Creepypasta Round Robin: SensitIV

[idolpro]

[The room that you find yourself in is dimly lit, tastefully adorned with decor in metal and stained glass. An ornate and overly large grandfather clock stands in shadow at the far end of the wall--while it is difficult to tell precisely what time it is, the tick of each second is surprisingly, distressingly loud.]

[A long, low table covered with with a black crushed velvet tablecloth houses an array of drinks, some spooky treats, eight serving dishes, and eight sets of silverware.]

[On a desk along the far wall, you will find a piece of parchment and a quill pen. The parchment reads only the following:]

The man awakes, and he discovers that he has no mouth.

Comments

ROUND 1 DISCUSSION

[idolpro]

Re: ROUND 1 DISCUSSION

[bondsofsuffering]

[Immediately reaching for a cookie.]

So we're supposed to write a scary story...?

Re: ROUND 1 DISCUSSION

[nihilmancy]

[ Sipping from the purple drink. ]

Correct! Here are my thoughts. His lips were sewn shut.

Re: ROUND 1 DISCUSSION

[bondsofsuffering]

That's a little harsh, isn't it...? Can't we go from the figurative angle, too?

[Dramatically:]

"The man awakens, and he discovers that he has no mouth. Figuratively speaking, at least, - and speaking, he would do no longer. For he found upon awakening that he could not make a sound, almost as though he lacked a mouth entirely, and that was entirely because of the dreadful sight before him-"

Or something like that, anyway.

ROUND 1 SUBMISSION

[idolpro]

Re: ROUND 1 SUBMISSION

[bondsofsuffering]

"The man awakens, and he discovers that he has no mouth. Figuratively speaking, at least, - and speaking, he would do no longer. For he found upon awakening that he could not make a sound, almost as though he lacked a mouth entirely, and that was entirely because of the dreadful sight before him-

After all, it was his own beloved wife, standing over the bed with hands covered in dried blood. 'Wake up, love,' she whispered, hoarsely. A harsh, chemical smell coated her body."

ROUND 2

[idolpro]

[Abruptly, the clock begins to chime, reverberating much deeper than seems appropriate for the room.The writing on the parchment begins to fade, the letters searing dark into the paper before disappearing altogether. But soon enough, it is replaced with another line, waiting for the words to continue the tale…]

And then, I saw it. A sight so horrifying I froze solid, blood turned to ice, a shout of horror caught in my throat:

THE OPEN OFFICE PLAN

ROUND 2 DISCUSSION

[idolpro]

Re: ROUND 2 DISCUSSION

[bondsofsuffering]

[Izanagi just bursts out laughing.]

Re: ROUND 2 DISCUSSION

[nihilmancy]

UGH DAMNIT

ROUND 2 SUBMISSION

[idolpro]

Re: ROUND 2 SUBMISSION

[bondsofsuffering]

"The fact that there were no cubicles made it horrifyingly clear: blood coated practically every visible surface, sticky and red and fresh. The scent of iron filled my nostrils, and I could hardly keep myself from retching.

The man who entered the room was a terrible sight, all covered in stitches and burns, wearing a bloody smock— the manager. 'I'm gonna need those reports on the cannibal demon pits on my desk by noon.'

"I hate Mondays.""

ROUND 3

[idolpro]

[Abruptly, the clock begins to chime, reverberating much deeper than seems appropriate for the room. The writing on the parchment begins to fade, the letters searing dark into the paper before disappearing altogether. But soon enough, it is replaced with another line, waiting for the words to continue the tale...]

And in that moment, standing in the empty room with the taste of tuna salad sandwich in my mouth, I remembered the note I’d found at the bottom of the bag: “I warned you not to take my lunch, CLEPTES.”

ROUND 3 DISCUSSION

[idolpro]

Re: ROUND 3 DISCUSSION

[bondsofsuffering]

...Was the actual challenge turning prompts like these into something horrific after all?

Re: ROUND 3 DISCUSSION

[nihilmancy]

Possibly...

ROUND 3 SUBMISSION

[idolpro]

Re: ROUND 3 SUBMISSION

[nihilmancy]

And in that moment, standing in the empty room with the taste of tuna salad sandwich in my mouth, I remembered the note I’d found at the bottom of the bag: “I warned you not to take my lunch, CLEPTES.”

I wondered to myself if this meant I was going to get cursed for it. If a curse was going to happen, of course it would be on a Monday when the blood was fresh and the desks all needed to be scrubbed.

Of course, I had only taken the sandwich in the first place to get back on my coworker for the curse she had already placed on me; the one that turned my body into the form of an enormous spider.

That made cleaning the desks rather difficult.

Surprisingly, having eight limbs doesn't actually make cleaning any easier.

I sighed - the real terror would be calling my wife to let her know I would surely have to do overtime to finish everything. She'd gutted a whole pig for our meal tonight expecting I would be home in time, but once again I was chained to my desk, a slave to capitalism.

FINAL ROUND

[idolpro]

[Abruptly, the clock begins to chime, reverberating much deeper than seems appropriate for the room. The writing on the parchment begins to fade, the letters searing dark into the paper before disappearing altogether. But soon enough, it is replaced with another line, waiting for the words to continue the tale...]

A voice calls over the crowd: “Now serving: Number 3”

I'm going to die in here.

FINAL ROUND DISCUSSION

[idolpro]

Re: FINAL ROUND DISCUSSION

[bondsofsuffering]

Now there's customers?!

Re: FINAL ROUND DISCUSSION

[nihilmancy]

Ah, well obviously he's going to be eaten.

FINAL ROUND SUBMISSION

[idolpro]

Re: FINAL ROUND SUBMISSION

[bondsofsuffering]

A voice calls over the crowd: “Now serving: Number 3”

I'm going to die in here.

The woman with bloodstained hands raised her ticket, and called with a hoarse voice 'Let's go home now, Mr. Piggy! You're going to make a wonderful meal for my husband.'

"I couldn't help but think of how strange it was, being afforded the title of "Mister" even as I was being dragged to my inevitable death. Although I did everything I could to resist the hands that wrapped around my limbs to pull me to her, it was no use, and the acrid smell of some overly chemical deodorant met my nostrils.

I hate Mondays.

FINAL ROUND END

[idolpro]

[Abruptly, the clock begins to chime. Twelve times the bell tolls, then a thirteenth--after that, the clock goes silent as the grave, and the lights flicker out.

With a loud creak, a previously unnoticed--or perhaps previously non-existent--door cracks open, the wedge of light bidding you enter.]