Enthusiast#117
This is not the Profile you are looking for
- Location
- United States
Other times it means "Are you going to it, or is it coming to you?"
[X]- Do the normal thing and go to sleep. Ghosts don't exist, or at least you haven't seen one. Yet. And fiddle with the weird smoke thing.
I'll Remember You This Way
- Location
- boundless optimism
You're about halfway to your room before you realize, hey, there's nothing stopping you from screwing off and doing whatever you want, right? You're free, baby! Welcome to America! Or something like that. Well, it's no hot dog, but you imagined that the thrill of doing whatever you want would outweigh the not-food nature of ghosts.
The wheelchair squeaked as you turned the wheelchair specifically left when it should have been right. Eyes, shut. The icy air of the Dream surrounds you once again, for the second time since you woke up this morning. Threading through the walls are red arteries as thick as your head. Your face was reflected off their shine. A finger goes into the wet thing- it's like water, just without a tube to carry it, a finger comes out clean. Oh, well. Another weird thing that happens. Maybe it's just a thing that happens in hospitals. Something to check on when you see another hospital.
The route takes you through the entire floor once. No ghost.
You go through the entire floor again. Still no ghost. You felt that your time had been wasted and your day ruined as the Dream retreated from your cognition. Still, you suppose, as you wheeled yourself back to your own room with the open window and nice breeze, it's nice to know Allie was just jerking you around. But still disappointing that there's no ghost.
The lights flicker once, plunging the hallways into darkness. "Huh?" you muttered. The lights came back on, one at a time. The darkness retreated step by step. "I'm watching you," you said on general principle to catch whatever's lurking in the darkness off guard.
It goes dark again at those words. "That was a joke," you said aloud in the dark.
The light comes back on again. There's no switch that you can see along the hallway. Granted, there might be a master switch, but there's also no microphones or anything. That you can see. But then again, you think to yourself, things might be different in the Dream.
Dip back in.
Yep, there's a ghost, you agree to yourself. It's a properly ghostly ghost, with black pits for eyes and a jagged gape for a mouth, monochrome and transparent. He looked like a bulldog, you supposed, what with the hooded brow and the thick-set jowls. At his left was a light switch, hooked to a spaghetti-mess of cables leading up to the windows. "Oh wow, hi!" you said, wheeling your chair forward with a hand extended. "You're Pressley, right? How's everything? Allie told me about you, and-" the lights go dark again, and when they flicker back on again, your hand stretches to thin air.
Tough crowd to please, you shrugged. There's no hint of the ghost- Pressley, now that you just said his name. Was that a bad? Oh, well. If you can track him down and talk it out with Pressley, maybe everything'll work out.
Now, where did he go? You knew nothing about ghosts, but wasn't a big thing of theirs being unable to leave a specific place? When you leaned in closer to where Pressley's ghost was, you could see a faint shimmer, a greasy streak hanging in thin air that went through the wall behind it.
Okay, so he could do that. You wish you could've done that. Maybe then you wouldn't have tripped face first into all those alarms and the break room. And then got shot in the gut.
You turned around the corner and tried the first door you see. You ignored the plaque saying DEADERS above you. Just words, you reminded yourself.
Just words, and also no ghost. The same for the next door. And the next one, and the next. You felt a bit silly, but hey, nobody's looking, except Pressley. "Hey, Pressley!" you shouted, "you out there? C'mon, I just want to talk!
"It's gotta be lonely. Can other people even see you? I'm pretty sure they can't. Hello? I don't bite.
"It's getting lonely talking to myself. Are you theeeree? No? Aw. Heck."
"If I talk to you, will you please shut up?" a peevish voice said behind your back as you began to turn away from the third room. You jumped in the wheelchair, but just a little, before you turned your neck. "Well, kid?"
"I think if you talk to me you've already gotten me talking by design," you noted as you turned to face Pressley. He still has the black pits for his eyes, but his mouth is firmly set in a tight scowl, looking for all the world as if he was two steps away from barking at you. "That's kind of a lose lose thing, isn't it?"
"No manners," the ghost growls, crossing muscled arms as he stalked closer to you. Despite yourself, you inch back just a bit. "Didn't yer mamma ever tell you to be respectful to yer elders?"
"Never had one, so here we are," the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop it. Before you and him could dwell on it any longer, you stick out your hand. "I'm Charlie. You're Pressley, right? Not another dead guy?"
