Key Features: Messy bun, Blue mascara, light pink lip gloss
Role: Leader
Abilities: Agility, Intelligence, Craftiness, Quick Thinker, Good Liar, Charisma
Occupation: Student
Status: Fair
Biography:
The old Peterson house had long since been torn down ever since Mr. Peterson had been arrested. Left to rot without an occupant, it was condemned and eventually, bulldozed. Good riddance, I'd said at the time, but it looked like someone was finally doing something with the property. There weren't many new people coming anymore, given how the story of a serial kidnapper spread like wildfire. Not even the bars of a cell could keep those rumors from permeating. But, after many long years, there was finally a new neighbor, and, clearly, they were bold, too. Or more likely, they didn't know the full extent of what happened in that old house, and part of me was thankful, but I knew they'd face some less-than-favorable attention for doing so, to say the least.
I didn't have to wait very long to see who was moving in. A newer-looking red car rolled up on the curb as the construction team worked, and out stepped a man with short brunette hair, fuzzy on top with an undercut, dressed in a warm pink polo and teal-striped shorts. It made me double-take.
I'd heard from Nicky what he looked like. I'd even seen his pictures. But- this couldn't be him. No, It was a coincidence. There was no way he'd even be wearing the same outfit anyway.
I caught myself staring as the man turned his head to look at our house.
Surely not. Never in a million years it could be him. Not after what happened. He'd been gone so long that he was already presumed dead, with no body found.
...
I peeked through the window again.
He was talking with the construction crew.
He was holding the blueprints, too.
... An architect?
...
I moved away from the window, grabbing his shoulder to shake him awake. He groaned tiredly but slowly pulled the old leather bag off his head.
"... Nicky? You need to come look at this"
"...what? What is it?" He yawned
I chewed my lip for a moment. "Well. We have a new neighbor..."
Guys I (Jack) need ideas for silly doodles of the Ravenbrooks Investigation Club
Send requests and ideas 🙏
Like if it's funny or silly there's a 90% chance I'll do yours
Or hell maybe you have a more serious type request art, that'd be cool too. I just need ideas lol
Edit: just to clarify it does NOT have to be the entire group. If you just want Delroy slipping on a banana peel or Enzo in a maid dress that works too lol
Sadly it appears we'll have to wait to play for one more day, I have to go to bed 4 jury picking tomorrow. But I'll leave u with a small treat:
Oh yeah? Well I see your Nicky and Trinity dolls and raise you
Nicky has an existential crisis about his trauma over perler beads, based on dms I sent to Kaydin while grieving over Aaron Perlerson (perler peterson) dying
Key features: Shaved head, prosthetic leg, custom-made bat
Role: Defender
Abilities: Boxing, strength, speed
Occupation: [REDACTED]
Status: Fair
Biography:
If I had a nickel for every time a little argument or scuffle emerged between Nicky and anyone else in the newly formed "Ravenbrooks Investigation Club" I could get one of those nice professional metal bats. Maybe then I could practice my swinging instead of just sitting back and kicking my legs on the arm of Trinity's couch while they scuffed.
Usually, it was nothing. Stress boiled into anger and frustration. Usually, some yelling and gritted teeth and nothing more.
But today wasn't a nothing more day. Today things began to get heated again. Trinity brought up going into the old house again. The stress of investigating must've been getting to her like it's getting to all of us because she shoves him, hard. His head hit the wall hard enough that the thud made us wince. I jerked upwards out of my seat. If it'd been a few months ago I wouldn't have. Nicky had a hard time forming a proper fist, let alone throwing a punch. He was a flighter, not a fighter. But now? I don't know if that strength had the real temper behind it to do anything, but if somehow someway this did get violent?
I didn't have to take a full step before something distracted all of us.
Knocking.
The lot of us exchanged glances. Trinity's parents wouldn't have knocked on their own front door, and they, like most of the parents in Ravenbrooks were away at parent-teacher night.
I leaned toward the living room window, peeking out at the front step. I have to close the curtain and open them again, then again. Like somehow that'll make the familiar face change into someone else.
"...Who is it?" Trinity asks finally.
"A boy and-" I stop, having to think my words out carefully, "...The Carrion's kid..." I mumbled. The words are meaningless to her ears, but I can feel Enzo's eyes widen.
Ivan was the one who opened the door at last, and without a word, the two boys rushed in. They looked awful. An all too familiar level of awful. The taller boy, whose head was decorated with strawberry-blonde hair tangled with sticks and leaves, and what I slowly realize is blood. It's smeared across his face and around tear-stained eyes. His name is Damien, I think, but out of the two of them, it's the boy he's gripping tightly I'm focused on.
He looks different without the thick black eyeshadow and old all-black clothes. Instead, the boy's face is covered in bruises, scratches, and blood. His left eye is swollen shut and there's blood dripping from his mouth. He's dressed in shredded brown shorts and a hoodie much too big for his frame. I can only assume it was Damien's.
