CreepiNES: The bog witch

Some people are already disregarding lj's warnings about not using proper foreshadowing. Throwing a ton of death/terror in the reader's face right off the bat doesn't really use any pacing at all. Building anticipation slowly is far scarier.

Horror is a fickle mistress; push it too hard and it becomes more comedic than terrifying. It's like the difference between Blair Witch Project and Saw IV. (Hint hint, you're aiming for the first.)
 
A good point Thlayli, personally I don't, like, ever write horror so I'm still trying to grasp some of the mechanics of generating that particular brand of suspense, but an NES is usually in my experience a decent venue to work on that sort of thing.

It was only my intention to introduce Gilbert and set the tone for stories of mine that I hope will be more driven by internal guilt and internal monstrosity than it is on blood and gore. While Gilbert only comes in at the end of it (and does so in quite a bloody manner), I am quite sure that stories from his perspective will be less bloody and more paranoid.
 
uhh i was expecting more of a tale tale heart sort of horror than any films

especially ones which derive the suspension from the filmography rather than the story :)

EDIT: I like the blaire witch project
 
Freemanuncg said:
uhh i was expecting more of a tale tale heart sort of horror than any crappy films
Click to expand...

Uh huh. You might be missing the point of our dear Poe's works then. Tension is built slowly, not over the course of a few paragraphs.
 
idk man, did you read freeman's story? It was pretty slow building, I don't think he missed the point. I think that what he meant was to advance the cause of slow building tension, but simply to put it in a somewhat, shall we say, classier parlance than to reference late 20th Century Horror films which are largely the realm of braindead slashers. I don't mean to hate on Blair Witch because honestly I respect the innovations they made in directing style, but as a piece of horror it still doesn't stand up to the rather high standard set by, say, Poe.
 
I'm not comparing the two works.

Blatantly aping Poe (who has massive libraries in a rural village, I wonder?) doesn't exactly convey horror as well. You can use Poe's strictures without re-writing The Raven or The Fall of the House of Usher. Even so, I wasn't actually criticizing freeman's story (at first) as much as those of others. But calling the seminal work about a witch in a forest a 'crappy film' is a bit ignorant. Especially when this setting is about a witch, in a forest.

I was trying to stress the same point as you, that 'braindead slashers' are what we want to avoid. I explicitly made that distinction.

But this is entirely beside the point, which I'll try to stop belaboring.
 
sorry for beginning with a death, but i like the idea of a character starting completely from scratch in this horror setting. I know it was quick, but i hope it wasn't to brain dead slasher for you. :D



Spoiler :
Beetle woke up after a night sleeping on the floor of the inn. Half his face was covered in wet saliva, and his wig was a pasty mess. Cursing, he got up and walked outside, not quite remembering how he had gotten here. As he exited the building, he noticed a carriage approaching. There was a lone guard, weaponless, leading a frightened mare dragging a beat up, mud soiled carriage behind it.

Beetle rushed toward it. “Master! You have arrived!” he said, sweeping into a bow, then recoiling as his sore back began to ache, and he was forced to slowly right himself. The guard continued to walk forward solemnly. Beetle looked at the carriage again. He noticed that the layer of mud went up to the roof. Was it that muddy before? He removed his glove and grabbed the slippery handle. The door didn’t open at first, so he stopped to knock on the window. After waiting for three minutes, he heaved on the door.

It opened and a flood of stagnant water and muddy peat flowed out to cover his servile finery. After an agonizing examination of his ruined wardrobe, beetle looked to the carriage. There was a body inside. Its hand raised as if to drink a glass of wine, and a…smile on its lips? No, that wasn’t right, the hair was flaming red, and the skin was dark and wrinkled.

This wasn’t the master, but some macabre demon sent to avenge his many sins. As beetle reached forward, almost reverently to touch the apparition, it leaned over, and fell towards him, grinning. Beetle jumped back alarmed, and shouted in fear. The body thumped onto the ground, cracking it’s mummified skull, and spilling grey, green ooze out of its head.

As the villages arrived, they murmured some nonsense about a bog witch, then went about their daily activities. Beetle just stood and stared at the dead…thing in front of him. Free, finally free. When his father had died, he cursed the name of the new master, urging Beetle to sell his possessions and end the contract he had with his family. The week afterwards, the master had added even more debt to Beetle’s family, citing some vague incident from before he was born.

