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Posted on 3/3/14 at 9:11 pm to Spankum
quote:
one thing I will never forget about the art that is on display in the courtyard was one "exhibit" that was basically a large tree stump sitting on the ground and being used as a cutting board...there were a half dozen or so beef shanks that had been hacked on with a meat cleaver that was stuck in the wood right in the middle of the cow parts...the whole thing was about half rotten from the heat and stunk like shite...
Posted on 3/3/14 at 9:18 pm to RebelOP
This is the architectural style at Troy
No pics of art building online
No pics of art building online
Posted on 3/3/14 at 9:24 pm to MrTide33
I thought this thread was gonna be about not sleeping
Posted on 3/3/14 at 9:27 pm to Hammertime
quote:
Hammertime
Sorry man
Posted on 3/3/14 at 9:36 pm to MrTide33
Muse on this concept...does art imitate life, or does life imitate art?
What happens when something captured in art seems too real.
She was beautiful. The most gorgeous woman Bradley had ever laid eyes on. He remembered the first time he ever glanced her angelic form. It was spring semester, and the magnolia buds had just begun to show in the quad, little nibs of pinkish-white peeking out from the dead brown of winter. He sat there, perched upon a cold stone bench, the mid-morning light filtering in through the trees. His sketchbook lay atop his knees as he tried to capture the beauty of natures rebirth, but each stroke seemed futile, not feeling true.
He was just about to pack his things up and grab a cup of coffee when he heard the most striking voice lilting across the grounds. His head involuntarily swiveled towards that sweet noise when he laid eyes upon the most perfect sight he had ever seen.
She was tall for a girl, almost six feet, and everything about her seemed to him chiseled from a goddess of the north. Her skin was fair, the healthy hue of ripe peach, framed by tresses of the most gorgeous blonde hair he had ever seen, falling past her breasts. He blushed as he thought about those, high and tight and round and firm, every ample ounce of them more perfect than any fantasy pinup he'd ever seen. She threw her head back and laughed at some unheard joke, ice blue eyes twinkling in the faint sunlight, orbs set above a perfectly aquiline nose, soft cheeks, and a smile that seemed as if it could melt even the coldest heart. He found himself staring, jaw hanging slackly at the shock of seeing such an incredible creature right there in front of him. And in the next instant, he began to draw.
Each stroke in the light of pale shimmering sunbeams seemed to be divinely inspired, and as infallible as those things sanctioned by the gods. In that moment he could do no wrong. Each time his eyes glanced at her, her image seared once more upon his mind and his hand obeyed, capturing every perfect feature as she stood there, laughing. There were no mistakes as he drew her then, no hesitation, no second guesses. He had never felt like this before, working at breakneck speed, almost removed from the experience, as if something had taken possession of his facilities, drawing for him. Even when she turned to leave he kept her there in that sublime moment, frozen by the magic of his artwork.
Each day after that he would sit in the same spot and watch her after class as she strolled across the quad, adding a little more to it. The color of her hair, the fullness of her lips, the brightness of her eyes...until it seemed...real. As if he had truly captured her there on the paper. His opus, his masterpiece...
What happens when something captured in art seems too real.
She was beautiful. The most gorgeous woman Bradley had ever laid eyes on. He remembered the first time he ever glanced her angelic form. It was spring semester, and the magnolia buds had just begun to show in the quad, little nibs of pinkish-white peeking out from the dead brown of winter. He sat there, perched upon a cold stone bench, the mid-morning light filtering in through the trees. His sketchbook lay atop his knees as he tried to capture the beauty of natures rebirth, but each stroke seemed futile, not feeling true.
He was just about to pack his things up and grab a cup of coffee when he heard the most striking voice lilting across the grounds. His head involuntarily swiveled towards that sweet noise when he laid eyes upon the most perfect sight he had ever seen.
She was tall for a girl, almost six feet, and everything about her seemed to him chiseled from a goddess of the north. Her skin was fair, the healthy hue of ripe peach, framed by tresses of the most gorgeous blonde hair he had ever seen, falling past her breasts. He blushed as he thought about those, high and tight and round and firm, every ample ounce of them more perfect than any fantasy pinup he'd ever seen. She threw her head back and laughed at some unheard joke, ice blue eyes twinkling in the faint sunlight, orbs set above a perfectly aquiline nose, soft cheeks, and a smile that seemed as if it could melt even the coldest heart. He found himself staring, jaw hanging slackly at the shock of seeing such an incredible creature right there in front of him. And in the next instant, he began to draw.
Each stroke in the light of pale shimmering sunbeams seemed to be divinely inspired, and as infallible as those things sanctioned by the gods. In that moment he could do no wrong. Each time his eyes glanced at her, her image seared once more upon his mind and his hand obeyed, capturing every perfect feature as she stood there, laughing. There were no mistakes as he drew her then, no hesitation, no second guesses. He had never felt like this before, working at breakneck speed, almost removed from the experience, as if something had taken possession of his facilities, drawing for him. Even when she turned to leave he kept her there in that sublime moment, frozen by the magic of his artwork.
Each day after that he would sit in the same spot and watch her after class as she strolled across the quad, adding a little more to it. The color of her hair, the fullness of her lips, the brightness of her eyes...until it seemed...real. As if he had truly captured her there on the paper. His opus, his masterpiece...
Posted on 3/3/14 at 9:50 pm to fr33manator
quote:
fr33manator
Did you write that? If so
I've admired your posting style for a while. quote:
Muse on this concept...does art imitate life, or does life imitate art?
It's funny you should pose this question. My working title for this series is "Art Imitates Death" or "Death Imitates Art" (I think this post will be the former and my last post will be the latter)
Posted on 3/3/14 at 9:51 pm to fr33manator
Hot damn!
Posted on 3/3/14 at 10:01 pm to MrTide33
quote:
Did you write that? If so I've admired your posting style for a while.