No one wanted to take the time to explain the Carrion family to Trinity. It felt dumb and unnecessary. What good was 'Hey did you know there's ANOTHER weirdo family in Ravenbrooks?' What help was it to talk about Lucy Yi's funeral, and the boy from the rich old family who stood up in front of a crowd of sobbing adults and talked about how graceful her corpse looked?
Dad interviewed his parents after it happened, or tried to at least. Apparently, they slammed the door in his face, violently. Stopped showing their faces in public. "I'd be a shut-in two if my creepy son ruined my family name" he muttered angrily after the fact. Hard cut-offs from rich snobs were an annoying barricade to reporters everywhere.
There's such a long period of silence. Empty cold silence and Trinity got out a first aid kit. Enzo cleared his throat finally, but didn't speak.
"...What happened to you, Zach?" I looked up from my spot on the couch. I was surprised to see Nicky speaking, his arms crossed anxiously over his chest. There was almost an heir of demand in his question. Like he of all people was owed an answer. I fought the urge to scoff.
"We... I-" Zach's lip trembled, showing off how busted it up was. If it weren't for the nature of the town, I would've thought he was mugged. His trembles turned into violent sobs again. Damien, who was seemingly deep in thought until now, was snapped into reality by this.
"...Can we trust you guys not to tell anyone?" Damien asked. We all exchanged glances suspiciously, and worriedly, then nodded. He took a long breath. "We were having a sleepover at my house." He said quietly, chewing his lip like he was preparing his words. "I- I don't know if my parents put something in our food or what, but for some reason, we were feeling really tired before the sun had even set, so we went to bed. By some miracle I woke up maybe an hour later and- he was gone... so was my parent's car."
He sat there for a minute like that was enough explanation for their busted-up state.
"...and then?" I prodded. His eyes snapped to me, blinking and chewing his lips in the unsure thinking way again.
"Oh- uh... right. Well-... listen. You- you guys really can't tell anyone about this. Please." He pled.
"We won't," Trinity promised again, this time aloud. She ripped the end of the bandage on his arm, tying it off.
"Well- I'd been getting suspicious of my parents, they always get weird and clingy when Zach visits, and other times they'll disappear for the whole night- so- so I put a tracker on their car." He inhaled after the reveal. Silence again. "...and- I followed the car to the old weather station."
Even breathing seemed to stop in silence as he described the scene to us, the weird tunnel, and the people in robes, two of whom he said he recognized as his parents. Who else could've brought Zach there?
"...what were they doing?" Trinity asked nervously.
"I don't know for sure, something about attempting to 'repeat the steps'. All I know is the group went from quiet and mysterious to- really violent." Zach began to sob again.
"A pit..." he whispered between large tears that matched his wide blue-grey eyes. "Th-they wanted to push me into a pit..."
"I grabbed whatever I could get my hands on around me, I think it was a metal rod from some piece of old machinery. I swung it at their heads. Then there was this- flash of blinding light and- I don't remember much of what happened next..." he admitted. "All I remember is that as soon as I could reach him I grabbed Zach's hand and ran through the forest. We didn't stop to breathe until we saw your house." He looked at Trinity. "You guys are the ones investigating 'whatever evil crap this town is built on' after all, aren't you?" Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Nicky's shoulders raise awkwardly as he rubbed his arm.
The last time I checked, helping the hippy kid whose parents are, apparently, attempted child murderers and the creepy boy whose dad gives money to crows wasn't in the club's mission statement. But there was this spark in Trinity's eyes. It reminded me of the spark she'd gotten months ago, standing infront of Peterson's house in the middle of the night.
The ninth plank creaks slightly under my step. I lifted the notebook again, marking the spot on the room grid with an X.
Relatively I can't say it wasn't well-built, I only have five other Xs for this room, all rather quiet. I should be happy for that part, but it only makes keeping things right harder. If it was quiet under my step how would it sound under someone smaller? Quieter? Someone trying to sneak up on me?
A soft sigh escapes my lips. I can’t let this stuff get so intense already. If I'm right no one in town even knows I'm here. I worked so hard to fake it. A fake name, a fake architect with a fake background to feed the papers. A fake rich older man wanted a house built in Ravenbrooks and seeing the price of this property decided to invest. I had to be careful. It had to be perfect. I'd likely only have a week, two at most, before they realized I was here.
To think I spent months building up an alibi to grant me so little time.
The silver doorknob glints as I grab it, first overhand, then under. Turned left then right. It clicks softly in both directions. The noise is soothing, comfortingly audible. Next the lock, back then forth then back then forth. Three times. Always three times. It clicks as well, louder with a metallic tang. I stop and listen as the noise echoes back to my ears after every turn. Every door is equipped with a slightly different lock, custom-made.
It's not safe. It will never be safe, but it's better. It'll suit my needs until they find ou-
Tick
Tick
Tick
...
Click
No- no no no already?! Why are they here already? How?! I can feel the sweat building up on my palms. Need to act quickly. Get rid of it.
