#cportlightsout

[inkedsevans]

texts 📱 sam ⇆ open

sam: so...guess who's engine stalled on the way back to town?

sam: and guess who's stuck on the side of the road in the rain?

sam: AND guess who didn't know the whole damn town lost power?

sam: me. all me.

[castleportrpg]

LIGHTS OUT: PLOT DROP #1

CASTLEPORT is in darkness and the town is under advisement to shelter in place, leaving many citizens stranded and scattered downtown. Emergency services are on high alert, with the local authorities patrolling neighborhoods and offering assistance where they can, but power isn’t expected to be restored until morning, only exacerbating the situation as the tensions begin to rise. Through the town’s emergency alert system, there are a series of texts messaging and social media postings, giving updates and instructions to the citizens in the hopes of alleviating fears and growing paranoia.

Your characters find themselves in different scenarios, in different locations around town. Each person will choose from (1) ONE of the given prompts under the cut and write a SELF-PARA of at least 300 WORDS. We’ve supplied the background and scenario, and the rest is entirely up to you! We encourage everyone to be as creative as possible. 

How did your character wind up in this particular place? Do they follow the rules and stay put, or take their chances around town? How do they contend with the obstacles presented? 

While this para is the only mandatory piece of writing, we highly encourage everyone to communicate on the dash as much as possible, meaning TEXTS, SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS, and if possible, F2Fs with other characters. The power is out and paranoia is high, it’s totally plausible for people to reach out to whomever they can.

The para must be posted by WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 21 at 11:55PM EST, as it will be necessary for us to move on to the next plot drop, so please take that into consideration when plotting out your character’s blackout arc. And above all, have fun! 

Please reply to this post with the number of the prompt you intend to write about.  A reminder that each prompt can only be used ONCE.

LIGHTHOUSE: While enjoying one of CASTLEPORT’S summer traditions of Bonfire on the Beach, the sudden storm changes party plans. Some people are able to sprint towards their cars but MUSE decides not to risk it, opting to take shelter in the old PUTNAM LIGHTHOUSE and ride out the storm, trying the door and surprised to find it thankfully unlocked. Inside, the recently renovated interior is dry, even if the cell service is sketchy. Shadows play along the walls, and the creak of old wood mixed with the pounding rain and rumble of thunder makes it less than ideal (and frankly a little terrifying), especially as there's a noise outside that they just can't make out, but sends a chill down their spine nonetheless. It suddenly goes quiet and then the sound of an emergency siren rings out and an alert pops up on MUSE’S phone, detailing a town-wide power loss. MUSE wonders if they should stay put, or take their chances on the darkened roads to return home.

MEMORIAL LIBRARY: The ideal place to spend a quiet evening in blissful air conditioning, MUSE pays no mind to the rain outside, finding the repetition of it hitting the roof of the old building oddly comforting. Comfortable and dry, it doesn’t take them long before they’ve dozed off, unaware that the library has grown emptier and, tucked away as they are, they’ve gone unnoticed by the eagle-eyed librarian, far too focused on getting home and getting out of the wet weather. It is only the pop of the cut current that wakes them to a building plunged into darkness and shadows lurking in every corner. Making their way to the main entrance, they discover the front doors locked, and the town in darkness.

THE MAGGIE: A night out at the local watering hole turns interesting when the town goes dark and the patrons panic. MUSE debates whether or not to stay or make the trek home, though the prospect of wandering in the dark doesn’t appeal to them in the slightest. Their choice is made once the emergency siren sounds and the alert goes out to the citizens, urging them to remain wherever they are, as traveling conditions are less than ideal. After an hour of drinks, and environment thick with suspense from the storm and subsequent blackout, MUSE goes to the bathroom. It’s dark and empty. Guided by their self phone light they proceed to do their business. Suddenly, the door flies open,  there’s banging and yelling, and the sound of their name in a chorus of eerie and unrecognizable voices. It’s hard to tell just how many people are in the confined space but it’s loud and chaotic, then suddenly they're gone and it’s silent again. Who was that? What was that about? Was it simply just a dumb prank, or something...else?