Just now. It had me thinking and I started writing. Was also texting another little story to someone in between. That's why it took so long
This post was edited on 3/3/14 at 10:02 pm
Posted on 3/3/14 at 10:09 pm to fr33manator
manator, you are a damn master...
Posted on 3/3/14 at 10:47 pm to fr33manator
He kept the picture in his pad, enshrined in plastic. And he really had captured her very essence, even more so than a photograph. If tribesmen thought a camera could steal one's soul, they would recoil at what Bradley had accomplished. Every day he watched her, trying to work up the courage to talk to her, to meet her, to show her what he had done. And every day he lost his nerve, scared, horrified of the possibility of rejection.
One bright morning he sat on his bench, the stone now warm beneath his shorts, the flowers in full bloom, filling the quad with colors and life, although not half as much as her smile. He pulled out his art and looked longingly at it as she made her usual way across the quad, this time alone. She was listening to music, and stopped to pick some flowers. Suddenly the notion seized him. This was his chance, this was the time. Gathering every scrap of courage he had inside him, he slung his bag over his shoulder and tucked her picture under his arm as he walked with measured steps to where she squatted, absentmindedly picking some violets blooming in a planter and sticking them in her hair.
He was right there, next to her. He could smell her perfume and it filled him with a sense of wonder, all jasmine and honeysuckle and driving him wild. She seemed to sense him there, and turned to meet his gaze, her luxuriant blonde hair swaying with her motion like golden waterfalls. All his practiced words failed him at that point, and instead he thrust his picture into her hands. She gingerly took it from him and stared, eyes curious, then growing wide with bewilderment. A smile crept across his face. He had done it. She would see how beautiful she was and how artfully he had captured her and...
In a halting motion she popped the earbuds from her perfectly shaped ears and looked at Bradley. Then back at the picture, then back in his eyes.
"You little creep!" She screamed, shattering the grin that had been on his face moments before. "You've been stalking me! I should call the cops you little pervert! They lock people like you up!"
The rage in her eyes was fire, searing Bradley to his core. His lips began to quiver, he could feel the redness and the strain in his eyes as he fought back the revulsion. He couldn't even make out the horrible things she was saying over the pounding of the blood in his ears.
The next thing he knew he was running. The picture was in his hands, a white knuckled grip crumpling the edge of the heavy stock as the wind from his flight made a wippawappawippawappawippa sound. He didn't stop running until he was out of breath, in a place he didn't recognize. An old grove of magnolias and ancient oaks, blocking out most of the sun. The ground here was dark and damp, and the dirt did not puff up as his tears fell, staining the picture and his shoes and the ground around him. In that moment, he felt as if the world was lost. He stared at the drawing. His perfect angel, his goddess. She despised it. In a fit of rage he crumpled it in both hands, balling it up and throwing it at the nearest oak.
The gnarled knots seemed to make a face, understanding his pain. He felt better then, making the long walk back to his dorm...
One bright morning he sat on his bench, the stone now warm beneath his shorts, the flowers in full bloom, filling the quad with colors and life, although not half as much as her smile. He pulled out his art and looked longingly at it as she made her usual way across the quad, this time alone. She was listening to music, and stopped to pick some flowers. Suddenly the notion seized him. This was his chance, this was the time. Gathering every scrap of courage he had inside him, he slung his bag over his shoulder and tucked her picture under his arm as he walked with measured steps to where she squatted, absentmindedly picking some violets blooming in a planter and sticking them in her hair.
He was right there, next to her. He could smell her perfume and it filled him with a sense of wonder, all jasmine and honeysuckle and driving him wild. She seemed to sense him there, and turned to meet his gaze, her luxuriant blonde hair swaying with her motion like golden waterfalls. All his practiced words failed him at that point, and instead he thrust his picture into her hands. She gingerly took it from him and stared, eyes curious, then growing wide with bewilderment. A smile crept across his face. He had done it. She would see how beautiful she was and how artfully he had captured her and...
In a halting motion she popped the earbuds from her perfectly shaped ears and looked at Bradley. Then back at the picture, then back in his eyes.
"You little creep!" She screamed, shattering the grin that had been on his face moments before. "You've been stalking me! I should call the cops you little pervert! They lock people like you up!"
The rage in her eyes was fire, searing Bradley to his core. His lips began to quiver, he could feel the redness and the strain in his eyes as he fought back the revulsion. He couldn't even make out the horrible things she was saying over the pounding of the blood in his ears.
The next thing he knew he was running. The picture was in his hands, a white knuckled grip crumpling the edge of the heavy stock as the wind from his flight made a wippawappawippawappawippa sound. He didn't stop running until he was out of breath, in a place he didn't recognize. An old grove of magnolias and ancient oaks, blocking out most of the sun. The ground here was dark and damp, and the dirt did not puff up as his tears fell, staining the picture and his shoes and the ground around him. In that moment, he felt as if the world was lost. He stared at the drawing. His perfect angel, his goddess. She despised it. In a fit of rage he crumpled it in both hands, balling it up and throwing it at the nearest oak.
The gnarled knots seemed to make a face, understanding his pain. He felt better then, making the long walk back to his dorm...
Posted on 3/3/14 at 10:49 pm to fr33manator
Here it is 
quote:
I stood and stared at the building looming before me. If I had known I was going to have to make up my drama quiz here, I probably would have just gone to class Tuesday morning.
The building didn’t fit in with the college’s look. Most of the old buildings have been updated with white-column facades. We joke that the university just tries to stick a white column up wherever it gets the chance. This building must not have been updated since at least the 90s. It was solid, built for use, not for scenery.
I stood at the edge of the path to the building. Even the concrete was older than the concrete on the back quad. The quad’s concrete was a light gray, smooth. The path to the art building was dark and rough. The threshold to another world.
I swallowed and crossed over it.
Nothing really changed, I suppose. I could still see the same familiar buildings all around me, their welcoming facades smiling as if everything was fine. The fountain was still spitting up water in its rhythm, undisturbed by my step into another dimension. Students were still walking to class, or the food court or library; nothing out of the ordinary.
