<<audio "general" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<center>
<<type .10s>>
<b>EMPEROR OF THE DARK</b>
<br>//c h a p t e r z e r o//
<br><br>
//And though I've tried to lay her ghost down
<br>She's moving through me, even now
<br>I don't know why and I don't know how
<br>[[But she's nobody's baby now|she was gone]]//
<br><br>
-- "Nobody's Baby Now"
<br>by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
<</type>>
</center>
</div>
</center><<set $keyItems = [] >>
<<cacheaudio "cassandra" "music/SomethingDarkComesThisWay.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "coffee" "music/coffeemachine.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "crackle" "music/vinylcrackle.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "demetonin" "music/JudahsLullaby.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "dooropen" "music/dooropen.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "general" "music/Melancholia.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "icecream" "music/ICESCREAM.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "laundromat" "music/washingmachine.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "lucy" "music/DarkFogDF.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "mrblue" "music/BrokenPiano.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "octoberrose" "music/DarkPiano.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "saddish" "music/JuroUxoris.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "staticburst" "music/radiotuning4.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "staticburst2" "music/radiotuning2.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "tv" "music/TVstatic.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "wolf" "music/wolfhowl.mp3">>
<<set $ChTitle to "emperor of the dark">>
<<set $respect to 0>>
<<set $NicePts to 40>>
<<set $animosity to 0>>
<<set $Calls to 5>>
<<set $Texts to 14>>
<<set $emails to 0>>
<<set $coffeeshop to false>>
<<set $laundromat to false>>
<<set $kreamery to false>>
<<set $threeDolls to 0>><<audio "coffee" stop>>
<<audio "icecream" stop>>
<<audio "laundromat" stop>>
<<audio "general" volume 1>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>December 2004</h3>
<br>
<img src="therapy.png"><br>
The building <<if $coffeeshop is true and $laundromat is true and $kreamery is true>>[[his office]]<<else>>his office<</if>> is located in houses a [[coffee shop]], a [[laundromat]], an [[ice cream parlor]], and something else he isn't sure about, because the storefront is always dark, and the only sign available says "By Appointment Only."
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="don006.png"><br>
He'd been expecting Nina.
<br><br>
<img src="don_bella.png"><br>
<i>She shouldn't be here.</i>
<br><br>
She'd watched him expectantly, waiting to be let in, but something - some strange intuition, some primal urgency - had shackled him in place.
<br><br>
<i>You know this isn't right.</i>
<br><br>
<img src="don012.png"><br>
<i>Don't,</i> it had whispered. He'd recognized Cassandra's voice.
<br><br>
<i>Go back to bed. Don't open the door.
<br><br>
Please, please, don't.</i>
<br><br>
He'd almost listened.
<br><br>
<img src="don011.png"><br>
But then she'd looked at him with those big, brown eyes, and asked so sweetly if she could come in --
<br><br>
"Please, Don," she'd said, wrapping one arm across her chest and shivering prettily. "It's so cold out here."
<br><br>
-- and it had been, that night, he remembered that -- much too cold for her to be out in that tight little red dress they all knew so well by now -- and he'd had to let her in. He knew now what they thought of him, the horrible things they said and believed, but they were wrong -- he wasn't a cruel man; he'd opened the door, felt the cold night slash at him, eager to do her bidding. He'd had to warm her up.
<br><br>
<img src="don010.png"><br>
"Yes," he'd said, and pulled open the door. And there it was, a sneaking warmth cloaked in frigid wind - her [[perfume]].
<br><br>
He'd inhaled deeply, leaned -- no, he'd been //pulled// into her presence, cradled by her perfume. "Yes. Yes, of course. Please, [[come in]]."
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
A spicy scent, so much like his own cologne.
<br><br>
Something so masculine for something so exquisitely, so //luxuriously// feminine.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="don013.png"><br>
She'd slipped past him. Close enough to brush against him, dropping the sad, vulnerable act at his feet like an old, worn out coat. Once inside, it was no longer needed.
<br><br>
He would keep her warm.
<br><br>
<img src="don009.png"><br>
"[[Pour us a drink, Don]]," she'd said, and paused at the mouth of the stairs. The path to his bedroom. To his bed. "We have such a long night ahead of us."
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="bella_wineglass.png"><br>
He'd followed her to the roof, where he'd kept a fully stocked bar for special occasions - and by God if //this// wasn't special - and he'd fixed them both a drink, as requested.
<br><br>
From there, there are only swirls of gray. Thick and foggy, obscuring the finer details of that night.
<br><br>
<img src="don014.png"><br>
He remembered this: one slender arm, reaching out for him. Scarlet nails, pointy and immaculately maintained. Her fingertips against his in exchange for [[the glass]].
<br><br>
<img src="don015.png"><br>
"Thank you," she'd said, and took one delicate sip. Her lips had continued moving, but he couldn't remember anything else that she'd said.
<br><br>
<img src="don016.png"><br>
<img src="don017.png"><br>
And then she was gone.
<br><br>
<div class="return">[[<<|They try not to laugh]]</div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
A dark drink; his own private concoction.
<br><br>
Her own daughter had never tasted it.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="milk.png"><br>
News of Bella Goth's disappearance hit the sleepy town of [[Pleasantview]] with both fists.
<br><br>
A real haymaker.
<br><br>
Everyone looking for someone to [[blame]].
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="theory003.png"><br>
<img src="theory002.png"><br>
<i>He always wanted Bella for himself.
<br><br>
<img src="theory004.png"><br>
So much so he was even willing to crawl over Bella's own daughter just to get to her.
<br><br>
<img src="theory001.png"><br>
Probably thought his "hard" work had finally paid off when she showed up at his house that night...
<br><br>
<img src="theory005.png"><br>
...but then she had to go and ruin everything.
<br><br>
<img src="theory006.png"><br>
That's why he killed her.</i>
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="theory008.png"><br>
<i>They wanted Bella out of the way so that they could fuck that old man to death and clean out that dusty old bank account.
<br><br>
<img src="theory009.png"><br>
The two of them were looking to convert those boring stacks of cash into fancy clothes and fancier cars.</i>
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="aliens014.png"><br>
<img src="aliens012.png"><br>
<i>They beamed her into their spaceship, and took off.
<br><br>
<img src="aliens004.png"><br>
<img src="aliens005.png"><br>
You hear stories about it all the time: Aliens dragging innocent people off into outerspace, poking and prodding, implanting alien babies in unsuspecting body cavities.
<br><br>
<img src="aliens008.png"><br>
<img src="aliens009.png"><br>
<img src="aliens006.png"><br>
<img src="aliens007.png"><br>
Then they dump them in some horrid little desert town with no memories, or child support.
<br><br>
<img src="gasstation1.png"><br>
<img src="gasstation2.png"><br>
They end up working in a gas station, wondering what the hell happened.
<br><br>
<img src="psychic1.png"><br>
<img src="psychic2.png"><br>
Reading palms out of their living room with a neon sign in the window, </i>Palm Reader <i>in big glowing letters.</i>
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="don018.png"><br>
His line of work is not well respected by professionals, but no matter how his colleagues sneer, he is never wanting for patients.
<br><br>
<img src="don020.png"><br>
He calls it "sleep therapy". The study, diagnosis, and resolution of persistent nightmares, night terrors, sleep paralysis, and other nocturnal disturbances.
<br><br>
They call it "parasomnia".
<br><br>
[[They try not to laugh]].
</div>
</center><<set $coffeeshop to true>>
<<audio "coffee" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>Sacred Grounds Coffee</h3>
<img src="coffeeshop.png"><br>
A small, locally owned coffee shop.
<br><br>
Not the world's greatest cuppa, but it did what it needed to do.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><<set $laundromat to true>>
<<audio "laundromat" loop volume .25 play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>Laundromat</h3>
<img src="laundromat.png"><br>
He finds the laundromat comforting; the sound of the machines churning, the slush and slosh of clothing and the foamy suds splashing against the glass windows; the scent of laundry detergent.