HOME ALONE: There’s nothing pathetic about a Saturday night spent alone. Especially a rainy one. The quiet evening in shifts once the lights go out, with no guarantee from the alert system that it’s returning anytime soon. With the warning out to stay indoors, there’s nothing left for MUSE to do but wait it out. Things are relatively quiet...if a little creepy all alone. And that’s when their phone rings. The first time, it’s mostly breathing and laugh that could almost be described as weird as hell. They hang up and chalk it up to a wrong number. The second call, the voice is muffled and asking if they’re alone. By the third, it’s a different number and a different, deeper voice, with a warning about the back door they’re suddenly unsure if it’s actually locked or not. Especially when a loud crash and breaking glass could be heard from outside, complete with the sound of running footsteps.

DOUBLE C DINER: With a series of false alarms and news of pranks throughout the town, there is a news alert warning citizens to be alert. Tensions rise with the few patrons still in the diner, and many suggest chancing it out in the rain, making a run for the parking lot. In the midst of the arguing, there's the sound of banging at the front door. A shadowy figure, tapping on the glass, voice muffled by the thunderous pour of rain. Several people want to refuse them entry, paranoid about the warning and unable to see exactly who's under the hood, soon an argument breaks out, with MUSE caught in the middle. Do they open the door? And who's under the hood?

THE GAZETTE: Waiting out the storm, the building, like all the others around town is suddenly thrown into darkness. The backup generator is (mercifully) working, but leaving seems to be out of the question, thanks to the advisory warning sent out to the CASTLEPORT citizens. With nothing left to do but sit tight, MUSE finds themselves in the eerie quiet of the newsroom but the peace is rudely disturbed with a sound of a loud sound out back. The generator has blown a fuse and is currently on fire. 

ON THE ROAD: Driving back to town, MUSE suddenly finds themselves with a stalled car out on the long, pitch-black road near the NORTH WOODS. A call to roadside assistance  is met with a vague promise of a tow truck coming soon, but with resources stretched to the limit thanks to the power outage and bigger emergencies on the docket, it’s going to be a long wait. MUSE sits tight, with nothing but their cell phone to distract them from the pouring rain and dark shadows of the empty (and eerie) tree-lined road. Feeling exposed (and maybe a little creeped out), there is a silent debate of whether or not they should stick around and wait for roadside assistance, or take their chances with walking back to town.

CONCORD HALL: The police station has been swamped with calls since the blackout. MUSE is a witness to the chaos, officers everywhere, working by flashlight and trying to communicate with old radios and the absence of trusty cell phones. CASTLEPORT PD was a deadzone without the WiFi. A few spots had mild reception. One being, the first floor cell, a key location in many a wild high school stories, like the legendary Puckerman pizza delivery, getting a pie special ordered during an overnighter. Knowing it would be the only place that held any chance of being connected with the outside world, MUSE makes a beeline for the two room cell, amidst the chaos and hive of activity in the station. They managed to find their way into the closest one on the left side, eyes still attempting to focus in the dark as they sat on the bench nearest to the window. Completely distracted, they didn’t notice the rise in background commotion at the station, nor the sound of the emergency siren ringing out. It was only the resounding clang of the heavy cell door slamming shut that caught their attention, delayed as it was, as the cold realization that they were locked in, during a blackout, and possibly alone. 

[castleportrpg]

LIGHTS OUT: The Final Plot Drop.

[castleportrpg]

EVENT: LIGHTS OUT

CASTLEPORT has been caught in the middle of a week-long heat wave, with temperatures topping off in the high 90s, and humidity well into the 80 percentile, with seemingly no end in sight.

