You are a young man in 1830s Europe. You have always been poor, an orphan your whole life, and are just barely holding onto your job as an estate broker. This morning, your boss has given you a client that is said to be a very wealthy count, and he explains to you that all the other brokers refused to take on this job. His request is written in very fine handwiriting, with very polite wording, even the wax on the envelope is stamped in a perfect circle. The only thing that sours this deal is his specific request. He wants the decrepit, abandoned house right next to yours, and will not take any of the other, much nicer houses.
[[Is the particularity of this request enough to dissuade you from taking on this chance for wealth? ]]
[[Or are you not bothered by this client's unorthodox choice in abode? ]] Your boss is delighted with your choice, you assume because of the commission he will receive from your work bagging this deal. He beckons you to follow him to his office, while he spits out the details of your client to you.
"The Count lives many leagues north from our offices, but luckily his Manor is situated close enough to the shore of his country that you have the choice of either sailing or carriage ride. What providence, my boy!"
Your boss never called you by your name, just "my boy", as if to remind you that he holds the reigns over your financial future. You hated the yellow-stained grin painted on his well-fed face. He never had to wonder where his next meal would come from. Never had to withstand a cold winter with nothing to warm him. Never to depend on the charity of others in order to live another day. Your hateful train of thought is broken by his nauseatingly happy expression turning to a more inquisitive look, pointed at you.
"So, my boy, what is your choice?"
[[Carriage]]
[[Ship]] Your boss' expression disenchants, it seems he was already sure of your answer.
"My boy, I implore you to reconsider. After this, The Count will reward you beyond your wildest dreams! You could retire to a life of luxury, no more will you have to labor just to feed yourself, no longer will you have to wear tattered rags,"
You thought you looked nice.
"I beg of you boy!" Your boss grabbed onto your shoulders, forcing you to look into his desperate eyes. "recant this brash decision!"
Everyone in your office turned their heads toward you two, your boss was hysterical. You had no idea this job meant this much to him, and it made you all the more suspicious of it.
You didn't feel the need to dignify his distress with a response, you simply shook him off and walked out the door.
"Fine! Return to your squalor! You shall never step foot in this office again!"
You smirked at how fast he went from begging you to damning you, but he was right, you just blew away your only [[meal ticket.]]
You have chosen to ride along the roads up to your client's manor. The carriage your boss has enlisted to deliver you is uncharacteristically nice and accomodating. The wood isn't splintered, the inside is well upholstered, and the wheels dont look like they've seen much use yet. The only unpleasant parts of this set-up were the horses, and the driver. The horses were stark black, stomping their hooves and chatting their teeth. The driver was no better, clad head to toe in dark clothing, none of his skin was visibly other than his eyelids.
He glared down at youu from the driver's seat and motioned toward the cabin. You climbed in and waited for your ride to end. You dozed off, and dreamt of the many profits you will make from this deal. However, your lofty dreams of luxury we're overtaken by dark visages. Bats flying past you in a whirlwind, wild dogs barking from every direction, and bite marks all over your body. This dream turned nightmare woke you with a jerk. You awoke to find the carriage static, the horses long gone, and the driver similarly absent. You walked out into the barren cold, and started walking down the road your carriage had been on. You looked along the road for any sign of the horses or driver, but all you saw was heavy, cold snow clayed all over the ground, with no footsteps or horse tracks to be seen. Eventually you reached a village. Tatched rooves, cattle everywhere, and a conveniently placed inn. You walked through the village into the inn, recieving many stares from the townspeople. Once you get inside, you're met with the innkeeper. She motions toward you and asks you,
"How many nights?"
You answer her that you'll only be staying one night, that you would be leaving in the morning to meet with your wealthy buyer at his manor. The talk among the inn goes silent, and you suspect you have shared too much. You fear you will be robbed, due to your mention of your client's wealth, but instead the elderly innkeeper grabs your hand and pleads with you,
"Please sir, don't go to there. No amount of pelf is worth the suffering that man brings! He is outside of the lords domain!"
You were caught off gaurd by the woman's desperation. What did it matter to her who you sell to? You reassured her that you would be fine, and told her you just needed a room for the night. She hesitantly took your coin and lead you to your bed. You slept on what she told you, and pondered on what you should do.
[[continue]] or [[stay]] ?You chose to go by ship to your client's manor. Your boss walked you to the dock in town, and introduced you to the captain. He was an old man, you assumed he spent most of his years on the waters. He took you from there and introduced you to the ship you would ride to your objective. It was a modest sloop, but still very impressive to you. It was the captain's ship, and you could tell he held a lot of reverance for this vessel.
