Archive for Gaming

“Olaf never knew when to stop. After a few drinks, chopping up a few goblins turns into an epic battle against fire-breathing ogres. Each night, the men at the end of our bed keep coming, but Olaf can’t tell them damn truth. Gods help us.”

Guardians of the Tombs, Living Hatred, Sons of Khafre

In the yellow light of the lamp, they saw a monstrous creature enter through the opening in the wall…a creature with a body of a huge lion and the withered, ages old head of a man! The girl slumped to the floor…and Professor Burton had the time to emit short, petrified scream before the sphinx leaped!

– Jack Oleck and Jack Davis “Tomb’s Day”, Vault of Horror #35

The smell of rotting sickly pumpkin on the autumn breeze is a warning to all, as the infested go unharvested or worse, used as the heads of scarecrows. The writhing infesting vines, wind their way through the makeshift puppet’s stuffed body, animating it. Skittering on all fours through the cornfields, they delight in catching crows, grinding and popping their hollow bones with glee. In time the infested will bloat, dropping their fattened tendrils into the earth. These twisting and lashing roots burrowing deep to mature and wait for the tilling of the fields. Uprooted they take hold in the new harvest and start a new cycle. If disturbed the infested scarecrow will stalk and hunt intruders, keeping it’s territory free of any life, the kills dragged around, soaking the fields in blood. All the better to grow fat little tendrils in.

I still remember when the cartel came to our village.  They wanted to teach us a lesson, and chose quiet old Mr. Santos to make an example of. They tortured him for hours while we were forced to watch.. It wasn’t until they slit his throat that Mr. Santos started laughing… the blood that poured from his neck reached out.. And tore each of those poor men, those murderers, apart. — Raul Morales, former Catholic Priest, non functional alcoholic.

“The strangest of all the phantasms described is, perhaps, the Yohualtepoztli, literally, ” the night hatchet or axe.” It manifested itself by causing loud intermittent sounds resembling those produced by the blows of an axe in splitting wood. These ominous sounds were audible at dead of night in the mountains, and inspired terror, for they were said to be illusions produced by Tezcatlipoca in order to frighten and mock those who were out in the dark.” .

– Zelia Nuttall,  A Note on Ancient Mexican Folk-Lore

Vengeance writ in a child’s blood

“Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die.” – Matsuo Bashō

“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.” – Confucius (attributed)

Every state has them. They turn up in the news every so often. Nameless people found in pieces. Sometimes dumped in a single container, sometimes spread out over an area. Take a look back further in history and you’ll find they’ve been turning up long before the dawn of the 20th century. 

They are spread out over too wide an area, and over too long a timeframe to be the work of just one lunatic. There are too many of them, and they seem too evenly spread to be the result of random homicidal maniacs. So what are they? 

Who these poor souls were in life may never come to light, but what they’ve become in death is something that can push investigators to their breaking point. 

That Which Hides Among Us

James, who had always seemed so normal, passive even, picked himself up off the floor. The anger in his eyes told Amos that things had gotten out of hand. Before he could apologize, six chitinous legs thrust outward from James’s mouth, bracing themselves against his flesh, and the monstrosity inside his friend forced its way out. 

–Unknown