On SATURDAY EVENING, after another brutal day of blistering heat, the sky grows dark--foreshadowing a much-needed rain shower to hopefully cool things down. By 8PM the storm clouds rolls in, with a heavy downpour of rain, and the incessant boom of thunder and crackling lightning descending on Castleport and the surrounding towns. 

Suddenly, with an almighty thunderclap at precisely 9:15PM the town’s main power grid is struck by lightning, knocking out electricity everywhere, at the height of the storm. With the power company crews unable to resolve the issue until the following morning, Castleport has gone dark.

For our next event, LIGHTS OUT, Castleport will be experiencing a blackout. It will take place between SATURDAY, AUGUST 17TH and SUNDAY, AUGUST 18TH in-game. To ensure that all plots are played out to their conclusion, the event will run until THURSDAY, AUGUST 22ND. Participation in LIGHTS OUT is MANDATORY. We strongly encourage everyone to use that time wisely, to engage with other writers and create plots in addition to the prompts provided.

On AUGUST 17TH, there will be the first plot drop, consisting of a list of actions as well as assigned paired partners for everyone in the group. Once again, in lieu of us as the admins, simply setting up scenarios, it will be in the theme of ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’, with actions ranging from seemingly harmless pranks to diabolical. 

How particular characters end up together, and what happens to them in the given plot will be entirely up to you and your partner. Remember, things won’t always be what they appear to be, especially in a situation such as this, and actions all have consequences. We encourage everyone to reach out to their partners and other members of the group to plan and be creative as possible. And of course, have fun! 

This is an on-dash event, meaning F2Fs, paras, and texts are all allowed, as well as social media posts. This event will also require plenty of communication OOC as well. Keeping up with the dash and paying attention is essential. If you have any questions, please message the admins.

Please tag any and all related posts with ‘cportevent’ and ‘cportlightsout’

[goldenchildlynn]

whispers in the dark

WHO: Ryder Lynn, mentions of his parents, Bree Brown, Hunter Clarington, Sam Evans, Quinn Fabray, and Santana Lopez (if you blink you’ll miss it) WHEN: August 18th, during the blackout WHERE: The Maggie NOTES: Ryder doesn’t know if he’s going crazy or if he should actually be worried, story of his life lately xoxo

Honestly, he didn’t remember how he ended up at the Maggie. Obviously he drank, but to a limit, and usually when he was in town he tried to avoid getting shit faced in respect to his best friends rocky road to sobriety. But lately, with the stress of his family issues, which he hadn’t really talked about to anyone but Hunter, he was in need of a drink while he figured out what exactly it was he wanted to do. His dad was a bastard, he’d always known that, but the one thing he didn’t really think he’d do was hurt his mother. The woman who always stood by his side, who supported him, who was the most caring and selfless person Ryder had ever known. But in retrospect, it was like this father to take advantage of the kindness his mother possessed. 

Ryder just wished the woman he was cheating on his mother with, wasn’t one of his best friend’s mothers. And he had wished that he hadn’t practically been put in the exact same situation as he’d hooked up with Bree and seemingly ruined her marriage as well.

So here he was, at the Maggie, getting a drink to take the edge off of a day of weighing out his options. Hunter had offered to help him go all Hardy Boys and get to the bottom of whatever the fuck was going on around here, but Ryder also knew that his best friend had demons of his own. He wasn’t going to push it, he was going to put on a brave face and act like nothing was wrong, which was his usual response to most of life’s big problems. 

Drink in hand, he sighed as he finished it off, catching up with some dude who used to be on the football team back in high school when he was a senior and they were a sophomore. As much as he loved football and how lucky he’d gotten, given the current strain on his career that he was also still trying to figure out, he got a little burnt out talking about all the logistics. It was after he got his new drink that he noticed the way the lights flickered, making his brows knit together, he knew it was pouring outside but it was seemingly a typical summer downpour. Shrugging it off, he took a large swig of his glass before the power went out entirely, hearing the roar of people in a panic as they waited for the power to kick back on.