Once you had gotten on the water, the captain remarked that the winds were unusually accomodating for your voyage. It was as if the waters were impatient for your journey to end. The captain was un-nerved by this, and lead you to his quarters,
"My father was a preacher, he gave me a couple vials of these"
He held up a small bottle with a cross engraved on it
"I want you to take this, I've sailed to that country before, and theres plenty of ungodly things there."
He motions the bottle towards you, do you chose to take it?
[[yes]] or [[no]] You werent able to find much work after that. Your old boss was the landlord for many of the businesses in town, and those that weren't under his boot were unhospitable to you. After a couple of days living off of what you could scrape and steal, you were driven out of the city walls by the local law enforcement. "Vagrant", they called you. Your best bet was to move out to the countryside. You found an abandoned shack in the woods, and began a new life of subsistance. The first days you lived off of foraging berries and roots, you had to remember which ones got you sick and which didn't. Luckily, whoever lived in this feeble dwelling before you must've been a hunter, as there was a dusty rifle hidden under the floorboards. After a couple of weeks of trial and error, you eventually got proficient enough at shooting deer to rely on that as your main food source. At some point, you walked your way back into town to sell the deer hide you had no use for, when you were stopped by the stench.
The unmistakable odor of death hit you long before you reached the city walls. You felt as if this miasma of funk was a warning to you to stop, keeping you from moving forward. You stood immobile in the woods just outside town, too intimidated to continue your march, but too curious to run back home just yet. As you were lost in thought about what may have happened to the people in town who ran you out, your attention is grabbed by the feeling you're being watched. You look around the woods, among the leaves and undergrowth. Once you finally find the eyes that have been studying you, immediately you recognize the face. Your old boss looked much older than you last saw him, his hair was longer and unkept. He let out a shril laugh when he realized you saw him. His teeth were a sickly yellow and you could smell his breath from where you stood. It smelled similar to the reeking fetor of death that surrounded you. He hurled himself down from the tree he was perched on and ran on all fours towards town, screeching and laughing the whole way there. The only intelligible part of his slobbering drivel was a word he repeated over and over:
[["Providence! Providence! PROVIDENCE!!!"]]
You chose to stay right where you are, and hope that nothing heard your abrupt awakening. You stayed still, crouched over your bed, clutching your trusty rifle. Its cold metal had grown warm while you had cuddled it. The knocks continued, but now they grew in anger. Your potential house guest seems like he has grown impatient with your silence, and is now fully banging on your door. In a rush of adrenaline, and due to the fact you could no longer hold your squat over your bed, you shakily pointed your gun at the middle of the door and shot. The door splintered when the hastily shot bullet flew through it, and you were certain you had hit your mark, yet there was no sound of impact, no cry of pain. Still, the damned nocking had stopped, so surely that bullet atleast scared away your assailant. That was until you heard a faint voice call out,
"Help! Help! I've been shot!"
It sounded like a child. A hurt, dying child. A child that you had shot. What will you do now?
[[Still Ignore]] or [[Open The Door]]? You try to walk the rest of the way to the manor, as you see no reason to abandon this fruitful prospect. You feel the biting cold on your skin, and halfway down the road you know you have made a mistake. Just as that thought comes across your mind, you hear the barking of wolves. You are quickly torn to pieces, sorry.
''The End''' You chose to take the innkeeper's advice and stay away from The Count's manor, Unfortunately, you had no way to get back to your home. You were given a job at the inn, and worked there for a while. You learned the villager's culture and language, and started to live a relatively nice life.
You knew it couldn't last forever, there was a reason why the villagers knew about The Count. One day, you were awoken by yelling in the streets. A black fog had rolled in, and with it came disease. Many bodies littered the ground by the time you exited the inn. You saw him, standing among the corpses. The Count had come to collect a sacrifice, and apparently he saw you as a worthy candidate.
''The End'' Once you put your hand on the bottle, you felt the wind change. It seems the same force that was urging you forward, is disatisfied with your choice. The captain runs from his quarters to the ship's wheel, and tells you to maintain the sail. You pull the rope as hard as you can, and you can see the captain using all his strength to keep the wheel starboard. You think your combined efforts have saved you when you, until you see a monster of a wave surging on the port of the ship. The ship is quickly engulfed and you and the captain are washed away. You tried to swim for a while, looking for anything to hold onto. Eventually you did grab something, the dorsal fin of a shark attracted to the captains corpse.
''The End'' You decline the captain's offer, and chose to sleep for the rest of the voyage. Once you arrive to the manor, you are welcomed in by a large, pale man. Hes dressed in formal clothing and walks you through the halls. He leads you to a room where he tells you to make yourself at home. He tells you that you'll handle the business in the morning.
