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Hi, with the Resident Evil series coming up on the GameCube, I was inspired to do some creative writing. I did the first and last chapter of this horror game plot. Hope you like it: -
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UNLIT FLAME
Opening Chapter
The old floorboards creaked and cracked under his weight, and the door almost collapsed as it was slammed shut by the wind in a somewhat textbook way. John Jackson worked for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, on the Paranormal Investigations Team and had been called out to investigate the fifth red herring of the week – or so he thought. There was a smaller door to his left which, when opened, looked like a cloakroom and a few in front of him that were either boarded up, or so dust and dirt cluttered they wouldn’t budge. A golden chandelier, stained with dried wax, hung high above him, holding twelve burnt out candles. It swung as the wind bolted through the mansion, and though still elegant, looked strangely at home in this rickety old house.
John was becoming increasingly uncertain about this case, and though he was the paranoid type, he’d managed to spot four out of four set-ups this week. Something felt different about this one though, there had been reports that strange sounds and sights had been coming from the place at night. Back at the headquarters everyone was working overtime, so it was a one-man operation. He was kept on at the office every other night, thanks to mountains of paperwork and media problems. All this left him with was a constant headache in need of two paracetemol an hour and an itchy trigger finger.
As he continued up the stairs, the confidence of being on the ground floor left him, as he knew that all that was holding him up were a few crumbling walls and some sodden foundations. He reached the first floor landing and proceeded to move slowly down the hall. The walls were littered with crude, disturbing paintings that were mysteriously untouched – a sharp contrast of the cracked and peeling grey paint. He moved towards a large, dominant door, the moonlight shining upon the once glamorous silver letters that rested there:
“Unlit Flame”
With a steady hand, he opened the door. It swung right open, placing the magnificent room in his full view. John dropped to the floor – he was dead.
Ending Chapter
That was it. He was on his own now. Tanner and the others should be safely back at the entrance to the woods, away from the deafening thunderstorm that refused to halt and was situated around this one house. It was though it had a purpose, or was the physical result of some tormented feelings of anger or hatred. Either way, he didn’t like it, as it seemed to almost confirm his worst fears, and the fact that it was fast approaching midnight was discomforting.
Jecht opened the large door and closed it carefully behind him. He started this, it was only right that he would be the one to finish it, before any more innocent people got caught up in the process. At last, he was back in his old house, except it wasn’t his anymore, it belonged to it’s true owner.
He climbed the stairs, noticing his ‘priceless’ chandelier hanging high above the rubble, covered with dust and grime. As he proceeded down the corridor he looked upon those silver letters he printed there all those years ago and felt a strong feeling of self-disgust surging through him. He counted the paintings – one, two and ah, yes, three. He lifted up the third to find what seemed like a regular wall. He forced his way through the intentionally poor woodwork and found himself in the room he once thought precious. Now it just haunted him.
There it was. The statue. Standing alone on a podium in the center of the room, opposite the door. He knew what he had to do. He kicked the door open and flung himself out of the way. Moonlight fell on the statue, and it begun. The concentrated light it was emitting beamed out through the open door, and then through the walls. The spirit was using it’s power, and it was vulnerable. Jecht placed both his hands on the statue, and yelled out loud with excruciating pain. If he had any reflexes his hands would have retracted almost immediately but his faith and determination to end this overcame the intense burning sensation in his palms and he held his grip. After what seemed like an eternity, Jecht’s grasp was forced free and the statue shattered in a fury of light and stone.
Something was wrong. Jecht could feel air rushing past him at a tremendous speed. He ran out into the landing and down the stairs. The candles on the burnt out chandelier were alight. Something was really wrong, and as he looked up he saw the paintings swinging and the chandelier spinning. His heart was thumping against his ribcage as though it were trying to escape. He heard a fluttering noise all around him and this, twinned with the quick moving air that shook the house, created the discomforting feeling of falling. It was then that he realised that he had not killed the spirit, only released it.
It was as though the energy was being sucked out of him and he suddenly felt sick and weak. Jecht fell to the floor, his strength had left him. He forced himself up and towards the door. He had to leave, he was in no way fit enough to continue this. With his last ounce of strength he pulled open the door. He stumbled out and… darkness. Nothing. No trees, no ground, no sky, no wood. Just… darkness. Endless darkness. He hadn’t freed or killed the spirit at all, he had merely taken it’s place.