I faced the building again. Another strange thing about the building: it’s built next to a hill, so when you walk to it from my dorm, you actually enter on the second floor. The path becomes a bridge as the ground drops out from underneath you.
I feel like the fall leaves should have been beautiful from this view, but I couldn’t shake my uneasy feeling. Everything about the building makes you feel isolated. I walked toward the door.
It didn’t open into a lobby like you would expect when entering a building from the outside. It entered into a tight hallway that looked more like a high school than a college. I kid you not, the lights were flickering, sending out an unnerving random pulse between bright, fluorescent light and a dim orange, sometimes cutting out completely. The light bathed a dirty tile floor, sheetrock walls, and crumpled old lockers, making the scene feel like a high-school nightmare.
I looked down to make sure I was wearing pants.
Fortunately, this was daytime, and the light from outside was filtering in through a few windows, minimizing the effect of the flickering lights. I peered out and saw that it overlooked a courtyard.
The hall forces you in one direction, so I walked that way, still unsure of where I was supposed to take my quiz. A classroom on my right had been completely painted black: floors, ceiling, seats, everything. A black-box theatre. This would be on my quiz. I quickly walked by and reached a door at the end of the hallway.
The door opened to another hallway, this one with concrete flooring and brick walling, like an outdoor structure might have. The inside wall had tall, narrow gaps, with one bar running horizontally up the middle, giving another view into the courtyard below.
I noticed as I walked on that there was a collage on the wall. It was drawings by some of the art students for Halloween. A zombie with its flesh ripped off in patches revealed bone, muscle and sinew. A spider’s thick, furry legs protruded from an eyelid. Other pictures held equally gruesome sights.
At the end of this hall was an enclosed stairway. I made my way down and stepped out into the courtyard. I was still under a roof; a covered walkway that went around the courtyard. In a room on my left lay a mannequin head covered in paint, a large pencil stuck through its Styrofoam cheek. Weird art projects were everywhere, some were hanging around the courtyard, some were actual structures just sitting in the grass. It may not make sense, but my mind equated it to projects to help psychiatric patients in a mental asylum.
Two guys whispered off to the side as they smoked. They didn’t seem pleased that I was there, so I moved on and finally found the lobby. Looking back, I think they may have been discussing something illegal.
It was actually pretty normal in the lobby, aside from a few eccentric art students with alternative looks. There is actually a nice museum viewable from the area.
The secretary gave me my quiz, and I took it (I made a 98. Whoop whoop!)
I was finally getting out of there, and after having done something so ordinary in such an ordinary place, I felt less uneasy about going through the building.
“Goodbye creepy mannequin head!” I smiled as I walked towards the stairs. I checked my phone as I went upstairs and back through the halls. I almost missed it.
My mind registered a few steps past the collage and I went back to look at it.
There was a new drawing on it. A young man wore a striped polo shirt. His head was separated from his neck, held together only by his esophagus. It was drawn in excruciating detail.
I was drawn in excruciating detail.
Posted on 3/3/14 at 11:00 pm to MrTide33
If youre still open to ideas I was thinking of something along these lines.
You're going to the art building to meet a group of friends to work on a project. As you pass the collage you spot a polaroid of one of your friends you're supposed to meet. In the picture he's laid out in what appears to be a ritualistic murder.
When you arrive to the studio to meet your friends everyone is there but him. Yall start to get worried and you tell the rest of the group about the polaroid. So yall make the treck down the hall to examine it further only when you get there it isnt there anymore.
A little later on in the story your bookbag spills revealing that picture and more just like it. Only the bag hasnt been out of your sight and you certainly dont remember putting them there nor ever seeing any but the one ever before.
You're going to the art building to meet a group of friends to work on a project. As you pass the collage you spot a polaroid of one of your friends you're supposed to meet. In the picture he's laid out in what appears to be a ritualistic murder.
When you arrive to the studio to meet your friends everyone is there but him. Yall start to get worried and you tell the rest of the group about the polaroid. So yall make the treck down the hall to examine it further only when you get there it isnt there anymore.
A little later on in the story your bookbag spills revealing that picture and more just like it. Only the bag hasnt been out of your sight and you certainly dont remember putting them there nor ever seeing any but the one ever before.
Posted on 3/3/14 at 11:03 pm to CottonWasKing
quote:
If youre still open to ideas I was thinking of something along these lines
I think I'm pretty firm now on this basic version of my story, but I'm always open to ideas. I like it, and you may see a thread soon wanting help writing a story based on your idea
Posted on 3/3/14 at 11:05 pm to MrTide33
quote:
I think I'm pretty firm now on this basic version of my story, but I'm always open to ideas. I like it, and you may see a thread soon wanting help writing a story based on your idea
Yea I figured I saw this thread too late to be of much help.
Posted on 3/3/14 at 11:08 pm to MrTide33
here's another one I recently wrote
"Don't Look in the Box"
There were large amounts of homes abandoned during the recession, and a popular pastime for delinquent youths was to break into these places, explore, vandalize and party. One group of teens was particularly fond of the fancier neighborhoods, as those tended to be the most exciting to ransack and rummage through, big McMansions left behind by investment bankers and executives who lost it all when the market tanked, their false riches evaporated and the reality of their immense mortgages forcing them to flee their palatial estates ahead of impending foreclosure.
One day, three such disaffected youths, Daniel, Joel, and Scott were making their way through a neighborhood they had not noticed before when they spied an ridiculously large house set far back from the main road. Surrounded by a tall, wrought iron fence that was gradually being overtaken by rust and vines, the big padlock chaining the double gates together the only thing that seemed to have escaped the ravages of time. The winding drive was covered in a thick carpet of leaves and branches, and what could be seen of the house looked dilapidated and in disrepair...and a prime destination for the group's particular brand of exploring.