<br><br>
It reminds him of his childhood, of every Wednesday night spent sitting on the hard plastic chair and watching his mother.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><<set $kreamery to true>>
<<audio "icecream" loop play>>
<<audio "general" volume .20>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>Kine Kreamery</h3>
<img src="kreamery1.png"><br>
//From the ordinary to the El Toronary, the Kine Society’s unique and udderly delicious dairy products elevate every flavor!//
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="don022.png"><br>
They never ask, but he can hear the question in their voices.
<br><br>
<i>"[[What happened?|Don vs Bella]]"</i>
<br><br>
<img src="don019.png"><br>
When he originally pursued a career in the medical field, he had intended to go a more traditional route.
<br><br>
A posh, well-respected and highly paid //Doctor of Medicine//.
<br><br>
<img src="don025.png"><br>
Then Bella disappeared.
<br><br>
<img src="don026.png"><br>
Then Cassandra discarded him.
<br><br>
<img src="don023.png"><br>
He was accused. Smeared, disparaged and disgraced.
<br><br>
<img src="don024.png"><br>
Cleared.
<br><br>
But the damage was done.
<br><br>
<img src="don021.png"><br>
"Parasomnia," they call it, and they say it like the punchline of some big hilarious joke.
<br><br>
But it has been [[his salvation]].
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="therapy_marygavigan.png"><br>
His patients - women, mostly, although there are men so desperate for respite from the terrors that lurk beneath the floorboards of their consciousness that they too will come to him for help - typically complain of insomnia, sleepwalking, and nightmares.
<br><br>
<img src="therapy_rainelle.png"><br>
Almost all of them will slowly, with time and patience, reveal the source of their nocturnal misery - trauma, stress, anxiety.
<br><br>
[[There are others, though]].
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="therapy_tarakat.png"><br>
A woman, named [[Tara Kat]].
<br><br>
<img src="therapy_goopy.png"><br>
A man, named [[Goopy GilsCarbo]].
<br><br>
<img src="therapy_angela.png"><br>
A teenage girl, named [[Angela Pleasant]].
<br><br>
And perhaps most famously, was his [[most difficult and reluctant patient]].
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
His notes suggest that he suspects something far worse buried in the starless trenches of her mind, something she herself may not even be aware of.
<br><br>
He writes: //She's not being honest, but she doesn't trust me, yet, either. Given enough time, I think I can help her remove whatever barrier is obscuring the true source of these nightmares.//
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
He writes: //She calls him "Mr. Blue," but refuses to elaborate further.
<br><br>
Who is he, and why is she afraid of him? Perhaps something in her childhood... but she doesn't like to talk about it.
<br><br>
I'll have to be patient with her.//
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><<audio "octoberrose" stop>>
<<audio "general" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>September 2005</h3>
<br>
<img src="lilith049.png"><br>
Lilith was grounded, again. Another [[failing grade]].
<br><br>
<img src="lilith002.png"><br>
Mary-Sue had lost her mind. Screaming and yelling, unleashing her usual barrage of threats, demands and insults, and Lilith had borne her verbal flogging with saintlike patience scientifically proven to utterly infuriate.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith003.png"><br>
<img src="lilith001.png"><br>
She had maintained this calm facade until her mother had crumpled up the offending report card and lobbed it at Lilith like she was a human trash can, and then stormed out of the room, slamming [[the door]] behind her.
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
History this time, which surprised everyone; it was the one subject Lilith actually liked.
<br><br>
Apparently, that hadn't stopped her, as she'd come home with a straight row of F's on her report card, and a blank look on her face.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><<audio "dooropen" play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="lilith048.png"><br>
A moment later, the door quietly reopened, and Angela crept in.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith004.png"><br>
Her hands were empty; her own [[report card]] was downstairs on the counter, largely forgotten in the hysteria of Lilith's disgraceful academic performance.
<br><br>
"Are you okay?" She asked, already knowing the answer.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith005.png"><br>
Lilith had planted herself at her desk and was tinkering with an [[old radio]]. She muttered something, but Angela didn't know if it was meant for her or the old scrap of metal in her sister's hands.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith041.png"><br>
"Lilith?" She said again, a little louder. "Lilith, are you okay?"
<br><br>
Still nothing.
<br><br>
[[Like she didn't exist at all|She changed tactics]].
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
It was fine, really; they all knew the drill by now: Praising Angela for the tidy column of A's simply wasn't as rewarding as going absolutely berserk over the assortment of D's and F's that had begun to appear on Lilith's with alarming frequency.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="lilith037.png"><br>
"You know we'll never escape if you don't get into college," she said. It always lit a fire under Lilith's ass, the thought of being stuck here in suburban hell. Trapped by perpetually well-manicured lawns and tormented by fresh paint and picket fences.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith007.png"><br>
Lilith shrugged. Her new response to everything. Even Angela.
<br><br>
Who blurted out: "What has gotten into you, Lilith? You know, mom's right. You //are// being ridiculous, you //are// throwing away your future."
<br><br>
<img src="lilith005a.png"><br>
Lilith looked up. [[Finally]].
</div>
</center><<audio "general" mute>>
<<audio "mrblue" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="lilith030.png"><br>
<i>"Angela?"</i>
<br><br>
<img src="lilith031.png"><br>
<img src="lilith032.png"><br>
<img src="lilith050.png"><br>
"Almost there, [[little lamb]]."
<br><br>
@@.blurrier;//"Angela? Are you okay?"//@@
</div>
</center><<audio "mrblue" stop>>
<<audio "general" unmute>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="lilith034.png"><br>
<img src="lilith035.png"><br>
"Wh... what happened?"
<br><br>
"I don't know, you kind of... gasped, and stumbled backwards."
<br><br>
<img src="lilith043.png"><br>
"You didn't see it?"
<br><br>
"See what?"
<br><br>
<img src="lilith044.png"><br>
"The room went all black, and there was this blue rabbit surrounded by candles --"
<br><br>
Lilith was looking at her like she'd lost the plot.
<br><br>
Maybe she had.
<br><br>
"Let's just get out of here, okay?"
<br><br>
"And go where? I'm grounded, remember?"
<br><br>
"I just need to get out of this room."
<br><br>
<img src="lilith046.png"><br>
<img src="lilith045.png"><br>
Lilith looked at her, at the old radio now sitting docile and innocent on the desk, then back at her.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith047.png"><br>
"Yeah," she said, helping Angela up. "Okay. Let's go trash [[the loft]]."
</div>
</center><<audio "general" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="loft001.png"><br>
They watched several reruns of "[[Strange County]]" (Lilith's favorite), and two of "[[Only Zebeste]]" (Angela's), and then Zebeste gave way to Julian Cooke, who was nobody's favorite at all.
<br><br>
The incident in Lilith's room began to feel far away.
<br><br>
Daniel still hadn't returned home from work, nor had he had his turn to yell at Lilith for her report card. Mary-Sue had been ranting off on and on, keeping herself focused on Lilith lest she find herself wondering where her husband was, four hours late and not answering his phone.
<br><br>
<img src="loft002.png"><br>
"Guess I'll have to wait for my second emotional thrashing," Lilith said, noting the late hour. "Dad probably fell asleep at his girlfriend's house again."
<br><br>
<img src="loft004.png"><br>
"Hm?" Angela replied, her lips curling into a weary half-smile. "Oh, you mean his 'office' at school? Where he sleeps most of the week?"
<br><br>
If Daniel was to be believed - and he wasn't, but that never stopped him from talking - the [[staff room]] at Pleasantview High was much more comfortable than his king-sized bed at home.
<br><br>
She wondered what idiotic and obvious lie he would come up with this time.
<br><br>
<img src="loft003.png"><br>
Or what twisted fairy tale rationale and [[bizarre mystery logic]] Mary-Sue would concoct in order to believe it.