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I await your horrified feedback.
----------
UNLIT FLAME
Opening Chapter
The old floorboards creaked and cracked under his weight, and the door almost collapsed as it was slammed shut by the wind in a somewhat textbook way. John Jackson worked for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, on the Paranormal Investigations Team and had been called out to investigate the fifth red herring of the week – or so he thought. There was a smaller door to his left which, when opened, looked like a cloakroom and a few in front of him that were either boarded up, or so dust and dirt cluttered they wouldn’t budge. A golden chandelier, stained with dried wax, hung high above him, holding twelve burnt out candles. It swung as the wind bolted through the mansion, and though still elegant, looked strangely at home in this rickety old house.
John was becoming increasingly uncertain about this case, and though he was the paranoid type, he’d managed to spot four out of four set-ups this week. Something felt different about this one though, there had been reports that strange sounds and sights had been coming from the place at night. Back at the headquarters everyone was working overtime, so it was a one-man operation. He was kept on at the office every other night, thanks to mountains of paperwork and media problems. All this left him with was a constant headache in need of two paracetemol an hour and an itchy trigger finger.
As he continued up the stairs, the confidence of being on the ground floor left him, as he knew that all that was holding him up were a few crumbling walls and some sodden foundations. He reached the first floor landing and proceeded to move slowly down the hall. The walls were littered with crude, disturbing paintings that were mysteriously untouched – a sharp contrast of the cracked and peeling grey paint. He moved towards a large, dominant door, the moonlight shining upon the once glamorous silver letters that rested there:
“Unlit Flame”
With a steady hand, he opened the door. It swung right open, placing the magnificent room in his full view. John dropped to the floor – he was dead.
Ending Chapter
That was it. He was on his own now. Tanner and the others should be safely back at the entrance to the woods, away from the deafening thunderstorm that refused to halt and was situated around this one house. It was though it had a purpose, or was the physical result of some tormented feelings of anger or hatred. Either way, he didn’t like it, as it seemed to almost confirm his worst fears, and the fact that it was fast approaching midnight was discomforting.
Jecht opened the large door and closed it carefully behind him. He started this, it was only right that he would be the one to finish it, before any more innocent people got caught up in the process. At last, he was back in his old house, except it wasn’t his anymore, it belonged to it’s true owner.
He climbed the stairs, noticing his ‘priceless’ chandelier hanging high above the rubble, covered with dust and grime. As he proceeded down the corridor he looked upon those silver letters he printed there all those years ago and felt a strong feeling of self-disgust surging through him. He counted the paintings – one, two and ah, yes, three. He lifted up the third to find what seemed like a regular wall. He forced his way through the intentionally poor woodwork and found himself in the room he once thought precious. Now it just haunted him.
There it was. The statue. Standing alone on a podium in the center of the room, opposite the door. He knew what he had to do. He kicked the door open and flung himself out of the way. Moonlight fell on the statue, and it begun. The concentrated light it was emitting beamed out through the open door, and then through the walls. The spirit was using it’s power, and it was vulnerable. Jecht placed both his hands on the statue, and yelled out loud with excruciating pain. If he had any reflexes his hands would have retracted almost immediately but his faith and determination to end this overcame the intense burning sensation in his palms and he held his grip. After what seemed like an eternity, Jecht’s grasp was forced free and the statue shattered in a fury of light and stone.
Something was wrong. Jecht could feel air rushing past him at a tremendous speed. He ran out into the landing and down the stairs. The candles on the burnt out chandelier were alight. Something was really wrong, and as he looked up he saw the paintings swinging and the chandelier spinning. His heart was thumping against his ribcage as though it were trying to escape. He heard a fluttering noise all around him and this, twinned with the quick moving air that shook the house, created the discomforting feeling of falling. It was then that he realised that he had not killed the spirit, only released it.
It was as though the energy was being sucked out of him and he suddenly felt sick and weak. Jecht fell to the floor, his strength had left him. He forced himself up and towards the door. He had to leave, he was in no way fit enough to continue this. With his last ounce of strength he pulled open the door. He stumbled out and… darkness. Nothing. No trees, no ground, no sky, no wood. Just… darkness. Endless darkness. He hadn’t freed or killed the spirit at all, he had merely taken it’s place.
----------
I await your horrified feedback.
Pop!