The chain on the gate seemed solid, and the fence too high to scale, so the teens decided to try and find another way around. Cutting through some trails through the wooded area that bordered the back of the neighborhood, they made their way through the heavy underbrush, ditching their bikes when the thickets got too dense, and going the rest of the way on foot until they found that same imposing iron fence. The lock on the back gate was less substantial and after prying at it with a crowbar, they were able to slip through the small space, entering an immense back yard that had long been given over to small trees and tall grass, and vines clambered up sun-bleached brick walls, trying desperately to enter dusty windows framed with peeling shutters.
A large pool was in the back, its still waters a deep shade of impenetrable black-green. Mold covered patio furniture and pool toys, a noodle disintegrating when Scott picked it up. "Looks like the grounds crew took the week off," Joel quipped, kicking a lounge chair into the murky water, the wet splash spraying algae on their shoes as it sunk into the blackness. "And to think I forgot my trunks." The boys laughed nervously as they went to the back of the house, looking for an easy way in. They peered through darkened windows, rubbing away the thick layer of dust that coated the panes. Inside, nothing moved. "This should be good," Daniel grunted, forcing the wedge of the crowbar into the latch between two French doors. After a second, the metal groaned and gave an audible "POP!" as the lock gave way and swung open, revealing a sight that quickly told them they were not the first ones to have this idea.
The interior of the house was massive, with high, vaulting ceilings. What furniture was left had been overturned and smashed and piled haphazardly into what seemed to be some sort of barricade on one side of the room, looking as if the house had been turned on its side at some point. Ruddy brown paint smeared the walls, symbols that seemed to have been painted with old clothes and rags. "Guess we missed the invite to the party," Daniel chuckled as he swung his crowbar at a glass topped coffee table. It shattered with a satisfying tinkle. "Let's see if there's anything left worth taking."
The three made their way upstairs and found the rooms there ransacked in a similar fashion, drawers dumped out and mattresses slit, their stuffing entrails in scattered piles along with clothes and books. Joel opened a closet only to have an avalanche of old magazines fall on him. "National Geographic" Scott mused, helping Joel up from the dusty pile, "not even good tits in these." They picked over the rest of the rooms, smashing what hadn't already been smashed before heading back downstairs to see what else the house had to offer.
In the far corner of the kitchen they found a pantry stocked with old canned goods and weevil infested boxes of cereal. They took turns playing baseball with the cans, splattering the walls and tiles with a mixture of tomato sauce and vegetables until it looked like a Jackson Pollack painting. Reaching for another projectile in the pantry, Scott gave a startled whoop that caused the others to stop their destruction. "There's some sort of handle back here," he said, shining his flashlight to see what exactly he had found. He tugged on it, and after a moment of resistance, the back wall of the pantry slid back to reveal a staircase leading down into the darkness. "Jackpot," Daniel smirked, sending his beam downward, revealing what appeared to be a wine cellar, "Looks like they didn't find everything. Let's get wasted." Joel and Scott exchanged a glance that was both apprehensive and mischievous, then followed Daniel as he made his way into the basement.
Indeed, the previous explorers had /not/ found everything. Racks upon racks of wine bottles lined the darkened cellar, the three beams of the flashlights darting to and fro, kicked up dust dancing in the yellow light. They found an old hurricane lantern and tried to light it. On the third attempt it sputtered and dispelled the nearby darkness with warm torchlight, making the teens feel like Indiana Jones. They found a corkscrew on a table and opened up a bottle for each of them, drinking deeply from the green glass as they laughed and reveled in their newfound discovery.
Their laughter ceased immediately as they heard a rustle from the other end of the room, flashlights swinging in tandem towards the source of the sound. "Who's there!?", Daniel's voice reached out into the darkness, his bravado tinged with an undercurrent of fear.
No answer. Movement again, this time louder. Lantern and flashlights illuminated the corner of the cellar as the three inched closer, ready to run. A box shifted and out crept a large brown rat. The tension eased at this innocuous monster and the teens breathed a sigh of relief, each taking a long swig from their bottles to calm their now shaky nerves. "Just a stupid rat. What'd you think it was Joel, the boogeyman? You damn near pissed your pants." Daniel taunted. Then all three screamed as a stack of boxes tumbled and the sound of shattering glass filled the basement, echoing off the walls, mingling with their terrified cries. A black shape shot out from the corner and let loose a screech and the three turned to flee, but ran into each other, coming down in a tangled heap, their own wine bottles breaking on the floor. "Run!" Scott wailed, his voice wavering with no hint of bravery, "it's gonna get us!"
The beam of a dropped flashlight rolled across the shed its light on the beast. Casting a great black shadow on the stone wall. A cat hissed at this annoyance and returned to it's meal, the brown body of the rat flopping as the big tom tore into it. The terror filled cries that had consumed the group turned into uneasy sighs, then laughter at their own fright. "Just...a...frickin'...cat," Joel exclaimed breathlessly, bringing himself into a sitting position. "What...a...pussy," Scott groaned, kicking Daniel off of him, "I thought you weren't scared of anything Dan."
Daniel rolled over, his white shirt now a soaking wet mess of deep crimson. "Damn glass cut me!" he sat up and looked down at his hand, blood oozing from a wound across his palm. "Did it get you in the chest?" asked Joel when he saw the dark spot on Daniel's shirt.
"No, that's just the wine." Daniel sighed, picking the glass out of his palm, "still, no excuse for alcohol abuse." The three chuckled faintly, dissipating their unease.
"Don't Look in the Box"
There were large amounts of homes abandoned during the recession, and a popular pastime for delinquent youths was to break into these places, explore, vandalize and party. One group of teens was particularly fond of the fancier neighborhoods, as those tended to be the most exciting to ransack and rummage through, big McMansions left behind by investment bankers and executives who lost it all when the market tanked, their false riches evaporated and the reality of their immense mortgages forcing them to flee their palatial estates ahead of impending foreclosure.