Thirty minutes go by with no luck before the sound of the sirens go off in the distance, a text alert from town hall urging people to stay wherever they were popped up on his screen. It brought a heavy sigh before the bartender said that they were going to give out a free round of drinks, and Ryder nodded his head as he noticed that Sam nor Quinn was here. It would’ve been nice to see a friendly face, even if his relationship towards Quinn was rather strained after that article came out. Nevertheless, he wasn’t one to refuse a good drink in high stressed times, so he walked over and graciously took the beer. 

After he finished it, chatting with random people who were trying to figure out what was happening, he felt his stomach remind him that he’d had quite a few drinks and it was high time to use the restroom. Grabbing his phone, he used the flashlight mode to get him to his destination, pushing open the door and clearing his throat, “Anyone else in here??” He asked, only to be answered with silence as he knocked on the stall doors before opening one, slipping inside and setting up the phone to give him light to do his business. 

It wasn’t until he’d finished up that he heard the door fly open, echoing in the quiet of the restroom as he heard yelling. He pursed his lips together, maybe there was a fight, in which case he really wasn’t in the mood to break it up. So he waited for it to die down, and it did, which gave him a sigh of relief....if only for a moment.

Ryder.....Ryder......RYDER

He felt a chill run down his spine at the sound of his name, in a tone that was eerie enough to make all the hairs on his neck stand up. Ryder wasn’t sure if he should call out to see who the fuck was messing with him, or if he should keep quiet. Almost everyone in the bar knew who he was, after all he was the hometown hero, even if lately he hadn’t felt like that. So maybe someone was fucking with him, trying to be funny...but something in his felt like that wasn’t the case.

And he wasn’t going to be fucked with, so he pushed open the stall down to shine his flashlight into the open area, only to see that it was empty. He was in here alone.

Which only made him more paranoid that whoever did this, was fucking with him beyond a playfully prank. You could say that everything done to the past glee club was some sort of prank, if only it didn’t seem so personal. And he was getting sick and tired of it. 

[snixxem]

scream queen

WHO: Santana Lopez, Ted (NPC) and a few unnamed NPCs. WHEN: August 18th.  NOTES: Paranoia, teenage boys, a blackout, and pranks, makes a very terrified Tana. 

 Santana was well into an hour of the blackout. The moment the power flashed off, the bottle super glued itself to her lips. She was well into the blackout, and the wine bottle.

She was scared and drunk. Talking herself into blacking out so she could stop thinking about what could be her immediate death. That bluetooth could possible controlling the weather, or is possibly God (or some serious connects with him?) to create a blackout to further torture them. They were getting comfortable. Santana was sure as long as they weren’t together, nothing bad could happen. Ya right. She took another sip, and another paranoid thought popped into her head.

She wondered if they would use the photo of her for her abuelo’s seventy-second birthday present. A photo of all his favorite grand kids. She looked angelic; with her shiny smile, and  a sparkle in her eye. Delicate, clean, and just light enough to care about. Her story would be interesting enough to spark interest, and give a compassionate podcaster a thrilling third season. Maybe she should make a note on which directors, journalist, and ID Network shows were allowed to cover her case, and which were warranted to get someone haunted.  

Her fingers were in a fury across her screen as she researched. The dull light of her phone reflected off of her dilated eyes. Putting a spotlight on her doe eyes that sparked with a rapid fire of emotions. It was like a flip book dedicated to the crumbling mind of Santana Lopez.

Deflection, guilt, and fear poured into the appropriate apps. Deflection was matched with Google; her notes app became the setting for her guilt that was stylized in confessions and apologies; then a slurred voicemail on her mother’s phone, that was cut short by the blaring ring of her phone in her airpods.

Santana tore them out of her ears, like they tore her out of her bubble of heightened emotions. The noise rattled her to the point she didn’t bother to check who was calling before she picked it up, just wanting it to not wake the monsters lurking in the corner.

“Mom,” she said relieved.