<br><br>
<img src="loft006.png"><br>
The twins used to laugh at [[the grand absurdities of their parents|twins]].
<br><br>
But at some point, it had stopped being funny.
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="loft007.png"><br>
Perhaps it was just the fact that the "staff room" came with a sweet little twenty-something while the best his king-sized bed could offer was his wife of the past twenty-something years.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="loft005.png"><br>
//"You girls have no idea how hard your father works,"// Mary-Sue was fond of ranting. //"Both your father and I sacrifice so much for this family, and for what? The two of you to whisper and giggle behind our backs? You have// no idea //how lucky you both are to have parents like us."//
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>December 2005</h3>
<br>
<img src="tutor003.png"><br>
The Pleasant parents' attempt at course correction was hilariously misguided, and deeply, shamelessly lazy.
<br><br>
In short, it was typical.
<br><br>
<img src="tutor002.png"><br>
They screamed and yelled, threatened and insulted.
<br><br>
They called her stupid, lazy, sluggish, useless.
<br><br>
They threatened to ground her until they both died of old age (or, perhaps, if they were open to suggestions: his-and-hers aneurysms).
<br><br>
They banned her from spending time with "that Dreamer boy"; probably the best influence in Lilith's life, but how would they know?
<br><br>
They took the lock off of her bedroom door.
<br><br>
Their last, and most grievous error, the one they were most pleased with:
<br><br>
[[They hired a tutor]].
</div>
</center><<audio "crackle" stop>>
<<audio "octoberrose" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<div class="bruty">
<center>
<b>GHOSTS IN THE GRAVEYARD: An Examination of<br>
Unexplained Child Death in Pleasantview</b><br>
By [[Sandy Bruty]]
<br><br>
//In loving Memory of<br>
Beau Broke (2003 - 2005)//
</center>
<br>
<img src="bus001.png"><br>
Dustin Broke was supposed to pick his little brother up from daycare and then take him straight home after school. Their mother worked until 6pm at the local diner, and Dustin was to give him a snack and keep him alive and reasonably happy until she got home.
<br><br>
<img src="bus002.png"><br>
Ordinarily, he would have done this, but on one particularly dreary October afternoon, his girlfriend shyly asked him to keep her company on the walk home from the bus stop, and without thinking too much about it, Dustin had done this instead.
<br><br>
<img src="bus003.png"><br>
He'd been disappointed when the real object of his affection, and twin sister of his current girlfriend, Lilith Pleasant had followed her own boyfriend off the bus at his stop. By that point, however, he had already agreed to walk with Angela, and there was no kind way to extricate himself.
<br><br>
<i>Maybe,</i> he'd thought, staring mournfully out of the window at the dark empty houses lining the streets, <i>maybe she'll come home early.</i>
<br><br>
<center>* * *</center>
<br>
<img src="bus008.png"><br>
Alone in the living room, he'd thought about Lilith, and about the promise he had made to her, and spared not one iota of brain power for the promise he had made his mother.
<br><br>
He'd been thinking about Lilith, and what might happen if she came home early (all of the endless, and glorious, and impossible possibilities) when little Beau - all of two-years-old - managed to give the daycare employees the slip.
<br><br>
<img src="bus011.png"><br>
It was during the chaotic moments between the afternoon snack clean-up and the hoopla surrounding outdoor recess that he snuck out through a door - a door that should have been much too heavy for him to open himself - climbed to the top of the play tower, and fell.
<br><br>
<img src="bus013.png"><br>
By the time they found him, he'd strangled to death on his own broken neck.
<br><br>
Just an accident.
<br><br>
Just a tragic accident.
<br><br>
The kind the Broke family was becoming all too familiar with.
<br><br>
<img src="funeral004.png"><br>
The case was closed, the casket was open, and [[the funeral|Brandi]] was a nightmare he would never wake up from.
</div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>October 2005</h3>
<br>
<img src="grief001.png"><br>
The Tricou cousins were waiting for them outside of the mortuary, Gvaudoin under her ever present umbrella, Fricorith holding a cigarette he never seemed to light.
<br><br>
Dirk was surprised to see them; they didn't spend much time with the group anymore.
<br><br>
Not after [[the stunt]] they'd pulled at his own mother's funeral.
<br><br>
<img src="grief003.png"><br>
"Who invited them?" Dirk groaned.
<br><br>
<img src="grief004.png"><br>
"I did," Dustin said. He cast an apologetic glance at Dirk, who returned it with one of his own. "Sort of, anyway. They asked if they could come." He sighed, and his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of yet another fuck up. "Sorry, Dirk. I was so... I didn't think about..."
<br><br>
"Don't worry about it, man." He gave Dustin's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I'm just being petty 'cause they get under my skin."
<br><br>
<img src="grief005.png"><br>
"They haven't caused any problems so far," Lilith said, watching them examine the statues in the sideyard. "Maybe there's hope for them after all."
<br><br>
Angela, who had said nothing all day, continued to do so.
<br><br>
<img src="grief006.png"><br>
"Maybe," Dirk agreed, reluctantly. Stranger things had happened in Pleasantview.
<br><br>
But what if they came - as he suspected they had - to warn Dustin, as they had warned him?
<br><br>
Dirk shook his head as if though a physical action could realign his mental state. His mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. He wanted to believe that Lilith was right. He wanted to believe that Gvaudoin and Fricorith could feel remorse, and be reformed.
<br><br>
He also wanted to believe that there were pots of gold at the end of every rainbow, that that gum he liked would come back in style, and that his dad would come back from whatever ethereal candyland he had gotten lost in after his mother had died so he could be a kid, again.
<br><br>
<img src="grief019.png"><br>
But Dirk was a dreamer in name only. He knew all too well that his dad might never come back, and that the creeper cousins were nothing more than a couple of bad omens.
<br><br>
<img src="grief007.png"><br>
"I can go by myself," Dustin said. "They asked me to meet them outside, so I just need to see what they want. You guys don't have to come."
<br><br>
<img src="grief008.png"><br>
"And leave us all wondering?" Lilith scoffed. "Please, Broke. You know us better than that."
<br><br>
<img src="grief020.png"><br>
<img src="grief002.png"><br>
Together, they [[approached the eccentric pair]], who watched them with bemused smiles.
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="grief009.png"><br>
//(you saw it too you)//
<br><br>
His stomach tied itself into a spectacular knot as the sound of Gvaudoin's voice uncoiled in his head. An instant replay of their last interaction.
<br><br>
<img src="grief015.png"><br>
//(no oh no it was dark it was so dark and the yard was full of fog)
<br><br>
<img src="grief016.png"><br>
(just your yard though wasn't that peculiar didn't you find that strange)
<br><br>
<img src="grief017.png"><br>
(and I didn't see anything it was just my eyes playing tricks on me)
<br><br>
<img src="grief018.png"><br>
(and your ears too were they playing tricks when you heard that sad sad song)//
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="pleasantview2.png"><br>
A quiet suburban town nestled in the mountains of Sim City.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="theory010.png"><br>
<i>[[Lothario]],</i> they said, huddling together on the sidewalk, their tongues as sharp as the tines of a pitchfork.
<br><br>
<img src="theory011.png"><br>
<i>[[Caliente]],</i> they hissed, lighting their torches.
<br><br>
<img src="aliens010.png"><br>
<i>[[Aliens]],</i> they whispered, gathering around their expensive telescopes as soon as night fell, peering through the lense in the hopes that they might catch a glimpse; a flash of red in the distant sky.
<br><br>
Whatever it was -- whatever happened -- it dominated the television, the papers, the internet, and every other conversation.
<br><br>
Residents of Pleasantview spoke in hushed voices, in excited whispers, with grim satisfaction.
<br><br>
//[[Gone, she's gone, she's gone.|Clinic and Patients]]//
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="pleasant_family2.png"><br>
He writes: //The Pleasants - a four person household compromising of two parents and two children -- twin girls.