One day, three such disaffected youths, Daniel, Joel, and Scott were making their way through a neighborhood they had not noticed before when they spied an ridiculously large house set far back from the main road. Surrounded by a tall, wrought iron fence that was gradually being overtaken by rust and vines, the big padlock chaining the double gates together the only thing that seemed to have escaped the ravages of time. The winding drive was covered in a thick carpet of leaves and branches, and what could be seen of the house looked dilapidated and in disrepair...and a prime destination for the group's particular brand of exploring.
The chain on the gate seemed solid, and the fence too high to scale, so the teens decided to try and find another way around. Cutting through some trails through the wooded area that bordered the back of the neighborhood, they made their way through the heavy underbrush, ditching their bikes when the thickets got too dense, and going the rest of the way on foot until they found that same imposing iron fence. The lock on the back gate was less substantial and after prying at it with a crowbar, they were able to slip through the small space, entering an immense back yard that had long been given over to small trees and tall grass, and vines clambered up sun-bleached brick walls, trying desperately to enter dusty windows framed with peeling shutters.
A large pool was in the back, its still waters a deep shade of impenetrable black-green. Mold covered patio furniture and pool toys, a noodle disintegrating when Scott picked it up. "Looks like the grounds crew took the week off," Joel quipped, kicking a lounge chair into the murky water, the wet splash spraying algae on their shoes as it sunk into the blackness. "And to think I forgot my trunks." The boys laughed nervously as they went to the back of the house, looking for an easy way in. They peered through darkened windows, rubbing away the thick layer of dust that coated the panes. Inside, nothing moved. "This should be good," Daniel grunted, forcing the wedge of the crowbar into the latch between two French doors. After a second, the metal groaned and gave an audible "POP!" as the lock gave way and swung open, revealing a sight that quickly told them they were not the first ones to have this idea.
The interior of the house was massive, with high, vaulting ceilings. What furniture was left had been overturned and smashed and piled haphazardly into what seemed to be some sort of barricade on one side of the room, looking as if the house had been turned on its side at some point. Ruddy brown paint smeared the walls, symbols that seemed to have been painted with old clothes and rags. "Guess we missed the invite to the party," Daniel chuckled as he swung his crowbar at a glass topped coffee table. It shattered with a satisfying tinkle. "Let's see if there's anything left worth taking."
The three made their way upstairs and found the rooms there ransacked in a similar fashion, drawers dumped out and mattresses slit, their stuffing entrails in scattered piles along with clothes and books. Joel opened a closet only to have an avalanche of old magazines fall on him. "National Geographic" Scott mused, helping Joel up from the dusty pile, "not even good tits in these." They picked over the rest of the rooms, smashing what hadn't already been smashed before heading back downstairs to see what else the house had to offer.
In the far corner of the kitchen they found a pantry stocked with old canned goods and weevil infested boxes of cereal. They took turns playing baseball with the cans, splattering the walls and tiles with a mixture of tomato sauce and vegetables until it looked like a Jackson Pollack painting. Reaching for another projectile in the pantry, Scott gave a startled whoop that caused the others to stop their destruction. "There's some sort of handle back here," he said, shining his flashlight to see what exactly he had found. He tugged on it, and after a moment of resistance, the back wall of the pantry slid back to reveal a staircase leading down into the darkness. "Jackpot," Daniel smirked, sending his beam downward, revealing what appeared to be a wine cellar, "Looks like they didn't find everything. Let's get wasted." Joel and Scott exchanged a glance that was both apprehensive and mischievous, then followed Daniel as he made his way into the basement.
Indeed, the previous explorers had /not/ found everything. Racks upon racks of wine bottles lined the darkened cellar, the three beams of the flashlights darting to and fro, kicked up dust dancing in the yellow light. They found an old hurricane lantern and tried to light it. On the third attempt it sputtered and dispelled the nearby darkness with warm torchlight, making the teens feel like Indiana Jones. They found a corkscrew on a table and opened up a bottle for each of them, drinking deeply from the green glass as they laughed and reveled in their newfound discovery.
Their laughter ceased immediately as they heard a rustle from the other end of the room, flashlights swinging in tandem towards the source of the sound. "Who's there!?", Daniel's voice reached out into the darkness, his bravado tinged with an undercurrent of fear.
No answer. Movement again, this time louder. Lantern and flashlights illuminated the corner of the cellar as the three inched closer, ready to run. A box shifted and out crept a large brown rat. The tension eased at this innocuous monster and the teens breathed a sigh of relief, each taking a long swig from their bottles to calm their now shaky nerves. "Just a stupid rat. What'd you think it was Joel, the boogeyman? You damn near pissed your pants." Daniel taunted. Then all three screamed as a stack of boxes tumbled and the sound of shattering glass filled the basement, echoing off the walls, mingling with their terrified cries. A black shape shot out from the corner and let loose a screech and the three turned to flee, but ran into each other, coming down in a tangled heap, their own wine bottles breaking on the floor. "Run!" Scott wailed, his voice wavering with no hint of bravery, "it's gonna get us!"
The beam of a dropped flashlight rolled across the shed its light on the beast. Casting a great black shadow on the stone wall. A cat hissed at this annoyance and returned to it's meal, the brown body of the rat flopping as the big tom tore into it. The terror filled cries that had consumed the group turned into uneasy sighs, then laughter at their own fright. "Just...a...frickin'...cat," Joel exclaimed breathlessly, bringing himself into a sitting position. "What...a...pussy," Scott groaned, kicking Daniel off of him, "I thought you weren't scared of anything Dan."
Daniel rolled over, his white shirt now a soaking wet mess of deep crimson. "Damn glass cut me!" he sat up and looked down at his hand, blood oozing from a wound across his palm. "Did it get you in the chest?" asked Joel when he saw the dark spot on Daniel's shirt.
"No, that's just the wine." Daniel sighed, picking the glass out of his palm, "still, no excuse for alcohol abuse." The three chuckled faintly, dissipating their unease.