Beetle stared, then shook his head. Finally free. He spit on the corpse and walked back towards the inn. He needed clothes and a place to stay. He had nothing, no gold, no inheritance, his clothes were ruined, and he didn’t even have a name. But he would make one, on the grave of his dead father, he would make one, and if, by some demonic pact, the master returned, Beetle wouldn’t be there to greet him.
 
@thlayli the library is by no means massive, i'm sorry i thought i had explained it, his family is like the Old money in the area. He lives alone in the de Vama Manor probably the largest dwelling in the area but again the library nor the house are all that large, only large compared to the small homes and buildings of the area (Only part of the setting). As for the library itself idk i didnt even consider where it came from possibly his grandfather or great grandfather collected a number of books and gradually a large study became a library of sorts. They are the sort of family that has been sending their sons off to finishing schools for a long time so any number of academic de Vama's could have created it.

Wow that was a long unnecessary explination for a single line in a precursory story that dosent matter much. :)
 
Freemanuncg said:
@thlayli the library is by no means massive, i'm sorry i thought i had explained it, his family is like the Old money in the area. He lives alone in the de Vama Manor probably the largest dwelling in the area but again the library nor the house are all that large, only large compared to the small homes and buildings of the area (Only part of the setting). As for the library itself idk i didnt even consider where it came from possibly his grandfather or great grandfather collected a number of books and gradually a large study became a library of sorts. They are the sort of family that has been sending their sons off to finishing schools for a long time so any number of academic de Vama's could have created it.

Wow that was a long unnecessary explination for a single line in a precursory story that dosent matter much. :)
Click to expand...

Bumpity bumpily bump.
 
Bumping that thing?

Note to everyone: I think Friday the 13th is perfect date to enter the woods. By then I will post the children's story of the bog witch - and an event that happened during the full moon of update zero - and then you can continue telling about the strange things you see in the woods.

First part of the lunar cycle will then be posted Friday next week. I will only post update descriptions to summarize important things. The updates mostly say that time passes.

That said, I'd like to add that I love many of the stories in here. Keep up the good work. Thrill me.

And to repeat: There will be an update tomorrow, and you should all prepare for the night of Friday the 13th.
 

Update zero - Last quarter

The funeral feast

There was a slow, toiling breeze below the rising moon. Small homes and cozy pastures dotted the hill. Dursens was crowded this night, the tavern drawing lines of yellow light in the night. And the door opened, a wavering man stumbled out, holding a bottle of rum loosely in his grasp. He drew a few steps through the mud before he fell over and collapsed in the puddle. The sensation of cold water slit down his neck and chest. He coughed before sitting up. The light from the tavern behind him cast dancing shadows of the drinking lot inside. Supporting himself against his knees, he sat dizzily, staring forward into the woods. He felt chills from the cold.

It was just today he was buried, and he still didn't understand that he was dead. The ceremony had been short and violent. He had never seen his wife so angry. The neighbours acted soullessly; he received looks from baker Martin, even the miller left a sharp comment.

The door behind him closed as a figure came closer. He dragged himself around to face the newcomer, staring wildly with blurry eyes. The person walked over to him and squatted just a foot away. There was a hand resting on his shoulder. He felt it intensely and wailed while pushing the person away; he was held tight by the alien and shoved down. His drunken body could not fight back.

"Take it easy, Morrison," the voice said. He did not fight anymore, but it was more rum than will that restrained him. Rather, he lied down helplessly. He felt earth and cold water run through his hair. "Listen here, Morris'," the voice said, "I know you're heartbroken, but I really need to take you home. You can't sleep here." The woods whistled slowly. "But-uh, who're ye, I dun' see why I go home... I need'te get back out'ere..." Morrison pointed wildly towards the swamps. The burial grounds of murderers and thieves were out there, in the black lake. He needed to get back out there. Suddenly rising with a yelp, he fell again. Morrison was then pulled up by the stranger. He began walking with him back towards Dursens.

"Morrison, I know you feel you need to go out there, but I don't think it's a good idea. You are very drunk, and it's night. The woods are either pitch black or densely fogged. You'll drown." Morrison shivered from the wetness and cold. He could taste dirt with his tongue. Stumbling and wavering, they walked in silence to the central road. The clouds were shimmering blue, a few stars painted the sky a little more forgiving. Fences colored their vision with grey lines. Some cattle slept. A few of the hovels still had a lit lantern inside. People were celebrating everywhere. It was a mood of relief. The clearing felt as bright as a rainy day now. He was thrown into the black lake in the woods. And Morrison stuttered something. The pair paused. Morrison looked at his helper.

