𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 MDNI, HEAVY DARK CONTENT! Graphic violence and extreme gore, torture and prolonged physical abuse, racism, bodily harm, descriptions of racism, use of the N-word by a racist character, heavy description of torture, wounds, humiliation. Dead Dove, Do Not Eat.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3,6K
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: The quiet town of Hawkins, Indiana has been ravaged by unexplained and sudden murders, bringing terror and panic to the population. Five friends find themselves cornered by a mysterious and sadistic masked figure and forced to reveal their darkest secrets. In a sadistic game, the winner is not the one who comes out alive.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Ohhh I forgot how good it was to write haha. TAGLIST IS OPEN!
𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
"Now it's time for one more of you to join the fun." He looked at the faces of the remaining three. Carol, Jason, and you.
He gestured to you, Carol, and Jason, who were watching with a mixture of fear and anticipation. "Let's play a little, shall we?" Ghostface's voice was full of sadistic pleasure as he began pacing back and forth in front of you.
“Eenie, meenie, minie, moe,” he chanted, pointing a gloved finger at each of you seated there. “Grab the victim by the toe. If they scream, don’t let them go.”
The only thing to be heard in the dark room was his macabre chant, and if you strained your ears a little harder, you could hear the erratic rhythm of your companions’ hearts as they struggled to maintain a neutral expression before the masked man.
As he continued the twisted rhyme, your stomach churned and sweat pooled at your temples, a chill spreading through your body.
"Eenie, meenie, minie, moe," Ghostface's finger landed on Carol, his masked face contorting into a cruel grin that displayed dominance and power.
"Looks like you're the lucky winner, Carol." He moved closer to her face, the white mask hovering above the head of the girl who refused to look at the sadist in front of her.
He reached out and removed the gag from her mouth with a certain brutality — recalling the moment of hysteria earlier — while she gasped deeply with panic and rage, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her lungs filled with air, her chin trembling, and the sound of her teeth chattering filled the room.
But Carol wasn't the kind of girl who feared a man.
"You sick son of a bitch!" She turned her face toward him as she screamed, the powerful sound of her voice, consumed by rage and despair, echoing through the four corners of the house as she spewed curses at Ghostface.
"Who do you think you are? Do you think you can do this to us and get away with it? To me?" You, Jason, and Tammy watched in shock as she unleashed a torrent of curses and threats at him as if the fact that he held her life and everyone else's in his hands was just a mere insignificant fact.
The walls of the room seemed to tremble with the intensity of the words, full of venom and rage, the atmosphere charged with the tension of the moment.
“I’m going to kill you, you fucking psychopath! I’m going to make you bleed like a pig!” But Ghostface remained unfazed.
He crossed his arms over his chest and let out a low, dark laugh of mockery. “Ah… I love it when they fight back, it turns me on so much.” He taunted, his voice velvety with pleasure and sadism. He tilted his head to the side and studied the fuming girl in front of him.
“You know the game, Carol…” His voice overflowed with malice and menace. “Tell me your secret and I’ll let you go… Or not, I haven’t decided on that yet.” Carol choked on her breath as she stared at him with wide, incredulous, and defiant eyes, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“I won’t—” she laughed incredulously. “I won’t tell you anything, you sicko.” She laughed as she spoke, as if she didn’t believe the consequences would come for her.
Her determination was firm as she refused to give in to the demands of that sadistic monster, even knowing that in that perverse game, your lives were at stake.
His posture stiffened. “Oh, darling… I think you still haven’t understood one thing here.” His voice dropped a few octaves, becoming gravely deep and menacing. “You’re not in control here. I am.”
He sighed as if disappointed. “Carol, Carol…” the disappointed voice echoed through the room with a delightful shiver as he watched the girl struggle futilely against the restraints. "I thought it would be more fun to play with you, but I guess I was wrong."
Her heart seemed to fight to escape her ribcage and flee from that horror, her chest heaved with a mixture of fear and raw determination not to show weakness before the mentally disturbed and masked figure that circled her like a predator about to pounce.
"Let me go now," she demanded, her voice trembling but firm. "I won't be part of your sick game, I refuse."
Ghostface tilted his head humorously. “Oh, but you already are.” His tone overflowed with amusement in a twisted sense of humor.
“Long before you and your friends woke up in this room, you were already pieces in my game.” The mask’s expressionless face hid any emotion from its eyes.
“Confess, little mouse Carol,” he demanded in a low, menacing voice. “For the last time, confess your sins.”
“I have nothing to confess to you,” she replied, her lips and chin trembling, looking anywhere but at him.
He laughed darkly, the sound reverberating through the small room. “Ah, I wouldn’t say that if I were you, little mouse. We all have a few bodies hidden in the closet, don’t we?”
Carol swallowed hard, lowering her voice to a whisper, her shoulders tightening against her body. “I’m not going to give you that satisfaction.” She could feel her skin damp with the cold sweat that was accumulating.
“As you wish, then,” he murmured softly, gripping her face tightly, his fingers digging into her cheeks and forcing her to look up. “I’ll accept your tongue as punishment.” He raised his other fist toward her mouth, a knife in his gloved hand, its sharp edge gleaming in the dim light.
“Wait!” She forced the words through her throat, the sound muffled by his grip on her cheeks. “I’ll tell you.” Her eyes closed as she furrowed her brows in an expression of pain and shame.
She curled up in herself, keeping her eyes closed. “My secret is… It’s about a guy.” Ghostface lowered the knife and released her face.
“Oh, a guy…,” he sneered in a malicious voice. “Tell me more, little rat.”
“I ruined his life out of greed.” She confessed, and grotesque sobs escaped her lips.
“And how did you ruin his life, Carol?” She hesitated before speaking, her brain still trying to be rational and remind her of the social consequences she would face when she left and everyone knew what she had done.
She looked at you, Jason, and Tammy — who were staring intently at her — but mostly at Jason, her eyes trying to signal what would be an apology. “I… I met him a few years ago. He showed interest in me when I was still in high school.” The words echoed through the room.
“He was rich and knew a lot of powerful people, and I became interested in him thinking about the advantage I could gain if I could get something out of him.” Ghostface listened attentively, arms crossed, knife still in hand.
“At first I was perfect, I treated him with affection and pretended to be the most docile person in the world. Until one day he said he loved me, and I realized it no longer made sense to continue pretending, so I showed him who I really was.” She recounted as she remembered.
“Ah, greed… It’s like that old saying: give a man power and you’ll really see who he is…” he reflected darkly. “What happened next?” He feigned curiosity.
Carol hesitated for a few seconds. “I started blackmailing him, saying I wanted money and jewelry or…” She fixed her gaze on Jason and tears streamed down her face. “Or I would tell his wife that he was cheating on her with me, I had all the proof and I used it to my advantage.” Jason frowned, finally understanding where this story was going.
Ghostface began clapping slowly and chuckling softly as if it were amusing. “A married man? Wow, how original… They say love has no age, but in your case, it has assets… And a wife, but who cares about that these days, right?” He mocked and laughed along with the other masked figures and gestured for her to continue.
“One day he refused to give me any more money and said I was bluffing, so I sent all the evidence to his wife and hid my face so she wouldn’t know who I was.” Her voice was barely a whisper as she spoke.
“I later learned that they divorced and that his wife kept everything, all the money and all the property. Apparently, they had signed a prenuptial agreement saying that whoever cheated would leave the marriage with nothing. He tried to contact me afterward, but I kicked him out of my life; he wasn’t useful to me anymore, so why would I keep him?” She shrugged as if she didn't care.
“Interesting…” his voice overflowed with sarcasm. “So you’re quite the slut, aren’t you? Going after a married man for money, like a cheap prostitute… And you even had the nerve to blackmail him for more money.” He punctuated in an accusatory tone. “Not that he’s a saint, a person who betrays the one who sleeps next to them every day deserves nothing but pain and suffering, but you’re not innocent.” Carol frowned angrily at receiving a lecture from a murderous psychopath.
“And who do you think you are to tell me if I’m innocent or not? You’re nothing but a crazy psychopath who kidnapped five people for your sadistic little game!” She roared furiously.
“Me?” He asked, pointing to himself. “Here I am your god, so I think you’d better start praying according to my mass or I won’t be so merciful with your penance.” His voice dropped dangerously low octaves.
“Do you regret it, little rat?” Ghostface asked disinterestedly, and she chuckled dryly.
“Yes, I do regret it… I regret not being smarter and keeping that pathetic old man around longer. I would have sucked everything out of him, and there wouldn’t have been anything left to tell the tale.” She looked at Jason. “The only thing that hurt me was seeing you cry over your parents’ marriage without knowing I was the reason for it all. And even though you’re my friend, I would do it all again, but better.”
Ghostface looked at Jason and Carol, repeating the action a few times, and gasped in surprise, bringing his free hand to the mouth of the mask— a scene that would be comical if it weren’t for the setting they were all in — and began to laugh as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world.
“Wait… You slept with your friend’s dad?” He asked, amused by the situation. "I thought only termites liked old wood, but it seems you're very interested in it too." He laughed along with the masked figures, and you had to restrain yourself from smiling out of respect for the situation. But he saw the corners of your lips twitch, a smile threatening to appear.
He took a deep breath after laughing and spoke seriously. “As funny as it sounds, that’s not your secret, little rat Carol.” You widened your eyes in surprise and shock at learning that this wasn’t your friend’s worst secret. “I think you’d better confess once and for all, I’ve lost patience with you.” He waved the knife in his hand as a reminder.
Her nostrils flared and she clenched her jaw tightly, grinding her teeth. “Can I ask for a hint? Everyone else got one, so I have one too.” He rolled his eyes beneath his mask, and the urge to simply rip out her vocal cords seemed too appealing at the moment.
“A hint, huh?” He took a deep breath as he placed both hands on his hips. “Well, let’s see… You spread some rumors about someone aggressive and using drugs at school.” Recognition flashed through her eyes, making her expression harden even more. “…And you know exactly why you did it.”
Her facial expression tensed, her jaw clenching and teeth grinding. “Yes, I know,” she sighed heavily in irritation. “I despised someone.”
Ghostface murmured in recognition. “And why did you despise that person, little rat?” He questioned with his arms crossed, the knife always in hand.
“Because he was different from me, and I don’t like people like him.” Carol rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious. “My parents taught me that that type of person isn’t trustworthy, and that I should always be wary.”
“That… kind of person?” he dragged out the sentence. “What kind of person is he, Carol?” His voice came out almost as a low, menacing growl.
Her upper lip curled. “I did what needed to be done,” she deflected. “I spread some rumors around the school, small things at first, but enough to attract some attention.” She explained through gritted teeth. “Like punching a locker at school, one of those that were always a pain to open; a fake confrontation with a teacher… Mundane things, but when repeated they become a red light in people’s heads, even more so if a seed of doubt is planted.” A proud, half-smile formed on her lips.
Everyone in the room was motionless — except for Ghostface, who was circling Carol, and the aforementioned girl, who was still talking — and without reaction after her confession.
Carol continued. “After planting that seed, I started spreading more rumors, more specific things this time,” shrugging half-heartedly. “I said I’d seen him in the janitor’s closet a few times, always with something in his hands. Then I lied that he’d been aggressive with a girl in our class, and emphasized how strange his eyes looked…”
She looked at you. “He was friends with that freak who dealt drugs, so it was easy for people to put two and two together.”
You raised your eyebrows and a flash of a long-haired boy crossed your mind; you glanced at the masked man and found him already staring intently at you.
“After that, I only had to say that he had been aggressive with me one day, and assaulted me when I hadn’t done anything.” Ghostface looked away from you and turned incredulously to the girl in front of him. “I made everyone believe he was dangerous, until he got what he deserved. He went to jail, but I heard that after a while the police released him due to inconsistencies in drug and behavioral tests.”
“I wanted to make him pay… He didn’t belong there, he would never be like me or like them,” she looked at the three of you in the chairs.
The room seemed to have grown colder, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. “Make him pay for what, little rat Carol?” His voice, almost a coo, pierced the tension in the room.
Her eyes rolled again. “For him being different.”
He nodded slowly. “Because he was different,” he repeated. “…Different how, Carol?” His voice was heavy with feigned innocence, a stark contrast to his chilling aura.
She jutted her chin and cocked her head. “He was inferior, lower class… A disgusting negro who contaminated that school.”
Complete silence filled the room as she stared at the man with satisfaction. The shame and disgust you felt for Carol burned in your chest, and without realizing it, tears streamed down your face. Unable to contain the torrent of ugliness from the core of the person you called a friend, it overflowed.
Ghostface's masked face showed no emotion, but everyone could feel the weight of his gaze on Carol, judging her for her hateful words like a god about to pronounce penance, and for the first time that night, Carol felt terror crackle through her bones with its sharp, icy claws.
"A racist little bitch…" His voice was a venomous whisper full of contempt and revulsion, and for her, it was worse than if he'd yelled. "Do you know what people say about racists, Carol?" She shook her head, almost petrified.