Posted on 3/3/14 at 11:09 pm to fr33manator
Scott found an old rag and tied it around Daniel's hand, staunching the flow of blood. They stood up and looked around the cellar once more. "Should we go now?" Joel queried uncertainly. "Hell no!", Daniel replied. He grabbed the broken bottle of wine off the floor and threw it at the feasting cat in the corner, sending it scurrying into the darkness at the other end of the cellar once more with a hiss. "This is the best find we've ever had. I'm not gonna let a little cut and some stupid cat chase us away. We've got all weekend to check out this score." The other two shrugged and resumed, finishing off their wine before opening three new bottles.
They made their way to the corner where the cat and the rat had come from and looked around. Behind the toppled boxes was another door. It looked ancient, dark oak planks with a heavy latch and an old rusted lock, the sort that was opened with those classic style keys. "Now this is money." Daniel crowed, kicking boxes out of the way to clear the space. He walked back towards the stairs and returned with his crowbar in his bandaged hand. "Luckily I brought my skeleton key."
He jammed the beak of his crowbar into the wood behind the latch, digging it deep, then grunting laboriously as he hefted against the rusted metal, to no avail. He tried again, straining, but with as much luck. "Are you two gonna just stand there with your fingers up your asses or give me a hand here?" He shot accusing looks at his two friends, who looked dumbfounded for a moment before setting their bottles down and grabbing hold of the iron haft. "Okay, on three. One...two...three!" They lurched upwards in unison, putting all their weight into the effort, and after a few seconds of resisting the latch gave up the ghost and bolted free from the door frame with a crash, swinging limply, the tenacious lock still attached but as good as useless now. The three panted triumphantly at their accomplishment, then looked at each other, as if wondering what to do next.
"Well, go ahead and open it!" Daniel's command fell flat in the lantern light, echoing off the basement's stone walls.
"You open it." Joel said nervously, accompanied by a nod of agreement from Scott.
"Don't be such a pussy." Daniel's tone was menacing, but held an air of apprehension as well, "scared another kitty cat is gonna jump out and scare you?"
"Whatever. I'll do it." Scott brushed Daniel aside and grabbed the rusted handle, "since you don't have the balls."
He gave the door a tug and it swung heavily outward, making the group stumble back. A damp smell of rotten wood and mold and stale air filled their nostrils, making them purse their lips and wrinkle their noses unconsciously. They peered into the blackness together...an unsettling silence broken only by the sound of their breathing and the faint creaking of disused hinges. Scott grabbed the lantern as the other two brought their flashlights, shining them in tandem to ward off the permeating darkness of the room.
At first glance the room seemed empty, bare stone walls, great big blocks stacked in an uneven pattern, about twelve feet by twelve feet. Daniel shoved past Scott and stepped into the room, shining his light one way, then another, stepping a foot further into the dark. His friends followed slowly after.
Joel placed his hand behind him on the wall as he edged around the room, feeling the dampness of the smooth stones. He brought his light up to the ceiling in the middle of the room. Hanging in the center was a single light bulb on a cord, its pull string barely swaying with the movement of their intrusion into this seemingly forgotten hideaway. Scott warily trod towards the center and pulled on it, and all three gasped as the lone bulb responded, flickering once, twice, then staying on, chasing away the black with warm yellow light.
"Did anyone think to try the switches?" He asked the others.
"Did anyone think to try the switches?" Daniel mimicked his question in a mocking tone, then shook his head.
"I tried upstairs but nothing came on," Scott offered, "this must be on an older circuit that didn't get cut off."
The three looked down simultaneously, all spying the same object at once. It was a wooden box, roughly a foot wide, long, and deep, with a wooden top. No latch. No lock. "What the hell is inside it?", Daniel wondered out loud, asking the question that was at the forefront of all their minds.
"I'm not sure I want to know." Joel pointed a finger at the wall the door had been on, where they hadn't looked before. This wall was concrete, and much newer than the others. In the same ruddy brown paint had been written on the wall, in large, hand painted letters.
DON'T LOOK IN THE BOX.
The all mouthed the words silently, slowly. So ominous, almost taunting. For several interminable moments none of them spoke, only read the words there over and over and over. Daniel broke the eerie stillness. "Well we have to look in it now. There could be anything in there. Money. Jewelry. Gold even."
Joel shook his head from side to side in a furious arc. "No. No no no no no no no." He was adamant. " I don't care. I don't wanna know. Let's just go. I don't feel well."
Scott and Daniel looked at him, intrigued by his sudden fear. He wasn't always the most fearless among them, but they'd never known him to shy from such a tempting prospect.
"Dude, it's probably just something the owners left to scare off intruders." Daniel said. "Like us." Scott muttered solemnly.
Joel was resolute. "No, I don't want to know and I don't care. Seriously guys, what if it's a trap or something?" The fear was palpable in his voice, which was quavering at this point. "Let's go. I'm getting out of here."
He made to leave when Daniel's outstretched palm stopped him, shoving back against his chest. His heart was pounding at this point.
"You aren't going anywhere." The final word from Daniel's lips was pure intimidation, his lips forming into a sneer. "We came here together, and we'll leave together. And we aren't leaving until we get whatever is in the box."
They made their way to the corner where the cat and the rat had come from and looked around. Behind the toppled boxes was another door. It looked ancient, dark oak planks with a heavy latch and an old rusted lock, the sort that was opened with those classic style keys. "Now this is money." Daniel crowed, kicking boxes out of the way to clear the space. He walked back towards the stairs and returned with his crowbar in his bandaged hand. "Luckily I brought my skeleton key."
He jammed the beak of his crowbar into the wood behind the latch, digging it deep, then grunting laboriously as he hefted against the rusted metal, to no avail. He tried again, straining, but with as much luck. "Are you two gonna just stand there with your fingers up your asses or give me a hand here?" He shot accusing looks at his two friends, who looked dumbfounded for a moment before setting their bottles down and grabbing hold of the iron haft. "Okay, on three. One...two...three!" They lurched upwards in unison, putting all their weight into the effort, and after a few seconds of resisting the latch gave up the ghost and bolted free from the door frame with a crash, swinging limply, the tenacious lock still attached but as good as useless now. The three panted triumphantly at their accomplishment, then looked at each other, as if wondering what to do next.