"As I once lived and breathed," he confirmed, grabbing your hand in a vice like grip. "How the hell can you see me? I've been cooling my heels here for a year and all I got were some scared nurses. That little slime, Ulmer, can't see me and that pisses me off like no devil can describe." The grip grows tighter and tighter until you could swear that your bones creaked.
A cursory glance through your mental list of condolences leaves you short. "I'm… sorry?" you try awkwardly as you tried to wriggle your hand free.
"That motherfucker," he swore, the grip becoming tighter. Red and black tints his veins as he spoke, becoming more solid and concrete by the second. "I could have lived, you know? I was healthy, it was a goddamn heart attack, I had a dozen of those fuckers and I could have taken a dozen more, but apparently I was suffering. Suffering!" he spat, flecks of reddish spittle spraying out.
"Sir, could you-" you tried pulling your hand free from his grip. He's not letting go, you realize with a heart-beating thump. Until you do something, but what? Your hand's almost broken and if you piss him off any further he might just reach around your neck and snap it like a twig.
[X]- Drop out of the Dream. Hope you don't carry Pressley with you.
[X]- "Look, you want Ulmer, right? I'll get you him."
The wheelchair squeaked as you turned the wheelchair specifically left when it should have been right. Eyes, shut. The icy air of the Dream surrounds you once again, for the second time since you woke up this morning. Threading through the walls are red arteries as thick as your head. Your face was reflected off their shine. A finger goes into the wet thing- it's like water, just without a tube to carry it, a finger comes out clean. Oh, well. Another weird thing that happens. Maybe it's just a thing that happens in hospitals. Something to check on when you see another hospital.
The route takes you through the entire floor once. No ghost.
You go through the entire floor again. Still no ghost. You felt that your time had been wasted and your day ruined as the Dream retreated from your cognition. Still, you suppose, as you wheeled yourself back to your own room with the open window and nice breeze, it's nice to know Allie was just jerking you around. But still disappointing that there's no ghost.
The lights flicker once, plunging the hallways into darkness. "Huh?" you muttered. The lights came back on, one at a time. The darkness retreated step by step. "I'm watching you," you said on general principle to catch whatever's lurking in the darkness off guard.
It goes dark again at those words. "That was a joke," you said aloud in the dark.
The light comes back on again. There's no switch that you can see along the hallway. Granted, there might be a master switch, but there's also no microphones or anything. That you can see. But then again, you think to yourself, things might be different in the Dream.
Dip back in.
Yep, there's a ghost, you agree to yourself. It's a properly ghostly ghost, with black pits for eyes and a jagged gape for a mouth, monochrome and transparent. He looked like a bulldog, you supposed, what with the hooded brow and the thick-set jowls. At his left was a light switch, hooked to a spaghetti-mess of cables leading up to the windows. "Oh wow, hi!" you said, wheeling your chair forward with a hand extended. "You're Pressley, right? How's everything? Allie told me about you, and-" the lights go dark again, and when they flicker back on again, your hand stretches to thin air.
Tough crowd to please, you shrugged. There's no hint of the ghost- Pressley, now that you just said his name. Was that a bad? Oh, well. If you can track him down and talk it out with Pressley, maybe everything'll work out.
Now, where did he go? You knew nothing about ghosts, but wasn't a big thing of theirs being unable to leave a specific place? When you leaned in closer to where Pressley's ghost was, you could see a faint shimmer, a greasy streak hanging in thin air that went through the wall behind it.
Okay, so he could do that. You wish you could've done that. Maybe then you wouldn't have tripped face first into all those alarms and the break room. And then got shot in the gut.
You turned around the corner and tried the first door you see. You ignored the plaque saying DEADERS above you. Just words, you reminded yourself.
Just words, and also no ghost. The same for the next door. And the next one, and the next. You felt a bit silly, but hey, nobody's looking, except Pressley. "Hey, Pressley!" you shouted, "you out there? C'mon, I just want to talk!
"It's gotta be lonely. Can other people even see you? I'm pretty sure they can't. Hello? I don't bite.
"It's getting lonely talking to myself. Are you theeeree? No? Aw. Heck."
"If I talk to you, will you please shut up?" a peevish voice said behind your back as you began to turn away from the third room. You jumped in the wheelchair, but just a little, before you turned your neck. "Well, kid?"
"I think if you talk to me you've already gotten me talking by design," you noted as you turned to face Pressley. He still has the black pits for his eyes, but his mouth is firmly set in a tight scowl, looking for all the world as if he was two steps away from barking at you. "That's kind of a lose lose thing, isn't it?"