<br><br>
By all accounts, Angela had nightmares, but Lilith was one.//
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><<audio "general" unmute>>
<<audio "crackle" stop>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<center><b><font face="PVPost">THE PLEASANTVIEW POST</font></b></center>
<hr>
<table width="100%">
<tr><td width="45%" valign="top">
<b>Suspected Thrill Killer Caught on Home Security Camera</b><br>
By Rainelle Neengia
<br><br>
//Pleasantview, 13 March 2005// - A potential murder suspect has been spotted on [[CCTV camera footage]] in connection with the death of 10-year-old Lucy Burb. The victim's cousin, 17-year-old Lilith Pleasant, has been accused of drowning her in the pond at Woodland Park.
<br><br>
According to sources, the Ring camera footage was taken near the park's entrance and shows Lilith entering the park around the time of Lucy's disappearance. The police have obtained the footage and are analyzing it for further clues.
<br><br>
Lucy's parents, John and Jennifer Burb, have expressed their grief and shock at the news. They have described Lucy as a happy and active child who loved to play in the park. The couple has requested privacy during this difficult time and has declined to comment further.
<br><br>
The police have released a statement urging anyone who has information about the incident to come forward.
</td>
<td width="5%" valign="top">
</td>
<td width="45%" valign="top">
Detective Demi Love, who is leading the investigation, has stated that they are treating the case as a homicide and are working tirelessly to bring the perpetrator to justice.
<br><br>
Lilith Pleasant, who was last seen wearing a dark green coat and black jeans, is still at large, and the police have issued a warrant for her arrest. The police have urged anyone who sees her to contact them immediately and not to approach her as she is considered dangerous.
<br><br>
The residents of Pleasantview have expressed their shock and disbelief at the incident, which has rocked the small suburban town. Many have taken to social media to offer their condolences to the Burb family and to express their support for the police in their efforts to apprehend the suspect.
<br><br>
As the investigation continues, the police have assured the public that they will leave no stone unturned in their quest for justice for [[Lucy Burb|Audio Log: Lucy Burb 1]].
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="taraginia.png"><br>
She lives with her elderly mother and their three beloved cats.
<br><br>
<img src="therapy_katdream1.png"><br>
She came to him because of a recurring dream.
<br><br>
<img src="therapy_katdream2.png"><br>
A face, its features contorted with rage, peering out of the kitty kibble.
<br><br>
<img src="therapy_katdream4.png"><br>
In the dream, she is unable to stop herself from reaching into the food bin, in spite of the face, in spite of the icy fist of dread that has closed around her with crushing force, because her cats are hungry.
<br><br>
She knows that if the face doesn't get her...
<br><br>
<img src="therapy_katdream3.png"><br>
...they will.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="goopy_rental.png"><br>
[[Mr. GilsCarbo]] lives alone in a rented condo at the edge of Pleasantview. The condo comes fully furnished in a style that is generic and neutral. Expensive.
<br><br>
Safe.
<br><br>
It's important that any lodging he inhabits must be fully furnished. He will not - he insists that he cannot - [[buy his own furniture]].
<br><br>
<img src="goopy_nightmare1b.png"><br>
He dreams of a letter.
<br><br>
<img src="goopy_nightmare2.png"><br>
There is an envelope on the counter, addressed to him, but the left corner is blank. Scrawled across the right side of the envelope in large red letters, are the words "Your time is up!" It fills him with dread. "Your time is up!"
<br><br>
<img src="goopy_nightmare2b.png"><br>
With every new dream, he comes closer to opening it, and the thought of it terrifies him. He's begged for, and been given, sleeping aids, but nothing seems able to suppress the hopeless inevitability of The Letter.
<br><br>
One night, his time will be up. Whether or not the good doctor will be able to help him beyond that remains to be seen.
<br><br>
<div class="return">[[<<|There are others, though]]</div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="angela.png"><br>
A twin, he is told. Her sister, [[Lilith|Don's Notes: Lilith]], sleeps like the dead. Angela, on the contrary, has been plagued with nightmares for most of her life. Most of them she cannot remember. Some of them, she can only recall in pieces and fragments and slivers.
<br><br>
Some of them, she quietly confides in him, don't feel like dreams at all.
<br><br>
<img src="angela_dream004.png"><br>
As with most phenomena of this nature, the nightmares worsened both in frequency and severity following a traumatic event - in this case, the death of her beloved grandmother, Coral Oldie.
<br><br>
This is the story she tells him, at least, and he doesn't think she's lying, exactly; just [[withholding|Don's Notes: Withholding]].
<br><br>
<img src="angela_dream001.png"><br>
She dreams of a room.
<br><br>
A room filled with toys - dolls, and cars, and dust -- where something lives, but is never home. Where nothing is alive, but something is always moving, and everywhere she looks, there is stillness and quiet.
<br><br>
She tells him that the room used to be much nicer, back when she first used to visit.
<br><br>
<img src="angela_dream002.png"><br>
<i>[[He|Don's Notes: Mr. Blue]] doesn't bother to keep it nice, anymore,</i> she says. <i>Now, he's too busy looking.</i>
<br><br>
For?
<br><br>
<img src="angela_dream003.png"><br>
<i>Me.</i>
<br><br>
She won't say what he wants her for; she just shivers, and looks away.
<br><br>
<div class="return">[[<<|There are others, though]]</div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="therapy_bella.png"><br>
Bella Goth.
<br><br>
<img src="bella_mannequins2.png"><br>
She had dreamed of faces in the dark.
<br><br>
Lifeless faces and hard plastic bodies that watched, and waited.
<br><br>
She'd awaken, slick with sweat, and in the first disoriented moments where her mind was still struggling to emerge from the churning scarlet depths of the dream sea, she would smell it - the hot, stale chemical stench of their breath.
<br><br>
<img src="bella_dreamalien2.png"><br>
She dreamed of skin and blood in a sickly shade of green.
<br><br>
<img src="bella_dreamboy1.png"><br>
She dreamed of the desert, and a cold boy born half dead.
<br><br>
<img src="bella_dreammichael.png"><br>
Mostly, though, [[she dreamed of her brother|Audio Log: Bella 1]].
</div>
</center><<audio "general" stop>>
<<audio "crackle" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>Audio Log</h3>
<br>
<<type .08s>>
<b>Bella:</b> I hadn't spoken to Michael much in the years before he died. We had simply grown apart over time. But we were close once.
<br><b>Don:</b> Do you miss him?
<br><b>Bella:</b> Sometimes. Not as much since he's come back.
<br><b>Don:</b> Since you've begun dreaming about him, you mean?
<br><b>Bella:</b> "Dreaming"? Mm. I suppose you could call it that.
<br><b>Don:</b> What would you call it?
<br><b>Bella:</b> An invitation.
<</type>>
<br>
<h3>[[End Audio|GHOSTS IN THE GRAVEYARD: Beau]]</h3>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>Sandy Bruty</h3>
<br>
<img align="left" src="sandybruty.png" class="padding"> Sandy Bruty is a true crime author based in Pleasantview, whose books have captivated readers worldwide. Known for her riveting [[storytelling]] and impeccable attention to detail, Bruty has become a leading voice in the true crime genre.
<br><br>
With bestsellers "//Gone Goth//" and "//Ghosts in the Graveyard//" establishing her as a master of the macabre, Bruty peels back the layers of some of the most chilling criminal cases in recent memory.
<br><br>
In addition to her writing, Bruty is a sought-after expert in the field of true crime, having been featured in numerous podcasts and television shows. Her insights and commentary have helped to shape the conversation around crime and justice, making her a valuable resource for those seeking to understand the dark underbelly of human behavior.
<br><br>
<div class="return">[[<<|GHOSTS IN THE GRAVEYARD: Beau]]</div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="grief022.png"><br>
"Gvaudoin. Fricorith. Thank you for coming."