"Well, go ahead and open it!" Daniel's command fell flat in the lantern light, echoing off the basement's stone walls.
"You open it." Joel said nervously, accompanied by a nod of agreement from Scott.
"Don't be such a pussy." Daniel's tone was menacing, but held an air of apprehension as well, "scared another kitty cat is gonna jump out and scare you?"
"Whatever. I'll do it." Scott brushed Daniel aside and grabbed the rusted handle, "since you don't have the balls."
He gave the door a tug and it swung heavily outward, making the group stumble back. A damp smell of rotten wood and mold and stale air filled their nostrils, making them purse their lips and wrinkle their noses unconsciously. They peered into the blackness together...an unsettling silence broken only by the sound of their breathing and the faint creaking of disused hinges. Scott grabbed the lantern as the other two brought their flashlights, shining them in tandem to ward off the permeating darkness of the room.
At first glance the room seemed empty, bare stone walls, great big blocks stacked in an uneven pattern, about twelve feet by twelve feet. Daniel shoved past Scott and stepped into the room, shining his light one way, then another, stepping a foot further into the dark. His friends followed slowly after.
Joel placed his hand behind him on the wall as he edged around the room, feeling the dampness of the smooth stones. He brought his light up to the ceiling in the middle of the room. Hanging in the center was a single light bulb on a cord, its pull string barely swaying with the movement of their intrusion into this seemingly forgotten hideaway. Scott warily trod towards the center and pulled on it, and all three gasped as the lone bulb responded, flickering once, twice, then staying on, chasing away the black with warm yellow light.
"Did anyone think to try the switches?" He asked the others.
"Did anyone think to try the switches?" Daniel mimicked his question in a mocking tone, then shook his head.
"I tried upstairs but nothing came on," Scott offered, "this must be on an older circuit that didn't get cut off."
The three looked down simultaneously, all spying the same object at once. It was a wooden box, roughly a foot wide, long, and deep, with a wooden top. No latch. No lock. "What the hell is inside it?", Daniel wondered out loud, asking the question that was at the forefront of all their minds.
"I'm not sure I want to know." Joel pointed a finger at the wall the door had been on, where they hadn't looked before. This wall was concrete, and much newer than the others. In the same ruddy brown paint had been written on the wall, in large, hand painted letters.
DON'T LOOK IN THE BOX.
The all mouthed the words silently, slowly. So ominous, almost taunting. For several interminable moments none of them spoke, only read the words there over and over and over. Daniel broke the eerie stillness. "Well we have to look in it now. There could be anything in there. Money. Jewelry. Gold even."
Joel shook his head from side to side in a furious arc. "No. No no no no no no no." He was adamant. " I don't care. I don't wanna know. Let's just go. I don't feel well."
Scott and Daniel looked at him, intrigued by his sudden fear. He wasn't always the most fearless among them, but they'd never known him to shy from such a tempting prospect.
"Dude, it's probably just something the owners left to scare off intruders." Daniel said. "Like us." Scott muttered solemnly.
Joel was resolute. "No, I don't want to know and I don't care. Seriously guys, what if it's a trap or something?" The fear was palpable in his voice, which was quavering at this point. "Let's go. I'm getting out of here."
He made to leave when Daniel's outstretched palm stopped him, shoving back against his chest. His heart was pounding at this point.
"You aren't going anywhere." The final word from Daniel's lips was pure intimidation, his lips forming into a sneer. "We came here together, and we'll leave together. And we aren't leaving until we get whatever is in the box."
Posted on 3/3/14 at 11:09 pm to fr33manator
Joel looked to Scott for help, but found none in his friend's eyes. "Danny's right. We are the first ones in who knows how long to find this. If we leave whoever was here before might come back and get it before we do, and then this whole thing was pointless. We'll take what's in the box and then we can go."
Daniel straightened his posture and poked out his chest. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. "Tell you what. We'll flip the coin. Heads, we open the box. Tails, we grab some wine and go home."
Joel glared at Daniel, then sighed with an answer of surrender. "Okay. Best 2 out of 3 though." All three boys nodded as Daniel fingered the coin in his hand, a dull silver glint reflecting off its surface.
"We each get one flip. Then we open it." Daniel surely stated. He handed the coin to Scott first. "Heads we open it, tails we leave." Scott nodded. He made a fist and fingered the coin into the crook of his index finger, his thumb poised beneath it. With a swift, practiced pop of his thumb he sent the silver dollar spinning end over end, flipping in the air until it reached the apex of its ascent and fell back down into his open palm, his fingers instantly clutching around it and slapping it onto the top of his left arm. He brought it closer to his face and lifted his right hand ever so slightly, then pulled it back to reveal the result to the others.
Tails
Joel let a quiet sigh go.
Daniel came next, turning the coin over a few times in his fingers before adopting the same technique as his friend. Over and over it turned in the air, landing with and audible plap in his bandaged right palm and swiftly slapped on his opposing forearm. He revealed it with a smirk.
Heads.
He handed it to Joel with a sneering grin. "For all the marbles in the box, buddy..." The last syllable drug out in what seemed like an eternity. Joel set his flashlight down, looking at the light dangling from the heavy oaken rafters, then down at the box sitting all alone in that dank cellar room, then at the words scrawled on the wall, their ochre warning menacing.
DON'T LOOK IN THE BOX.
DON'T LOOK IN THE BOX.
DON'T LOOK IN THE BOX.
The letters seared into his brain, taunting him. His escape was so close he could taste it. One flip of the coin and he could go, away from this accursed room and that damnable box and whatever horrid thing that lurked inside it. He was sweating bullets now despite the cold dampness of the room. His heart palpitating with a terrible "ka-thump ka-thump ka-thump ka-thump", blood coursing through his ears. Why did he come here? He could just bowl over Danny and make a mad dash out the basement and this awful house now. Screw the box!