The response was silence. It was unsettling; because it was the type of silence that effected anything in a twenty mile radius. Every noise in the world was clipped at the vocal chords, but her beating heart, and the unsettling breathing on the other end. Then, ‘it’ laughed, and she hung up.

“What the fuck?” she murmured to herself.

She rejected the fear that was beginning to physically manifest as knots in her stomach with anger. ‘Freak,’ she scoffed, irritated as she threw her phone on her lap and crossed her arms. She was pouting, and shooting death glares at the mobile device. “stupid,” she kept muttering. “Idiots’, because that’s whatever that was, nothing creepy, no, just stupid idiots that could possibly be behind whatever the fuck had been going on for the last year. A something she didn’t know whose reasoning and end goals were. A something that had her creating monsters out of shadows like she was a child again.

Then it rang a third time. Santana recoiled into the wall, trying to camouflage herself in to it as the phone rang. She had barely inched her shoulders down in relief when it silenced, before it was ringing again. This time she answered, beginning to talk before it was to her ear,

“look -”,

but she was cut off by the question, “are you still alone?”

She went still with fright. “f-fuck you,” she choked out through clenched teeth. she slammed her phone down, flipping it upside down so she couldn’t see what may come.She huddled back into the shadows, trying to hide within them from the phone and every other threat she was creating in her head.

She was scared, again; and this time she was raising her white flag to the crippling terror without a fight. It was bluetooth, it was the boogeyman, it was karma -

No, it was her brother’s stupid friend, Ted, prank calling her.

Ted and a few of his friends wanted some prey that night with their toilet paper rolls and beer accompanying them. A seductive post Santana had posted a couple hours before popped into Ted’s mind. Then, her burning his ego (so that it was still heavily bruised two weeks later) when she rejected him in the DMs. And that was enough for them to become their entertainment.

He smirked as he told his friend to make a U-turn and head for the Sheriff’s house, as he sat back and picked up the phone, ‘Santana’s first up for the prank calls,’ he announced to his boys. Spurred by alcohol, and his friends mutual appetite for trouble, they fell silent as he made the call.

What was suppose to be trivial doubechery, was dressed up by anxiety and paranoia as a serious threat. Which caused Santana’s petrified reaction; something that spurred the boys to want more of a reaction.

The stupid prank was beginning to escalate when they rolled into Santana’s driveway. Adrenaline beckoned them out of the car. The beer pumping through a couple of them put a fire under their tail so they beelined it for her window. Hooting and hollering, calling her name as they stumbled around the yard. One of them, the driver, followed a few steps behind, just enough so his whisper, yell, carried over to them, ‘come on guys, let’s go back. We can make the calls from the car.”

They ignored him. Although, the mention of calls, Ted picked up his phone.

This time it took three rings before she picked up. A ‘fuck off’, greeting him, then a click.

He called again.

The band of boys stood outside of her home, while the lone wolf wilted away in a shadow. Crocodile tears wobbled on her trembling cheeks; her body shaking, her feelings shaken. She was a mess, while they were bubbling with triumph and giddiness.

By the second round rings, she picked up again, and he didn’t give her a chance to talk. “Is the back door open?” he purposely made his voice sinister, until he had to cut himself off by backing away from the phone as he peeled over in laughter with his friends.

Santana’s head shot up at the question. “No!” She said instantly, but the doubt crawled through as the word tapered out.

He laughed again - smug and cocky. He cleared his voice in his elbow then bent down to pick something up. He raised the phone back to his mouth, his voice deeper and scratchier, “are you sure?”

The splash of glass shattering into the kitchen followed the menacing question.

Was it locked? Would they truly answer that question on their own? “Stop!” She screamed into the receiver, bolting for her bathroom. She locked the doors and scrambled into the tub. The phone had been hung up. She didn’t notice in the scuffle, and they didn’t in their rush to get back to their car.

They took it too far, and they weren’t willing to stick around for those consequences.

