ragefearmadness
First Post
Bump
BUMP!
BUMP!
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DarkMatter D20: Drunk Southern Girls with Guns ... UPDATED - 8/18/05!
- Thread starter jonrog1
- Start date
ForceflowX
First Post
/delurk
~BUMP~
/relurk
~BUMP~
/relurk
GONE MISSING
Pt. 4
Special Agent Diane Sullivan shook their hands. "Nice to meet fellow skeptics."
The Agents exchanged puzzled looks, then suddenly remembered -- the public face of the Hoffman Institute was rigorous scientific fieldwork on the paranormal. They tended to report the false claims, and keep the real cases buried ... sometimes literally, in shallow graves. As a result, the net "public" output of the Institute was as a debunker.
Sullivan held Denis' hand a fraction longer than the others. "I particularly enjoyed your last paper on electromagnetic anomalies on radar detection screens."
Denis nodded his head curtly. "An elementary peace of work, but thank you." Inside, his heart sang YesyesyesYEEESSSSSS!
Malloy pulled on his coat. "I'm afraid my partner may have a somewhat distorted view of your work. I have a few friends on the inside of the Institute who keep me appraised. Now, sorry to meet and run --" he flashed a battered laptop, "-- but this is the Vincent kid's computer. We're going back to our hotel where we'll look for any Internet chat or weird cultish files." He turned to his partner. "Sully?"
The two FBI agents left the Sheriff's office. They bickered genially as they got into their rented Taurus and drove away.
"Those two are SO doing it," Jo muttered.
"No. No way," Andrew argued. "Besides, the redhead was giving hug-me eyes to Denis."
Ross entered. He had a familiar bulk under his coat. He tossed a hacksaw down on the counter. "You can keep that," he nodded to the Sheriff. "What I miss?"
"The Feds seem pretty friendly, for once." Stephen turned back to the Sheriff. "What's the story on these boys?"
Sheriff Wilson slid some computer printouts across his desk. "Not bad kids. The Vincent kid --"
"That's where they were hanging out before they disappeared, his house?" interrupted Denis.
"Yeah, he's got a couple misdemeanors on him. He's really the ringleader, the other two are his sidekicks. Nothing serious, but I can smell trouble when they get old enough to drive."
Jo was looking down at the report when Sheriff Wilson added: "Little puink needs a good crack across the head with a 2x4 before he winds up in juvie, not that his momma will take time off her whorin' to do it."
Jo's head snapped up. Wow, the Sheriff had seemed like such a mellow guy, then this sort of talk - he must be angry.
But Sherrif Wilson still wore the placid expression he'd had all along. Her friends weren't particularly shocked either. Huh. Ross ushered them out. "Let's go talk to the mother."
**************************
Trish Vincent opened the door, and immediately Andrew knew what had to be done. Trish was a hot-buttered soccer mom. He was a mysterious guy in a leather jacket with an eye-patch.
"Dibs," he called.
Trish was distraught, but not so distraught she wasn't wearing make-up. Andrew took her into the kitchen for a chat. Ross, Denis and Stephen checked out where the boys' bikes had been, and the basement where they'd indulged in the secret sin of polyhedral pleasure. Jo, still a little rattled from her experience with the plane and Sheriff Wilson's emotional outburst, stayed by the front door.
Her pill timer went off. She took an extra pink one. Just to ease the edge --
"Hello."
Jo looked down. Her jaw locked. Her hands clenched, physically fighting to surge for her concealed weapons. Staring up at her was... was ...
... a small child.
"Breathe," Jo hissed, "breathe, I am in my happy place, no one can devour my flesh in my happy place..."
"I'm Gertie." Ah, right, the little sister, Jo thought. Blonde hair in ringlets, maybe six or seven, big blue eyes. Adorable.
Or so it WANTED HER TO THINK __
"Breathing," Jo continued to whisper. "In and out ..." Okay. Should actually do a little investigation here. Jo knelt down. "I'm sorry your brother's missing."
Gertie shook her head. "He's mean to Elliot and me. I'm glad."