He approached, his masked face inches from hers, his voice a chilling hiss. "Burn the racists," he spat, each word dripping with malice.
The room seemed to close in around her, the darkness pressing down on her like a suffocating weight. Carol's heart pounded in her chest, the terror of her words paralyzing her and reality consuming her like a bucket of cold water.
"No, no, please…" she whimpered, her voice almost a whisper as she begged for mercy, she looked at those she called friends, searching for help that wouldn't come.
But Ghostface's masked face remained impassive, the darkness of the mask hiding the twisted pleasure he felt stemming from her fear.
"You wanted to make that boy pay," he taunted, his voice low and menacing. "Now it's your turn to pay for your sins." He snapped his fingers.
"Michael," Ghostface gestured to him and pointed to a bag in a dark corner. "It's time for penance."
She couldn't suppress a gasp of horror as the new figure emerged from the darkness and approached with the bag in hand, her heart racing even faster. Her mind finally grasped the reality of her actions and seethed with terror at the sight of two masked figures determined to punish her.
Michael approached, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over her. "Please," she pleaded, her voice trembling with fear.
But Ghostface's laughter echoed through the room, sending shivers down her spine. "Apologies won't save you now, Carol," he taunted, his voice full of malice, and opened the bag, the sound of the zipper echoing through the room.
"Hmm…" He murmured and pulled out a metal spoon and a blowtorch, along with a thick piece of wood the size of a finger. "I think we can begin." He passed the piece of wood to Michael, who wasted no time and walked over to Carol.
One of his hands gripped her hair tightly as he pulled her head back and shoved the object into her mouth. "No, no!" she screamed, fighting against the grip on her hair and convulsing in the chair. Her efforts were futile against the masked man's strength, who had managed to shove the rectangular piece of wood in and put the gag — which lay forgotten around her neck — back into her mouth.
But her pleas fell on deaf ears as Ghostface advanced toward her, the spoon and blowtorch menacingly in his gloved hand. “It’ll only hurt a little.”
He lit the blowtorch and positioned the flame on the back of the spoon, the metal instantly absorbing the heat of the flame until it was hot enough, and pressed the metal against her facial skin.
The agonizing screams muffled by the wood were like music to his ears.
He removed the spoon from her face and admired the mark left, red and swollen, fluid-filled blisters rapidly forming.
He looked at Michael, who waited beside him, and nodded, a signal to continue.
Michael extended his gloved hand, gripping Carol firmly. She struggled against him, but his strength was overwhelming.
With menacing efficiency, Ghostface pulled a metal rod from his pouch and heated the tip with the blowtorch until it glowed a reddish-orange color, the heat radiating through the room, a stark contrast to the chilling silence that had fallen upon them.
Carol's eyes widened as she watched the rod being heated, and she struggled even harder against the masked man's grip.
Ghostface let out a macabre laugh as he passed the rod to his companion, who, with a swift and brutal movement, pressed the scalding metal against the exposed skin of her legs.
She screamed in pain as the heat burned her skin, the smell of burning filling the air.
The room filled with the nauseating sound of burning flesh as she writhed and screamed, the agony consuming her. Tears mingled with the sweat on her face as she tried to beg for mercy between sobs, with that piece of wood in her mouth, her screams echoing off the walls in a chorus of suffering.
But there was no mercy in that twisted chamber of horrors.
Michael continued his relentless torture, the metal rod leaving trails of destruction across Carol's body.
Blackened wounds left her skin rough and cracked like the dormant lava of a volcano; the center of the wounds opened, revealing the second layer beneath her skin, a circle of festering blisters formed around the open hole, exposing the flesh.
She would burn for her sins, her flesh scorched by the fire of her own cruelty.
Michael stepped away from Carol's nearly lifeless body, which struggled to remain conscious amidst the incessant waves of pain and agony. Tammy wept copiously at the cruelty and violence, while you and Jason remained motionless — perhaps out of fear, perhaps because of the horrific scene of Carol's burning flesh and regurgitating wounds.
With a chilling laugh that cut through the air like a blade, Ghostface stepped away from the scene of torment, his face contorted in sadistic delight beneath the mask.
The echoes of Carol's screams still reverberated in his mind, but to him, they were nothing more than a harmonious symphony of terror and torture, the perfect music.
"Well, well, well," he taunted, his voice laden with malice. "Looks like that racist bitch got what she deserved, don't you think, Michael?"
Michael remained silent, his impassive mask revealing nothing as he observed the scene and returned to his place in the darkness.
Ghostface turned his attention to Carol's trembling figure, her eyes rolled back and her head thrown back, her mouth agape as she drooled and convulsed in the chair.
"But enough about her," he continued, his voice taking on a sing-song tone. "It's time to get back to our little game."
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 MDNI, HEAVY DARK CONTENT! Murder, blood, descriptions of dismembered bodies, heavy description of torture, blood, wounds, knives, kidnapping, homophobia, racism, fatphobia, smut, coercion, unprotected sex, mention of abortion, humiliation. (More to be added).
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 11,4k
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: The quiet town of Hawkins, Indiana has been ravaged by unexplained and sudden murders, bringing terror and panic to the population. Five friends find themselves cornered by a mysterious and sadistic masked figure and forced to reveal their darkest secrets. In a sadistic game, the winner is not the one who comes out alive.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I know I promised to post this as soon as I finished writing, but halfway through I decided to change some things, which ended up delaying the rewriting. I decided to post it in five separate chapters plus a bonus chapter, so I have more control over the writing and you can read it without having to wait for me to finish everything. Just a warning, the chapters are extremely heavy and full of dark content, so if you are not comfortable with this type of content, please do not read. TAGLIST IS OPEN!
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 MDNI, HEAVY DARK CONTENT! Graphic violence and extreme gore, torture and prolonged physical abuse, false accusation of assault, bodily harm, descriptions of stalking, heavy description of torture, wounds, kidnapping, humiliation. Dead Dove, Do Not Eat.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3,4K (still in progress)
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: The quiet town of Hawkins, Indiana has been ravaged by unexplained and sudden murders, bringing terror and panic to the population. Five friends find themselves cornered by a mysterious and sadistic masked figure and forced to reveal their darkest secrets. In a sadistic game, the winner is not the one who comes out alive.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Ohhh I forgot how good it was to write dark things like these, I kind of inspired so if you wanna send me a few request haha I would love it. TAGLIST IS OPEN!
𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
Her eyes widened even more as she struggled against the restraints. “No, please! I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear!” she pleaded desperately, but he only chuckled in response.
“Ah, little mouse, we all have our secrets, don’t we? And yours seems about to come out.” He pulled out the same knife he had used on Tommy, still bearing traces of his blood, and pointed it at her, lunging toward her.
“Please, I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll do whatever you want, just let me go!” Her screams echoed through the room and ceased when she came face to face with Ghostface’s white mask. The words seemed to have no more strength to escape her parched throat; she swallowed hard and looked down at the floor, her lips trembling as she held back tears.
“Whatever I want?” She nodded fervently, her eyes tightly closed. “I want you to tell me your secret. Or would you prefer I force you to talk?” She shook her head vehemently and her eyes widened at the implications of that sentence. He shrugged and continued. "The choice is yours."
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 MDNI, HEAVY DARK CONTENT! Graphic violence and extreme gore, torture and prolonged physical abuse, blood, mutilation, bodily harm, descriptions of dismembered bodies, heavy description of torture, wounds, knives, kidnapping, homophobia, humiliation. Dead Dove, Do Not Eat.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 6,4K
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: The quiet town of Hawkins, Indiana has been ravaged by unexplained and sudden murders, bringing terror and panic to the population. Five friends find themselves cornered by a mysterious and sadistic masked figure and forced to reveal their darkest secrets. In a sadistic game, the winner is not the one who comes out alive.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: You can tell that I love a dark fic haha, hope you guys like this one! TAGLIST IS OPEN!
𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
Your head throbbed with a dull, lingering pain, each pulse echoing the beat of your heart. A viscous warmth trickled down the left side of your head, likely the cause of the fog and your struggle to think.
With a tense groan, unable to hide the pain, you drew in a deep breath and mustered the courage to open your eyes. Your eyelids trembled as shafts of light pierced your retinas like knives driving into the base of your skull and into your temples. Blinking against the brightness, trying to ease the surge of pain, your gaze swept across the room you were in, only to find it completely unfamiliar.
It looked like an abandoned house, the walls stained with mold and blotches that seemed older than time, the paint peeling away, and cobwebs adorning a massive portion of the place with an overwhelming sense of impending doom.
Your awareness gradually returned, and only then did you realize you couldn’t move. Looking down, you saw your limbs tightly bound to a chair, making any attempt to escape impossible, just like the gag in your mouth, which you hadn’t even noticed before in your lethargic state.
Your eyes, already burning with tears on the verge of falling, scanned your surroundings. You spotted Jason, Tommy, Carol, and Tammy in the same condition as you — bound and helpless. The only difference was that they hadn’t yet awakened to realize the nightmare they were trapped in.
You struggled against the restraints, thrashing until they loosened just enough to offer a slim chance of escape. Your jaw opened and clenched repeatedly, trying to free your mouth. Then suddenly, a shiver, a gut-deep feeling of being watched made you freeze, eyes wide in terror. Sweat trickled down your forehead as you began to hyperventilate, panic surging through you.
A movement in the corner of your eye made you turn your head, and there they were. Five figures stood motionless in the darkest corner of the room, each draped in black robes and wearing masks that concealed their faces and emotions.
Each mask resembled a horror movie villain: Jason, Freddy Krueger, Jigsaw, Michael Myers, and Ghostface, the last one radiating a particularly sinister and imposing aura. The hollow eyes of the mask seemed to pierce into your deepest thoughts, and its twisted mouth appeared to mock your helplessness.
The silence in the room was suffocating, making the space feel smaller with each passing second, feeding the agony and fear in your already disoriented mind.
After what felt like an eternity, the figure dressed as Ghostface finally moved. He approached slowly, deliberately, a precise predator closing in on prey that never had a chance. With every step he took, death came closer. Of that, you were certain.
Upon stopping in front of you, the masked figure brought a gloved hand to the back of his neck, and the sound of velcro tearing could be heard. He shed the black robe he had been wearing, left only in his underclothes, a tight black turtleneck with long sleeves, black jeans, and black combat boots.
Looking closely, you could see that in the small strip of pale skin exposed between the glove and the sleeve of his shirt, there was what appeared to be dried blood and faint, dark traces of some tattoo.
"Your friends still haven’t woken up… And as much as I’m itching to cut that pretty little face of yours, I suggest you stay perfectly still and silent until that happens," he whispered as he moved even closer, looming over you.
"You wouldn’t want to see me angry, would you, sweetheart?" The passive, silk-smooth tone of his voice did nothing to calm your nerves, in fact, it had the opposite effect, and yet, you forced yourself to nod, trembling with fear.
"Good… Good girl." He stroked your cheek in a tone that bordered on affectionate.
He stepped away at the same pace he had approached, careful and stealthy. He turned and walked over to where the other figures stood, murmuring something inaudible to them. The others nodded in agreement to whatever command had been given and left the room shortly after, leaving only the Ghostface figure behind.
The noise and movement to your left startled you. Carol was slowly waking up, unaware of the situation unfolding around her. As she gradually began to grasp what was happening and her mind started to connect the dots, panic overtook her. She began to thrash, and muffled, desperate screams filled the silence. The masked man let out a sigh that radiated irritation as he approached her, his displeasure made clear in his body language.
His hands rested on his slim, defined waist, and his head — still covered by the mask — tilted back, eyes on the ceiling in irritation. Before Carol could react and scream again, a powerful blow struck her, silencing her instantly. Her face snapped to the side from the force of the punch, and for a moment, you thought you saw a thin stream of blood run down her temple.
“Jesus, why do women always scream so much? It’s so… annoying. I suggest you shut up before I get even more irritated and decide to use your vocal cords to make a necklace.” He turned, and his rigid posture seemed to ease as he addressed you. “My good girl is going to keep behaving, right? Or else…” He gestured toward the mask in a motion that mimicked a slicing cut and pointed at you, a silent threat, and an imminent promise.
He stepped away again, disappearing from view and returning to your line of sight holding a black duffel bag that looked full.
You and Carol exchanged a glance, eyes brimming with tears of fear, trapped in a silent conversation overflowing with emotion.
It was surreal how just a few hours ago, everyone present had been living their lives, unaware of the danger lurking nearby, ready to trap them in its web.
You had started your morning as usual, a cold shower to shake off the sleep and get ready for another day of college. As you came down the stairs and joined your parents for breakfast, the low voice of the news reporter on the morning broadcast filled the room. You couldn’t help but pay attention to the report as you served yourself a bowl of fruit.
A sense of impending doom spread through your body, and the calm way your parents watched the news did nothing to ease your frayed nerves. The reporter’s voice announcing yet another body discovered was what finally made you turn to face the screen.