And Santana was scrolling through her phone, clicking on the first name that was visible through her tears, ‘Mason’, she needed someone to help her get out of his tub, and the hell out of her house.

[quinnofcastleport]

dark & stormy | lights out

who: quinn + ocs where: double c’s diner warnings: n/a wc: 1323

This is what Quinn got for trying to do something other than sit by herself in her apartment with no one but her dog for company.

She should have just stayed home.

But she didn’t. She went to the city, wandered around some bookstores, picked up more poetry and a trashy romance, and went back to Castleport, which wouldn’t have been a problem if she’d just listened to the little voice in her head that minded the weather and the worry and said, go home, it’s getting dark, you have food at home.

But she didn’t. She minded the rumbling of her stomach and the mouthwatering idea of hashbrowns, so she turned into the Double C Diner, grabbed one of the poetry collections (since she had an image to maintain, after all) and headed inside.

She’d read six poems and eaten most of two pancakes when the lights flickered. Everyone fell quiet for a moment, and the chatter was about to return to its previous steady level when thunder cracked outside, so loud it could’ve been God himself announcing His return to the mortal world. Everyone jumped, and Quinn barely had time to look around, see the way everyone’s gaze flicked from the ceiling lights to the dark outer world, before--

The lights went.

Someone screamed and was shushed. Someone dropped a cup. Someone ran outside, which Quinn didn’t understand as a response, but who was she to judge; she did her very best to ignore the sudden panicky beating of her heart in her chest. She took three breaths, tried to calm herself down, tried to focus, but she couldn’t - the waitresses were yelling at each other, the manager was trying to get the emergency generator to kick on. A baby was crying.

Quinn pushed her food away and slipped Dorothy Lasky’s most recent collection back into her bag, and stood up.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and the cross around Quinn’s neck felt heavier. Please let them be okay.

“We should get out of here,” someone said, loud enough to be heard over the panicky commotion. “We shouldn’t be here, we should--”

“No, we need to stay put.” Quinn’s voice surprised even herself, as she hadn’ decided to speak until the words were already out of her mouth. “We have shelter, and food--”

“Not for long if the power doesn’t come back,” one of the waitresses muttered. Quinn ignored her.

“We have shelter,” Quinn continued, surprised to find she’d gathered the attention of at least the people nearest to her. “And the police are busy enough out there without all of us climbing into our cars.” Quinn set her hands on her hips and glanced out the window. “Honestly, we live in Maine. It’s not like none of us have ever lived through a thunderstorm befo--”

There was a sharp rapping at the door and Quinn couldn’t quite catch the squeak that escaped her. She took an automatic three steps back and didn’t even complain when two dudes - she recognized them vaguely as fathers of girls she’d been on the Cheerios with - stood in front of her.

The door wiggled and there was more banging--someone was trying to get in.

“Let them in,” someone said, from the back of the room, and Quinn’s heart climbed into her throat.

She’d seen too many episodes of Criminal Minds for this shit.

“No,” Quinn said, not even caring how unkind or unChristian or cruel it was to refuse entry to an unknown quantity banging on their door in the middle of the night in the middle of a rainstorm. “No, absolutely not. It could be a looter--”

“Or it could be someone just trying to get in from the rain. God, you Fabrays are all the same--”

Whoever it was started toward the door and someone snatched them back so fast they nearly lost their footing altogether.

The figure outside banged on the door, again. Harder, more insistently.

“Who is it?” It was another of the town men, Quinn thought his name was Nicholas, but she couldn’t be sure. “Who are you?”

The thing about Castleport is that everybody knew everybody else--if this person was one of them, they’d know, they could come in, they could--

Thunder cracked and lightning followed a second later, revealing in stop-motion the figure outside - a dark rain poncho pulled low over their face. Maybe a male figure, but it was impossible to tell.

“Who is it,” Nicholas said again, louder, in an effort to be heard over the absolutely relentless rain outside.

Lightning flashed again and the figure was gone.

