a 3.5 GPA. I decided that I'd like to relive the school experience, albeit from a different angle, and also I love kids. So I decided to become a teacher. I taught 8th Grade Social Studies for the past year and a half.
I guess... that's all I can really say in so short a... Mandale's running back down the sta
Mandale
When I heard the screaming, I hid behind the curtain. After that, I saw Jonah Reed rush down the stairs. I saw him typing on the keyboard, very quickly and always looking up, as if he was fearing something. It wasn't until he was nearly finished that I saw the pistol in his hand. Well... I guess Christina already filled you in on what happened next.
The bodies of Father Daniels and Jonah Reed were placed in the first bedroom in the right wing of the second floor. We had a meager dinner of snacks that were in my pack. We talked to each other, if not often enough to make it seem friendly or to even remotely lighten the mood.
Well... everyone's still giving angry glances to each other, but for the most part we're all fairly sure that the ones that couldn't be trusted are already dead and gone
hang on a sec. I heard a thumping upstairs.
The bodies of Father Daniels and Jonah Reed were placed in the first bedroom in the right wing of the second floor. We had a meager dinner of snacks that were in my pack. We talked to each other, if not often enough to make it seem friendly or to even remotely lighten the mood.
Well... everyone's still giving angry glances to each other, but for the most part we're all fairly sure that the ones that couldn't be trusted are already dead and gone
hang on a sec. I heard a thumping upstairs.
Two Men Down
Christina here. Things have escalated quite a bit.
Let me see if I can try to remember things.
We held a meeting in the upstairs balcony overlooking his large dining hall. We tried to piece things together, then people became suspicious of each other. The tensions only increased when Father Daniels started spouting something about demons and changelings. I couldn't catch a word, but the term "Twelve" came up from the crooked lawyer, Randall, and suddenly Father Daniels starts interrogating him on where he heard that name. I forced him back to his seat, but then I saw something slip out of the pack he was wearing on his back. It was a book, leather bound and boasting a large symbol of... what looks like the Roman numeral for 20 or two hourglasses, I think, and it said, "To Cherubim", or something along those lines.
He was a little too hasty to put it back in his pack. Randall suddenly jumped out and picked up the book. Mandale tried to stop him, but Randall told him to shut his mouth and leave, which, to my surprise, Mandale did. Miss Sorenson also silently backed to the far wall. Jonah was sitting calmly, eyebrow raised in confusion. Randall started flipping through the pages, then shouted and dropped the book. Looking inside...
It was pictures of three children, all with skull-emblazened daggers in their chests. This was a major case in the area. Multiple homicides with suspected cult ties. I remember eyeing Daniels then. Really hard. He seemed to shrink in fear and sneer in triumph at the same time.
Randall asked what in God's name was wrong with him. Daniels replied something about him not knowing God at all. At this point my gun was raised on him. He sneered and said that we couldn't kill him, that he knew what this being was, that he's "fought" things like these before...
and that's all the time he had before a shot rang out, not from my gun, and completely sever the corrotid artery. The room was mass commotion, and... hang on, Randall's complaining about me taking too long on the laptop...
back. Anyways, the room was in mass commotion, and I did a quick head count. Mandale wasn't here, but he left the room. Sorinson was screaming in the back corner, and Randall was tripping over himself trying to flee... the one person other than Mandale I didn't see in the room was Jonah.
I saw him as I left the Dining Hall, crouched over the laptop, typing quickly, .22 pistol still in his hand. He pressed the ENTER key as I fired at him. He dodged out of the way and right into Mandale. I think I heard Jonah's neck break.
We're all here now... I think it would be better for us if we all tried just... using this as a way to get ou all the stress. I don't know. If filing police reports taught me anything, turning feelings and emotions into plain, hard facts doesn't keep the nightmares that you see on the job away, nothing will.
I have to get off now. Fuck, this post is huge. I'll try to... rest a bit, I guess...
Let me see if I can try to remember things.
We held a meeting in the upstairs balcony overlooking his large dining hall. We tried to piece things together, then people became suspicious of each other. The tensions only increased when Father Daniels started spouting something about demons and changelings. I couldn't catch a word, but the term "Twelve" came up from the crooked lawyer, Randall, and suddenly Father Daniels starts interrogating him on where he heard that name. I forced him back to his seat, but then I saw something slip out of the pack he was wearing on his back. It was a book, leather bound and boasting a large symbol of... what looks like the Roman numeral for 20 or two hourglasses, I think, and it said, "To Cherubim", or something along those lines.