"Another body, or what was left of it was found at the local dairy factory. Morning shift workers came across the main gate showing signs of forced entry. Believing it to be a case of theft and trespassing, they decided to call the authorities." The woman gestured toward where the camera was pointed.
"When police arrived at the scene, they were shocked to find a naked, brutalized female torso. The bones were shattered, and the arms had been stitched into an 'X' position. The torso showed a vertical incision running from the neck down to the pelvis, with no organs present, and the jaw had been broken and stretched beyond its limit to fit the heart that had been placed inside the mouth." The camera focused on the forensics team, all dressed in white and collecting evidence from the crime scene. "Another name added to the list of brutal murders haunting our beloved city over the past few days. The victim this time was identified as Heather Makenzie. May her soul rest in peace."
“Dear God… I can’t even imagine how that poor girl’s parents must be feeling right now.” your mother sympathized, receiving a silent nod from your father, who remained quiet.
Shaking your head heavily, you decided that dwelling on it wouldn’t do you any good. After all, what could you do about it? Nothing. Finishing your breakfast in complete silence, you got ready to leave and said goodbye to your parents, not knowing it would be the last time you'd ever see them.
The morning went by in the blink of an eye, but the strange sensation of being watched remained etched in your bones, like a suffocating blanket. Glances cast over your shoulder revealed nothing but familiar images of the busy street filled with pedestrians and cars, yet the feeling lingered, a tingling at the nape of your neck that refused to be ignored.
The afternoon dragged on, confined within the walls of the music store filled with instruments and vinyl records bathed in the orange sunlight of late afternoon. The store carried a comforting familiarity that almost managed to suppress the feeling of a pair of eyes watching you, a sensation that soon intensified again as the store emptied, leaving only you and your thoughts echoing alongside the silence that seemed to shrink the space with each passing minute.
Every creak of the floorboards and whisper of the wind outside sent a shockwave through you like ice in your veins, made your heart race and your fingers tremble in an irrational way. The ambient music that usually brought calm and peace had turned into a soundtrack that terrorized your thoughts.
Carol, your friend and coworker, noticing the tension in your shoulders as you flipped through stacks of vinyl records, set aside the shipment she was organizing and turned toward you with a warm smile and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
"Hey," she called out, almost in a whisper. "Got any plans for tonight?" She clasped her hands in front of her body.
You paused, considering the question. The idea of going out at night after everything that had happened in the city felt wrong and yet, oddly tempting.
"No," you replied cautiously, watching Carol’s face light up with excitement. "Why do you ask?"
She leaned back against the counter, gesturing animatedly as she spoke. "Well, you know that new nightclub that just opened on the outskirts of town? The one everyone’s been talking about?"
Yes, you knew. Temptation had opened months before the murders began, it was the newest hot spot for the youth of Hawkins. Everyone had heard the rumors about the wicked things that happened behind its walls.
"We thought it might be fun to check it out tonight, you know, to ease all this tension," Carol continued.
You hesitated, uncertainty crackling like shadows across your mind. "I don’t know, Carol, it seems… a little dangerous, especially after all those reports..."
The redhead placed a hand on your arm, reassuring you with a gentle touch and an earnest look. "Come on, it’ll be a chance to unwind. Besides, we’ll all be together. There’s strength in numbers."
As she spoke, a wave of excitement and apprehension washed over your consciousness. The prospect of a night out with your friends — and the chance to muffle the unsettling whispers in your mind, was undeniably tempting.
"Alright, I’ll go." You finally gave in, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
"Great!" she beamed. "We’ll meet at the club after our shift. Tonight’s going to be epic."
Little did you know those words would echo forever in your minds, a memory of a night that turned into a nightmare.
As night fell, you found yourself surprisingly at ease; the day’s worries were forgotten for a few hours.
When you closed the store, a sudden chill ran down your spine, making you look around with growing panic. Only you and the wind rustling through the tree leaves.
For a moment, the shadows seemed to dance and flicker in the dim light, teasing your rattled senses and stirring a restlessness deep in your gut.
Shaking off the discomfort and locking up the store, the empty street seemed to whisper back through the darkness of night, a palpable tension hanging in the air.
Glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting to find a figure cloaked in shadows watching your every move, your eyes found only the empty street, dimly lit by the weak glow of the streetlights. Taking a deep breath, you tried to shake the sense of dread clinging to you like a second skin.
Plugging in your headphones for a momentary distraction, your feet hurried to carry you home as fast as possible, the playlist offering a small, comforting escape.
The streets were eerily silent as you walked, the only sound being the muffled thud of your feet against the asphalt. Each passing shadow served to worsen the feeling that clung to the back of your head, unsettling and suffocating.
As you rounded the corner, the sensation of being pursued consumed your senses, making you walk faster and faster.
Unbeknownst to you, someone was lurking in the shadows, spying on your every move. He moved stealthily alongside your body while his silent footsteps followed your trail, like a predator hunting its prey.
With every step you took, he matched you with frightening precision. As you passed through a more brightly lit area, that tall, unfamiliar shadow caught your attention, trailing your footsteps.
Keeping your composure, you decided in a split second to change course, walking away from your house. It seemed like the right thing to do given the situation, a desperate and foolish attempt to lose the stranger who was following you.
Your heart pounded erratically in your chest, pumping more blood with each beat to aid your escape, the sound of your hurried footsteps echoing through the empty night. You needed to find a safe place to seek help, but your plan quickly lost its purpose when you realized you’d ventured into the darkest, most desolate parts of town.
His footsteps grew louder and faster, he was closing in at an alarming speed. Panic took hold of you, your breath coming in gasps as you searched for an escape, but the winding alleys and deserted streets seemed to lead you farther away from the city center and deeper into the abandoned areas.
Your primal survival instinct surged as adrenaline coursed through your veins, urging you to run.
Without hesitation, you bolted, dropping your headphones in the middle of the road. The sound of the pursuit was now the soundtrack echoing in your ears.
No matter how fast you ran, his footsteps never faltered. They grew louder and closer until they were nearly upon you. In a wave of desperation, you threw your body forward to gain more momentum, the world around you reduced to a blur of shadows and heavy footsteps.
When you thought you had no strength left, you spotted the distant glow of a streetlamp lighting a familiar intersection ahead — a glimmer of hope in your heart.
With burning legs from the effort, you reached the intersection. Gasping for breath, you turned to confront your pursuer and fight for your life, but as you spun around with clenched fists, you were met with an empty street. The shadowy figure had vanished completely, leaving you alone in the stillness of the night.
As the adrenaline slowly faded, reality crashed down on your shoulders. What had just happened? Who or what was following you?
With trembling hands, you grabbed your phone and dialed the police to report what had occurred and to seek the safety and comfort of your home once the officers arrived to rescue you.
Lowering your guard was your mistake. As you dialed, the mysterious person slowly approached from behind. The moment the operator answered, you felt a strong arm grip your upper body, while a damp cloth was pressed against your nose and mouth, preventing you from breathing. You dropped the phone, and your hands went to the arms holding you, scratching and pulling in a desperate attempt to break free.
The sweet and sickly smell of whatever was on the cloth invaded your nostrils and coated your taste buds, warm and acidic. You struggled frantically as the arms held you in place.
The operator’s voice echoed urgently from the phone as you fought for your life. In a desperate move, your elbow struck your captor’s stomach, giving you the perfect chance to break free.
Dazed and disoriented, you staggered forward, trying to run without looking back. Your vision blurred even more, and your body felt unsteady.
With each step, the world seemed to spin faster, and darkness closed in around you. Tripping over your own feet, you fell to your knees. Your limbs felt heavy, as if made of lead when you tried to stand.
Fear scratched at your throat when you realized you were losing control of your body and your movements. Through the haze of confusion and panic, you heard the sound of footsteps drawing closer from behind. With your heart pounding in your chest, you tried to crawl along the ground to escape the imminent danger.
But it was too late. A strong hand grabbed your shoulder and pulled you back with cruel force. You could feel your captor’s hot breath on your neck as his grip tightened. A little mouse caught in the suffocating embrace of a serpent.
With your last strength, you turned to face him, but your vision was too blurry to recognize the shadowy figure lit by the streetlamp. You tried to scream, to fight, but your body refused to obey.
Your eyes grew heavy and you sank into darkness. The sounds of the world muffled and drifted away, as if you were underwater. Your consciousness faded, leaving you submerged in a dark void.
And now, here you are, tied to a chair in an unknown place, unaware of what your life will become after leaving, that is, if you leave at all.
Sitting and waiting for the rest of your friends to wake up, watching their faces contort with confusion and horror as they realize the situation, was all that remained for you. The oppressive silence in the room weighed down like the weight of a thousand unanswered questions; every passing second was filled with dread and uncertainty.
The minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity, the sound of their clothes rustling slowly against their restraints the only thing preventing you from losing your mind. As you looked at each of them and realized they were waking up, you mentally prepared yourself for the torture of seeing the look of despair on their faces.
As the effects of the sedative they had inhaled wore off, consciousness returned and the understanding of their situation became too suffocating to bear. Panic and desperation were etched on their faces, controlling their bodies as they thrashed frantically, the natural instinct to survive taking hold.
With a heavy heart, you shook your head when they all looked at you, conveying a silent message: there was no escape from this nightmare.
All that remained now was to wait for your masked captors to return and put an end to your agony. Praying seemed like the only right thing to do in that moment, a final act to plead for mercy.
But deep down, all of you knew, that mercy would be the last thing offered to you in that dark dingy room that surrounded you.
Like actors on a stage, they appeared, as if lurking and waiting for the perfect moment of the climax of your horror to reveal themselves.
“Well, well, well, it seems my little mice have finally awakened from their deep sleep,” the deep and malevolent voice came from Ghostface, a sinister laugh hidden in his calculated words. “Ah, don’t look at me like that, I was very generous to leave you all together.” He walked among the chairs cruelly positioned in a circle in the middle of the room.
The other figures hidden behind him watched the scene unfold, the air thick with tension and the inevitable.
“I propose… a game,” he continued, his voice dripping with malice. “A game of survival, so to speak. Each of you has a secret, a dirty little secret that would probably ruin your perfect reputations.” He walked slowly and stopped in front of you, the hollow eyes of the mask piercing into your mind. “Some of them are even worthy of police attention.”
The room was silent, only the sound of heavy, trembling breaths could be heard, the weight and meaning of the words slowly sinking into each of you.
“All I ask is that you confess those secrets, in front of each other, and if you truly repent… I’ll let you go,” the masked man continued in a whisper that bordered on psychosis.
You exchanged fearful glances, each of you knew the weight and gravity of your own secrets. The bones you had hoped would stay buried had just been unearthed, but in the face of survival and freedom, the temptation and need to confess grew stronger.
The oppressive, threatening energy that Ghostface emanated did nothing to soothe your frayed nerves.
“So, who will be the first to confess?” he asked, his voice lively and full of anticipation. “Who among you will take the first step toward redemption?” He waited expectantly for one of you to volunteer.
“No one?” The masked man looked at your frightened faces and crossed his arms in disapproval. “Looks like I’ll have to choose, then, won’t I?” He raised a finger and examined the group. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe… The chosen one is… you!” His finger landed directly on Tommy.
Tommy’s eyes widened in horror, and he shook his head frantically, tears welling up in the eyes of the poor boy, terrified at the thought of what awaited him. Ghostface leaned in close to the boy’s face, watching him squirm.
“Tommy, Tommy…” he said, extending his hand still covered in the latex glove toward the gag on the young man’s mouth, pulling it down so he could speak. “I’m dying to know what your little secret is.”
Tommy’s mouth opened and closed without making a sound, like a fish out of water, as he struggled to find his voice. He looked around at the group surrounding him, trembling and trying to gather his thoughts.
“I... I...” His voice was barely more than a frightened whisper, his gaze shifting between the horrid white mask in front of him and his friends watching the whole scene.
“Speak, Tommy. Confess your sins.”
Taking a deep breath, he finally found the courage to speak. With a voice almost inaudible and trembling, he revealed the secret that had haunted him for so long.
“I cheated on my girlfriend, Carol.” The boy’s eyes shut in shame as Carol stared at him, a mixture of disgust and sorrow on her face.
The room fell silent once more, the weight of the words hanging in the air.
“Ah, now that’s interesting,” the masked man said sarcastically. “An unfaithful boyfriend, how scandalous!” Tommy’s face turned red as he blushed with shame, and he looked away from his girlfriend’s accusing gaze. The room suddenly felt smaller.
“Tell us more, boy,” Ghostface continued in a low, threatening voice. “What did it feel like to betray someone you claimed to care about? To deceive and lie?”
“Please…” Tommy pleaded, “you said-”
“I know what I said, little mouse,” Ghostface interrupted in a serious tone. “But unfortunately, that’s not your secret.”