Whispers broke out and Quinn let the crowd shuffle her further away from the door - her heart was stuck, frozen with fear. Please let them have just found somewhere else to dry off, Quinn thought, taking one second to close her eyes and try to breathe. Please don’t let them be--

Quinn cut off the thought before she could visualize anything further - a nondescript poncho, other entrances, all manner of sharp tools that were nearby in the Double C kitchen…

Quinn swallowed. What if it wasn’t anything ominous? What if it was just someone wanting to get out of the rain?

Quinn pulled her phone out of her pocket. No texts, no calls. No service.

Great.

“We can’t stay here forev--”

The banging was back, more intensely this time, and someone actually screamed this time. Quinn was pretty sure it wasn’t her. She could hear a voice this time, but didn’t have a clue what they were saying--even with the lightning going off at a strobe-like rate, now, Quinn couldn’t see anything under the hood, couldn’t hear anything familiar in the muffled, muted voice on the other side of the door.

Quinn shook her head firmly. If it was someone they knew, they’d understand. If it wasn’t…

Something cold and terrible crept up Quinn’s spine. What if it wasn’t some random homicidal maniac taking advantage of a sensitive, vulnerable time? What if it was someone they knew--wanting more than shelter? What if--

A different image popped into Quinn’s mind, unbidden. Rachel, cutting the power. Rachel, rattling at the door. Rachel, playing with them--

Thunder boomed out again and Quinn tried to come back to her senses. Rachel couldn’t control the weather, and this was happening all over the city; plus, Rachel (supposedly) wasn’t in a position to be harassing anyone anymore.

Sure, Quinn thought, letting herself believe the story for the first time since it’d broken. Sure, definitely.

So then the person banging on the door? Were they a garden variety psychopath, or was Quinn and everyone else in the diner failing some cosmic test of generosity and trust?

Quinn decided she was fine with not knowing. The person would either find shelter or find someone else to bother, and that was--

Quinn cursed under her breath. That was not fine. If someone got hurt because of her, because she’d been too cowardly and afraid…

Quinn sucked in a breath, pushed her way through the crowd and moved toward the kitchen. It was spooky, pitch black like this with the machine lights blinking in error and beeping pathetically; she’d never been back there before, so it took her a minute, but she did end up finding the biggest knife she could within a few minutes. Carefully, point down, Quinn rejoined the group, attention on the door, which was still being shaken and rattled.

“We have to see who it is,” Quinn said, without looking back at the group. “They may need help, or they may…”

“What if it’s a murderer?” The woman with the baby demanded, as she bounced her kid up and down in a futile attempt to calm it down. “We can’t--”

“Then we can’t let him murder anyone else, either.”

Before anyone could stop her, Quinn rushed to the door, yanked open the door and drew her weapon only to find it was--

[inkedsevans]

killing time. | solo

WHO: sam evans, mentions of others

WHAT: car trouble with a side of blackout-induced anxiety. fun fun. 

WHEN: 8/17; late evening

WHERE: an isolated stretch of castleport road, beside the north woods. 

The rain beat down, relentless rhythm of it bouncing off the top of the Bronco so aggressively, it was giving him a headache. Sam was grateful he had the sense to keep the box of supplies in his trunk. A habit from the early days of driving freedom, thanks to his father and a learned lesson of essentials for situation readiness. The folded raincoat had come in handy, though not much could be done about his truck. 

The rattling sound that he’d noticed as he drove back from Portland was worrisome, but considering the late hour, checking it out further would have to be saved for daylight hours. He’d left the Ink Well early in an attempt to beat the rain but the downpour started before he’d managed to make it to the highway. Driving was hazardous, he could barely see and entering his hometown’s limits to find the usual lights that illuminated the ‘Welcome’ sign snuffed out...that was creepy, only heightening the sense of dread he found difficult to shake.

