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Varthonai
June 25th, 2008, 11:10 PM
Suddenly, without any warning, the bridge-cloud disappeared out from underneath the Corinthian’s feet and he was falling fast.

Brace yourself, he thought, It will hurt, but it won’t kill you.

CRUNCH

With a sickening grinding noise, the Corinthian’s body slammed through the roof of a house and landed on the floor of the top bedroom.

“SQUEEEEEEEEE!!!” squealed a voice from behind the Corinthian. The nightmare turned and saw a little boy duck under the covers.

Kid, the Corinthian deduced immediately. Kid means parents. Innocent family. Shouldn’t get involved.

He looked around for a place to hide, but there was no place large enough for him. The door, however, remained closed, and the Corinthian could hear no footsteps.

The child had become so terrified that his voice had frozen up. The Corinthian turned and smiled amicably.

Surprisingly, the child seemed to be relieved. “You’re not the Scary Neighbor Man,” he breathed, almost in disbelief.

“Er… no, I’m not.”

“That’s good. Shmee and I were worried.”

The boy hugged a small teddy bear as he spoke the word “Shmee.”

“Is that Shmee?” asked the Corinthian, gesturing with a finger. The boy nodded.

The Corinthian walked over and sat down on the boy’s bed. “What’s your name?”

“Todd.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Who’s this Scary Neighbor Man?”

Todd froze up and hesitantly pointed to the house next door. The Corinthian could just barely make out the silhouette of a tall, thin man with a shovel. The man who he had sensed earlier…

“I see…” the Corinthian mused. “Well, you’re in luck, Todd. I think I’m here to take the Scary Neighbor Man away for a while.”

Todd looked up at the Corinthian with wide, happy eyes.

http://i305.photobucket.com/albums/nn222/varthonai/CorinthianSquee.jpg
(Copyright: Ditto the last one.)

The Corinthian stood up and turned to leave. Todd jumped out of the bed and half-walked, half-stumbled to the nightmare in his clumsily-fitted pajamas.

“Are you an angel?” asked the curious little boy.

The Corinthian chuckled. “I’m… well, I’m a dream, Todd.”

“Is this a dream, then? Is the Scary Neighbor Man still going to be there when I wake up?”

The Corinthian sighed deeply and glanced from side to side around the room. “I think that this whole world might be a dream, Todd. A dream of the Scary Neighbor Man.”

“I’m a dream too?”

“Sort of. I think you might have your own story to tell, though. I feel some of the smell of a protagonist in you… it’s not as strong as the smell in the man across the street, but it’s there. I don’t think you’re a dream, Todd.”

Todd giggled innocently. “Can I come with you? To the dream-land?”

“I don’t think so, Todd. I’m sort of stuck, you see.”

“Stuck?”

“Stuck. Some mean people took me away from my King and are keeping me chained in their little prison-world. I want to escape, Todd. I want to bring them to justice and I appreciate your willingness to help. But while revenge is certainly a dish as cold and sweet as ice cream, I'm afraid you won’t find it on the children’s menu very often. It wouldn’t be responsible of me to bring you with me.”

Todd looked a bit downcast. “Daddy will be mad about the hole in the roof,” he mumbled.

The Corinthian looked up. “Hm. That is a bit of a problem… I get the feeling that your father isn’t the forgiving type.”

Todd nodded silently.

“Very well, Todd. I’ll fix the roof for you before your parents wake up tomorrow. But first I need to find the Scary Neighbor Man. All right?”

Todd looked upset, but still trusting. The Corinthian smiled, headed to the window, unlocked it, and slipped out.

The Corinthian dropped to the ground, and felt the shock of the impact trigger a burning sensation in a bruised area of his dream-flesh--he had been damaged from the initial fall from the sky. It would heal quickly, but it was slightly painful. Each step made him wince.

The nightmare crossed over the lawn, heading to the house of the “Scary Neighbor Man,” who’d gone back into the house already. The Corinthian turned back just before the final step, seeing Todd’s bright eyes staring out the window in awe and admiration.