<br><br>
<img src="grief023.png"><br>
"You and your mother have our sincere condolences, Dustin," Gvaudoin said grimly. Her eyes wandered slowly over to Dirk,
<br><br>
<i>(your mother fed it too and so did you and so will they)</i>
<br><br>
but if she had anything to add for him, she kept it to herself.
<br><br>
<img src="grief024.png"><br>
Dustin's eyes dropped to the ground, and he quickly excused himself from the group. Angela followed, reaching out a consoling hand. Lilith spared him a sympathetic glance before looking away, always uncomfortable with the emotional displays of others.
<br><br>
<img src="grief025.png"><br>
"You guys came here alone?" Dirk asked, hoping to give Dustin a moment to collect himself, and they turned to him with tiny, peculiar smiles.
<br><br>
<img src="grief026.png"><br>
"Sadly, our families have fallen quite ill," said Gvaudoin. Dirk thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.
<br><br>
<img src="grief027.png"><br>
"Vau-vau and I insisted that they stay home today. We don't want to risk them infecting you with anything when you've <i>all</i> already been through so much," added Fricorith. His eyes lingered on each of their faces, as if though silently assessing them.
<br><br>
<img src="grief028.png"><br>
"How very thoughtful," said Dirk, dryly. Behind him, Lilith cleared her throat pointedly, but the Tricous only smiled.
<br><br>
<img src="grief031.png"><br>
"Oh, it's all right, Lilith." Her name in Gvaudoin's mouth was glittering, dark and lush, like the velvet petals of a poisonous flower. Like confessing a sin.
<br><br>
<img src="grief030.png"><br>
Lilith looked away again, her cheeks glowing softly beneath the thick layer of pale foundation she had so generously applied that morning.
<br><br>
<img src="grief029.png"><br>
Dirk rolled his eyes.
<br><br>
Vintage Gvaudoin. Making Lilith squirm was an old habit she had no intention of correcting.
<br><br>
<img src="grief033.png"><br>
"There's no need for hostility, Dirk. We only want to help."
<br><br>
<img src="grief032.png"><br>
"Help?" Dirk repeated incredulously. "You think you're 'helping' people with these fucking ridiculous little stories?"
<br><br>
<img src="grief034.png"><br>
"I don't understand why you're so angry with <i>us</i>, Dreamy," Fricorith said. The cigarette twitched in his fingers. "We tried to help you, too."
<br><br>
<img src="grief010.png"><br>
//(feeds and feeds until)//
<br><br>
"You're the one who wouldn't listen."
<br><br>
<img src="grief014.png"><br>
//(there's nothing left)//
<br><br>
<img src="grief013.png"><br>
//There's nothing left.
<br><br>
You wouldn't listen.//
<br><br>
<img src="grief035.png"><br>
"<i>Assholes</i>," Dirk hissed, his voice quivering with rage. "You two just can't help yourselves, can you? You <i>have</i> to fuck with people in the darkest moments of their lives."
<br><br>
<img src="grief036.png"><br>
"Oh, dear," Fricorith said, looking disdainfully at Dirk. "We're not 'fucking' with anybody, Dreamy. We're just..." He smiled. "Trying to help."
<br><br>
<img src="grief037.png"><br>
"We felt obligated to warn you, Dustin," Gvaudoin said, turning to approach Dustin who was still hovering beside the statues. "Especially after what happened to Mrs. Dreamer. Your mother isn't handling things well. The Grief Eater --"
<br><br>
Dustin cut her off.
<br><br>
<img src="grief038.png"><br>
"Please, you guys -- not today. Thank you again for coming. I need to get back to my mother."
<br><br>
<img src="grief039.png"><br>
"You guys should probably go home to your own families," said Lilith. She sounded disappointed; perhaps she, like Dustin, had been hoping the little creeps would redeem themselves. Instead, they'd been worse than unkind; they'd been predictable.
<br><br>
<img src="grief040.png"><br>
Lilith turned and lead Angela and Dirk back to the front of the mortuary, where their parents were waiting.
<br><br>
<img src="grief041.png"><br>
Gvaudoin and Fricorith watched them go.
<br><br>
"That went well," said Fricorith. "I told you he wouldn't believe us, Vau-vau."
<br><br>
Gvaudoin calmly adjusted her umbrella.
<br><br>
"He will," she said. "And he knows where to find us when he's ready."
<br><br>
"And if it's too late?"
<br><br>
<img src="grief042.png"><br>
"Dear Fricorith," she said. "[[It already is.|Lilith]]"
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="cassandrahellagoth.png"><br>
[[Cassandra Goth]], who used to babysit the twins when they were younger, was more than happy to oblige her former employers.
<br><br>
<img src="tutor001.png"><br>
Only this development proved to be of any interest to Lilith, who had watched impassively as they changed the knobs on her bedroom door - removing the locks, ending the long running charade of privacy and personal space - and listened with only mild discontent as they listed her every shortcoming.
<br><br>
<i>[[A tutor]]</i>, they said, and there was an odd kind of smugness to this declaration.
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<center>
<<fadein 2s>>
//A tutor.//
<</fadein>>
<<timed 3s>>
<<goto "Code for:">>
<</timed>>
</center>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="tutor009.png"><br>
Mary-Sue stormed past without looking at her, calling out a tense "Not that anyone here cares, but I'm going to work," before slamming the door behind her.
<br><br>
<img src="tutor010.png"><br>
"Jesus Christ, this family..." Daniel muttered, breezing past her a moment later, on his way to the kitchen to prepare himself a snack.
<br><br>
<img src="tutor011.png"><br>
<img src="tutor005.png"><br>
<img src="tutor007.png"><br>
<img src="tutor008.png"><br>
<img src="tutor006.png"><br>
"You okay?"
<br><br>
"[[I'll live|Audio Log: Angela]]."
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<center>
<<fadein 3s>>
Code for:
<</fadein>>
<<timed 3s>>
<<goto "Just look">>
<</timed>>
</center>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<center>
<<fadein 3s>>
//Just look how much you've fucked up this time.//
<</fadein>>
<<timed 6s>>
<<goto "See how far">>
<</timed>>
</center>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<center>
<<fadein 3s>>
//See how far we're willing to go to fix you?//
<</fadein>>
<<timed 6s>>
<<goto "You'd better">>
<</timed>>
</center>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="cass013.png"><br>
"There you are, My Lilith," she would say when Lilith would run outside to greet her. "What dark and terrible pursuits have you been up to since we met last?"
<br><br>
<img src="cass014.png"><br>
Even as a child, Lilith had found this pleasing.
<br><br>
Where she flinched and dodged her parents in their rare attempts at physical contact, she was clay - soft and malleable, wanting to be molded and recreated - beneath Cassandra's fingers.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<center>
<<fadein 3s>>
//You'd better appreciate this.//
<</fadein>>
<<timed 6s>>
<<goto "You'd better appreciate this.">>
<</timed>>
</center>
</div>
</center><<audio "cassandra" loop play>>
<<audio "crackle" stop>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="cass009.png"><br>
<img src="cass010.png"><br>
Cassandra came the next day, and the cold came with her.
<br><br>
She didn't speak much to Angela, although she was perfectly cordial when she did.
<br><br>
<img src="cass002.png"><br>
Mostly, she focused on Lilith.
<br><br>
<img src="cass001b.png"><br>
Angela peeked around corners while Cassandra and Lilith huddled together at the kitchen table, whispering heatedly.
<br><br>
<img src="cass004.png"><br>
Her jealousy was feverish. It was incurable.
<br><br>
<img src="cass003.png"><br>
Lilith's textbooks and notebooks were carefully scattered about the table to give the appearance of studying, but Angela watched them closely.
<br><br>
They only looked at [[papers and books]] that Cassandra brought.
<br><br>
<img src="cass011.png"><br>
For two short weeks, [[Lilith was present again]].