He was a little too hasty to put it back in his pack. Randall suddenly jumped out and picked up the book. Mandale tried to stop him, but Randall told him to shut his mouth and leave, which, to my surprise, Mandale did. Miss Sorenson also silently backed to the far wall. Jonah was sitting calmly, eyebrow raised in confusion. Randall started flipping through the pages, then shouted and dropped the book. Looking inside...
It was pictures of three children, all with skull-emblazened daggers in their chests. This was a major case in the area. Multiple homicides with suspected cult ties. I remember eyeing Daniels then. Really hard. He seemed to shrink in fear and sneer in triumph at the same time.
Randall asked what in God's name was wrong with him. Daniels replied something about him not knowing God at all. At this point my gun was raised on him. He sneered and said that we couldn't kill him, that he knew what this being was, that he's "fought" things like these before...
and that's all the time he had before a shot rang out, not from my gun, and completely sever the corrotid artery. The room was mass commotion, and... hang on, Randall's complaining about me taking too long on the laptop...
back. Anyways, the room was in mass commotion, and I did a quick head count. Mandale wasn't here, but he left the room. Sorinson was screaming in the back corner, and Randall was tripping over himself trying to flee... the one person other than Mandale I didn't see in the room was Jonah.
I saw him as I left the Dining Hall, crouched over the laptop, typing quickly, .22 pistol still in his hand. He pressed the ENTER key as I fired at him. He dodged out of the way and right into Mandale. I think I heard Jonah's neck break.
We're all here now... I think it would be better for us if we all tried just... using this as a way to get ou all the stress. I don't know. If filing police reports taught me anything, turning feelings and emotions into plain, hard facts doesn't keep the nightmares that you see on the job away, nothing will.
I have to get off now. Fuck, this post is huge. I'll try to... rest a bit, I guess...
Second Victim
Victim murdered.
First murderer still not known.
I should have invited more people. Dozens of times in dozens of cities have I done this, and I remember the ones with at least twenty people being the most brazen and hilarious of them all. Once I held an entire art gala hostage of over two hundred people. Most of them were already killing each other in an attempt to get out before I could make a single move.
Well... let the game conti
First murderer still not known.
I should have invited more people. Dozens of times in dozens of cities have I done this, and I remember the ones with at least twenty people being the most brazen and hilarious of them all. Once I held an entire art gala hostage of over two hundred people. Most of them were already killing each other in an attempt to get out before I could make a single move.
Well... let the game conti
Tensions Rising
Hey. Mandale. The others are fighting upstairs, but I can't hear what they're arguing about. Decided to stay out of the conversation. I'd like to keep a cool, calm demeanor or we'll never get out of this alive.
From what I heard, it was about something involving a guy named "Twelve" and something about a book? I don't know. I tried intervening and got bitched out for my troubles.
I've tried devising plans while they were fighting. On how to escape, or how to survive for a prolonged period in here, if necessary.
Well... what else can I say? I guess... I'm sorry for not posting that first time? Should I even be sorry? I think I should, but I've never had to resort to chivalry and stuff like that before now...
from what I can tell, one person still needs to post... I think that's the man with air pockets from meth needles riddling up and down his arm.
...I heard screaming. Fuck.
I have to go.
From what I heard, it was about something involving a guy named "Twelve" and something about a book? I don't know. I tried intervening and got bitched out for my troubles.
I've tried devising plans while they were fighting. On how to escape, or how to survive for a prolonged period in here, if necessary.
Well... what else can I say? I guess... I'm sorry for not posting that first time? Should I even be sorry? I think I should, but I've never had to resort to chivalry and stuff like that before now...
from what I can tell, one person still needs to post... I think that's the man with air pockets from meth needles riddling up and down his arm.
...I heard screaming. Fuck.
I have to go.
I Am A Schoolteacher
Have the others talked about me yet?
...no, I suppose not. Well, allow me to enlighten you. My name is Miss Sorenson.
Well... I'm in quite a situation, aren't I? Well, I don't know what else to say. I've been teaching seventh grade students for six years now. I was supposed to be grading something- was it their quiz over medieval feudalism, or their worksheet on King Malcolm III of Scotland? I forget.
In any case, this is not turning out to be a good situation. I'm locked in here with a strange group of people and a corpse. It's impossible to escape this place, so I guess we better make the most of it.
Oh well. Woe is me.
...no, I suppose not. Well, allow me to enlighten you. My name is Miss Sorenson.