Confusion was visible on everyone’s faces, the masked man’s face revealing nothing, only adding more terror.
“So what is it?” Tommy asked, sounding like a confused child, and was met with an incredulous laugh in response.
“How should I know? You’re the one who has to tell me,” he replied with malice and amusement.
Tommy let out a puff of air through his nostrils and closed his eyes, contemplating his next decision.
“I… Once, I was broke and desperate for money. I had tried everything: work, taking out a loan, and nothing worked. So, one night before a school game, I waited for all the guys to go to the sports court and made up an excuse that I’d forgotten something, and went to the locker room where we showered.” He opened his eyes and stared at Jason. “I always knew you usually kept your pockets full, so I went to your locker, took all the money from your wallet, and hid it in my things. Then I made it look like someone had broken in, and when you asked me if I saw who entered the locker room, I lied and blamed someone else.”
Jason’s expression shifted from confusion to anger as the words left his friend’s mouth, the weight of the lie wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. You and the girls exchanged shocked glances at the gravity of the situation and the discovery of a new facet of a friend.
“So, not only did you cheat on Carol, but you also framed someone else for theft?” Ghostface said with a cold, calculated voice. “Your sins are piling up, Tommy.”
“And, once again, that’s not your secret, little mouse,” he said, amused as if enjoying a game.
“What the fuck do you want from me?!” the boy shouted at the masked man.
“Don’t raise your voice at me,” Ghostface threatened. “Remember how generous I’m being by giving you a chance to spare your life.”
In a swift movement, his hand covered Tommy’s nose and mouth, cutting off his air supply. The boy’s eyes widened in panic as he struggled to breathe.
“I can change that if you want,” he suggested in an eerily calm voice. “But I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll give you a hint.” He released Tommy’s face.
“Your senior year at Hawkins High, camp, forest, scouts…” He paused and watched the color drain from Tommy’s face.
The boy trembled at the implication, stammering in a broken whisper.
“I-I didn’t… I swear I…” The words tasted bitter and heavy in his mouth. Ghostface’s mocking laughter filled the room.
“Oh, Tommy…” he said condescendingly, “do you really think you can hide things from me? I know everything.”
“Now, Tommy, tell all your friends what you’ve been hiding all these years. Let’s see what they think of it all, hm?” he ordered, crossing his arms and waiting.
Painful, shameful sobs echoed through the room, Tommy was crying uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the shame and the cruel reality he would have to face after revealing his secret. Joyful, entertained laughter spilled from the mouths of the masked figures, watching the scene as if it were a film worthy of an Oscar.
"We took a trip to a nearby town during our last year of high school," he confessed, his voice trembling and laced with shame. "The principal thought it’d be better if we went with a group that knew the place, so we joined the scouts and went camping for a week in the mountains, near a lake in the middle of the forest." Tommy’s eyes remained fixed on the ground, on the boots of the man standing in front of him.
"None of that, little mouse," Ghostface interrupted, roughly grabbing the boy’s tear and snot-streaked cheeks with a gloved hand, forcing his face upward. "Look at them," he said, pointing a finger at your group of friends, who watched everything in silence. "I want you to see the disappointment and disgust when they find out what you did."
He nodded faintly, and the pressure on his cheeks subsided. Gathering the courage to go on, he fixed his red, tear-filled eyes on you.
"On that trip, I met this guy from the scouts, his name was Gareth," he said, swallowing hard as he noticed your eyes widen in recognition. "He was from that group of weirdos at school, but honestly, he was funny and smart." He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. "We got close really fast, it was like we were the same person in different bodies… And then I started seeing him differently."
Carol and Tammy maintained the same expression they’d worn when he admitted the betrayal — scorn — while you and Jason’s eyes widened, each for a different reason.
"I've always been a coward when it comes to feelings, but he wasn’t. When everyone went to sleep, we snuck out of the tents and went to the other side of the lake together, we sat by the shore and talked."
His lower lip trembled, and his face had gone blank, as if he were reliving the moment.
"He noticed the way I looked at him that night, and he made the first move, he kissed me… and I kissed him back."
Gasps echoed through the room. Jason and the rest of your friends wore their disgust openly on their faces, while you kept the same unreadable expression.
“I… That night, we had sex on the forest floor, right there near the lake,” he cleared his throat and continued, his voice trembling. “We weren’t discreet, and another guy from the team caught us when we were coming back to the tents, and I did what I always did best, I lied and blamed Gareth, accused him of trying to kiss me when he knew I didn’t want anything.”
He started crying heavily and looked down at the ground, this time without holding back. “I said he was a pathetic little fag to save my own skin… His eyes, I’ll never forget how he looked at me after that.”
The room fell completely silent after the confession, the weight of the words settling in the minds of everyone present.
“The first truth has been revealed!” Ghostface and the masked figures celebrated with a round of applause that only increased Tommy’s embarrassment. “Very well, Tommy, your sins have been exposed for all to see.”
He continued with his head down, feeling the accusatory stares piercing through his defenses. In everyone’s mind, the question lingered: 'Was it worth surviving at such a high cost?' The price of redemption seemed higher than anything else, an expensive bargaining chip for they survival.
“And do you know what happened to him afterward?” The captor broke the heavy silence, Tommy nodded.
“When I woke up the next morning, he was no longer in the camp. The news had spread earlier when the rest of the team woke up, they pulled him out of the tent and beat him so badly that they had to send him home, or he would have died from the state he was.” He admitted, and you closed your eyes as you imagined the cruelty of the scene.
“And do you regret it, Tommy?” The masked man’s tone was unreadable.
“Every day of my life, I remember the look in his eyes changing as he watched me throw him to the wolves.” He whispered sadly.
“So you wouldn’t mind receiving a punishment fitting your sin, would you?” Like a twisted and macabre version of a savior, Ghostface stepped away from the group.
The young man’s heart began to race faster, the weight of his actions pressing down on his shoulders and suffocating him like a python’s embrace.
“What? But you said-”
“Shut up and answer the question.” He cut him off, ordering with a firm voice.
“I-I think so, but-” His voice stammered and trembled with desperation and fear.
“Great!” He clapped his hands, sending a wave of fear through everyone present. “Then, let the fun begin,” he declared, stepping back from the circle of friends.
“Jason,” he called, extending a hand toward another masked figure hidden in the shadows, this one wearing the classic white hockey mask full of holes. “Care to do the honors?”
Jason’s figure gave a silent nod and stepped forward with purpose. In his gloved hands, he held a gleaming, razor-sharp machete, the shine of the metal a quiet threat of what was to come. You and the others watched in horror and disbelief as the masked man approached your restrained friend.
Tommy’s eyes widened as he saw Jason raise the machete, the blade gleaming as if it knew its purpose. The only sound was the shaky breathing of the desperate young man, while the other masked figures around watched in anticipation, eager for the outcome.
With a swift motion, Jason brought the machete down toward Tommy’s neck, the nauseating sound of the sharp blade slicing through the air at high speed.
“Wait.” Ghostface ordered sharply.
Instead of striking the young man, the machete stopped a hair’s breadth from his neck, close enough to almost draw blood from one of his arteries.
Tommy let out a breath of relief, his heart pounding in his chest. “W-what are you doing?” he stammered, the fleeting relief already draining from his body.
Ghostface let out a dark, malicious laugh, savoring the young man’s desperation in an almost erotically way. “We’re just getting started, my little mouse,” he teased playfully. “You wanted a punishment worthy of your secret, didn’t you? Well then, killing you wouldn’t be punishment, it would be mercy.” He stepped closer to Tommy. “And I am not merciful, little mouse.”
Muffled screams and chaos took over the room as the other masked figures moved in. The twisted game of survival had taken an even darker turn, and the price of everyone’s secrets would be paid in blood and tears.
With a wave of his hand, Ghostface gestured to the others. “Let’s give our little mouse a taste of his own medicine, shall we?” he asked, his voice dripping with malice as the others nodded in agreement. “I think maybe you should feel what your… friend Gareth felt when he was beaten by the basketball team. It won’t come close to his real pain, I believe, but it’ll do.”
And at his signal, the captors closed in around Tommy and began to beat him, the sound of his screams and those of your friends filling the room with despair.
Ghostface, who had stepped back to give the others space, watched the scene with twisted delight. “You know, little mouse Tommy, I must say, your betrayal of Gareth was truly despicable. But what can you expect from someone ashamed of his own flesh and being?” he accused, venom dripping from his voice. “But don’t worry… I’m here to make sure you pay for your sins.”
He watched the scene and let out a cruel laugh, his eyes gleaming behind the mask as he reveled in the violence and torture being inflicted on the boy, Tommy’s screams like the sweetest melody gracing his ears.
“Please, no!” Tommy begged, bloodied and broken, as blows from every direction struck him without mercy. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I swear I regret it! For the love of God, have mercy!”
“Apologies won’t help you now, little mouse Tommy,” he mocked. “You’ll receive your punishment, quite merciful, if you ask me…” Ghostface brought a hand to the chin of his mask, as if lost in thought.
The masked figures continued their relentless assault, each one taking turns inflicting pain upon him. One of them pulled a whip from a duffel bag and with sharp snaps of leather lashed Tommy’s back, the crack echoing like a gunshot. Amidst it all, he screamed and begged for mercy, but his pleas were drowned out by the storm of violence surrounding him.
“Wait.” Ghostface ordered with a wave of his hand. “Take off his pants, and his underwear too.”
Several pairs of hands held Tommy firmly and pulled the clothes off his body as he writhed. “No! No, please!”
With a weary sigh, Ghostface approached the half-naked boy. "You know, I'm already bored with you, I think it's time we put an end to this little game," he declared, pulling out a serrated knife hidden in the waistband of his pants. "It's a little rusty, but I don't think you mind, do you?" With a nod from him, one of the figures offered to lift the boy's flaccid penis.
"Cover his mouth, Jason." That was the only warning Ghostface gave before slicing the knife into the base of Tommy's penis. The rusty knife sliced the shaft in half as Tommy howled in pain. "Oops, I guess I should have sharpened it. This will hurt even more, little mouse." The room was filled with the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart, Tommy's screams had ceased as the boy had passed out.
Seeing the boy's member lying on the ground, Ghostface wiped the dirty knife on the unconscious boy's shirt and walked away. The other figures still surrounded him, waiting for the next order.
"And so ends the story of Tommy the Mouse," he said as if narrating a fairy tale, dark satisfaction dripping from his voice. "A cautionary tale for anyone who dares betray their friends."
You and your friends watched in complete silence and terror, fearful of becoming a target of his wrath.
Tammy's eyes were wide with shock, her breath coming in ragged gasps of suppressed panic. She struggled unconsciously against her restraints, her mind unable to comprehend or process the image that lay before her eyes, staring at Tommy's mutilated body, the shocking brutality that he was in.
Jason — always trying to play the tough guy and keep a false sense of calm — was pale and visibly shaken, his jaw clenched tightly in a display of fear disguised as anger, his eyes avoiding the sight of his unconscious friend lying before him.
Carol stared at Tommy with tears streaming down her face, whimpers of horror and fear escaping her lips. Despite her boyfriend’s confession, she still loved him and hadn’t wished such a cruel fate to him.
And you, sitting between them, didn’t quite know what to feel — fear, disgust, sorrow? None of your emotions seemed like the right one to have in that moment.
The night that was supposed to be full of joy had taken a terrifying turn. The realization that this wasn’t just a harmless game of sharing secrets had finally hit all of you like a bucket of cold water, and the certainty that Ghostface would carry out his twisted form of justice haunted your friends thoughts even more.
Turning to the rest of you, he spoke again. “Well, now that we’ve dealt with Tommy’s little secret… Who’s next?” he asked, his tone laced with malice.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 MDNI, HEAVY DARK CONTENT! Murder, blood, descriptions of dismembered bodies, heavy description of torture, blood, wounds, knives, kidnapping, homophobia, racism, fatphobia, smut, coercion, unprotected sex, mention of abortion, humiliation. (More to be added).
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 8,2k (in progress)
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: The quiet town of Hawkins, Indiana has been ravaged by unexplained and sudden murders, bringing terror and panic to the population. Five friends find themselves cornered by a mysterious and sadistic masked figure and forced to reveal their darkest secrets. In a sadistic game, the winner is not the one who comes out alive.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I know I promised to post this as soon as I finished writing, but halfway through I decided to change some things, which ended up delaying the rewriting. I decided to post it in five separate chapters plus a bonus chapter, so I have more control over the writing and you can read it without having to wait for me to finish everything. Just a warning, the chapters are extremely heavy and full of dark content, so if you are not comfortable with this type of content, please do not read. TAGLIST IS OPEN!
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 MDNI, HEAVY DARK CONTENT! Murder, blood, descriptions of dismembered bodies, heavy description of torture, blood, wounds, knives, kidnapping, homophobia, humiliation. (More to be added).