"No manners," the ghost growls, crossing muscled arms as he stalked closer to you. Despite yourself, you inch back just a bit. "Didn't yer mamma ever tell you to be respectful to yer elders?"
"Never had one, so here we are," the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop it. Before you and him could dwell on it any longer, you stick out your hand. "I'm Charlie. You're Pressley, right? Not another dead guy?"
"As I once lived and breathed," he confirmed, grabbing your hand in a vice like grip. "How the hell can you see me? I've been cooling my heels here for a year and all I got were some scared nurses. That little slime, Ulmer, can't see me and that pisses me off like no devil can describe." The grip grows tighter and tighter until you could swear that your bones creaked.
A cursory glance through your mental list of condolences leaves you short. "I'm… sorry?" you try awkwardly as you tried to wriggle your hand free.
"That motherfucker," he swore, the grip becoming tighter. Red and black tints his veins as he spoke, becoming more solid and concrete by the second. "I could have lived, you know? I was healthy, it was a goddamn heart attack, I had a dozen of those fuckers and I could have taken a dozen more, but apparently I was suffering. Suffering!" he spat, flecks of reddish spittle spraying out.
"Sir, could you-" you tried pulling your hand free from his grip. He's not letting go, you realize with a heart-beating thump. Until you do something, but what? Your hand's almost broken and if you piss him off any further he might just reach around your neck and snap it like a twig.
[X]- Drop out of the Dream. Hope you don't carry Pressley with you.
[X]- "Look, you want Ulmer, right? I'll get you him."
Last edited:
- Location
- USA
[X]- Drop out of the Dream. Hope you don't carry Pressley with you.
Where Did We Go Wrong?
- Location
- boundless optimism
The creeps used to give you a swimming pool. It was a pretty small one, but when you were younger it seemed like the ocean to you. Where were you going with this? You thought deliriously as Pressely continued to pour out his bile. Oh. Right. Deep breaths. The Dream fades back out, and the only thing that remains of the ghost of Pressley are the angry red welts on your right hand and fingers.
The lights flickered again. Oh shit. Pressley was still here, beyond the veil of the Dream. And, judging by the frequency of the flickering light he's pissed. "Hey, uh-" the words seize up in your throat in a messy tangle. What do you say to a ghost that nearly broke your hand? Nothing. There are no possible words for you to calm him down, so you do the next best thing in that hallway of once human malignancy and…
Ran away.
The flickering lights follow you as you rush to your bed, throwing the covers over your head after you shut the door tight. He didn't follow you into the room.
When you woke up to the cold morning light, you ended up staying in bed for another hour or so because you really didn't want to step into the hallway again. After all, Pressley could still be there with his iron hand waiting for your neck.
Also the fact that the hospital bed was way softer than the Creep bed, and you didn't have anything to do so you know…
By noon, your back ached from lying in bed and you're pretty dang bored, what with having nothing to do in bed, so you grudgingly swung your legs onto the wheelchair, taking care not to place weight on your broken leg, and rolled into the cafeteria.
"Find the ghost?" Allie was sitting at the same table where you found her yesterday. "Where the heck did you get that?" she laughed, an awkward, aborted sound, when you showed her the bruised hand.
"It was the ghost," you replied. "Hey, are you going to eat those tots? No? Thanks." You take her silence as a yes, shoveling a handful in your mouth. She's still staring at the bruises. "What?" you swallowed the mouthful of potatoes.
She snapped out of it. "Bullshit," she said blankly and levelly.
"You said a bad-"
"You're, like, fourteen, you probably say those words on the way to school," she hissed impatiently. "There's no actual ghost, right? Like, no way."
You shrugged. "I mean, what're the other choices?"
Allie mussed her hair, face screwed in concentration. "I don't know," she said, "Uh, maybe you got it stuck in a drawer? Or a door?"
"Five times?"
"It could have been a very aggressive door," she ventured as she drained the last of a bottle of orange juice. "Or a drawer. Never trusted those things."
"They are pretty nippy," you continued. "Yes, Allie, you've caught me. There was never a ghost. Instead, a rabid drawer chased me down and tried to eat my hand. Luckily, I was fast enough to escape with only bruises to show."
"Ha," Allie replied, not laughing at all. "So you're not joking?"
"Well, I was-"
"No, I mean about the ghost."
"I was not joking about the ghost. He is Pressley, by the way."