<br><br>
She put her weird old radio away; she came out of her room (sometimes); she spoke with more than just her shoulders.
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="cass012.png"><br>
She talked to Cassandra.
<br><br>
<img src="promise002.png"><br>
<img src="promise010.png"><br>
She talked to Dirk.
<br><br>
<img src="promise001.png"><br>
She talked to Angela.
<br><br>
She promised she would get better.
<br><br>
[[She promised.]]
</div>
</center><<audio "tv" stop>>
<<audio "wolf" stop>>
<<audio "cassandra" stop>>
<<audio "general" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>December 2005</h3>
<br>
<img src="promise003.png"><br>
She came to Angela's room one night after Mary-Sue had gone to bed, and Daniel had spent another night "in his office", and sat beside her on the mattress.
<br><br>
<img src="promise005.png"><br>
Eyeing the [[sleeping pills]] on the nightstand, she asked: "You still take those?"
<br><br>
<img src="promise004.png"><br>
"Yeah. Why?"
<br><br>
"Do they work?"
<br><br>
"I guess," Angela replied, wondering where the sudden interest in her sleeping pills had come from; Lilith had always seemed... dismissive of Angela's sleep habits. "I feel like I don't have nearly as many nightmares as I used to, at least."
<br><br>
<img src="promise006.png"><br>
"Hm," Lilith seemed dissatisfied. Anxious, even. "Do you ever dream about me?"
<br><br>
Angela blinked, caught off guard.
<br><br>
"Not really. Why?"
<br><br>
"Do you think you will?"
<br><br>
<img src="promise008.png"><br>
"Um... I have no idea?" Angela shrugged, slightly unnerved at the impromptu interrogation. "I don't exactly get to pick things off a list to dream about."
<br><br>
<img src="promise007.png"><br>
Lilith looked troubled.
<br><br>
<img src="promise014.png"><br>
"Why are you suddenly so interested in my dreams?"
<br><br>
"It's just..." Lilith hesitated, shifting her focus to something on her pajamas which had suddenly become imperative to pick at. "I don't dream anymore, ya know?"
<br><br>
<img src="promise011.png"><br>
"You don't //dream//?" This was, in fact, the first time Angela had heard of this. "Come on, Lilith, //everybody// dreams. Maybe you just don't remember them?"
<br><br>
<img src="promise015.png"><br>
"That would be easier, wouldn't it? But no, I don't dream at all."
<br><br>
<img src="promise013.png"><br>
"Since when?"
<br><br>
"Since that [[night in the desert]]," Lilith replied, vaguely "When Uncle John was babysitting me, and we both got hurt."
<br><br>
<img src="promise012.png"><br>
Angela felt a deep chill begin to ripple in her bones; nobody ever, ever spoke of that night in the desert.
<br><br>
"I thought you couldn't remember anything about that night," she said.
<br><br>
<img src="promise016.png"><br>
Lilith sighed. There was a heaviness about her that worried Angela, but she had no idea how to approach it.
<br><br>
<img src="promise019.png"><br>
"I can't remember shit," she said, confirming once again the official party line that had been fed to everyone from Angela to the Strangetown police. "All I've got of that night is Uncle John telling me a scary story by the fire, and then him grabbing me by my arm, and it hurting, and then... nothing." She shook her head, anger and frustration creasing her face, so that for just one brief moment, she looked like their mother. "And no one will tell me what happened."
<br><br>
<img src="promise017.png"><br>
"No one knows what happened. Even Uncle John doesn't remember."
<br><br>
"So he says."
<br><br>
Angela gasped, Lilith's words landing like a slap.
<br><br>
"What exactly are you --"
<br><br>
<img src="promise018.png"><br>
"I don't know," Lilith cut her off. "I don't know, and it's driving me crazy. I just want to know what happened that night, and the only person who can answer me is a fucking liar, just like the rest of y -- them."
<br><br>
<img src="promise020.png"><br>
Abruptly, she stood up. "Fuck it," she said, rubbing her forehead as if though she'd begun to develop a headache. "Thanks for listening to me ramble, Ang."
<br><br>
<img src="promise009.png"><br>
"Do you think I'm a fucking liar, Lilith?"
<br><br>
<img src="promise021.png"><br>
"No," Lilith replied. "I don't - I don't. Sometimes I just get so pissed off, but it's not //your// fault." She wrapped her arms across her chest, fumbling for a coherent way to express the turmoil that had been festering in her for so long, and found nothing. "I just - whatever. No one knows, right? I guess that's my answer."
<br><br>
<img src="promise024.png"><br>
"Goodnight, Angela. Sweet dreams."
<br><br>
She shut the door softly behind her.
<br><br>
<img src="promise023.png"><br>
[[And then she was gone.|THE PLEASANTVIEW POST: Lilith]]
</div>
</center><<audio "wolf" play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="flashback_lilithjohn3.png"><br>
<img src="flashback_lilithjohn1.png"><br>
<img src="flashback_lilithjohn9.png"><br>
//"Shhhh."//
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><<audio "general" mute>>
<<audio "crackle" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>Audio Log</h3>
<br>
<img src="cctv.png"><br>
<<type .08s>>
<b>Don:</b> Have you seen --
<br><b>Angela:</b> Yes, I've seen it. I've watched it so many times, it's like a memory now.<br>
<b>Don:</b> What did you think when you saw it?
<br><b>Angela:</b> There must be more to it.
<br><b>Don:</b> Angela...
<br><b>Angela:</b> //There has to be.//
<</type>>
<br>
<h3>[[End Audio|THE PLEASANTVIEW POST: Lilith]]</h3>
</div>
</center><<audio "crackle" stop>>
<<audio "lucy" play loop>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>February 2006</h3>
<br>
<img src="angela_dream4.png"><br>
"Or maybe she was both."
<br><br>
"Did she say anything?"
<br><br>
"Yeah. She wanted me to [[follow her]]."
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="strangecounty.png"><br>
A deeply unsettling old western-styled show about an isolated desert town and the ancient blood curse that was slowly poisoning it.
<br><br>
Lilith had been obsessed with it, plastering her walls with posters and print-outs, and scouring the internet in an attempt to verify the rumors she'd heard that it was based on a true story.
<br><br>
She'd even managed to convince their little quartet to dress as characters from the show for Halloween, but their plans had, unfortunately, been thwarted when Lilith had received yet another grounding.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="zebeste.png"><br>
With the days of stand-and-stir cooking shows rapidly fading, celebrity chef Zebeste Quizine had moved her brand to a more modern lifestyle show with additional recipes.
<br><br>
Angela had no real idea why she liked it; it was a touch off-putting and artificial in many areas. Something about Zebeste was a comfort to her, though.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<center><img src="booksandpapers.png"></center>
<br>
Yellowed pages and dusty books with soft, broken spines.
<br><br>
She never got close enough to read anything written on them, but from a distance, it didn't look like any written language she'd ever seen.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><<audio "general" stop>>
<<audio "crackle" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>Audio Log</h3>
<br>
<<type 0.08s>>
<b>Angela:</b> I dreamed about Lucy last night.
<br><b>Don:</b> Is this the first time she's appeared?
<br><b>Angela:</b> Yes.
<br><b>Don:</b> Was there anything unusual about her?
<br><b>Angela:</b> She was shivering.
<br><b>Don:</b> Shivering? Like she was cold?
<br><b>Angela:</b> Cold... or afraid.
<</type>>
<br>
<h3>[[End Audio|Lucy Burb 2]]</h3>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<center><img src="pillspillspills.png"></center>
Due to the nature and severity of her symptoms, she'd been selected to participate in Dr. Lothario's [[small clinical trial]] for a new sleep disorder "miracle drug" that he called [[Demetonin]].
<br><br>
<div class="return">[[<<|She promised.]]</div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="baddream009.png"><br>
"Did you?"
<br><br>
"Yes. I followed her, and these other... things... followed us."
