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the lies and the mist

are not they, but I.

the lies and the mist

fukuro_onna

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December 13th, 2008

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There was darkness in Troy Abernathy’s mind.

He thought it was perhaps a low, murmurred snippet of a conversation long forgotten that played out in the back of his mind. It escaped him just what it was supposed to be.

What had he been doing?

He hadn't fallen asleep. He wasn't sleepy before, so he shouldn't be-

Dr. Troy Abernathy lifted his head, sucking in a quick breath through his nose. For a moment he stared at the gray light before him, before realizing it was fog.

Fog.

Fog...?

Several intuitive leaps crossed his brain before he made clear sense of them, and a jolt of terror made him sit forward, frantically searching the vague world around him. The quivering lumps of malformed flesh, the scrawling on the walls, little girls in white dresses-

 

-were nowhere to be seen. This apparent absence didn't stop Troy from being scared shitless, though. His heart rate had skyrocketed to heart attack proportions, and his breath was coming short and fast, sounding fragile and panicked in the thick air.

Wait.  

Wait wait wait.

A heartbeat. Breathing?

One shaking hand reached up to press against his chest- strangely, his trunk felt cold, but seemed to be gradually warming up. It was a discomfiting feeling. But Jesus fuck, he was alive! He jerked his hand back down to grip at the wooden bench he was sitting on, which stopped him short again.

Just where the hell was he? He blinked hard, and glanced around, the chill mist speckling moisture on his face.

God, it looked just like what Christabella would conjure up. But it felt different- the town had a bigger, more impassive feel now. In a way, it felt... more real, less like the nightmare conjured up by a twisted eight year old. Abernathy swallowed, letting his breathing slow down as he searched the alleys and road nearest him.

Nothing.

He stood, smoothing down his shirt nervously, still darting paranoid glances at suspicious figures which always turned out to be nothing. "Jesus," he rasped, his voice a little too guttural and harsh for his liking. It sounded like he'd been screaming too much. "I'm losing my mind." One long, knotty hand reached up and brushed across his short black hair.

The loneliness of the town was starting to sink in, a despair that he had pushed deep in his gut a long time ago starting to roil up. He pressed his lips together so they wouldn't start edging down, and took in a lungful of air, and let off a quick, "Hello?!" It rolled down the street, bouncing off some flat surface in the distance. He waited, listening for something- anything- to respond.

 

((OOC: Sorry for the wait, I had a tard moment and posted it to Abernathy's journal rather than the comm.))

September 9th, 2007

He's shaking. James realizes this now, as he stands in the dark. His own breathing is small against the mammoth presence of the hospital. 

 It is listening to him.

 It is waiting.

"Dammit." The swearing doesn't help. Neither does the act of speaking. Further down the corridor, he hears something slick sounding, but he can't be sure what it is.

"I can't do this." His voice is shaking, now. Another slick, wet sound from down the corridor. It sounds like limbs thrashing around in water. Or blood. A garbled shriek from down the corridor makes him jump. In the dark, he can feel his mouth work uncertainly.

And then another sound. A distinct, familiar sound.

An elevator, in a direction different from the garbling, thrashing thing, had opened. He could hear the slide of the door. And yet, he doesn't hear any footsteps. No noise at all.

It gives a ding. James jerks, finds it is becoming hard to catch his breath. In a room, a room where he knows its position too well, he thinks he can hear someone crying.

He moves. Running into abandoned hospital equipment, debris crunching underfoot, slamming into unexpected walls, he hears the automated doors just beginning to slide shut. Without thinking, he slides his hand across the door, and jams it through the open space, glancing back across his shoulder to the new volley of weird sounds coming from around a few corners.

And they bounce back open, dinging again. Nervously, he feels the edges of the door way, and feels paranoid as he crouches to feel the floor, making sure it's actually there. The elevator begins to give an angry squeal, indicating he's blocking the doors.

He steps in. Utter black. It frightens him beyond belief. His voice is very small and barely more than a breath as he says, "...oh, no." He runs his hand where he knows the panel should be, and pushes the slightly warm top button.  The ride is long. Too long. He opens his eyes and looks at the illuminated button.

4

What?

He stares, uncomprehendingly, at the number. There is no fourth floor.

The doors slide open, and the elevator gives a terrifying shudder. He steps off, propelled by fear, and the doors snap shut. James gasps and steps back, as the elevator dings, and hums off.

And then he hears it- a scream. From a very familiar voice.

"Mary!" His voice is loud and strong, raw. Bashing into obstacles that he can't see, James follows the high piercing notes of the screams. "Mary!" And he almost topples as he finds that his forward foot lands on nothing, and he pitches backward, saving himself at the last second. He lands hard on his ass, knocking his vision blurry. And he realizes there's light from the hole. Without thinking, he squirms so that he's lying on his front, and shoves a hand into the hole.

"Mary!"

August 4th, 2007

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When I woke up, I was all alone.

Story of my fuckin' life.
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