Well... I'm in quite a situation, aren't I? Well, I don't know what else to say. I've been teaching seventh grade students for six years now. I was supposed to be grading something- was it their quiz over medieval feudalism, or their worksheet on King Malcolm III of Scotland? I forget.
In any case, this is not turning out to be a good situation. I'm locked in here with a strange group of people and a corpse. It's impossible to escape this place, so I guess we better make the most of it.
Oh well. Woe is me.
First Victim
Let the games begin.
The first target has been assimilated. This is going to be fun.
Only three hours remain.
TWELVE
The first target has been assimilated. This is going to be fun.
Only three hours remain.
TWELVE
I Am Pissed
This better be a joke... or a prank... or... or anything, really, as long as it's not what it looks like now.
I've spent enough years in law school to know exactly how to charge this. Fraud, possible kidnapping, murder- wait, did someone check for a pulse?
The police lady just called me an idiot. Fine. Fine. I'll check the damn thing myself.
There. No pulse. That'll help my argument.
Doors are locked, and so it's just us six...
well, seven, if you count the corpse.
I... I don't know what else to say that hasn't already been said.
I've spent enough years in law school to know exactly how to charge this. Fraud, possible kidnapping, murder- wait, did someone check for a pulse?
The police lady just called me an idiot. Fine. Fine. I'll check the damn thing myself.
There. No pulse. That'll help my argument.
Doors are locked, and so it's just us six...
well, seven, if you count the corpse.
I... I don't know what else to say that hasn't already been said.
Strange Times We Live In
I sense a presence of evil in this house, and I really want to pack up my things and leave. I don't think I can, though. The door is locked. I'd like to crash through the window, but- no. No, that's a stupid idea.
I was the first to enter the house- the first to find the body. I'm not going to lie, it was... it was jarring. It wasn't gruesome, but it was unexpected, and it One of the two young women of the group immediately looked for a bathroom, most of the men also seemed to be feeling ill. Only two really seemed to be unaffected by it. One inspected the body, the other inspected the room itself. The one who inspected the room found a laptop- this laptop, specifically. I knelt by the body and said grace over it, to release the soul and let it free. Burial can happen later.
That's... that's all I really feel like saying. Can I pass this to someone else, Miss Andrews? Okay.
I was the first to enter the house- the first to find the body. I'm not going to lie, it was... it was jarring. It wasn't gruesome, but it was unexpected, and it One of the two young women of the group immediately looked for a bathroom, most of the men also seemed to be feeling ill. Only two really seemed to be unaffected by it. One inspected the body, the other inspected the room itself. The one who inspected the room found a laptop- this laptop, specifically. I knelt by the body and said grace over it, to release the soul and let it free. Burial can happen later.
That's... that's all I really feel like saying. Can I pass this to someone else, Miss Andrews? Okay.
I Think I Have To Type
Hi. My name is Christina. And... I honestly have no clue what the fuck's going on. Let me try to do this in chronological order.
At approx. 5:15 PM I got a call from Levi Harrison. An old recluse who, with the mixture of a large inheritance and the job of regional manager for Armour food products, was able to afford himself a fairly large McMansion out on a hill. I know. Sounds cliched. Well... deal with it.
I got here at about 5:40. There were already two other people here. A man in priest's garb and a man who I knew very well from his time in the drunk tank- Jonah Reed. He's been suspected of pushing and abusing heroin, but he's always been a couple steps ahead of us and somehow left not a trace of heroin- not in his apartment, not in his bloodstream. I glared him down, and three more people came in. Only one of them I also knew- Randall Monroe. We tried to book him for perjury, but he's as slippery as Reed.
The doors were locked mysteriously. We didn't see any reason why the door would be locked. At about 5:55, after minutes of shouting to open the door and banging on the large wooden frame, it swung open. We were greeted by the sight of a dead Levi Harrison.
I found the laptop hidden away near a grandfather clock. It's striking five as we speak. I saw that it was already on, with a new post tab on and the word "TYPE" on it. So here I am.
I think it might be a good idea to keep this thing around. It's fully charged and it won't go bad for about six hours.
Well... I'll see if anyone else wants to type. Phones don't work, and the windows... they're not locked, I don't think, and they can probably be broken, but that's the last thing that we'd try to do.
At approx. 5:15 PM I got a call from Levi Harrison. An old recluse who, with the mixture of a large inheritance and the job of regional manager for Armour food products, was able to afford himself a fairly large McMansion out on a hill. I know. Sounds cliched. Well... deal with it.
