#stcries

(...Greeeeeat.) As if his luck couldn't get any worse that evening— (Just... just great.) —he'd taken so long with his last delivery of the day it had started pouring while he was still on the road, forcing him to take a detour in search of shelter. Sadly, not before getting soaked head-to-toe. At least, he'd found a place where to stay dry.

Suddenly, lightning struck, followed by thunder— " EEK!! " —causing an already-skittish Pizzelle to jump. There was a very small, perhaps even insignificant problem, however— (WHY DID I THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?!) —and that's the place itself: an abandoned mansion by the road.

It was the perfect setting for the beginning of a horror movie. (I'm— I'm going to end up cursed or dead. DEAD!!) And it wasn't doing his paranoia any favors.

Which was why— " ...W-what am I worried about— ? Nobody lives here. " —he had to find a way to spend the time without letting his own thoughts eat him alive. So why not talk to himself? " I-it's just... someone's abandoned property— " (Gosh, I sure hope so.) " —a-and I'm going to prove it! " And so, without thinking twice about it, he turned to the old, wooden door, grabbed the door knocker, and gave it a couple good knocks.

With that, he waited. Still quaking in his boots. Seconds of tension quickly turned into relief as he sighed. " Thank goodness. " He might've DIED on the spot if the door, somehow, cracked opened all by itself. Unless— .

❝ ---eh, no harm done. been meanin' t'make another one, anyway. ❞ gingerly, he stoops down to pick up the broken axe. ❝ don't get t'use 'em much, anyways. ❞ unceremoniously, he breaks off the head of the tool, before chucking the wooden handle into the small firepit he'd started. ❝ 'ere---- ❞ a grubby hand gestures to the empty log on the opposite side of him; inviting the other to sit.

❝ probl'y should ask this first, but---you're not a spy, right? ❞ caleb didn't figure he was, but you just never knew, these days. ❝ ye jus' so happen t'stumble upon my little camp, of sorts. not the most ideal, but i'm makin' do. on account'a me havin' t'fix my boat. ❞ a stick gets taken up in hand; using it as a fire poker to stoke the fire.

He buried himself in every occult book and online research he could. He even did a few test runs. The grave robbing and bumbling corpses in the cellar was a problem for another day. Once he brought back ol' uncle Mud with full sentience, he scrambled to get his dad thawed out and ready for the ritual

Sat rocking on the floor, twiddling with the fractured, glowing bone fragment clutched in his hand. Waiting anxiously until he hears a stirring

Tired, bagged eyes flicker up at him and he scrambled over. His heart beat quickened, dread mixed with thrill and curiosity. More stirring, more movement. His breath holds for a moment. He did it

he pulls him into a proper sitting position, " it-it's normal to be stiff. It takes some time for the rigor mortis to wear off and your muscles to get used to moving again. Oh- " he pauses for a moment, lips pursing, " ca-can you hear me? understand? i didn't- i don't " his mind is racing with so many thoughts he was getting overwhelmed