"Huh." There was a pause. "How bad?"
"Pretty."
"Are we going to stop using these one line replies on each other?"
You considered this, and then shook your head. "Okay, but really, what happened?" Allie asked.
"I talked to him a bit, you know, said hi, how's being dead, and when I shook his hand he started screaming about Ulmer and, well, this." Your hand flopped once for emphasis.
"Huh," Allie leaned closer at your hand. "Jesus, guy's got a grip. Is it just bruises, or did something break?"
"Just bruises." A closer look reveals that the angry red flesh is subsiding into black splotches. "Ew. You think I should go to the nurses for this?"
"It's gonna be awkward, won't it? Hi, I met the ghost that lives on the third floor and he nearly broke my hand. Can I get a cold compress?"
A huffed laugh escaped your throat. "Yeah, fair enough. What do I do then?"
"Uh, keep it elevated, get ice on there, and-"
"About the ghost, Allie, but thanks for that anyway."
She shrugged. "De nada, boss. There's a chaplain here, but I think exorcism is a bit out of his wheelhouse."
"Then what the heck does he get paid for?" You looked around. "Does he at least have holy water?"
"That's for devils," Allie snapped her fingers. "I think it's a crucifix for ghosts."
"Why?" It doesn't sound right to you. What makes devils hate holy water and ghosts hate crosses? Maybe devils are cats. That might explain all the black cats next to the witches.
"I don't know, I study biology," Allie huffed impatiently. "I'm not a priest. I just watched some horror flicks time to time. Anyway, you think you can find him again?"
Thumbs twiddled. "I caan," you hazarded, "but I don't want to, that's the thing. He scares the shit out of me and I'm not going near him if I can help it. Do you still want those tots?"
Allie nodded. "Yeah, I get that. And nah, have'em. They're cold anyway." The food was gone in a second. "Anyway, see you around. I gotta finish some classwork. See ya 'round." You waved goodbye, more focused on the leftovers than Allie.
The next few days had their upsides and downsides. One- your leg got better. You got around to hobbling around like a maimed insect with three legs on crutches, but it was better than the wheelchair- you didn't have to worry about stairs. Once you figured out how to hop from one to the other, it was all peachy. Two- The doctor gave you the ok to eat solid foods, so you spent a disgustingly large amount of time pigging out on the cafeteria. And three- your leg got better. That beared repeating, because holy God did that chair bum you out after a couple of days.
The bad- the ghost, the creeping specter of the cops trying to find a home for you and by extension the creeps, and the ghost. It wasn't obvious at first, and mostly you kept out of the Dream because of Pressley, so you dismissed the occasional rattling thing behind you and the creaking doors and most recently, the flickering lights as coincidences. By now, you've gone and asked the chaplain- a nice guy, big and round like a cannonball with a white stubble for a beard- for a crucifix, one that he provided with no further questions.
It didn't help. Well, maybe it did for a while, but by now Pressley's- heh- pressing in again. You have to get help somewhere.
Find Help
[]- Nurse Mary: She helped you out before, and she can get the other nurses to help you. Hopefully.
[]- Ulmer: Pressley really wants to kill Ulmer, and the least you can do is give the guy a heads up.
[]- The Chaplain: Look, if he can't exorcise a ghost what is he here for?
The lights flickered again. Oh shit. Pressley was still here, beyond the veil of the Dream. And, judging by the frequency of the flickering light he's pissed. "Hey, uh-" the words seize up in your throat in a messy tangle. What do you say to a ghost that nearly broke your hand? Nothing. There are no possible words for you to calm him down, so you do the next best thing in that hallway of once human malignancy and…
Ran away.
The flickering lights follow you as you rush to your bed, throwing the covers over your head after you shut the door tight. He didn't follow you into the room.
When you woke up to the cold morning light, you ended up staying in bed for another hour or so because you really didn't want to step into the hallway again. After all, Pressley could still be there with his iron hand waiting for your neck.
Also the fact that the hospital bed was way softer than the Creep bed, and you didn't have anything to do so you know…
By noon, your back ached from lying in bed and you're pretty dang bored, what with having nothing to do in bed, so you grudgingly swung your legs onto the wheelchair, taking care not to place weight on your broken leg, and rolled into the cafeteria.
"Find the ghost?" Allie was sitting at the same table where you found her yesterday. "Where the heck did you get that?" she laughed, an awkward, aborted sound, when you showed her the bruised hand.
