#cryslake

‘ I like your mask. . . ’

Gil knows most of the killers by now -- perhaps ‘personally’ is not the best word to use, but he knows them.  Recognizes their shadows and their figures, their realms.  Their print on the realm around them -- he’s noticed many of them don’t come too close to the campfire.

He doesn’t know much about this one -- he knows that it’s rare for more than a single survivor to make it out of his trials.  There’s an air of brutality to everything about him -- and an underlying sadness that Gil can feel like OIL on his skin, across his senses.  

     All things considered, it was fairly typical for Michael to pursue his prey as far as they chose to run.  Wherever they went, he’d follow oh so patiently.  He’d walk after them, kill them, and then go back to whatever he’d been doing beforehand.  In this case, however, the one he’d been tracking had managed to slip out of sight.  She’d taken advantage of his brief pause to arm himself with a screwdriver (sadly, it seemed as though knives weren’t too commonly found in pick-up trucks nowadays).  While this new layer to his chase was certainly unneeded, he wouldn’t enjoy it any less.

    Unideal weapon gripped tightly in his blood soaked right hand, Myers walked forward- his steady pace unbreaking as he passed by a sign that he didn’t bother to read.  Walking into the seemingly abandoned clearing that the girl- his target- had run towards.

    As he neared it, as the trees stopped obscuring his vision, he spotted a building.  Several really, though the nearest caught his attention first.  A cabin… one with the door slightly ajar.  Head tilted that way, hidden eyes narrowing behind his mask.  Was this really to be so simple?  Perhaps his hopes were too raised.  No matter, a kill was a kill.  A kill would briefly satisfy the urge that burned behind his ribs like hot coals.  So he approached, making a choice and tucking the screwdriver away into his pocket.  He’d save it for the time being.

    With a shocking amount of silence for one of his stature, Michael slipped through the slightly open door, taking in the layout of the room.  The cabin.  Did people really used to come here?  To stay in here?  If he wasn’t so focused on the hunt, he might wonder how long this place had been seemingly empty for.

    Expression remained unchanged, even concealed as he scanned the room.  Looking for where his prey may be…  He hears it then.  The sharp intake of breath from his left.  Myers turns on a dime, both hands reaching out and catching the woman’s head between his hands.  She’d tried to sneak out behind him apparently, an idea that clearly didn’t pan out as she expected as she attempted to push his masked face back.

    he     doesn’t     object.     in     fact,     from     his     relaxed     position     in     that     ridiculous     plastic     lawnchair,     he     looks     particularly     tickled.     wide,     sharp     and     smarmy     grin     spread     so     tight     across     his     distorted     features,     he     looks     more     like     he’s     just     slaughtered     a     house     of     delinquents     rather     than     having     just     been     on     the     receiving     end     of     a     surprise     kiss.     you     don’t     really     expect     that     kind     of     thing     when     you’re     fred     krueger----     bringer     of     nightmares,     charred     to     a     crisp,     and     less     appealing     than     a     sweaty     door-to-door     salesman     in     a     wrinkled     suit.     expect     the     unexpected,     but     there     were     limits     on     that     saying.     especially     things     one     considered     otherworldly     in     nature—     like     pigs     flying     or     the     sky     pissing     out     cats     and     dogs.     or     like     jason     planting     a     quick     kiss     on     his     disfigured     lips.     really,     it     was     the     sheer     strangeness     of     it     that     got     him     so     amused.

    any     initial     shock     was     quickly     slathered     over     with     that     obnoxiously     smug     grin,     generously     painted     over     to     conceal     any     hint     at     weakness.     strange,     sure.     otherworldly ?     definitely.     unwanted ?     no,     christ,     no.     maybe     it     was     the     boredom     talking,     or     maybe     the     scrambled     eggs     for     a     brain     frying     in     his     head,     but     this     surprise     was     far     from     unacceptable.

    unhooking     his     leg     from     where     it     had     sat     on     his     knee,     fred     playfully     nudged     jason’s     thigh     ( the     closest     thing     to     him,     considering     the     stark     difference     in     height )     with     the     tip     of     his     boot,     and     craned     his     neck     back     further     to     look     up     at     him     fully.

    ❝   that’s     it,     big     guy ?     never     struck     me     as     the     one     and     done     type—     considerin’     the     body     count     on     you.   ❞      he     croons,     the     grin     on     his     face     growing     further,     and     further,     until     it     was     simply     impossible     for     it     to     be     that     wide.     a     single     bladed     finger     curls     at     him,     slow,     beckoning,     in     a     languid     come-hither     motion.

IT steps out of seemingly nowhere, long limbs going still as IT stands at IT’s full height of 7′1. A large red balloon bobbing slowly in front of IT’s face. A gloved hand hold an all too long white string between IT’s fingers. 

                    “You seem... GLUM, how ‘bout a balloon?”

🍇   𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃   ﹕   zarina  always  felt  like  she  was  walking  on  eggshells  in  order  to  fit  in  with  other  children.  she  never  quite  understood  the  guilt  of  telling  her  parents  how  much  she  loved  their  cooking  when  she  had  really  thrown  it  out  at  lunch  to  avoid  mockery,  but  she  does  now.  at  home  was  very  loving,  however  ;  she  was  especially  close  to  her  father  &  spent  a  lot  of  time  with  him.

it  begun  in  her  early  teen  years,  but  around  fifteen  she  was  able  to  throw  away  preconceived  motions  of  ridicule  &  embrace  herself  completely.  she  noticed  a  big  change  in  self - confidence  &  it’s  still  a  big  inspiration  for  how  she  acts  as  an  adult  &  attempts  to  empower  others.  that  being  said,  she’s  embraced  adulthood  fully,  but  she  sometimes  wonders  how  her  childhood  would  be  different  if  she  had  just  loved  herself  from  the  start.

🥝   𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒   ﹕   besides  twitching  her  nose  &  scrunching  her  lip  while  in  thought  as  well  as  fiddling  with  her  cartilage  piercings,  there  aren’t  many  visible  quirks  of  hers.  she  doesn’t  hide  her  talents,  either,  but  she  thinks  that  they’re  trivial  :  apart  from  cinematography,  zarina  knows  how  to  make  a  variety  of  mixed  drinks  from  a  brief  relationship  with  a  bartender  in  her  early - twenties  &  she  knows  how  to  tie  a  knot  in  a  cherry  stem  with  her  tongue.  she’s  also  fairly  good  at  sketching  &  draws  alongside  her  notes  to  help  her  focus  sometimes.

Something feels off. This isn't a realm the Entity has sent them to before. There is a camp fire, and yet no survivors in sight to be huddled around it, awaiting their trial. Why were they here?

The sign looming above reads Lake and two other words before it the Spirit didn't have the fortune of learning in life. It helps none. All they had to do to know they were at a lake was look to their right. (The docks are as desolate as the fire). No instruction, no hints littered about. The only thing the Spirit can think to do is continue as if this were a regular trial. Look for survivors. Show no mercy.