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 6,4K
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: The quiet town of Hawkins, Indiana has been ravaged by unexplained and sudden murders, bringing terror and panic to the population. Five friends find themselves cornered by a mysterious and sadistic masked figure and forced to reveal their darkest secrets. In a sadistic game, the winner is not the one who comes out alive.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: You can tell that I love a dark fic haha, hope you guys like this one! TAGLIST IS OPEN!
𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
“And, once again, that’s not your secret, little mouse,” he said, amused as if enjoying a game.
“What the fuck do you want from me?!” the boy shouted at the masked man.
“Don’t raise your voice at me,” Ghostface threatened. “Remember how generous I’m being by giving you a chance to spare your life.”
In a swift movement, his hand covered Tommy’s nose and mouth, cutting off his air supply. The boy’s eyes widened in panic as he struggled to breathe.
“I can change that if you want,” he suggested in an eerily calm voice. “But I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll give you a hint.” He released Tommy’s face.
“Your senior year at Hawkins High, camp, forest, scouts…” He paused and watched the color drain from Tommy’s face.
The boy trembled at the implication, stammering in a broken whisper.
“I-I didn’t… I swear I…” The words tasted bitter and heavy in his mouth. Ghostface’s mocking laughter filled the room.
“Oh, Tommy…” he said condescendingly, “do you really think you can hide things from me? I know everything.”
“Now, Tommy, tell all your friends what you’ve been hiding all these years. Let’s see what they think of it all, hm?” he ordered, crossing his arms and waiting.
Painful, shameful sobs echoed through the room, Tommy was crying uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the shame and the cruel reality he would have to face after revealing his secret. Joyful, entertained laughter spilled from the mouths of the masked figures, watching the scene as if it were a film worthy of an Oscar.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Amidst the remnants of a forgotten childhood, dreams too big for such a small boy to carry, and a final thought that burns more than any wound, Eddie understands — with the cruelty of someone who no longer has time — that perhaps he never proved to the world that he was anything more than an easy joke.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Eddie as a kid (his pov), allusion to bullying, child emotional distress, themes of grief and loneliness, mentions of blood and injury, heavy angst, major character death, afterlife imagery.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3,5K
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: A glimpse into Eddie's childhood based on "I Started a Joke" by Bee Gees.
I never forgot their laughter, as if I were some kind of attraction they could point at and laugh at each other.
That day I had arrived later than usual; Wayne had forgotten to wake me — courtesy of never having taken care of anyone but him during all these years — and consequently had also forgotten to prepare my breakfast.
I hurried through the brightly lit corridors, my worn-out, old backpack swinging violently on my back, threatening to burst open and scatter my belongings on the floor. My secondhand shoes clattered against the polished porcelain floor — I hadn't even realized the soles could come loose again, and I wouldn't have Wayne to glue them back on — and the noise echoed throughout the building. My clothes, which I'd gotten in one of the donations at my uncle's work, looked brand new, but anyone looking closely would know they were secondhand — like everything in my life, my clothes, my shoes, my family.
My disheveled, tangled hair whipped against my skin as I ran to reach my classroom, my chubby cheeks flushed red from the physical exertion while sweat trickled down my temples and pooled on my jaw.
Finally, after running an entire marathon, I reached the classroom door where the teacher was ready to close it and let me out.
“Wait! Mrs. Prescot!” I shouted breathlessly, gasping with exhaustion. “I’m still here, please wait!” She paused and opened the door, stepping out of the room and staring at me intently as I bent over and placed my hands on my knees to catch my breath. I didn’t notice her gaze on me — too busy trying to get air back into my lungs— as if I were an insignificant insect disturbing her peace, those merciless eyes that analyzed my tattered clothes and old backpack, the same eyes that measured my worth and judged my character based on what I wore and what I carried, and not on who I truly was. An innocent child full of dreams.
“You’re late, Munson.” Scorn. I still didn’t understand why everyone seemed to say my name in the same cold, almost disgusted tone. I straightened up and looked into Mrs. Prescot’s eyes, seeing only harshness and ruthlessness directed at me. At the time, I thought it was a natural reaction from a teacher scolding at a student. Later I would realize that that look was present in almost everyone I encountered.
“I’m sorry… My uncle forgot to wake me up and I overslept.” I explained shyly, my eyes falling to the floor, my hands going to my back as I swayed my little body from side to side. “Don’t let it happen again.” She took a few steps back and made room for me to enter the classroom. “Sit in your seat.” I gave a toothless smile in thanks and hurried to sit at my desk, careful not to trip over my classmates’ feet; it had happened a few times and the teacher hadn’t been too happy about me disrupting the class.
“Well, as I said before we were interrupted,” numerous pairs of eyes turned to me and I shrank back in my seat, “today we’re going to do a different activity.” The teacher went to the board and began writing right in the center of it.
“What do I want to be when I grow up?” was written in large letters in the middle of the blackboard. Mrs. Prescot turned to the class and began to explain. “What do each of you want to be when you grow up? Today’s activity will be that: each of you will come up here to the front and say what you want to be when you grow up, and then we will discuss each other’s answers.” She walked back to her desk and pulled out her chair, sitting comfortably. “We’ll start in alphabetical order. Andy Miller, you can come up here to the front of the class.” She called the first child.
Andy wanted to be a doctor like his mother; he wanted to save people and make a lot of money.
Blake wanted to be an engineer like his father and build tall buildings that reached the sky.
Denise wanted to be a ballerina like a girl she saw on TV.
Eddie wanted… What did I want?
My hands started sweating as I thought about what I wanted to be. I wanted to be like Uncle Wayne, strong and hardworking, but everyone always said they wanted to be like their parents or someone on TV. I want to be different.
My small teeth were now biting the tip of the pencil that my sweaty, trembling hands held. I remembered the movies I watched about astronauts discovering planets and defeating monsters, about heroes saving entire cities from danger and being good guys. I remembered the singer with the funny quiff who occasionally appeared on television.
“Eddie Munson, you can come to the front of the class.” Finally, my turn. I put down my pencil and stood up from my desk. With a confident smile and hopeful eyes, I walked to the front of the class and cleared my throat before speaking.
“My name is Eddie Munson, and when I grow up I want to be… someone important.” I smiled toothlessly and proudly before continuing. “Like an astronaut who discovers planets, a famous singer with cool hair, or… or a hero who saves many people.” Silence. Pure and absolute silence.
And then the laughter began. Everyone was laughing loudly as if I had told the best joke in the world, and of all the faces I looked at, only one remained serious. Mine.
‘I started a joke which started the whole world crying’
I didn't understand why everyone was laughing. I hadn't told any joke, so why were they all laughing as if I had? And why had my little heart started to ache like that? Why did I feel so much smaller than I already was?
I kept looking at all those faces laughing so hard that tears were streaming down their cheeks, my eyes searching for some sign or clue that would tell me the reason for the laughter as I remained standing in front of the class.
“You idiot!” One of my classmates said, stopping his laughter. “You can’t be any of those things, you have to choose something that suits you.” He explained, and I turned my head to the side, confused.
Before I could properly process what he meant, the teacher spoke up and explained it to me in another way. “Eddie, you need to choose a real job like your friends have, something that suits you and is… appropriate for you. How about… a mechanic?” She suggested it with what I thought was sympathy, but it was just to emphasize my humiliation that day.
Feeling strange and overwhelmed by an emotion that seemed too big for my small body, I nodded, looking at the floor, and forced myself to speak again.
“My name is Eddie Munson, and when I grow up I want to be a mechanic.”
‘But I didn't see that the joke was on me oh no’
After that moment in the classroom, I withdrew into myself and let that strange feeling grow. I kept my head down in every class and barely spoke to my classmates, reliving those laughs in my mind again and again, and each time my heart felt like it was tearing to pieces inside my chest.
From time to time I would massage my chest and close my eyes, hoping and begging for that strange pain to disappear completely.
Lunch break came faster than I expected, I barely noticed the time passing. I got up from my desk and went straight to the bathroom, stared at my reflection in the mirror, and lifted my shirt to check if I had any injuries on my left side. Nothing. No bruises or scratches, but why did it hurt so much if I couldn't see anything?
If it hurt that much, shouldn't there be a bruise to prove it? Maybe if there was a mark, someone would believe me if I said something was wrong.
I washed my hands at the sink and went back to the classroom to get my lunchbox, then made my way to the cafeteria. When I got there, I was met with stares and whispers from my classmates, they pointed to where I was and laughed again. That strange pain returned, and this time it felt like someone was squeezing my little heart from the inside. It hurt again… right in the middle of my chest, like someone tiny had climbed inside me and was squeezing my heart with both hands, trying to see if it would break.
I turned my back on them and ran away, went where I wouldn't be seen, and collapsed on the ground with my hand on my chest.
I ate my snack alone in a secluded corner, far from everyone, huddled up and sad. Even without understanding how my name became their favorite joke.
I kept waiting for them to tell me it wasn’t true… that I wasn’t a joke. But no one came, so I just ate in silence and pretended the food didn’t taste like my tears.
'I started to cry which started the whole world laughing'
I was so caught up in my sadness that I didn't notice when some teachers and monitors looked at me as if they found my small, isolated, and desolate figure amusing.
I didn’t understand why they smiled… I thought grown-ups were supposed to help, not look at me like I was something funny. It made the sadness feel even heavier, like maybe I really was meant to be laughed at.
Leaving school was no different, more stares and laughter, whispers and murmurs directed at me as if I were the latest joke. I kept my eyes on the ground, wishing the sidewalk would open up and hide me, because it felt like everywhere I went, someone was waiting to laugh first.
I walked towards the trailer park and thought about how I wanted to be different, if I were a real hero, everyone would like me. If I were someone important… maybe people would smile at me for real. Maybe heroes don’t get laughed at on the way home. I kept wishing I could wake up tomorrow as someone braver, brighter, bigger — someone they couldn’t ignore.
I wish that someday, maybe, I could be a hero to everyone. I wanted to one day save everyone and keep them safe.
When I got to the trailer, I saw Wayne asleep on the couch and the rest of the place messy and dusty. I wanted him to be awake, I wanted him to ask about my day, I wanted him to make that pain go away.
I wanted many things, but above all, I wanted someone to care… and Wayne did. He always did. But sometimes it felt like the whole world was louder than his kindness, and I kept wishing one single kid — just one — would look at me the way he did.
I sighed in disappointment and went straight to my room, dropped my backpack on the floor, and sat on my bed looking out the window, the immense blue sky staring back at me. My vision slowly began to blur, and when I realized it, tears were streaming down my cheeks like a raging river that had broken through its dam, with no sign of stopping. Maybe if my mommy were still here, none of this would have happened; maybe she could take all this pain away from me, but she wasn't here. Wayne said she had gone to heaven and couldn't come back, and even now, looking intently at that vast blue expanse, I couldn't see her.
I kept staring at the sky until my eyes burned, hoping I’d catch even the tiniest shadow of her. But the clouds didn’t move for me, the blue didn’t answer back, and it hurt to realize that heaven must be too far away for little kids who miss their moms.
“Mommy,” I whimpered as more tears streamed down my face, my lower lip trembling with the intense pain I felt. “I need you, Mommy. It hurts so much, I don’t know how to make it stop, please come down here for a little bit, I promise I won’t tell anyone, Mommy…” Horrible sobs escaped one by one, my whole body shaking with the intensity of my painful crying.
I waited after saying that… I waited as if perhaps heaven would hear me if I cried enough. But the room remained silent, the sky didn't open, and I felt as if my words had simply fallen to the floor beside me.
The noise of movement in the trailer's living room made me turn my head toward my bedroom door, alarmed. Wayne was probably waking up from his nap and would be coming into my room soon. He couldn't see me like this.
I looked back out the window and brought my small hands to my eyes, wiping away any trace of my wet tears.
I scrubbed my face as fast as I could, the way kids do when they’re trying to erase sadness with their palms. I didn’t want Wayne to worry… he already worked so hard. So I sniffed, swallowed the last pieces of my crying, and tried to make my voice small and quiet again.
‘I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes.’
I grabbed my favorite comic book that was always under my pillow and pretended I was reading. I opened it to a random page and stared at the colors without really seeing them, trying to look normal — like heroes and monsters on paper could drown out the ache in my chest if I just pretended hard enough.
A knock on the door echoed through my room, followed by my uncle's voice. “Eddie? I'm leaving for work now. I left mac and cheese in the oven for you, eat it if you're hungry. I'll be back at nightfall.” He didn't open the door, just stood on the other side and spoke as he always did before leaving. “Okay, Uncle, I'll be fine,” I replied quietly.
“Right… If you need anything, go to Mrs. Parks' trailer, I asked her to keep an eye on you if I'm late.” When his footsteps faded, the whole trailer felt too big again — too quiet, too easy for the sad thoughts to crawl back in. I clutched my comic tighter, wishing I felt as brave as the heroes inside it. Wayne always tried to make sure I wasn’t alone… but the moment the door clicked shut, it felt like all the light went with him.
