#thathumpp

[tha-thumpp]

An Ocelot character study to bide the time. Can’t wait for TTP.

[tha-thumpp]

A Warning Before Bed...

It's late, the surrounding shadows growing darker and darker by the hour. The shapes and slender fingers of the trees outside your window stretching as time slowly marches on. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock... It's a little after two now and the silhouettes swimming on your ceiling are threatening to abduct you, like the Sirens in Greek mythology – to drag you into their eternal ocean of night. But you don't want to go... It's not safe – nowhere's safe— You feel something brush your wrist. It's cold, clammy, and your thoughts begin to flee from the murderers in your mind, the strangers in your house, and the monsters in your closet and under your bed. Is it just the AC? You want to investigate – reach out and see what's touching you, but can't bring yourself to leave the barrier of your blankets, your safe zone from the evil lurking in the corners of your room. But you must, you tell yourself, although you don't know why. Maybe it's your subconsciousness, your gut feeling, telling you to push forward and face your demons… But you have to hurry – before the sun rises! Otherwise, it'll be too late... Goodnight, sweet reader.

[tha-thumpp]

A Series Of Suspense (part 1)

It's around noon when there's a knock on the door of the Hallow Mill Agency. It echoes throughout the inner corridors with one rap, two raps, seven... It's persistent and rhythmic, immediately attracting the owner of the building in a whisk downstairs. Who could it be? He wonders to himself as he fixes his fine-colored lapel with a few tucks and brushes at his sleeves and cuffs. He looks like death, the dark bags under his eyes showcasing his late-night endeavors and devotion to his line of work. He's a detective and he solves the unexplainable... for the living and for the dead. But he doesn't act alone. There's a yawn. "Who knows..." His partner chips in. "But why don't you open the damn thing and find out?" "Get out of my head, Stevenson." The man grumbles wickedly as he strolls past the skull-decorated cane propped against the foyer wall and reaches for the knob. He doesn't need his walking stick, of all things, telling him what to do. "Hush now while I greet our guest." With a final twist the door is swung wide, and Detective Mashire wastes no time in letting his ruby eyes fall upon... "Really, brother." He frowns. "You could have just called."