"Do it!" Danny growled, "hurry the hell up, pussy!"
His hands were trembling. He placed the coin with one hand into his fist, then weakly popped his thumb, the silver circle of his fate warbling in the air.
Headstailsheadstailsheadstailsheadstails. Over and over and over and it was coming down now oh god oh god oh god oh god.
Plap. Into his shaky, sweaty palm, his fingers clinching immediately with no delay around the damned coin and then furiously against the flat of his arm. He held it there, trying to divine the feel of what it would reveal, terror filling his senses to the brim at what it would be.
Daniel yanked his palm away, and for an instant he saw glorious tails before it shook loose and tumbled to the dirt floor in a heavy thump.
"It's tails" Joel screamed, "tails!"
They all looked at the floor, the coin laying there bathed in that cold illumination of the solitary false sun.
Heads.
"It was tails!" Joel cried, his voice taking on a tremulous timbre of sheer and abject desperation. He turned towards the door to run but Daniel grabbed him and they tumbled to the floor in a struggling heap, Joel kicking and screaming "Tails! Tails! He grabbed my hand! It was tails!" They landed in front of the box, striking it with a thud. The top was knocked askew, almost off. They stopped moving and all three stared at it.
Joel struggled to turn away from it but found he couldn't. All three felt compelled to look closer, inch by agonizing inch.
In silence Daniel moved the top off the rest of the way.
Inside was a faded Polaroid picture. He picked it up out of the box and held it up in the dim yellow light. At first they couldn't tell what it was a picture of, like it hadn't fully developed yet. They looked closer, and it became clearer, second by second. It was a picture of them.
In a flash the light gave an audible pop and hiss, then went black. In the darkness they heard the creak of the hinges and a heavy thunk as the door swung shut.
And in the blackness, they screamed.
Daniel straightened his posture and poked out his chest. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. "Tell you what. We'll flip the coin. Heads, we open the box. Tails, we grab some wine and go home."
Joel glared at Daniel, then sighed with an answer of surrender. "Okay. Best 2 out of 3 though." All three boys nodded as Daniel fingered the coin in his hand, a dull silver glint reflecting off its surface.
"We each get one flip. Then we open it." Daniel surely stated. He handed the coin to Scott first. "Heads we open it, tails we leave." Scott nodded. He made a fist and fingered the coin into the crook of his index finger, his thumb poised beneath it. With a swift, practiced pop of his thumb he sent the silver dollar spinning end over end, flipping in the air until it reached the apex of its ascent and fell back down into his open palm, his fingers instantly clutching around it and slapping it onto the top of his left arm. He brought it closer to his face and lifted his right hand ever so slightly, then pulled it back to reveal the result to the others.
Tails
Joel let a quiet sigh go.
Daniel came next, turning the coin over a few times in his fingers before adopting the same technique as his friend. Over and over it turned in the air, landing with and audible plap in his bandaged right palm and swiftly slapped on his opposing forearm. He revealed it with a smirk.
Heads.
He handed it to Joel with a sneering grin. "For all the marbles in the box, buddy..." The last syllable drug out in what seemed like an eternity. Joel set his flashlight down, looking at the light dangling from the heavy oaken rafters, then down at the box sitting all alone in that dank cellar room, then at the words scrawled on the wall, their ochre warning menacing.
DON'T LOOK IN THE BOX.
DON'T LOOK IN THE BOX.
DON'T LOOK IN THE BOX.
The letters seared into his brain, taunting him. His escape was so close he could taste it. One flip of the coin and he could go, away from this accursed room and that damnable box and whatever horrid thing that lurked inside it. He was sweating bullets now despite the cold dampness of the room. His heart palpitating with a terrible "ka-thump ka-thump ka-thump ka-thump", blood coursing through his ears. Why did he come here? He could just bowl over Danny and make a mad dash out the basement and this awful house now. Screw the box!
"Do it!" Danny growled, "hurry the hell up, pussy!"
His hands were trembling. He placed the coin with one hand into his fist, then weakly popped his thumb, the silver circle of his fate warbling in the air.
Headstailsheadstailsheadstailsheadstails. Over and over and over and it was coming down now oh god oh god oh god oh god.
Plap. Into his shaky, sweaty palm, his fingers clinching immediately with no delay around the damned coin and then furiously against the flat of his arm. He held it there, trying to divine the feel of what it would reveal, terror filling his senses to the brim at what it would be.
Daniel yanked his palm away, and for an instant he saw glorious tails before it shook loose and tumbled to the dirt floor in a heavy thump.
"It's tails" Joel screamed, "tails!"
They all looked at the floor, the coin laying there bathed in that cold illumination of the solitary false sun.
Heads.
"It was tails!" Joel cried, his voice taking on a tremulous timbre of sheer and abject desperation. He turned towards the door to run but Daniel grabbed him and they tumbled to the floor in a struggling heap, Joel kicking and screaming "Tails! Tails! He grabbed my hand! It was tails!" They landed in front of the box, striking it with a thud. The top was knocked askew, almost off. They stopped moving and all three stared at it.
Joel struggled to turn away from it but found he couldn't. All three felt compelled to look closer, inch by agonizing inch.
In silence Daniel moved the top off the rest of the way.
Inside was a faded Polaroid picture. He picked it up out of the box and held it up in the dim yellow light. At first they couldn't tell what it was a picture of, like it hadn't fully developed yet. They looked closer, and it became clearer, second by second. It was a picture of them.
In a flash the light gave an audible pop and hiss, then went black. In the darkness they heard the creak of the hinges and a heavy thunk as the door swung shut.
And in the blackness, they screamed.
Posted on 3/3/14 at 11:32 pm to fr33manator
quote:
fr33manator
I upvoted yours
Can I get one back? Posted on 3/3/14 at 11:37 pm to MrTide33
done.
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