One day… one day I’m gonna be a hero, I just know it. Maybe not the kind in my comics, but someone brave enough that people finally stop laughing when I walk by. And when that day comes, they’ll see I wasn’t a joke at all — I was just a kid who needed a little time to prove I mattered. Maybe heroes don’t get to stay long… but if I ever become one, I hope it’s enough for someone to finally say my name without laughing.
That memory hit me like a moving train, and I smiled through tears and blood as I stared at the dark, lifeless sky of the upside down. I guess I did become a hero… just not in the way little me imagined.
I looked into the eyes of the one holding me, bleeding out for a town that had always hated me and always would. There was no outrunning what I was meant to be — not their hero, not their villain, just the boy they laughed at who finally stopped running.
"I didn’t run away this time, right?” I whispered, the words wobbling with pride as my breath grew heavier and the world dimmed at the edges. Dustin’s eyes locked on mine — wide, shaking, pleading with everything he had for me to stay, to breathe, to fight. And in that look, in that terrified kind of love, I finally saw it… the thing I’d wanted since I was a kid hiding in cafeteria corners: I had become someone important.
And finally… finally, I felt like I could go. The fear slipped away, the pain quieted, and all that was left was the warmth of knowing I mattered to someone. I let my eyes fall half-closed, managed a small smile, and breathed out the only truth I had left: "I love you, man."
'Till I finally died which started the whole world living'
'Oh if I'd only seen that the joke was on me'
'Oh no that the joke was on me'
When I opened my eyes again, everything was quiet. No monsters, no blood, no smoke — just the soft hum of cicadas and the warm Indiana summer air. I was standing in the old playground near the trailer park, the one with the rusty swings and the crooked slide.
For a moment I just blinked, confused. Why was I here? Why did everything look smaller, brighter… almost like it used to?
I took a step forward, dirt crunching under my shoes, and the world smelled like cut grass and Kool-Aid — like the days before anyone knew my name well enough to turn it into a joke.
And that’s when my chest clenched, not with pain, but with something like… recognition.
Why would the afterlife look like the place where I first learned to hurt? Why would it look like home?
A soft sound rustled behind me, not footsteps, not the creak of the swings, but something warm, something familiar, something my heart remembered before my mind could catch up.
"Teddy-bear…?"
My whole body froze. No one had called me that in years. No one had whispered it like a secret meant only for me.
A soft breeze swept past me, carrying something sweet — the smell of vanilla lotion and laundry soap — a scent I hadn’t known I remembered until it wrapped around me like a hug.
Then I heard it again.
That voice.
That tiny tremor of warmth that once tucked me into bed and chased monsters out of my closet.
“Teddy-bear… come here, sweetheart.”
The nickname hit me so hard my knees almost gave out. I turned slowly, afraid this was another cruel trick, afraid it would vanish like all the good things in my life usually did.
The playground behind me blurred as I focused on the figure standing just a few steps away.
She looked exactly like in my memories, but softer — like the edges of her were made of light. Her hair fell around her shoulders the way it used to when she leaned over me to say goodnight. Her smile was small, gentle, almost apologetic, the kind of smile that said I’m sorry I couldn’t stay without needing any words.
Her eyes — God, her eyes — were the same warm brown that made the world feel less scary when I was little. They shimmered now, glossy with love I had spent years trying to remember.
She opened her arms just a little, the way moms do when they’re waiting for a kid to run into them. And for the first time since I was old enough to understand what being alone meant… I didn’t feel alone at all.
“Come here, Eddie,” she whispered, voice breaking like she’d missed me just as much. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
She stepped closer, her hands trembling like she was afraid I might vanish.
“Eddie…” she whispered, tucking a curl behind my ear the way she used to when I was just a little boy with scraped knees and too-big dreams. “You’ve always been my hero. Since the very beginning. You were all that ever mattered in my world.”
The words hit me deeper than any monster’s claws ever could.
My throat tightened. My vision burned. No one had ever said that to me — not like this, not with this kind of truth.
I fell into her arms, small again in a way only a child could be, and she held me like she’d never let go this time. Like heaven itself had wrapped around us.
And for the first time in forever, the ache in my chest went quiet.
The heaviness, the fear, the loneliness — all of it slipped away like shadows at sunrise.
In her warmth, in her voice, in the place that looked like the childhood I never got to keep…
Eddie Munson finally rested — not just in peace, but in love
tagging some mutuals: @ali-r3n @sweetpeapod @keeryhours @corrodedlover @hydegapin @mediocredreams
hi, this is selene and i wanted to create something strange, fun, and a little bit unholy — a writing game called 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐀.
𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐀 — (from necros = death, graphia = writing) — “the art of writing the dead.”
i’ve always loved the chaos that happens when writers play with the same bones and somehow birth completely different monsters. so instead of watching prompts rot in my drafts, i thought: why not dig them up and feed them to everyone?
it’s basically a fun little chaos wheel where you pick what i have to write: character, relationship type, genre, and prompt. everything’s random, everything’s cursed.
the twist? i can change the prompt to fit the combo i get. so if it says “witch x vampire” but the prompt was “haunted lab,” then congrats, the vampire’s now in a lab. horror becomes romance, angst becomes humor — whatever fits the vibe.
it’s all about having fun, writing something weird, dark, or just stupidly dramatic.
if you write for the game, include “a necrophagia piece” (or your own twist, like “a necrophagia tale by @/youruser”) in the title or caption so we can all trace what rose from the same grave.
below are the categories and how to participate.
𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:
1 - Bound by a curse.
They were sworn enemies until a spell tied their souls together. Now, what one feels, the other does too.
2 - Hunted and hunter.
One is sent to capture or kill the other but something goes terribly wrong when they start to care.
3 - One night, one deal.
A desperate bargain binds them for 24 hours. What begins as survival turns into something dangerous and magnetic.
4 - The last of their kind.
Both believe the other’s species extinct… until they meet.
5 - A prophecy of doom.
The world says their union will destroy everything. So why can’t they stay apart?
6 - The prisoner and the captor.
One is locked in chains. The other holds the key and a heart that’s beginning to break.
7 - Forbidden alliance.
Their worlds are at war, their gods forbid it, but they must join forces to stop something worse.
8 - A dangerous experiment.
One studies the other out of scientific curiosity… or obsession.
9 - Body swap.
They wake up in each other’s bodies and must survive in each other’s worlds while trying not to ruin each other’s lives.
10 - An accidental summoning.
One calls the other from another realm but the summoning can’t be undone until they complete an impossible task together.
11 - The masquerade.
They meet at a grand masked ball, fall in love and only later discover they’re supposed to be mortal enemies.
12 - The cure.
One holds the power to save the other’s life, but it comes with a price neither is willing to pay.
13 - Shared punishment.
The gods punish them to live in the mortal world until they learn to forgive one another. It’s going terribly.
14 - The apocalypse truce.
The end of the world forces every species to work together and these two are the last ones who should ever share a tent.
15 - The Celestial Prison
They wake up chained in a divine prison accused of a crime neither remembers committing.
16 - The Blood Pact
To save their lives, they perform a binding ritual that links their souls. Breaking it means death.
17 - The Last Sanctuary
A war between realms leaves them the last survivors one holy, one damned.
18 - The Mirror Curse
Every night, they see each other in a mirror reflections that don’t belong to them.
19 - The Heist at the End of the World
A godly artifact could end reality. They’re hired (or doomed) to steal it together.
20 - The Dream Intruder
One starts appearing in the other’s dreams, whispering secrets they shouldn’t know.
21 - The Fake Peace Treaty
To prevent a cosmic war, they must marry but neither plans to stay loyal.
22 - The Lost Memory
They meet for the first time… or so they think. In truth, they’ve lived a thousand years together.
23 - The Time-Bound Love
They can only meet once every century, for a single night. Tonight is that night.
24 - The Resurrection Mistake
One tries to bring back their lost love but summons something else with the same face.
25 - The Artifact Keeper
They’re both after the same magical relic. One wants to save the world, the other to destroy it.
26 - The Forbidden Experiment
A scientist tries to prove the existence of the supernatural, until the subject fights back.
27 - The Storm Pact
A supernatural disaster forces every species to work together. These two are assigned as partners.
28 - The Haunting
One haunts the other’s home until they realize they’re protecting them from something worse.
29 - The Prophecy Rewrite
Fate says one must die for the world to live. The other decides to destroy fate itself.
30 - The Undead Etiquette Club Every midnight, the most miserable souls in town gather for tea in a crumbling gothic mansion.
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄:
Angel
2. Demon
3. Pirate
4. Necromancer
5. Witch
6. Vampire
7. Werewolf
8. Mermaid / Siren
9. Cryptid
10. Robot
11. Ghost
12. Alien
13. Shapeshifter
14. God / Goddess
15. Human
𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐒:
1 - Enemies to Lovers
2 - Lovers to Enemies
3 - Forbidden Love
4 - Fake Relationship
5 - Rivals with Chemistry
6 - Forced to Cooperate
7 - Found Family Vibes
8 - Secret Relationship
9 - Slow Burn Allies
10 - One-Sided (or So They Think)
11 - Reincarnated Lovers
12 - Mentor × Student (Power Dynamic Twist)
13 - Enemies with a Common Enemy
14 - Protective × Reckless
15 - Betrayal and Redemption
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄/𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄:
Angst
Smut
Fluff
Comedy
Hurt/comfort
Horror
Mystery
Thriller
Tragedy
Dark fantasy
Chaos duo
Adventure
Dystopian
Fairy tale retelling
Emotional Destruction
at least one, at most four.
𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 “𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐀” 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞:
important rule!
i only write for eddie munson (and occasionally other stranger things characters if you're lucky).
this is his playground — i just bring the blood and the pen.
𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐧:
You can ask me to spin the wheels or choose directly from the lists:
Characters (angel, vampire, witch…)
Relationship Dynamic (enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies…)
Plot Prompt (the core situation or conflict)
Genre / Tone (angst, horror, humor, fluff…)
Mix and match however you want, your combination becomes the challenge.
𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬:
Once you’ve chosen or i spun your options, combine them to form your writing prompt.
Example: Vampire × Witch | Enemies to Lovers | The Resurrection Mistake | Dark Fantasy
“A witch resurrects her dead lover, but the vampire who returns isn’t the man she buried.”
send me the combo like this:
Vampire!Reader x Scientist!Eddie | Enemies to Lovers | The Binding Ritual | Humor | Place (optional)
— that exact format is perfect.
important rule!
don't forget to especify the characters like: witch!reader x vampire!eddie.
If you can’t choose, i spin everything randomly: characters, dynamic, plot, and genre.
Whatever combination you get, i must write it for at least 10 minutes.
(Yes, even “angel × robot × fluff × horror.” That’s the fun.)
𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞:
Every prompt is a skeleton, the characters and tone give it flesh.
That means the scenario can (and should) change to fit whoever you pick.
Example: “To save their lives, they perform a binding ritual that links their souls.”
• If it’s witch × demon, it’s a forbidden spell.
• If it’s vampire × scientist, it’s a failed immortality experiment.
• If it’s angel × pirate, it’s a divine curse traded for freedom.
chaos option (if you’re wicked)
want me punished? ask me to spin every wheel randomly and drop the full result here. i will write whatever the wheels spits out.
𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬 / 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬
if you want:
specify length (drabble / short scene / 1k+ words)
ask for POV (eddie/ reader)
request tags or content warnings (please do)
i’ll try to respect this, but don’t be upset if i tweak things to fit the story.
i’ll post the piece on my blog and tag whoever gave me the combo if you want (tell me to tag you).
tag me if you play too, i wanna see what creatures you all bring to life🖤
𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 — 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬.
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: tagging a few babies to play or to write: @ali-r3n @mediocredreams @corrodedlover @munsonstorm @elegantpaperoperatormaker @sweetpeapod @enam3l
rewriting this baby from my old blog 👀 should I post the whole thing?
TW: smut, eddie has a dick piercing
Eddie smirked and bit his lower lip when he noticed your surprised face. “What’s wrong, sweetie? See anything you like?” He was making fun of you and you could tell.
His eyes were boring into your face, trying to catch your reactions.
Moving your hand, you spoke again. “A piercing… Munson, Munson, you’re a box full of surprises…” Your index fingers hooked into the waistband of his underwear. “Do you have any more surprises for me, Eddie?” Your playful question was answered as soon as you removed the last piece of clothing from him and his cock emerged free in all its glory: big and thick, probably a good nine inches, with a prominent vein on the underside, curved slightly to the right and, the cherry on top, his gray metal piercing decorating the drooling, reddish tip.
Your eyes widened slightly and your mouth parted, forming a slight “o”, while one of your hands crept up to his erect dick and caressed the long shaft.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: "You always "floated" from person to person, like a spectral ghost, passing right through them, invisible. You were always there, but never with them. Always close enough to listen, but never close enough to matter."