Stuck out on the long stretch of road that ran parallel to the North Woods wasn’t ideal. It was pitch black on a regular night, but stranded as he was, it felt far more...sinister. The rain made it hard to see, coupled with the lack of lights on the road, Sam felt like he was stumbling blindly. He pushed a hand through his hair, in an attempt to keep the rain-slicked tufts from falling into his eyes while he weighed the pros and cons of calling roadside assistance for the third time. 

He initially tried to sort out the issue himself, bent over the open hood of his vintage Bronco, angling his flashlight into the interior while trying to dodge the rain. There were the usual checks, oil, battery, engine...hell, even the wiper fluid levels but he couldn’t say for sure and despite numerous tries the engine would do no more than sputter halfheartedly. It was probably the battery, but given the circumstances, investigating further would be near impossible.

And he still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on in town, outside of the mentions in the alert system, warning people to stay indoors. Sam’s mind could wander into the realm of weird, and considering he was alone, and stranded on the side of the road beside the woods (where, if you listened to the stories) that was supposedly haunted, it was entirely plausible for paranoia to fester...but it wasn’t helpful. He managed to speak briefly to Marie, getting a rundown of the bar’s situation because he hadn’t heard from Quinn and didn’t know if she was even at the bar or not. Stacy had only just returned to school but he did manage to send her a text. His father...that was another story. 

They hadn’t been on speaking terms since Sam returned home. He couldn’t recall saying more than a handful of sentences to the elder Evans, and that was mostly about the best place to store his boxes. James had practically removed himself from the day to day at the Maggie and Sam had no idea what the hell he filled that free time with, but could take a few guesses. 

Still, with the circumstances as they were...it’d probably be best to send a message. So he called, was unsurprised by the lack of answer, and left a voicemail. He didn’t want to drain his phone’s battery, and saw no reason to waste yet another pointless call to roadside. No doubt they probably had their hands full with matters in town, judging from the latest alert, something about a rise in police calls and emergency situations.

It was tough to ignore the anxiousness creeping up the back of his neck, the louder the rain got. It almost seemed to be getting darker as well, the pitch of it making it impossible to make out shapes or movements beyond the bend and sway of the trees in the storm winds. 

The last time he’d been parked out on this road, at least he had company. 

It’d been cooler then, fall settling in with a slight chill in the air, a different one compared to the soaked through feeling with the summer rain. Santana sat in the passenger seat, the pair of them headed out of town to grab a bite and catch up when they’d happen upon the spot where the cops had discovered Rachel’s empty car. 

The recall made him shudder, coupled with the chill he already felt due to the rain and did nothing to ease his nerves. He was at least two miles from where it happened but it’d been weird as hell then, and even weirder now. Alone. In the dark. In the damn rain. 

“Get it together, Sam” he muttered, thoroughly annoyed with himself for the brief moment of buying into the bullshit. 

Still…

Each time he drove past that particular spot, traveling the route in and out of Castleport, a weird feeling would tug at him and perhaps he’d hit the gas a little faster. It was just...really weird at this point. And maybe a little sad. 

And definitely something he didn’t want to think about while sitting in a truck that wouldn’t start on a rainy road. 

The road in question was a long stretch, even longer as he considered walking. At this rate, the chances of someone coming out there, far as he was, was slim. He’d probably meet them in town and could hitch a ride back to pick up his truck. It wasn’t ideal, but sitting here doing nothing and getting agitated wasn’t exactly helping either. 

And if there was some knife wielding madman lurking nearby, or a ghostly woman in white roaming the old ass road, luring unsuspecting travelers into the woods, he was certain he’d rather take his chances out there than to sit and wait to be offed. 

With a resigned sigh (and some slight grumbling), Sam tucked his phone into the large inner pocket of the raincoat to keep it dry and grabbed the handle of the large flashlight sitting on the passenger seat. He took one last look at his truck, gave the dashboard a small pat and hopped out to start the long wet walk back to town, putting his hood up to protect himself against the downpour.

At least he had on his good boots.