Post by BabooPanda on Dec 17, 2009 7:45:01 GMT
Eh... I tried to make a story, so here it goes : P
The door swung open; A drenching wet soldier peered through the hallway.
A bronze replica of a knight stood, looming upon the visitors who so dared pass and notice.
The rain poured heavily at the roof, thunder crackling far off in the distance.
An ambient melody played; A shiver ran through his spine.
He exited the hallway, closing the door behind him and taking notice to the near pitch blackness of the room. Paintings stared through his soul, eyes almost following his every movement. The melody continued to echo throughout what seemed like the universe. A few ferns draped in the corners.
He climbed a short flight of stairs, covered in red carpet and painted a dark pine color. The railing was flimsy and seemed that it couldn't bare someone leaning against it for more than a couple of seconds. Golden edges had been pasted to the floor. If one happen to bump their foot against one, they may be cut.
He looked around again, taking notice to the dark bronze chandelier. A gargoyle stood watch on it's perch. The grand piano music continued to mock him.
The melody was encasing his sanity. He couldn't take the madness. Images of ghosts, ghouls; Horrid, almost unexplainable demons and hideous creations flashed through his mind. He continued to listen to the ironic tune; Another rumble of thunder, the room being lit by a bolt of death.
He reached the top of the flight, and walked to a window. He peered through it. The gardens below were dead and merciless. The very image of him being in that physical space was terrifying. A graveyard may exist in that very area, one that would be home to him most likely. He walked along the creaking wooden floor, which seemed to be about two or three centuries old. He couldn't bare the noise. An awful combination with the disturbing tune coming from across the hallway. He had to find the melody. The song that symbolized everything spiritually evil and which filled him with seemingly endless pictures that spun him into depression.
Abram Ivanov, a young Russian soldier, aged 32, (recently treated with a severe case of schizophrenia), had stumbled upon death. This mansion that was home to whatever, would be his grave. He had never seen a hallucination. He was in fact, completely stable. He did not have schizophrenia. But one could say though, that he was being attacked. Not physically, but spiritually. Just but a few weeks before that, he had stumbled into the practices known as " The Dark Arts . "
The beings that appeared to him; The things that flooded his mind with hate and desperate attempts for both suicide and homicide, were none other than manifestations of demonic entities.
But right now was not the time for him to reason and/or fight with himself; To come to realization that this was not his mental space acting up. He had been chased into the crumbling castle by another soldier, of who decided to betray his team. How he had managed to murder his entire platoon was unknown; Poisoning being the most likely cause.
He opened a door of that had cobwebs and some sort of larva on it. The melody filled his ears, a piercing and most evil melody. A piano sat lonely in the corner, with the company of a scrawny lady. She turned to discover the soldier, his camouflage dripping with rain water, and blood stains covering his whole left leg. A plastic smile gazed at him.
" Who are you... " he said in English, uncovering his strong accent.
The lady's face was shaded in darkness. She turned around and continued to play another melody, her focus pointed toward him.
Abram stood, his mind almost freezing up. His vision became blurry with rage, and the visions once again took place in his mind.
" Who are you. " he said his voice rising with every word he spoke.
The lady began to play random notes every few of the correct.
" Who are you. " Silence. His fists clenched. She stared through his act of bravery. " Who are you! "
The lady mockingly continued to play. A laughing echoed into the atmosphere; Not audible, but almost telepathic.
He couldn't bare to watch this lady play. He couldn't describe the pain he was going through. He raised his gun, and focused it toward the lady's heart. He was going to end this. Of course, that wouldn't end it all. It wasn't a video game. It wasn't a movie. He lived in a cruel world, and he would die, no matter where he directed his aim.
He shot, sending a cruel bullet hurtling through the lady's throat. Her eyes pierced through his very spirit, and a loud shrill shriek was heard. A gagging erupted from her throat and she fell onto the keys of the piano. Blood soaked her dress, pouring onto the floor beneath her. Her eyes shut peacefully.
Abram slowly came toward her. He could hear the pulse of the world. The thick, beating heart of the cruel, sick joke that had played him. He could feel death. He had barely enough time to scream before turning, to find the lady had stabbed her fingers through his forehead, in an almost impossible fashion.
Abram looked around, trying to scream but finding it impossible to even control his eyes. His arms began to flail in the way that, even in a comedy, would not be considered at the least bit funny. He screamed suddenly, then twice again for short intervals.
Abram fell, dead in almost an instant. The lady retracted her pointed fingers from his head. A cold arm slumped over the carpet, the temperature of the room flooding into his body. His pulse was gone. The lady had stolen everything. Blood, organs. She almost smiled to herself, but considering the fact her face was painted onto the flesh she had stolen from helpless victims, smiling wouldn't be the literal term. She walked over to the piano, and sat down, playing the melody that had attracted such betrayal to bring the soldier here.