Hi, with the Resident Evil series coming up on the GameCube, I was inspired to do some creative writing. I did the first and last chapter of this horror game plot. Hope you like it: -
----------
UNLIT FLAME
Opening Chapter
The old floorboards creaked and cracked under his weight, and the door almost collapsed as it was slammed shut by the wind in a somewhat textbook way. John Jackson worked for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, on the Paranormal Investigations Team and had been called out to investigate the fifth red herring of the week – or so he thought. There was a smaller door to his left which, when opened, looked like a cloakroom and a few in front of him that were either boarded up, or so dust and dirt cluttered they wouldn’t budge. A golden chandelier, stained with dried wax, hung high above him, holding twelve burnt out candles. It swung as the wind bolted through the mansion, and though still elegant, looked strangely at home in this rickety old house.
John was becoming increasingly uncertain about this case, and though he was the paranoid type, he’d managed to spot four out of four set-ups this week. Something felt different about this one though, there had been reports that strange sounds and sights had been coming from the place at night. Back at the headquarters everyone was working overtime, so it was a one-man operation. He was kept on at the office every other night, thanks to mountains of paperwork and media problems. All this left him with was a constant headache in need of two paracetemol an hour and an itchy trigger finger.
As he continued up the stairs, the confidence of being on the ground floor left him, as he knew that all that was holding him up were a few crumbling walls and some sodden foundations. He reached the first floor landing and proceeded to move slowly down the hall. The walls were littered with crude, disturbing paintings that were mysteriously untouched – a sharp contrast of the cracked and peeling grey paint. He moved towards a large, dominant door, the moonlight shining upon the once glamorous silver letters that rested there:
“Unlit Flame”
With a steady hand, he opened the door. It swung right open, placing the magnificent room in his full view. John dropped to the floor – he was dead.
Ending Chapter
That was it. He was on his own now. Tanner and the others should be safely back at the entrance to the woods, away from the deafening thunderstorm that refused to halt and was situated around this one house. It was though it had a purpose, or was the physical result of some tormented feelings of anger or hatred. Either way, he didn’t like it, as it seemed to almost confirm his worst fears, and the fact that it was fast approaching midnight was discomforting.
Jecht opened the large door and closed it carefully behind him. He started this, it was only right that he would be the one to finish it, before any more innocent people got caught up in the process. At last, he was back in his old house, except it wasn’t his anymore, it belonged to it’s true owner.
He climbed the stairs, noticing his ‘priceless’ chandelier hanging high above the rubble, covered with dust and grime. As he proceeded down the corridor he looked upon those silver letters he printed there all those years ago and felt a strong feeling of self-disgust surging through him. He counted the paintings – one, two and ah, yes, three. He lifted up the third to find what seemed like a regular wall. He forced his way through the intentionally poor woodwork and found himself in the room he once thought precious. Now it just haunted him.
There it was. The statue. Standing alone on a podium in the center of the room, opposite the door. He knew what he had to do. He kicked the door open and flung himself out of the way. Moonlight fell on the statue, and it begun. The concentrated light it was emitting beamed out through the open door, and then through the walls. The spirit was using it’s power, and it was vulnerable. Jecht placed both his hands on the statue, and yelled out loud with excruciating pain. If he had any reflexes his hands would have retracted almost immediately but his faith and determination to end this overcame the intense burning sensation in his palms and he held his grip. After what seemed like an eternity, Jecht’s grasp was forced free and the statue shattered in a fury of light and stone.
Something was wrong. Jecht could feel air rushing past him at a tremendous speed. He ran out into the landing and down the stairs. The candles on the burnt out chandelier were alight. Something was really wrong, and as he looked up he saw the paintings swinging and the chandelier spinning. His heart was thumping against his ribcage as though it were trying to escape. He heard a fluttering noise all around him and this, twinned with the quick moving air that shook the house, created the discomforting feeling of falling. It was then that he realised that he had not killed the spirit, only released it.
It was as though the energy was being sucked out of him and he suddenly felt sick and weak. Jecht fell to the floor, his strength had left him. He forced himself up and towards the door. He had to leave, he was in no way fit enough to continue this. With his last ounce of strength he pulled open the door. He stumbled out and… darkness. Nothing. No trees, no ground, no sky, no wood. Just… darkness. Endless darkness. He hadn’t freed or killed the spirit at all, he had merely taken it’s place.