<br><br>
<img src="baddream008.png"><br>
"'Other things'?"
<br><br>
"They looked like people. I don't know know what they were or what they wanted from us, just that I didn't want to find out."
<br><br>
<img src="baddream004.png"><br>
"Eventually, we ended up in a long hallway that lead to a locked room."
<br><br>
<img src="baddream020a.png"><br>
"The room next to it was open, though. There was a small crack in one of the walls connecting to the locked room, just enough that Lucy could squeeze through. She unlocked it from the inside, so that I could get in."
<br><br>
"Was there anything inside of the room?"
<br><br>
<img src="baddream005.png"><br>
"Books and candles, mostly."
<br><br>
<img src="baddream007.png"><br>
"And a beat up, old podium with a book on it. Like a spell book, or a Bible. But it was in a [[weird language]], symbols and squiggles and stuff, and neither one of us could read it."
<br><br>
<img src="baddream006.png"><br>
"And there was a locked box. We didn't have a key for it, but I don't think I would have opened it, anyway." Angela shivered a little, the memory of the evil radiating from it sending a chill through her in spite of the summer heat. "Actually, I was glad it was locked. I wouldn't want anyone to ever open it."
<br><br>
"Any reason?"
<br><br>
Nothing she could articulate.
<br><br>
<img src="baddream018.png"><br>
"Did you look at anything else in the room?"
<br><br>
"No. We had to leave after that."
<br><br>
<img src="baddream019.png"><br>
"Someone was scratching at the door."
<br><br>
Their [[appointment ended]] soon after that, and she went home.
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="baddream023.png"><br>
She didn't tell him about the witches they had seen.
<br><br>
<img src="baddream029.png"><br>
<img src="baddream032.png"><br>
<img src="baddream025.png"><br>
<img src="baddream030.png"><br>
<img src="baddream033.png"><br>
<img src="baddream034.png"><br>
<img src="baddream026.png"><br>
<img src="baddream027.png"><br>
Or what they had seen them do.
<br><br>
<img src="baddream021.png"><br>
<img src="baddream022.png"><br>
Or that she had seen them before, in the real world, watching her and Lilith.
<br><br>
<h3>[[RESTART|START][state.restart()]]</h3>
</div>
</center><<audio "cassandra" mute>>
<<audio "tv" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="sideeffects.png"><br>
So far it seemed to be working, although there were some... //odd// side-effects.
<br><br>
<div class="return">[[<<|She promised.]]</div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="cass003.png"><br>
A lot like the symbols and squiggles she'd seen in the books and papers Cassandra had shown Lilith...
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="lilith010.png"><br>
"Am I embarrassing you, as well?" She asked, turning her chair to face her sister. Still that vacant, placid look. "Is mom also right about that?"
<br><br>
"Of course not!" Angela sputtered, hurt. "I'm not embarrassed by you, I'm <i>worried</i> about you!"
<br><br>
<img src="lilith008.png"><br>
"Well, that's a waste of energy, Ang," she said, turning back to the old radio. She twisted a knob and a sharp burst of static erupted, then went silent. "I'm right as rain."
<br><br>
<img src="lilith033.png"><br>
Angela crossed her arms, determined to drag Lilith into any kind of interaction. She'd even settle for an argument. "Oh, bullshit."
<br><br>
She swallowed back the lump in her throat.
<br><br>
"You've been acting weird for months. You're failing most of your classes, including the ones you like. You barely spend any time with Dirk, who you also claim to like. You rarely change your clothes anymore, or brush your hair, or even eat!"
<br><br>
<img src="lilith009.png"><br>
"Sounds like I'm being a real piece of shit," Lilith said, not looking up. "Why waste your time on me when there's homework you could be doing?"
<br><br>
<img src="lilith036.png"><br>
Angela threw up her hands, exasperated. "See? That's what I'm talking about! You just - you just act so checked out all the time. Like nothing matters at all - not life, not school, not Dirk, not me - nothing! And even if you don't care about anything else, the one thing that should matter is your grades! If you flunk out, you're going to be stuck here forever!"
<br><br>
<i>We'll</i> be stuck here forever.
<br><br>
A thought so terrible - so inevitable - it frightened her.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith039.png"><br>
Lilith twisted another knob and muttered to herself.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith042.png"><br>
"Lilith, stop playing with that stupid radio and listen to me!" Angela cried, her patience finally beginning to fray. "You said we would get out! You <i>promised</i>! You've been saying it since you were old enough to talk. You and me against the world, we just had to get out of this helltown first! You were going to do whatever it took to get us out of here, and away from them!"
<br><br>
<img src="lilith005b.png"><br>
Lilith seemed to consider Angela's words.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith011b.png"><br>
As she did so, the empty look in her eyes began to fill up with [[sudden, unpredictable anger]].
</div>
</center>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="lilith011.png"><br>
"You have //no// idea what it's been like inside of my head."
<br><br>
//Oh, not this,// Angela thought, and immediately relented. "Lilith --"
<br><br>
"No," Lilith cut her off, winding herself up as she went. "//You// got help. They took //you// seriously. When I needed help, they told me to leave it alone, that nobody knows what happened, that it's for the fucking best."
<br><br>
"I never --"
<br><br>
<img src="lilith012.png"><br>
Another <<linkreplace "sharp burst of static">><<audio "staticburst" play>>sharp burst of static<</linkreplace>> blared from the radio, a piercing shriek of garbled nothing, making both girls jump.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith013.png"><br>
Lilith, nearly tripping backwards over her chair, took several steps back from her desk.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith014.png"><br>
Angela, who couldn't be entirely sure she hadn't imagined the whole thing, thought she heard something, somewhere in the crackling hiss.
<br><br>
A voice.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith018.png"><br>
A moment passed, during which time both girls eyed the radio with uncertainty.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith015.png"><br>
"Lilith --" Angela tried again, her voice a great deal softer this time, but Lilith cut her off.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith021.png"><br>
"You heard that, didn't you? That voice - that woman singing?"
<br><br>
<img src="lilith017.png"><br>
"I guess that could have been a woman singing?" Angela said, uncertainly. Lilith sounded angry and accusatory, as if though Angela had done something wrong. "It was hard to tell with all of the other noise."
<br><br>
<img src="lilith016.png"><br>
"<i>Fuck,</i>" Lilith swore. Not exactly a rare occurrence, but the vehemence with which she spoke now made Angela flinch.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith020.png"><br>
"Lilith, what's wrong? What's going on? Talk to me, for God's sake!"
<br><br>
<img src="lilith024.png"><br>
"It did that on purpose," Lilith said flatly.
<br><br>
"The... radio?" Angela asked, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. She was beginning to feel a bit like she'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.
<br><br>
"I haven't been able to..." She took a tentative step forward, then stopped again, biting her lip. Leaving teeth marks in the dark paint. "I thought it finally died..."
<br><br>
<img src="lilith023.png"><br>
"Well, considering it's basically a battery-powered fossil, I'm surprised you even get [[static]] to play on it."
</div>
</center>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<div class="bruty">
<center>
<b>GHOSTS IN THE GRAVEYARD: An Examination of<br>
Unexplained Child Death in Pleasantview</b><br>
Cont...
</center>
<br>
<img src="funeral001.png"><br>
Brandi Broke, sitting at the end of the pew, wouldn't even look at him.
<br><br>
She stared straight ahead with puffy eyes and her hands clasped together over her deflated, aching belly.
<br><br>
<img src="funeral003.png"><br>
There hadn't been money for two caskets, not while she was still making payments on Skip's, but that was fine -- or as close to "fine" as these things got.
<br><br>
<img src="funeral005.png"><br>
Brandi wanted them buried together, anyway.
<br><br>
In this way, she felt that Beau would be able to protect his little sister.
<br><br>
He would be the kind of brother he had never had.