The castle stood, almost in a different universe. Almost outside reality.
The door swung open; A drenching wet soldier peered through the hallway.
A bronze replica of a knight stood, looming upon the visitors who so dared pass and notice.
The rain poured heavily at the roof, thunder crackling far off in the distance.
An ambient melody played; A shiver ran through his spine.
He exited the hallway, closing the door behind him and taking notice to the near pitch blackness of the room. Paintings stared through his soul, eyes almost following his every movement. The melody continued to echo throughout what seemed like the universe. A few ferns draped in the corners.
He climbed a short flight of stairs, covered in red carpet and painted a dark pine color. The railing was flimsy and seemed that it couldn't bare someone leaning against it for more than a couple of seconds. Golden edges had been pasted to the floor. If one happen to bump their foot against one, they may be cut.
He looked around again, taking notice to the dark bronze chandelier. A gargoyle stood watch on it's perch. The grand piano music continued to mock him.
The melody was encasing his sanity. He couldn't take the madness. Images of ghosts, ghouls; Horrid, almost unexplainable demons and hideous creations flashed through his mind. He continued to listen to the ironic tune; Another rumble of thunder, the room being lit by a bolt of death.
He reached the top of the flight, and walked to a window. He peered through it. The gardens below were dead and merciless. The very image of him being in that physical space was terrifying. A graveyard may exist in that very area, one that would be home to him most likely. He walked along the creaking wooden floor, which seemed to be about two or three centuries old. He couldn't bare the noise. An awful combination with the disturbing tune coming from across the hallway. He had to find the melody. The song that symbolized everything spiritually evil and which filled him with seemingly endless pictures that spun him into depression.
Abram Ivanov, a young Russian soldier, aged 32, (recently treated with a severe case of schizophrenia), had stumbled upon death. This mansion that was home to whatever, would be his grave. He had never seen a hallucination. He was in fact, completely stable. He did not have schizophrenia. But one could say though, that he was being attacked. Not physically, but spiritually. Just but a few weeks before that, he had stumbled into the practices known as " The Dark Arts . "
The beings that appeared to him; The things that flooded his mind with hate and desperate attempts for both suicide and homicide, were none other than manifestations of demonic entities.
But right now was not the time for him to reason and/or fight with himself; To come to realization that this was not his mental space acting up. He had been chased into the crumbling castle by another soldier, of who decided to betray his team. How he had managed to murder his entire platoon was unknown; Poisoning being the most likely cause.
He opened a door of that had cobwebs and some sort of larva on it. The melody filled his ears, a piercing and most evil melody. A piano sat lonely in the corner, with the company of a scrawny lady. She turned to discover the soldier, his camouflage dripping with rain water, and blood stains covering his whole left leg. A plastic smile gazed at him.
" Who are you... " he said in English, uncovering his strong accent.
The lady's face was shaded in darkness. She turned around and continued to play another melody, her focus pointed toward him.
Abram stood, his mind almost freezing up. His vision became blurry with rage, and the visions once again took place in his mind.
" Who are you. " he said his voice rising with every word he spoke.
The lady began to play random notes every few of the correct.
" Who are you. " Silence. His fists clenched. She stared through his act of bravery. " Who are you! "
The lady mockingly continued to play. A laughing echoed into the atmosphere; Not audible, but almost telepathic.
He couldn't bare to watch this lady play. He couldn't describe the pain he was going through. He raised his gun, and focused it toward the lady's heart. He was going to end this. Of course, that wouldn't end it all. It wasn't a video game. It wasn't a movie. He lived in a cruel world, and he would die, no matter where he directed his aim.
He shot, sending a cruel bullet hurtling through the lady's throat. Her eyes pierced through his very spirit, and a loud shrill shriek was heard. A gagging erupted from her throat and she fell onto the keys of the piano. Blood soaked her dress, pouring onto the floor beneath her. Her eyes shut peacefully.
Abram slowly came toward her. He could hear the pulse of the world. The thick, beating heart of the cruel, sick joke that had played him. He could feel death. He had barely enough time to scream before turning, to find the lady had stabbed her fingers through his forehead, in an almost impossible fashion.
Abram looked around, trying to scream but finding it impossible to even control his eyes. His arms began to flail in the way that, even in a comedy, would not be considered at the least bit funny. He screamed suddenly, then twice again for short intervals.
Abram fell, dead in almost an instant. The lady retracted her pointed fingers from his head. A cold arm slumped over the carpet, the temperature of the room flooding into his body. His pulse was gone. The lady had stolen everything. Blood, organs. She almost smiled to herself, but considering the fact her face was painted onto the flesh she had stolen from helpless victims, smiling wouldn't be the literal term. She walked over to the piano, and sat down, playing the melody that had attracted such betrayal to bring the soldier here.
The castle stood, almost in a different universe. Almost outside reality.