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: This chapter contains themes of child abuse (verbal, emotional, and physical), parental neglect, attempted abortion (and description of it), self-harm, suicidal ideation, and severe psychological trauma, parental loss, grief, child trauma, sexual assault, statutory rape, grooming, emotional abuse, betrayal, trauma.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4,5K
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: This was definitely one of the chapters I enjoyed writing the most; I think you can tell that, as a melancholic person, I love tragedies haha. The taglist is open, leave a comment if you want to be added.
𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
I am punished by love
I am punished by love
I am punished by love
I am punished by love
— Ethel Cain, Punish.
From the moment you were born, it was clear that you weren't special, and the people around you made sure you knew it. As your mother once said: "I'll always be here to remind you of the insignificant mistake that you are."
From before your birth, your mother made it clear that she was unhappy about getting pregnant so early — even though she was already in her thirties — and about ruining the beautiful body she had worked so hard to maintain. This made her angry, and she quit her job as a receptionist at one of the world's largest beauty magazines to dedicate herself to caring for and raising you. She never wanted to get pregnant, but during the pregnancy, she had gotten used to the idea of having a companion. Until the fateful day she had the ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby she was carrying. A little girl, and she hated you from that moment on.
She didn't want a girl, she wanted a boy. A boy who would grow into a strong man and love her above all else, even his partner, and finally she would have something to be proud of and mold to perfection. But a girl… A girl would drain all her beauty until the day of delivery, would have all the looks and smiles directed at her from birth, she would compete with her own mother's beauty and would make a point of stealing everything from her: your father would have another woman to give attention and love to. She couldn't let that happen. You hadn't even been born yet and had already become her greatest enemy.
Your father never knew, but she tried to abort you in many ways after that day. She drank tea made from every abortifacient herb she could find: rue, mugwort, cinnamon, boldo, cloves, and many others you didn't even know existed.
Then she tried with doses of alcohol, vodka one day, whiskey the next, and on another day it was a new mixture. She even tried drinking cleaning products, and when that didn't work, she poured them on the bathroom floor and locked herself inside. A neighbor smelled the chemicals and called an ambulance.
She said she was only trying to clean the bathroom.
And finally came the medication that was used in clandestine abortions and on fetuses much younger than yours.
Cytotec.
It didn't work, it was as if she had taken sugar pills that disappeared in her body without leaving a trace.
You were born perfectly healthy, to her surprise. And you quickly became your father's greatest pride, which further increased her hatred and envy towards you.
She always made a point of blaming you for her never having had the opportunity to be one of the magazine's models and for ruining her figure. The scorn she felt for you became more evident as the years went by, and what were once harsh words whispered behind your back while playing became powerful insults spat directly at you.
At first, you didn't understand why your mommy was so cruel to you, you loved her so much and even wanted to be like her when you grew up! Beautiful and elegant like her — you couldn't tell her that since she had gotten angry the last time you said you wanted to be beautiful like her and called you a deformity. But every day she made sure to remind you that you would never be like her.
“Bastard.” A single word spoken in a low voice, no louder than the soft whispers of the wind outside. A word that corroded like poison and burned like fire on the skin of the innocent creature who breathed deeply in the tranquility of her sleep in the small cradle in the corner of the dark room, forgotten by love. It was the first time she had looked at you since giving birth. In the hospital, she refused to hold you or breastfeed you, and yelled for the nurses to take you far away when your father left the room for the nursery.
“Curse.” An insult that slipped from her hateful tongue as she watched the fragile human being she had created, lying in a hospital bed after accidentally falling down the stairs and collapsing amidst the blood that pooled on the steps. As soon as your father left for work, she made you clean up the mess, caring little about the stitches in your head and disregarding the doctor's order that you should rest. The wood was expensive, she said, and you prayed that the stains wouldn't penetrate and permanently mark it, otherwise those stains would go somewhere else.
"I've never seen so much uselessness in one person. You think a grade is going to get you into college? You're pathetic. I bet you did something to get that grade." You had arrived home beaming, eager to share the news with her. The highest grade on a test that even the smartest student in the class hadn’t achieved, congratulated by classmates and teachers who made a point of showing pride in your accomplishment. The reminder of your insignificance in her eyes at home.
“I don't know what's worse: having you or admitting that I have you.” You deeply embarrassed her. A visit from one of her oldest friends and her daughter brought to the surface a monster you thought you would have more time before seeing again. The woman with the rigid and disproportionate body — courtesy of the many plastic surgeries performed in a short period of time — spewed words of pride and satisfaction while contorting her stretched and immobile face, unable to make expressions. “Carmen will be modeling for the local magazine…” The rest of the sentence was lost in the look of disgust and disappointment that your mother displayed. Carmen was beautiful, almost bordering on perfection: large, sparkling green eyes, silky red hair like something out of a shampoo commercial, pale and flawless skin, thin like a Russian model; she was also tall, but tall in a way that attracted positive attention and not tall in a way that made her an "aberration," as your mother liked to call you from time to time.
“Not even death would dare take something so broken and useless.” The last sentence she uttered before you left home at seventeen. Again lying in a hospital bed with catheters and monitors attached to you, almost without consciousness or awareness after all the pills you'd taken, the pain of your slit wrists and neck didn't even come close to what those words did to you. A living death, with your heart beating out of stubbornness. And your body, out of pity, still breathed.
That woman — Mother — taught you that love is just another word for pain.
In all the years you suffered at her hands, you never let your father even suspect what was happening at home when he wasn't there.
That man was your heart outside of your chest — something he always used to tell you with a smile like a thousand suns on his face. He was like a ray of sunshine that had transformed into a human, his light was so intense and contagious, always guiding you out of the darkness. And his embrace was your home, and it was the most perfect home you could imagine.
And the nicknames he gave you… They always came straight from his heart, in its purest form of love. They were your favorite part of him, the way he loved you so much that he always felt the need to vocalize and give meaning to that feeling. Each nickname arose in the most unexpected moments when his heart seemed to float inside his chest, in such a strong and intense way that he thought his chest would open up and the only thing to be seen and heard would be his heart beating to the rhythm of your name. He once said — in an almost inaudible whisper as you two lay gazing at the stars on the grass in the backyard — that his heart didn't belong to him anymore.
It lived inside your chest, beating whenever you smiled. And that every beat was a 'thank you for your' light.
"My heart beats for you, sweetheart. And if it ever stops, someone out there will keep it going for me. Because the world will send you another heartbeat to follow." He used to say it as if he knew some hidden secret that only he knew. His eyes carried words that would be spoken years later.
"Sunshine," that was the first thing he said when he held the small, newborn-shaped bundle for the first time in the hospital's maternity ward. You opened your eyes the moment he spoke to you, that familiar voice you had heard so much while in your mother's womb finally speaking directly to you. "Because you showed up and the whole world got warmer." His teary eyes witnessed your first smile.
"Bumblebee" came to his mind when he saw you sleeping for the first time. Such a small and fragile thing, yet so strong and so full of life. You brought back his will to live and became the reason for his existence. "Because you're small but full of life. And no matter how tiny you are, you can make the world bloom."
"Firefly." A bad day at work that drained his energy, a frigid wife who scolded him as soon as he stepped foot in the house. Your first word as you looked at him at the front door, still in your mother's arms: "dada." "Because you bring me light even in the darkest nights." He whispered, after holding you in his arms minutes later, with emotion tightening in his throat.
"Little star," you questioned him days earlier about the business trip he would have to take out of town for a few days. You cried, afraid he would forget the way home. "Don't worry, my little star. You know why? Because no matter how far you are, I'll always see your light, and that will guide me home."
If you had known, you would have prevented him from going, invented some illness so that he would give up the idea of going away.
“North Star,” you remembered one of the stories about navigators that he loved to tell, how they crossed the world in boats, guided only by the stars and constellations, and returned home using only the sky as a compass. “Sailors follow the North Star to find their way back home. And I’ll follow your light.”
If you could go back in time and prevent him from leaving the house that day… You would still have him.
North Star. The last nickname he gave you before he died in a car accident on the state border.
The doctors arrived too late, they said he died instantly in the collision, and even if they had arrived in time, it would have been useless. Useless. You hated that word when it was used to describe you, but hearing it used about your father caused a different kind of pain.
The firefighters pulled his body from the wreckage that was once a black BMW 745e and placed it in one of those black bags to be taken for an autopsy. Your father hated black, he loved red: “Red is the color of love, my little bee. It’s the color that will find its way back to you, no matter how far it has to fly.” Once again,he talked as if he knew a secret that you don't know.
The information and details of that day didn't matter to you, only one thing that the forensic doctor said to your mother as soon as he saw her. Something that — if you're being honest — you'd rather never have heard, because it only made the pain even more unbearable, like an incurable physical pain.
“We found this inside his suit pocket, it seemed to be something important to him. It was protected by several layers of bubble wrap.” He held out a transparent airtight bag with a silver object inside. It was as if he knew he would be leaving that night and made sure to keep the object safe. Oh, Dad…
A North Star necklace. The silver chain was made of small, delicate rings, the silver and lapis lazuli pendant was round and heavy, with the silver star in the middle of the mixture of blue and black. The night sky full of stars, and in the middle, the largest and brightest of them all—an embossed silver star, with eight sharp points and a cold gleam. It represented you, his North Star. The bezel surrounding it was braided, almost like silver roots guarding a treasure.
Sailors follow the North Star to find their way back home, but he never came back. Maybe the star didn’t shine enough to guide him through the dark.
“We also found this along with the necklace,” he held out an envelope with bloodstains on the white paper, a blue and gold wax seal closed the opening. “It’s addressed to ‘My North Star’.” Before you had a chance to recognize the embossed symbol on the seal, your mother snatched the letter from the doctor’s hands with barely contained rage. She looked with tear-filled eyes at you, who were holding the necklace and silently crying, her gaze carrying a fury and pain you had never seen before.
You never knew what was written in that letter. The last thing he ever wrote to you.
You wondered what he might have written: did he give you another nickname whose meaning you would never know? Did he explain why he wrapped that necklace with so much protection? Would he reveal the secret you knew he seemed to know?
“I was his wife, and he didn't even bring me a single gift, but for you,” she laughed bitterly as she looked disdainfully at the necklace — now around your neck. “For you… He would give you the world if he had it, and wouldn't think of me while doing it. That's how he was, always thinking of you first, from the very first day.” You never understood her hatred towards you, it was too intense to be merely the result of an early pregnancy. She hated you as if you were a monster who didn't deserve an ounce of love.
That day, your tears learned how to speak his name while you looked at the ashes of the burned letter your mother threw into the fireplace. Claws seemed to be making their way inside your chest, tearing you apart without bleeding and hurting you without leaving a trace. Watching that paper burn to ashes was like watching the memory of your father die, and you didn't know what hurt more: knowing that he was dead or knowing that his last act of love had died with him, consumed by the flames of hatred that should have been directed only at you, not at his memory. Never at him.
As if the pain of losing your heart outside of your chest wasn't enough, you couldn't even say goodbye to him. Repressed and trapped like a wild animal, she locked you in the house so you couldn't go to the funeral, and that was worse than his death itself. Not seeing him one last time, not being able to say you loved him one last time. Not feeling his love one last time before he was buried six feet under and you were left only with memories and longing. You’re left with the ghost of a love that death refused to return.
"You don't get to see him. You had all of him while he lived, leave me what's left." You begged on your knees, cried until had no voice and until your knees bled.
And she just stared at you as if you were an insect she had tried to crush several times but it never died, her cruelty reached a new level that day. She knew that if you went to the funeral, everyone would pay attention to you and not to her. For the first time since you were born, she would have everyone's attention, even if it was at the expense of your father's corpse.
"You stole his heart the day you were born, and now you want his goodbye too? You had his light, so let me have his silence." She didn't want his silence, she wanted the condolences of the guests, the comforting hugs, and above all: she needed the world to see only her pain, and act as if you were absolutely nothing. The funeral is hers, not yours. Her sorrow must be the only one that matters.
That day, something died inside you. That day didn't just take him — it took you too, and you never found your way back home.
That man — Father — taught you that love was something you could see in someone’s eyes, not hear in their words. He said that one day, you’d meet someone whose gaze felt like home.
Things weren't much different in other aspects of your life.
You were always the least favorite friend, whether in a trio or a quartet, always forgotten with the excuse that "it was last minute, we thought you wouldn't accept and that's why we didn't invite you" or "you don't even like that, that's why we didn't invite you." But you were always there for whoever needed you, a shoulder to cry on, a willing ear to listen, arms ready to embrace their problems and let them consume you. But nobody wanted to be there for you, not even you wanted to be there for yourself. Everyone left, and you followed, abandoning yourself like it was the only way to feel less alone.
In psychology, there's a term for this: "floating friend," something that seemed perfect for the situation.
You always "floated" from person to person, like a spectral ghost, passing right through them, invisible. You were always there, but never with them. Always close enough to listen, but never close enough to matter.