I got here at about 5:40. There were already two other people here. A man in priest's garb and a man who I knew very well from his time in the drunk tank- Jonah Reed. He's been suspected of pushing and abusing heroin, but he's always been a couple steps ahead of us and somehow left not a trace of heroin- not in his apartment, not in his bloodstream. I glared him down, and three more people came in. Only one of them I also knew- Randall Monroe. We tried to book him for perjury, but he's as slippery as Reed.
The doors were locked mysteriously. We didn't see any reason why the door would be locked. At about 5:55, after minutes of shouting to open the door and banging on the large wooden frame, it swung open. We were greeted by the sight of a dead Levi Harrison.
I found the laptop hidden away near a grandfather clock. It's striking five as we speak. I saw that it was already on, with a new post tab on and the word "TYPE" on it. So here I am.
I think it might be a good idea to keep this thing around. It's fully charged and it won't go bad for about six hours.
Well... I'll see if anyone else wants to type. Phones don't work, and the windows... they're not locked, I don't think, and they can probably be broken, but that's the last thing that we'd try to do.
The Guests Are About To Arrive
Our guests are almost here. I think I should talk a little about them.
Randall Monroe. He's a prosecuting attorney. A bit more moral than- well- most any other lawyer, but he's a hard-ass and isn't afraid to manipulate the evidence.
Jonah Reed. He's a mess. Been out of work for years after he said "hello" to Mr. Heroin. Well, Jonah, how much would you give for a warm bed and some food?
Dinah Sorenson. Schoolteacher. Very nice young lady, I suppose. Really, I just chose her because we need the smart one on the team, don't we?
Gabriel Mandale- Government man. I've heard that he does not enjoy playing "by the book". A regular MacArthur, I see. Always bypassing his superiors for his own agenda. I wonder how he'll react to the situation.
Father Macaulay Daniels- Priest. Very religious man. I wonder if he'll try to exorcise the demon... in which case I will laugh in his face. But he has been invited to this house, and so I shall respect him.
Christina Andrews- A young policewoman. She's been hardened and desensitized to violence through her years as a cop, and has seen terrible things. Never took a bribe. Let's see if I can't change both.
Oh. I see the first headlights in the driveway. Well, Harry, we have to be off now. Get the knife. It's time.
Scared? Don't worry, Harry. It's fine. You're afraid of death? Wise. But it's okay.
You'll live on through me.
Randall Monroe. He's a prosecuting attorney. A bit more moral than- well- most any other lawyer, but he's a hard-ass and isn't afraid to manipulate the evidence.
Jonah Reed. He's a mess. Been out of work for years after he said "hello" to Mr. Heroin. Well, Jonah, how much would you give for a warm bed and some food?
Dinah Sorenson. Schoolteacher. Very nice young lady, I suppose. Really, I just chose her because we need the smart one on the team, don't we?
Gabriel Mandale- Government man. I've heard that he does not enjoy playing "by the book". A regular MacArthur, I see. Always bypassing his superiors for his own agenda. I wonder how he'll react to the situation.
Father Macaulay Daniels- Priest. Very religious man. I wonder if he'll try to exorcise the demon... in which case I will laugh in his face. But he has been invited to this house, and so I shall respect him.
Christina Andrews- A young policewoman. She's been hardened and desensitized to violence through her years as a cop, and has seen terrible things. Never took a bribe. Let's see if I can't change both.
Oh. I see the first headlights in the driveway. Well, Harry, we have to be off now. Get the knife. It's time.
Scared? Don't worry, Harry. It's fine. You're afraid of death? Wise. But it's okay.
You'll live on through me.
A Fun Little Murder Mystery
The clock strikes twelve again? Why don't we play a game? The game is guess the murderer. I am your host. You can call me Twelve. For when the clock strikes twelve, the game begins anew. All I have to do is pick a few names out of a hat and we can begin... oh! Perfect. Simply perfect.
Don't you think so, Mr. Harrison?
Oh, he's shy, isn't he? He doesn't want to type. Well, I can change that. You see, Old Man Harrison and I have bonded in a sense. And if he doesn't want to type... too bad, because I do. Type. Keep typing. Good.
No no no, don't reach for the knife, Mr. Harrison. Not yet. Not until we've called our guests.
Then you can play with knives.
Twelve
Don't you think so, Mr. Harrison?
Oh, he's shy, isn't he? He doesn't want to type. Well, I can change that. You see, Old Man Harrison and I have bonded in a sense. And if he doesn't want to type... too bad, because I do. Type. Keep typing. Good.
No no no, don't reach for the knife, Mr. Harrison. Not yet. Not until we've called our guests.
Then you can play with knives.
Twelve
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