They're like scout ants, if I can get them to believe whatever loon will live here just hasn't packed or anything maybe they'll report back nothing. It'll probably cut down my time to days at most but it will be something. Please just leave me some time.
I grab a hammer off the desk, shifting my grip. A builder left it. I create the excuse in my head. I thought you were them, coming to retrieve it. Or, I thought you were a burglar. If it gets violent.
My breath stops. Footsteps. Soft for the most part, with a few heavier sets. Multiple people. Of course. I close my eyes, counting them carefully.
Seven.
God dammit.
This wasn't going to end peacefully. I knew it. I'm doomed. They'll either kill me or make some excuse to have me removed from town. Could I claim invader for seven people? Could I take seven people?
"Watch your step" a woman whispered. They're in the next room. It's now or never Aaron. Are you going to let it all be for nothing?
"Be quiet." A male voice hushed with annoyance.
Click
Click
Click
Click
He's picking the lock. I shift the hammer in my grasp again, purposeful this time. Ready.
When the door finally opens I'm ready to crack the metal against his skull.
But I can't.
The six behind him notice me before he does. Someone yells, and another grabs and yanks him back. I can’t even see his eyes through the thick lenses of his goggles. No. My goggles.
The hammer has fallen to the floor now, I hadn't even realized I'd let go of it. Just the loud thud of it hitting the floor.
It frees my brain from it's distraction. Seven. I grab my gloves, and yank. The fear in their eyes makes this all easier. "What are you doing inside my home?" I say it calmly, but the malice is omnipresent. Good. I want them scared, to run screaming.
The woman who grabbed his arm spoke up first, stammering nonsense before managing, "Well- well they uh-" she turned and looked at taller women beside her. I took a step closer.
"Th-this isn't what it looks like!" A ginger behind her squeaked. Another step.
The others exchanged glances and angry whispers. I didn't care. I could barely hear them at this point over my own growing anger.
"AH! Well- about that..." the taller woman whimpered. "U-uh- Nick?"
I pause midstep. The goggled man finally pulls them off his eyes. They're not the green I'd remembered so well. Instead that dead looking brown. He looks embarrassed more than scared. "Uh- well-" he begins. I stop listening again.
"Nicky?"
He stops too and his awkward smile slowly fades. I stare wide-eyed. How can someone look so alike and yet so different to the child they were years ago?
"Aaron." He responds. Something about his voice is...wrong. I can’t place it. But it doesn't matter. Before I even realize it I'm smiling like an idiot. He looks down at the floor. I take another step.
That's the last thing I remember before hitting the ground, before everything went black.
It's hard having such a strong interest in the weird. You try and fit it into every conversation because you just need to share it with someone else. That's how I was about amusement park rides.
Not in the normal way kids talk about rides, about how scary they are, or the fun in riding them, I liked picking them apart. How did each bend play into the ride's movement? What kind of track did they use? How did it operate? Were there any animatronics? What kind? What were the backup plans in case of failure?
Asking those kinds of questions doesn't make you a lot of friends in elementary school though. Even when you try and design your own rides with their racecar tracks and legos.
Adults didn't get it either. Why couldn't I have normal interests? Why don't you go play with the other kids instead of bugging me?
As I searched for new rides to dissect, I quickly decided if anyone in the world would get my interests would be the same man adding to the list with every new piece he crafted. Theodore Peterson, the engineer known around the world, an engineer raised from our very town.
I was obsessed. I had posters of his rides on my walls that I'd likely never get the chance to actually ride, I tried to imagine how he made his blueprints, and how he thought of his plans. By all accounts, I wanted to be Theodore Peterson. I'd tape paper mustaches to my face at school and copy his posture. It didn't help how little I fit in with others, if anything it made it worse, even my parents raised an eyebrow to my behavior. But I didn't care. He understood me. I knew it. And when I learned he'd be returning to Ravenbrooks to build an incredible amusement park for us? I practically fainted.
I remember getting home that night. I was still shaking. I was freezing from whatever that gunk was we'd hidden in. I needed a bath, and to scrub my tongue raw. But I couldn't yet, I was too angry. Even covered in god knows what and slightly singed from what I can only imagine was meant to be a lethal amount of electricity I barely avoided, I grabbed at my walls and tore.
I felt so betrayed. Sure most of the town had gained a slight hatred for Mr. Peterson after Lucy Yi died, but I defended him. I believed it was just a tragic accident. There's no way a person could really be so awful right?
Sure the first time I met him wasn't perfect, he was weirder in person in a way that had seemed almost scary. But- that's just because I was younger, right? A lot of adults seem scary when you're little.
Every excuse I could think of was spent on this man, so desperately clinging, even this morning to the idea that he couldn't really be evil. He couldn't have kidnapped Nicky, not my hero, not the man who built a roller coaster into his house.
My vision went blurry with tears. How could he do this? How could he be such a monster? How could I have fallen for his facade?
And what did such an imaginative man do to my friend?