<br><br>
<img src="funeral002.png"><br>
There at the intersection of soul ravaging [[grief|The Grief Eater]] and blind mindless rage, Brandi buried two of her three children... but as far as she was concerned, that day she had been rendered childless.
</div>
</div>
</center><<audio "staticburst2" play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="lilith025.png"><br>
The radio belched out another thick clot of static, and this time Angela definitely heard a voice underneath it.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith026.png"><br>
"She's singing that song," Angela said, pleased to have recognized it in spite of the tension the damned thing had caused. "The one Grandpa's always singing."
<br><br>
<img src="lilith028.png"><br>
Lilith was fiddling with knobs and buttons, swearing under her breath all the while.
<br><br>
<img src="lilith027.png"><br>
"What exactly is your problem? I thought you were trying to get it working?"
<br><br>
"It's //not// working, it's -- ow, fuck!"
<br><br>
<img src="lilith029.png"><br>
Lilith jerked her hand back, shaking it as if though she'd been stung.
<br><br>
A harsh bark of laughter erupted from the speakers. Not the soft, melancholic croon of the singing woman, but a different voice. A cruel one.
<br><br>
"I'm always walkin', after midnight, searchin' for //[[you]]//," the voice sang mockingly, and then laughed again.
</div>
</center><<audio "general" stop>>
<<audio "crackle" loop play>>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
<h3>Audio Log</h3>
<br>
<<type .08s>>
<b>Angela:</b> On nights that I can't sleep, I replay that moment in the hallway, when it was finally quiet, and I asked her if she was okay.
<br><b>Don:</b> What about that moment haunts you?
<br><b>Angela:</b> She said that she'd live.
<br><b>Don:</b> Ah. Well, you couldn't possibly have known.
<br><b>Angela:</b> But I still wish that I could have asked her...
<br><b>Don:</b> Asked her what?
<br><b>Angela:</b> "For how long?"
<</type>>
<br>
<h3>[[End Audio|Cassandra cometh.]]</h3>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<center><img src="radio.png"></center>
<br>
Their grandfather had given it to her as a present for her fifteenth birthday.
<br><br>
It had seemed a perplexing choice at the time -- an old, broken radio for a teenage girl? Yet once the gift cards had been lost, the socks and other "practical" gifts discarded, and the candy reduced to crinkled wrappers on the floor, Herb's old radio continued to torment her.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
Goopy promises that his unusual moniker is not an alias, or a nickname - his parents "just liked to fuck with [him]".
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="goopy_nightmare4.png"><br>
He tried once.
<br><br>
<img src="goopy_nightmare3.png"><br>
He walked around a home furnishings store for six hours, growing increasingly distressed before finally giving up and going home to his empty apartment.
<br><br>
He worries, his mind a tornado of hypothetical self-inflicted disasters: What if he buys //the wrong thing//? What if he makes //the wrong choice//? What if he //regrets it//?
<br><br>
How would he live with the guilt? The shame?
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<img src="demetonin_trial.png"><br>
Her parents used to have to drive all the way out to Strangetown in order for her to participate in the trial, but when that was no longer a safe option, Dr. Lothario had left Strangetown and opened his practice in Pleasantview.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
Some of Miss Bruty's critics have accused her of leaning too heavily into the "storytelling" aspect of her reporting, deriding her novels as little more than "macrabre fan fiction," but fans of her writing insist that these very details are what make Miss Bruty's novels so uniquely appealing.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center>//<b>chapter zero:</b> prologue//<span class="glitchy" data-text="A Sims 2 horror story">A Sims 2 horror story</span><br>
<span class="glitchy" data-text="by spookythings">by spookythings</span>$ChTitle<center><img src="storybanner.png" width="180"></center><center>
<table class="TableofContents" width="180">
<tr><td>
[[Inventory]]<br>
</td></tr>
<tr><td>
[[Credits]]<br>
</td></tr>
<tr><td>
<<link "Saves">><<script>>UI.saves()<</script>><</link>><br>
</td></tr>
<tr><td>
<<link "Restart">><<script>>UI.restart()<</script>><</link>>
</td></tr>
</table>
</center>
<center>
<div class="passages2">
The "Inventory" function is not currently being utilized.
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><center>
<div class="passages2">
<b><a href="http://serabiet.tumblr.com" target="new">serabiet</a></b> for support, beta reading, pictures of her glorious dog, inspiration, Sims chat and story boarding, and for allowing me to use her <a href="http://" target="new">Ichabod Specter</a>, <a href="http://" target="new">Nervous Subject</a>, and <a href="http://" target="new">Bella Goth</a> for story purposes.
<br><br>
<b><a href="http://chrisnewbie.tumblr.com">chrisnewbie</a></b> for <a href="https://chrisnewbie.tumblr.com/post/616114819562618880/the-meetinghouse-residential-lot-cc-free-created" target="new">the Meetinghouse</a>, <a href="https://chrisnewbie.tumblr.com/post/616114469795479552/pita-floricas-cart-residential-lot-cc-free" target="new">Pita Florica's Cart</a>, <a href="https://chrisnewbie.tumblr.com/post/616113954338603008/division-47-residential-lot-cc-free-created-with" target="new">Division 47</a>, <a href="https://chrisnewbie.tumblr.com/post/616113690867056640/rossum-house-residential-lot-cc-free-created" target="new">the Rossum house</a>, <a href="https://chrisnewbie.tumblr.com/post/616116213024784384" target="new">Espiritu Estate</a>, <a href="https://chrisnewbie.tumblr.com/post/176849601711/the-pink-flamingo-local-bar-in-the-heart-of" target="new">The Pink Flamingo Bar</a>, <a href="https://chrisnewbie.tumblr.com/post/177323345136/another-attempt-to-recreate-a-memorable-location" target="new">the Pleasantview Wedding Chapel</a>, and <a href="" target="new">Hoot Howell</a>.
<br><br>
<b><a href="http://strangetomato.tumblr.com" target="new">strangetomato</a></b> for <a href="https://strange-tomato.livejournal.com/51310.html" target="new">Lyla Grunt</a>, <a href="https://strangetomato.tumblr.com/post/154387248948/when-youre-successful-theres-always-going-to-be" target="new">Zebeste Quizine</a>, <a href="https://strangetomato.tumblr.com/post/172899902054/oh-she-looks-like-a-bee-does-she-and-her-name" target="new">Nerissa Bee</a>, <a href="https://strangetomato.tumblr.com/post/111482232458/heres-my-version-of-glabe-and-glarn-curious" target="new">Glabe and Glarn Curious</a>, <a href="https://strangetomato.tumblr.com/post/39761256392/my-version-of-willow-nigmos-her-eyes-and" target="new">Willow Nigmos</a>, <a href="https://strangetomato.tumblr.com/post/185591781143/plantsim-labyrinth-this-lot-includes-everything" target="new">Plantsim Labyrinth</a>, and <a href="https://strangetomato.tumblr.com/post/170760714338/the-romantic-its-a-nightclub-for-romance-sims" target="new">The Romantic</a>.
<br><br>
Royalty free music from <a href="https://www.FesliyanStudios.com" target="new">FesliyanStudios.com</a>
<br><br>
<div class="return"><<return>></div>
</div>
</center><<if tags().includes("tbar")>>
<div id="topbar">
<div id="bbblock">
<div id="bbtext">
<b>EMPEROR OF THE DARK: CHAPTER TWO</b>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<</if>>
<<script>>
$(document).one(":passagedisplay", function (event) {
if ($("#topbar").length) {
$("#passages").css("margin-top", $("#topbar").outerHeight() + 10);
} else {
$("#passages").css("margin-top", 0);
}
});
<</script>>
<<script>>
$(document).one(":passagedisplay", function (event) {
if ($("#hoabar").length) {
$("#passages").css("margin-top", $("#hoabar").outerHeight() + 0);
} else {
$("#passages").css("margin-top", 0);
}
});
<</script>>