The room you're given is ornate and immaculately clean. You have no idea why this man would want the decrepit house next to yours rather than stay here. You have many suspiciouns about this man, and your curiousness makes you skeptical.
Do you [[snoop around]]? or do you [[fall asleep]]?You rushed back to your shack, scaring every animal on your way. Once you reach your refuge, you immediately grabbed your rifle, loaded it, and crouched on your bed. You sat there for hours, watching the door, listening to any sound that may be a threat. The stench of the dead haunts you, refusing to leave your nostrils and reminding you of the haunting laugh of your old boss. You sat there wondering what could have happened to him to change him in such a way, and why he was yelling that dammed word over and over as he scurried away. As the day gave way to dusk, your eyelids became heavy. Before you realized you had fallen asleep, rifle still in hand.
You were woken abruptly by a knock at the door. You sprung up from the bed and pointed your gun at the source of the noise, waiting for anything to come through. Strangely, the knock simply continues. Coming three at a time, they are soft and polite, but still they unsettle you more and more as they continue. What should you do?
[[Ignore]] or [[confront]] ?"Hello?"
You called out into the stillness. You were given no reply.
"Is anyone there?"
You called out again, but still no reply. You decide you must confront this guest. You open your door and find yourself face-to-face with an old, wrinkly man. He is much shorter than you, and wears clothes that are way too baggy for him.
"May I come in? The wind is cuttingly cold and the town seems to have been overrun by disease."
His hands are sheepishly held behind his back as he looks up at you. You ask the old man how he got all the way out here.
"I may seem frail, but I was a trapper quite like you back when i fit these clothes better."
The old man points down at his boots, laden with wolf fur. He looks up at you expectantly.
Do you [[Let him in]]? or do you [[close him out]]? As you heard the sobs of the child grow in volume and anguish, you hardened your resolve. What business does this child have here anyway? Probably just wanted to play a trick on you, bringing with him the disease from town. You did the world a service, you try to convince yourself, as the child's cries dissipate.
Finally, clear silence. The peacefulness of the forest had been returned to you, and you layed back down, trying to forget the days events.
Just as you had layed your head down, a mad laugh errupted from behind you. You immediately recognized it from earlier today. Your old boss kept laughing and laughing as he moved around your shack. Every irritating, sickly chortle re-establishing your hate and fear for the man. His laughing abruptly ended as he reached the door. The silence had returned, but now it came to you under a different name. This silence didn't fill you with any kind of peace or relief, but crept into your brain and slowly shaved into your sanity. You tried to be as quiet as you could while you reloaded your gun, pushing the bullet down the barrel, pouring the gunpouder, stuffing it down with the rod.
Right when the gun is loaded you point it at the door, which now has a small hole just big enough for something to peer through. You wait to see if an eye will appear in the tiny peep-hole, then you will shoot, then you will rid your mind of this horrible silence.
Your prayers are answered, as another voice breaks the stillness for you. A woman calls out to you, somehow knowing your name. She sounds middle-aged, and claims you are her son. You never knew either of your parents, and the idea that out of all times, now your mother would come back to you was completely absurd. Something was trying to trick you. You stayed resolute, not moving your barrel an inch from the door. More and more voices spoke out from the forrest. A friend from your childhood. The many store-owners you stole from. A fellow broker from your office. Priests, strumpets, militants. Any and all voices that could be heard in town were now all echoing around you. They laughed, yelled, cried and whispered. Vocal chords cascading and combining to create new voices to torment you with. You sat on the ground and covered your ears, hoping to be free of these spectres from your past. You couldn't tell if this had been going on for minutes or hours, rocking back and fourth, yelling back at the voices. Then, as if God had seen your helpless state and chose to give you mercy, it all stopped. You darted up and looked out of the peephole. It was dawn, and the sun was rising. You were skeptical to step out of your shack, but you needed to see what was causing your torture.
With a newfound confidence given by the warm rays of the morning light, you stepped outside and pointed your gun around, scanning to see anything that could give you closure. Just as you take a step forward, your foot lands in something unusual. A large, still smoking, pile of ash. Your guilt had grappled you and dissolved all your paranoia. You immediately open the door and rush out to hold the child. You hugged the dying boy, apologizing over and over to him, while you tried to hold onto his wound to stop the bleeding. You searched all along the boy's head for a wound, but couldn't find one. In-fact, there wasn't a drop of blood on the little one's body.