----------
I await your horrified feedback.
----------
UNLIT FLAME
Opening Chapter
The old floorboards creaked and cracked under his weight, and the door almost collapsed as it was slammed shut by the wind in a somewhat textbook way. John Jackson worked for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, on the Paranormal Investigations Team and had been called out to investigate the fifth red herring of the week – or so he thought. There was a smaller door to his left which, when opened, looked like a cloakroom and a few in front of him that were either boarded up, or so dust and dirt cluttered they wouldn’t budge. A golden chandelier, stained with dried wax, hung high above him, holding twelve burnt out candles. It swung as the wind bolted through the mansion, and though still elegant, looked strangely at home in this rickety old house.
John was becoming increasingly uncertain about this case, and though he was the paranoid type, he’d managed to spot four out of four set-ups this week. Something felt different about this one though, there had been reports that strange sounds and sights had been coming from the place at night. Back at the headquarters everyone was working overtime, so it was a one-man operation. He was kept on at the office every other night, thanks to mountains of paperwork and media problems. All this left him with was a constant headache in need of two paracetemol an hour and an itchy trigger finger.
As he continued up the stairs, the confidence of being on the ground floor left him, as he knew that all that was holding him up were a few crumbling walls and some sodden foundations. He reached the first floor landing and proceeded to move slowly down the hall. The walls were littered with crude, disturbing paintings that were mysteriously untouched – a sharp contrast of the cracked and peeling grey paint. He moved towards a large, dominant door, the moonlight shining upon the once glamorous silver letters that rested there:
“Unlit Flame”
With a steady hand, he opened the door. It swung right open, placing the magnificent room in his full view. John dropped to the floor – he was dead.
Ending Chapter
That was it. He was on his own now. Tanner and the others should be safely back at the entrance to the woods, away from the deafening thunderstorm that refused to halt and was situated around this one house. It was though it had a purpose, or was the physical result of some tormented feelings of anger or hatred. Either way, he didn’t like it, as it seemed to almost confirm his worst fears, and the fact that it was fast approaching midnight was discomforting.
Jecht opened the large door and closed it carefully behind him. He started this, it was only right that he would be the one to finish it, before any more innocent people got caught up in the process. At last, he was back in his old house, except it wasn’t his anymore, it belonged to it’s true owner.
He climbed the stairs, noticing his ‘priceless’ chandelier hanging high above the rubble, covered with dust and grime. As he proceeded down the corridor he looked upon those silver letters he printed there all those years ago and felt a strong feeling of self-disgust surging through him. He counted the paintings – one, two and ah, yes, three. He lifted up the third to find what seemed like a regular wall. He forced his way through the intentionally poor woodwork and found himself in the room he once thought precious. Now it just haunted him.
There it was. The statue. Standing alone on a podium in the center of the room, opposite the door. He knew what he had to do. He kicked the door open and flung himself out of the way. Moonlight fell on the statue, and it begun. The concentrated light it was emitting beamed out through the open door, and then through the walls. The spirit was using it’s power, and it was vulnerable. Jecht placed both his hands on the statue, and yelled out loud with excruciating pain. If he had any reflexes his hands would have retracted almost immediately but his faith and determination to end this overcame the intense burning sensation in his palms and he held his grip. After what seemed like an eternity, Jecht’s grasp was forced free and the statue shattered in a fury of light and stone.
Something was wrong. Jecht could feel air rushing past him at a tremendous speed. He ran out into the landing and down the stairs. The candles on the burnt out chandelier were alight. Something was really wrong, and as he looked up he saw the paintings swinging and the chandelier spinning. His heart was thumping against his ribcage as though it were trying to escape. He heard a fluttering noise all around him and this, twinned with the quick moving air that shook the house, created the discomforting feeling of falling. It was then that he realised that he had not killed the spirit, only released it.
It was as though the energy was being sucked out of him and he suddenly felt sick and weak. Jecht fell to the floor, his strength had left him. He forced himself up and towards the door. He had to leave, he was in no way fit enough to continue this. With his last ounce of strength he pulled open the door. He stumbled out and… darkness. Nothing. No trees, no ground, no sky, no wood. Just… darkness. Endless darkness. He hadn’t freed or killed the spirit at all, he had merely taken it’s place.
----------
I await your horrified feedback.