"What is it, Morris'?"

"Berg, I know'ye aren't happy withit," Morrison said. Berg looked at Morris' empty bottle. "Why wouldn't I be?" he said. "Welle," Morrison said, "He did'n do it, Berg," and shivers of anger ran through his spine, "He did'n, I'm surely certain. He did'n, I know ye're all afraid, see, the wells, he're afraid of'em, he did'n, and I know my brother, he's afraid of'em, wells, he doesn't go near'em..." And Berg let go of Morrison, staring directly into his vivid eyes. Dursens was still in silence, even though the tavern was noisy half a mile back. Berg wasn't drunk. He felt as if his body was smothered in a carpet. Morrison had been rambling all night, but he hadn't felt a need for estranging before now. The crouching trees were no longer scary, just as much as they used to be.

"Morris', you're drunk. But this is too much. I can't follow you home."
Morrison threw the bottle into the mud with a soft splash. He gestured violently, pointing a finger at Berg's chest. "Berg, thing's simple, he did'n doit, he can't really go near'em, how could'e throw her down when he can't go near'em, ye're afraid," and to this, Berg took both of Morrison's arms, staring directly into his mud-encircled eyes. "He killed my daughter. He killed yours too."
"He did'n, it's the bog witch."

Berg threw Morrison into the mud, giving up on the drunk man. "Find your own way home," he said, walking away with angry steps. Morrison just lied down and stared at the sky in confusion and sorrow. When he turned his head and looked at the woods, he saw something.

The Cities

Linnens. A town of mostly hunters, located in the north of the forest. It mostly uses the northwestern parts of the forest to find game for its denizens. As the village is a long way from the rest of the towns, many of the roads are really poor. A bridge halfway to Getsdale is severely needed, since one needs to cross a broad stream from Grip Creek. It's sometimes faster to travel through the woods if the roads are flooded.

Brusburg. A village of primarily foresters and lumberjacks in the western part of Murkvam. It's encircled with swamps, and the road to the rest of the forest passes over a stone bridge.

Getsdale. The wealthiest village of the lot, centered neatly in the center of the forest. Also, the regional major, Alexander Putters, administrator of things, lives comfortably in a house in Getsdale. A small church stands on a hill in the middle with a marketplace close by.

Dursens. Actually in reality a Northern outskirts part of Getsdale, Dursens is nevertheless considered a village for itself. Next to it lies the 'proper' burial grounds of Murkvam. Murderers and thieves are usually put into the swamps.

Old Foam. A village placed on a river bank along Grip Creek, placed somewhat southeast in Murkvam. It's mainly a fishing village, with some travel southwards towards other cities. It's the second most rich town of the region, and the administrative centre of the local milita.

Kinsmille (And Adam's Hovel). It's not a part of the game we're playing, although it is within a short distance from Murkvam woods, and as such might be important for stories' sake. Travelers usually come from here when passing through the forest. They journey towards Adam's Hovel a couple of miles east of the forest, or to Old Foam, the river village at Grip Creek.

There are currently no maps of the forest.
 
No, it did not. Exams are up, and they are much scarier to me than anything that could possibly lie within this thread.
 
Exams are over, and update zero is up. I really don't feel I can live up to my own standards; I don't think it's scary, but I needed to kick it off with an event. That's why I wrote it like that. I hope you guys appreciate it regardless and feel inspired to write some truly scary things.

Plenty of things aren't up yet; I haven't made a map, written city stats (Which I'm not even sure I'll get to because they're really not important) and some other things. I hope players are still interested. I'd love to see some scary stories in here. Deadline for the next lunar cycle is this Sunday. I'll give a heads up there of the things happening, some of the characters in here, perhaps; but most of the NES is run by you players, and I haven't even decided on 'what' the scary thing(s) are. I hope we will get there with a common consensus.

I hope people are still interested.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Similar threads

untitledjuan
Muisca City List Suggestion
Replies
0
Views
672
untitledjuan
untitledjuan
Daftpanzer
DaftRTOR - A Story Untold
8 9 10
Replies
198
Views
23K
Terrance888
Terrance888
F
Towns vs. Cities
Replies
13
Views
767
Krikkit1
K
O
Towns, towns and more towns.
Replies
12
Views
2K
sixty4half
S
MagicCuboid
Unique graphics for town specializations
Replies
1
Views
316
WillK96
WillK96
Back
Top Bottom