The Corinthian waved once to the little boy, and then turned and headed to the door of the neighbor’s house. A gleaming number 777 shone in the moonlight on the run-down, shack-like house that stood next to Todd’s.

With a mild sense of aroused curiosity, the Corinthian pressed the doorbell and waited for an answer.

(Your move, Xaxem.)

Xaxem
June 26th, 2008, 12:44 AM
(I'm game)

Wires snake down through the wooden flesh and concrete muscle, mayhaps through some secondary power source, providing ample voltage for another torture. Following the wires, one finally happens upon some suction cups, suckling-- on this night-- on crisp flesh, someone who has wronged Nny maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, the punchline is that the wires started at Johnny's doorbell. All visitors were tricked into becoming accomplices to torture, maybe murder if one were to ring on just the right day; the doorbell buzzes horrifically, signaling that this is so.

Nny's domain is, in a sense, torture incarnate. Even the doorbell is malicious.

So were the toilet, toaster, and blender, for those curious about these specific appliances.

The familiar sound triggered a Pavlovian response. The ghost of seared flesh puckered Nny's nostrils-- imagine inhaling two peeled lemons after a ferocious bout of nose-picking. The puckering complimented a general sense of ennui, loathing, and defeat: I call it "defloui."

Moments earlier, Nny had heard his neighbor and confidant squeal his trademarked squeal. Mayhaps, Johnny conjectured, some killer is going door to door, killing the young and raping the old. Or vice-versa. When the doorbell rang, Nny was sure that some madman had him in his sights. When he opened the door, he figured all of his worries had been confirmed. Nobody goes door to door at 4 in the morning save for rapist-murderer clowns looking add another defiled victim to his basement corpse-pile....

Johnny edged toward the door. Rapist, murderer. Rapist, murderer. John Wayne Dahmer.

The door creaked open, and he met his would-be murder-rapist head-on. Lo and behold, 'twas a ghost from the past, mayhaps seeking vengeance. Johnny recalled a character from a bygone time-- from teh First Issue of JTHM.

Johnny recalled the poor survey-man. Survey-taker, maybe. What is the technical term?, Johnny wondered. The poor sap had come looking for answers, and he left with a pencil in his skull.

And a dismembered torso.

And that's about it.

Johnny, in a state of hysteria, had mistaken the survey-person for a damned servant of the chihuahua Johnny had encountered two nights prior to the survey incident. This man's resurrection as a night-stalking murderf*cker confirmed this fear, as well.

The murderf*cker in question was not the survey-man. He just looked suspiciously similar. Anyway...

Johnny bounded forth, armed to the teeth with crazy, and exclaimed proudly, inwardly: I knew the dog was behind it! You thought I forgot! You shall not rape me this night, fiend!

http://i305.photobucket.com/albums/nn222/varthonai/corinthian-nny2.jpg

[EDIT] (Totally forgot. Props to Varthonai for the scene provided above. Copyright law, yadda yadda yadda.)

Varthonai
June 26th, 2008, 12:54 AM
"Well, for starters," said the Corinthian, stepping up and wiping himself off, "I'd be honored to know your name. Speaking of which, I am the Corinthian; I am Master Nightmare to Lord Dream. I do understand that it's not totally normal to ask permission to enter the house of someone whose very name is a mystery to me, but these are rather unusual and desperate circumstances and I believe that you are here for a reason."

The Corinthian thought about how ridiculous he must be sounding... but oddly, the "Scary Neighbor Man" seemed to be taking it all in without a shred of befuddlement.

Xaxem
June 26th, 2008, 01:26 AM
"Ah, yes. How rude of me." Realizing that the not-rapist was a not sent by the dog, Johnny felt a tiny iota of embarrassment. "I am Johnny C. But you can call me Nny."

As in knee cap.