Always the last one to leave the room alone because nobody waited for you, the one who walked behind the group on the sidewalk because there was no space alongside the others, the one who did the schoolwork alone because there was no more room in the group – it was as if people only befriended you to feel even better about themselves. A kind of charity, and in return they received your "services" without having to be accountable. They liked standing next to you, not because they saw you, but because you made them look better.
You hated how people treated you, but you hated being alone even more, so you endured all the humiliations and provocations disguised as jokes. You taught yourself to smile through the pain, because pretending to belong was the only way to stop the world from noticing you didn't.
Romantic relationships were even worse. Always the second option, good enough to heal, but never good enough to stay.
The boys would seek you out when they couldn't find anyone better, when they were rejected and needed an ego boost. Always in secret, you never went out with anyone during the day, too ashamed to admit to the world that they were with you. You learned that some people only wanted you in the dark, where no one has to admit you exist.
In the shadows, that's where everything happened, false promises whispered in moments of pleasure, deceitful caresses and misleading glances. While the girls excitedly talked about their first time, you felt ashamed of how yours had been. While they spoke of love, you only remembered the silence, the kind that comes when someone takes without asking.
You told yourself it didn’t matter and that maybe that’s what love looked like. But deep down, you knew love shouldn’t have felt like disappearing.
In the shadows, inside the car of a guy whose name you barely remembered but whose body you remembered all too well, it was cold and dark while it was happening, it was quick and awful. You felt more empty when he was inside you than when he put his pants back on and barely looked in your direction and said he would take you home. He never called or bothered to do so. A week later he was parading around town with the mayor's daughter hanging on his arm.
It didn't stop there, it was only the beginning; every touch, every gesture, only reminded you that the emptiness came from within, and nothing outside of yourself could fill it.
After him came another boy, blond hair and green eyes: he was on the football team, a freshman looking for something easy. It happened in the boys' locker room after classes had ended for the day; he pressed your face against the wall so he wouldn't have to look at you and took what he wanted. He called out another girl's name as he emptied himself onto your back. The next day, he announced he was dating one of the cheerleaders who had just joined the squad.
And then the last guy before you graduated: Professor James, a young adult, every girl's dream at school and the newest rich guy in town. It started with prolonged glances in his classes, not-so-accidental touches when he handed back your test or answered one of your questions. Then came the comments: "you seem mature for your age" or "of the girls your age, you're my favorite." It happened at the town motel; it was strange. He was rough, asked for strange things you weren't used to but you did them anyway to please him, called you by strange names that didn't fit a sexual situation. He said he wanted to see you again next week, and you, craving attention, accepted. Months after graduation, James was arrested for having sexual relations with two fifteen- and sixteen-year-old students.
After graduation, you met Jason. You studied at the same college; he was sweet and kind to you, asked you out, and bought you coffee. You met a few times during the semester, but only for friendly outings. He was a gentleman, and soon you fell in love for the first time in your life. The relationship was wonderful for the first few months, but then came the suspicions: a different perfume on his clothes, a bruise on his chest that wasn't there the last time you saw him, one of his ex-girlfriends tried to contact you and he brushed it off, "she's crazy, she hates me because I found out things about her and decided to break up." Days later, you caught him having sex in your shared bed with one of the girls from college that he criticized so much: "she's so vulgar, it's no wonder she can never get a boyfriend," "I would never let you go out dressed like that, she looks like a prostitute." You should have known, something always happens. You kept wondering if it was your fault for mistaking attention for care.
Studies and work were the only things you could be proud of, always the top student with perfect grades and performance, you landed a job at one of the best book publishers in the world: editor-in-chief, a position far beyond what was expected for someone your age.
When the envelope with the results arrived, you couldn't even feel happiness, only relief at having completed another task. It wasn't an achievement to be celebrated, but an obligation to be crossed off your list.
Even after all these years, that phrase spoken by your mother still haunted you.
"I've never seen so much uselessness in one body. Do you think one good grade is going to get you into college? You're pathetic, I bet you did something to get that grade."
Even though you tried to compensate for your failed relationships with studies and work, you still didn't feel happy. It was as if there was a tiny hole in your chest that, no matter how much you tried to fill it with bigger things, it always reopened, as if you needed something small and specific to complete you.
Today marks ten years since your best friend and heart outside your chest passed away. You were now twenty-one, a complete woman—well, not quite. Ten years since you felt the truest and purest love that ever existed, the comfort of the arms of the most wonderful person who ever walked this earth. The melancholy you felt that day was not unfounded.
Sitting on the blue sofa in your apartment that night, trying to read a book in which the words sounded like arabesques in an unknown language, even though you knew every letter and expression on the page you had been staring at for more than ten minutes, you thought.
You thought about how happiness seemed to hide in dark corners in your presence, how people seemed to take pleasure in reducing you to a mere ghost who followed orders, to an empty shell that only served to comfort others when they had no better option and had to settle for anything.
Sadness consumed you completely, causing a physical pain in your soul that was impossible to heal.
A sudden warmth shot through your heart as if it had turned into a hot ember, making you drop the book you were reading and look towards where you swore you had seen something like a red specter. The pain disappeared as suddenly as it appeared, but it left a strange— yet very familiar — feeling lodged in your chest. Warm, soft, almost like…
No. That feeling is long gone. And it took with it the only person who could make you feel that way.
You sighed deeply in — relief? Longing? Who knows… — and picked up your book again and once more tried to read, until you were interrupted by a familiar voice that seemed to speak directly into your mind.
“My heartbeat for you, my North Star, and if it ever fell silent, the world would send you another heartbeat to follow.”
You didn't remember ever hearing your father say that, perhaps you accidentally forgot, and the melancholy of the day brought it back to the surface. Yes, that was it.
The rest of the night passed in a blur; you drank a few glasses of wine to try and drown your sorrow and extinguish the faint flame that remained in your chest, you looked up at the sky and searched for that special star and smiled as you wished your father goodnight, wherever he may be.
Your bed was cold when you lay down in it, but for some reason, you didn't feel cold. Something warm inside you refused to be extinguished and give way to the cold this time.
While you were sleeping, you dreamed of a mysterious young man with long, brown hair, laughing as he ran through a green field full of flowers near the sea. The mysterious young man had red wings.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Preview of the first chapter of "Cupid Doesn't Share".
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Parental neglect and emotional abuse, mentions of injury and blood, child endangerment, verbal abuse, toxic family dynamics.
Your mother, even before you were born, made her discontent evident for having gotten pregnant early — even though she was already in her thirties — and destroying the beautiful body she had worked so hard to maintain, which made her angry and quit her job as a receptionist at one of the biggest beauty magazines in the world, to be a mother and raise you.
"Plague." An insult that slipped from her hateful tongue as she watched the fragile human being she'd created lie in a hospital bed after accidentally falling down the stairs and collapsing in the blood pooling on the steps. She made you clean up her mess the moment you got home. The wood was expensive, and you prayed the stains wouldn't soak in and permanently stain it.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: "A whisper muffled by sadness reached my ears, a prayer from a wounded and lonely soul that longed, not for love, but for mercy for itself."
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Death (non-graphic), brief mention of blood and injury (arrows), themes of afterlife and reincarnation, light melancholy.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,3K
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: so excited for this series!! if you want to be added to the taglist, just leave a comment!
𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
Since ancient times, Cupids have been considered responsible for love and desire among everyone, also known as small naked cherubs that fly around hitting the hearts of “soulmates” and making them fall instantly in love with each other. Whether human or any other creature, you will not escape unscathed from the little devil's bow and arrow.
For many centuries, any feeling related to love and passion was placed in the hands of Cupid, whether good or bad, the stories spread to the four corners of the world and everyone who heard of that name was filled with hope, and some even anger at the mere mention.
But that's not how things are. In our department, we don't allow naked — or clothed — children in the workplace, but I believe that in the fairy or elf department you'll find some unfortunate little pests who have been caught.
Anyway, everything here at the Cupid Inc. Department is extremely rigid and inflexible, we take the satisfaction of our Cupidines very seriously — the official name given by Celestial Cupid to humans and creatures that have a cupid — as it is very important that the operation is always a success, imagine if one of us failed and allowed a Cupidine to fall madly in love with someone who is no good? Or worse, someone dangerous and would put their life in danger? No, each and every mission must be carried out seriously and cautiously, prioritizing the complete satisfaction of the creature we've been assigned.
Oh! I forgot to introduce myself, haha. Nice to meet you, dear reader, my name is Edward Munson and I'm a cupid at Cupid Inc, and I know you're probably wondering how I ended up here, right? Well, let's go back a few centuries to the day of my untimely death.
On a sunny afternoon when the sky seemed to play with the sea in the middle of the field of pasture and tall grass, the sun kissed the pale skin of my face turned towards the blue immensity stained gently with soft white, my opaque brown eyes remained open and still as my last breath left my body, cruelly skewered with arrows and resembling a tailor's pincushion.
I don't remember the reason for my death, nor am I allowed to access these old memories, but I do remember how I lived happily and passionately in a small village in northern France. Étretat, on the banks of the English Channel.
I remember in every detail the beautiful white cliffs covered by vast carpets of green grass that led to the bright blue sea, how I ran feeling the salty wind on my face and the sunlight bathing me in gold when I was just a boy, I never imagined that there would be the place of my death.
I remember myself minutes before the fatality, a mere aspiring poet with a heart full of love and longing. I don't remember the moments that followed. I don't know how I reached that cliff nor who killed me.
One moment there was pain and anguish, and the next, only the lightness and freshness that the breeze gave me as it licked my wounds and breathed consciousness into my spectral form.
“Welcome to the other side, son.” Sweet words came out of the mouth of the unknown man who had appeared beside me.
Well, to cut a long story short, I died “from loving love too much” (at least that’s what I was told, although I have my doubts) and ended up in the Cupid department instead of the Reincarnation department, and ever since then I’ve been helping unfortunate souls find love, whether in themselves or in someone else.
For two hundred years I wandered through dimensions and helped all kinds of creatures find love—whether in themselves, in other partners, or even in hobbies, my only concern was to ensure that they all had the happy ending that was never offered to me.
Bringing love and passion to the hearts of my Cupidines was the thing that made me happiest, I felt light and even a little melancholic knowing that because of me, others would have the opportunity that I never had: to love and be loved in return.
And again, for two hundred years I helped thousands of creatures without even blinking, I just did it without question, but of course all of that would go down the drain the moment I laid eyes on her.
A whisper muffled by sadness reached my ears, a prayer from a wounded and lonely soul yearning not for love but for mercy for itself. A desperate, pleading plea, almost like a cry that had barely reached me and faded away in the same instant.
I crossed dimensions to where she was and saw her for the first time, sitting on a blue sofa as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.
A thick book was in her hands but it almost went unnoticed by me because my eyes couldn't help but admire her tired and sad face. I didn't need to touch her for flashes of her life to show themselves like a movie to me.
Tragedy. That would be the main genre if her life were a movie.
I felt her constant despair, the suffocating tightness in my chest that cut off my breath and made my muscles weaken with exhaustion. The sadness that cut my flesh like sharp, burning blades and made involuntary tears well up in my eyes, the bile that slowly rose from my stomach to my throat and coiled like a barbed snake armed with claws that squeezed my larynx and made it contract in on itself, while my glottis tensed and I choked on the trapped words. And her hopelessness that acted like a putrid plague that infested my mind and rotted any and every happy idea that dared to emerge in that darkness.
And her eyes… Blue. Not the natural color of an iris, but the reflection of her wounded soul, crying out for help and bleeding in shades of blue. In her eyes, in her heart, and in her entire life.
In all my years as Cupid I had never seen anything sadder than that scene, a creature so devoid of hope and love that sadness had made her being her fixed abode.
An unusual tingling sensation appeared in my chest, tiny sparks tingling their way through my body until they completely overwhelmed me and turned into electric shocks. Something else grew within me at that moment, a feeling too dangerous to speak aloud.
My right hand pressed hard against my chest in a vain attempt to suppress and stop the electrical currents that had gathered there. My breathing became erratic and heavy as if I had made a greater physical effort than normal.
A stabbing, searing pain gathered in my chest and made me curl up on the floor, chills ran across my skin as I gasped and groaned in pain.
Until in a whisper, the pain ceased and gave way to something warm in my chest.
A strange pearly light illuminated where my heart lay, still and empty.
She dropped the book she was holding and brought one hand to her chest and gasped as if she were out of air.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The soft sound of my heartbeat reached my ears. It beat in time with hers, slow but strong.
She sighed in relief and went back to reading as if nothing had happened, taking her eyes off mine.
Bent over on the floor of her living room, my heart pounding in my chest again, I made my decision.
In that moment, I understood — my purpose was never to teach love. It was to feel it, for the first and last time, in her.
“Not everyone has a Cupid, some have something... far more complicated. He was meant to protect your love destiny, but instead, he chose to become the obstacle.”
moodboard for Cupid Doesn't Share (coming soon...)
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