"It was the ghost," you replied. "Hey, are you going to eat those tots? No? Thanks." You take her silence as a yes, shoveling a handful in your mouth. She's still staring at the bruises. "What?" you swallowed the mouthful of potatoes.
She snapped out of it. "Bullshit," she said blankly and levelly.
"You said a bad-"
"You're, like, fourteen, you probably say those words on the way to school," she hissed impatiently. "There's no actual ghost, right? Like, no way."
You shrugged. "I mean, what're the other choices?"
Allie mussed her hair, face screwed in concentration. "I don't know," she said, "Uh, maybe you got it stuck in a drawer? Or a door?"
"Five times?"
"It could have been a very aggressive door," she ventured as she drained the last of a bottle of orange juice. "Or a drawer. Never trusted those things."
"They are pretty nippy," you continued. "Yes, Allie, you've caught me. There was never a ghost. Instead, a rabid drawer chased me down and tried to eat my hand. Luckily, I was fast enough to escape with only bruises to show."
"Ha," Allie replied, not laughing at all. "So you're not joking?"
"Well, I was-"
"No, I mean about the ghost."
"I was not joking about the ghost. He is Pressley, by the way."
"Huh." There was a pause. "How bad?"
"Pretty."
"Are we going to stop using these one line replies on each other?"
You considered this, and then shook your head. "Okay, but really, what happened?" Allie asked.
"I talked to him a bit, you know, said hi, how's being dead, and when I shook his hand he started screaming about Ulmer and, well, this." Your hand flopped once for emphasis.
"Huh," Allie leaned closer at your hand. "Jesus, guy's got a grip. Is it just bruises, or did something break?"
"Just bruises." A closer look reveals that the angry red flesh is subsiding into black splotches. "Ew. You think I should go to the nurses for this?"
"It's gonna be awkward, won't it? Hi, I met the ghost that lives on the third floor and he nearly broke my hand. Can I get a cold compress?"
A huffed laugh escaped your throat. "Yeah, fair enough. What do I do then?"
"Uh, keep it elevated, get ice on there, and-"
"About the ghost, Allie, but thanks for that anyway."
She shrugged. "De nada, boss. There's a chaplain here, but I think exorcism is a bit out of his wheelhouse."
"Then what the heck does he get paid for?" You looked around. "Does he at least have holy water?"
"That's for devils," Allie snapped her fingers. "I think it's a crucifix for ghosts."
"Why?" It doesn't sound right to you. What makes devils hate holy water and ghosts hate crosses? Maybe devils are cats. That might explain all the black cats next to the witches.
"I don't know, I study biology," Allie huffed impatiently. "I'm not a priest. I just watched some horror flicks time to time. Anyway, you think you can find him again?"
Thumbs twiddled. "I caan," you hazarded, "but I don't want to, that's the thing. He scares the shit out of me and I'm not going near him if I can help it. Do you still want those tots?"
Allie nodded. "Yeah, I get that. And nah, have'em. They're cold anyway." The food was gone in a second. "Anyway, see you around. I gotta finish some classwork. See ya 'round." You waved goodbye, more focused on the leftovers than Allie.
The next few days had their upsides and downsides. One- your leg got better. You got around to hobbling around like a maimed insect with three legs on crutches, but it was better than the wheelchair- you didn't have to worry about stairs. Once you figured out how to hop from one to the other, it was all peachy. Two- The doctor gave you the ok to eat solid foods, so you spent a disgustingly large amount of time pigging out on the cafeteria. And three- your leg got better. That beared repeating, because holy God did that chair bum you out after a couple of days.
The bad- the ghost, the creeping specter of the cops trying to find a home for you and by extension the creeps, and the ghost. It wasn't obvious at first, and mostly you kept out of the Dream because of Pressley, so you dismissed the occasional rattling thing behind you and the creaking doors and most recently, the flickering lights as coincidences. By now, you've gone and asked the chaplain- a nice guy, big and round like a cannonball with a white stubble for a beard- for a crucifix, one that he provided with no further questions.
It didn't help. Well, maybe it did for a while, but by now Pressley's- heh- pressing in again. You have to get help somewhere.
Find Help
[]- Nurse Mary: She helped you out before, and she can get the other nurses to help you. Hopefully.
[]- Ulmer: Pressley really wants to kill Ulmer, and the least you can do is give the guy a heads up.
[]- The Chaplain: Look, if he can't exorcise a ghost what is he here for?