You let go of the boy and stood up, as he turned around you felt a sinking feeling in your chest. The boy grew in height as he turned to face you. His scrappy hair extended beyond his feet, his legs and arms bulked up and his nails were sharpened into claws. He was now much taller than you, much stronger too. When his face turned to look at you, his eyes were like two burning stars, his stare filling you with an inescapable terror. You tried to run back inside, but it was far too late. Before you could even turn completely, the man clawed the back of your head, knocking you to the ground. As you tried to crawl to your shack, you heard his booming footsteps walk over to your grounded form,
"I like this house much better, I'll be sure to pay your boss when I move in."
You are losing a lot of blood, and your vision gets hazy. The last thing you see is The Count walking into your shack, with your old boss crawling behind him.
''The End'' You let the old man in, and he seems overjoyed. He steps past you and asks if you have anything to eat. You tell him you have some dried meat.
"That would be wonderful! Could you please hurry and grab it? The hike to get over here can really rouse an old mans appetite!"
You walk over to the chest and open in to search for the meat. You never were very organized. Just as you're moving around the miscellaneous objects in your chest, you hear a worrying sound from the old man. Bones cracking, skin tearing, and blood gurgling in his throat. A cold breeze blows in from the still-open door and extinguishes the candles around your home.
You stare into the darkness of your shack, searching for the old man. You yell out for him and ask him if hes okay. Suddenly, you see two bright orange orbs in-front of you. Eyes. Eyes staring at you, from a much taller stature than that of the old man.
"Thank you for your hospitality."
The figure booms out in a deep voice. He starts walking towards you, and you grab your gun. As you aim and fire at him, the man simply laughs at your terror.
"You couldn't run from me forever."
You close your eyes and accept your fate, hoping your old client will make your death quick. You decide to close the door on the old man, not wanting to take any chances. He could be bringing disease with him, or something worse.
"Are you sure, young man? Please show some compassion!"
You ignored the old man's pleads, and layed down onto your bed.
Just as you had layed your head down, a mad laugh errupted from behind you. You immediately recognized it from earlier today. Your old boss kept laughing and laughing as he moved around your shack. Every irritating, sickly chortle re-establishing your hate and fear for the man. His laughing abruptly ended as he reached the door. The silence had returned, but now it came to you under a different name. This silence didn't fill you with any kind of peace or relief, but crept into your brain and slowly shaved into your sanity.
Another voice breaks the stillness. A woman calls out to you, somehow knowing your name. She sounds middle-aged, and claims you are her son. You never knew either of your parents, and the idea that out of all times, now your mother would come back to you was completely absurd. Something was trying to trick you. You stayed resolute, not moving your barrel an inch from the door. More and more voices spoke out from the forrest. The old man was back, now reprimanding you for yourselfishness. A friend from your childhood. The many store-owners you stole from. A fellow broker from your office. Priests, strumpets, militants. Any and all voices that could be heard in town were now all echoing around you. They laughed, yelled, cried and whispered. Vocal chords cascading and combining to create new voices to torment you with. You sat on the ground and covered your ears, hoping to be free of these spectres from your past. You couldn't tell if this had been going on for minutes or hours, rocking back and fourth, yelling back at the voices. Then, as if God had seen your helpless state and chose to give you mercy, it all stopped. You darted up and looked out of the peephole. It was dawn, and the sun was rising. You were skeptical to step out of your shack, but you needed to see what was causing your torture.
With a newfound confidence given by the warm rays of the morning light, you stepped outside and pointed your gun around, scanning to see anything that could give you closure. Just as you take a step forward, your foot lands in something unusual. A large, still smoking, pile of ash. You walk around the manor, seeing antiques, ornate sculptures and paintings. Different pieces of art from different cultures. You creep around into the library, and start reading the books that arouse your suspicion. The Count has too many books on the occult and monsters to be normal. While you're reading up on different mythological beasts, the descriptions of Vampires oddly matches The Count. His oddly pale skin, dark raven hair, and sharp canines are all exact matches to your client.
Just as you come to your revalation, you feel his pressence enter the room. He asks you what you are doing in his library, and tells you that you should've been asleep. His eyes dart to the book you're reading. Immediately he springs into a jump towards you. You duck behind a bookshelf, and The Count crushes it into splinters. The book told you about how to kill one of his kind. You quickly grab one of the sharp sticks that seperated from the shelf and stab it directly into The Count's heart. The sound of his dying shriek fills the manor's walls, and he crumbles to dust.
You assume you have no way to get home, and start to make yourself home in The Count's manor, although you are skeptical of the meat he had stored.
''The End''You fall asleep in the nice, warm bed, and awake to bite marks on your neck. You try to excuse it as mosquito bites. You sign the contract to sell the house, and The Count smiles upon you. You are given riches beyond your dreams when you return. The Count moves in quickly, and just as quickly you notice disapearances around town. You hope The Count doesn't target you next
''The End''