"I am Master Bloodletter to Lord Wallbeast. But we'll get into that later in the story...

"Hey, did you know you have a bit of mouth in your eyes? Might wanna pick that outta there."

Varthonai
June 26th, 2008, 01:33 AM
"No, my eyes are fine, that's only--wait, I'm sorry, 'Wallbeast'?"

The Corinthian blinked at the word. Or rather, both of his eye-mouths clicked shut and open in a rough blink equivalent.

"Er... you said 'Wallbeast'? And you serve this 'Wallbeast'? There's more than one of you in here?"

Xaxem
June 26th, 2008, 01:56 AM
"For as long as I can remember, yes."

Nny became real stoic real fast. The Wallbeast: The collective secret of the universe-- not unlike L.A.'s homeless population; the goo which seeps out of your mind's rectum; one of those things that George Carlin or Lenny Bruce or Howard Stern couldn't make funny, or even effable for that matter.

Nny paused for dramatic effect before explaining.

"The Wallbeast, as you could probably guess, lives in a wall. That wall." Nny pointed to that wall. "You ever read Lovecraft? This thing is like twenty Cthulus. Cthuli? Anyway, it lives in there, and to keep it just there I have to paint this wall with blood-- people blood, anyway. Or else it goes soft and something begins to push through."

Nny paused. He was experiencing deja vu.

"My curiosity is not so much that I would find out what that 'thing' is. But that's neither here nor there."

I believe George Carlin is the only comedian to ever make the Aristocrats joke a little humorous.

Varthonai
June 26th, 2008, 02:08 AM
The Corinthian mused over Nny's words.

For a moment, the Corinthian considered the risks of even asking the question. But curiosity got the better of him. And there was something enticing about the Wall... the bloodstained surface was oddly beautiful, in the sort of way that only a nightmare can appreciate.

A nightmare, or a homicidal maniac.

"May I... hm..." the Corinthian extended a hand and faced the Wall, then turned to face Nny. "May I touch it?"

***

Hector and Shriek moved quickly down the halls of Level 5.

“We need to create a distraction while we free more prisoners from Level 5,” explained Hector, “and I have a plan to do that. I hope you’re willing to help, Ms. Barrison.”

Shriek said nothing, but continued to follow. Hector rounded a corner, and found himself face-to-face with a man whose face was as white as bone.

Shriek seemed startled, but Hector was only mildly surprised—and a little irritated. “Joker,” barked Hector, “I thought I told you to stay in Level 4! This is no place for you to be!”

castlemanic
June 26th, 2008, 04:00 PM
(nice touch with joker man, never expected it)

Varthonai
June 26th, 2008, 04:24 PM
(nice touch with joker man, never expected it)

(Bloodshot and I worked out a deal to have his character begin playing already outside of a prison over PM.)

castlemanic
June 26th, 2008, 04:29 PM
(ok, i was thinking there was something wrong, lol)

Victory
June 26th, 2008, 05:49 PM
My head was a mess. My eyes couldn't focus on anything for any longer period and the only sound I could hear was the sound of my blood coursing through my head, with every explosion my heart could endure. That was until Adams started screaming and my comfortable reality was brought to a screaching halt and I was pulled back into my nightmare.

I hadn't the faintest idea from where I got the strenght but before I had thought about getting up from the floor, I was standing up, pressed against the bars to my cell with my head hanging out enough to see Adams crawl before an uncanny short midget. Now what are the odds of that?

"Hello, Adams."

The midget carried knives. Two blades that weren't any longer than your average silverware, if not a tad shorter. Butter knives. He had a sort of twisted insanity in his eyes; the same bloodlust that would glimmer in Marv's eyes when he had a reason to kill.

"GET BACK IN YOUR CELL, McCARTHY!"

"There's no TV in here, I need to get my entertainment somewhere."

Adams was way too shaky, even by his standards. He had the upper hand; a tazer against a midget with two butter knives and a murderer behind bars and still he was sweating rivers.