Oh God, she's got a cornfield, she's going to wish me to the cornfield and then eat my braaaaainnnss ... "Ahem." Jo forced a smile. "Do you remember Friday night?"
"Un huh," Gertie nodded. "Do you want to see my doll?"
"Sure honey." Jo looked around. "Where is it?"
Gertie held a finger up to her lips. "Shhh! It's a secret, special doll. I just got it."
"When?"
"Last Friday. It just showed up in my closet."
Jo's smile froze. "Why ... don't you ... take me to see .. . the secret doll?" Gertie took her by the hand, leading her up the narrow stairs.
With her other hand, Jo eased one of her twin nine-millimeters from its hidden holster. "What's so special about it?" Jo asked.
"It talks."
Click. Off went the safety, and back went the hammer.
They went into the Gertie;'s bedroom. The girl already had more stuffed animals than Jo had ever seen in her life. The idea she had more crammed --
"In the closet,. There." Gertie pointed. She gave a little yelp as Jo pushed her back, raced forward and KICKED the closet door open.
Jo saw dead eyes reflecting light, inhuman eyes, her gun came up --
Pt. 4
Special Agent Diane Sullivan shook their hands. "Nice to meet fellow skeptics."
The Agents exchanged puzzled looks, then suddenly remembered -- the public face of the Hoffman Institute was rigorous scientific fieldwork on the paranormal. They tended to report the false claims, and keep the real cases buried ... sometimes literally, in shallow graves. As a result, the net "public" output of the Institute was as a debunker.
Sullivan held Denis' hand a fraction longer than the others. "I particularly enjoyed your last paper on electromagnetic anomalies on radar detection screens."
Denis nodded his head curtly. "An elementary peace of work, but thank you." Inside, his heart sang YesyesyesYEEESSSSSS!
Malloy pulled on his coat. "I'm afraid my partner may have a somewhat distorted view of your work. I have a few friends on the inside of the Institute who keep me appraised. Now, sorry to meet and run --" he flashed a battered laptop, "-- but this is the Vincent kid's computer. We're going back to our hotel where we'll look for any Internet chat or weird cultish files." He turned to his partner. "Sully?"
The two FBI agents left the Sheriff's office. They bickered genially as they got into their rented Taurus and drove away.
"Those two are SO doing it," Jo muttered.
"No. No way," Andrew argued. "Besides, the redhead was giving hug-me eyes to Denis."
Ross entered. He had a familiar bulk under his coat. He tossed a hacksaw down on the counter. "You can keep that," he nodded to the Sheriff. "What I miss?"
"The Feds seem pretty friendly, for once." Stephen turned back to the Sheriff. "What's the story on these boys?"
Sheriff Wilson slid some computer printouts across his desk. "Not bad kids. The Vincent kid --"
"That's where they were hanging out before they disappeared, his house?" interrupted Denis.
"Yeah, he's got a couple misdemeanors on him. He's really the ringleader, the other two are his sidekicks. Nothing serious, but I can smell trouble when they get old enough to drive."
Jo was looking down at the report when Sheriff Wilson added: "Little puink needs a good crack across the head with a 2x4 before he winds up in juvie, not that his momma will take time off her whorin' to do it."
Jo's head snapped up. Wow, the Sheriff had seemed like such a mellow guy, then this sort of talk - he must be angry.
But Sherrif Wilson still wore the placid expression he'd had all along. Her friends weren't particularly shocked either. Huh. Ross ushered them out. "Let's go talk to the mother."
**************************
Trish Vincent opened the door, and immediately Andrew knew what had to be done. Trish was a hot-buttered soccer mom. He was a mysterious guy in a leather jacket with an eye-patch.
"Dibs," he called.
Trish was distraught, but not so distraught she wasn't wearing make-up. Andrew took her into the kitchen for a chat. Ross, Denis and Stephen checked out where the boys' bikes had been, and the basement where they'd indulged in the secret sin of polyhedral pleasure. Jo, still a little rattled from her experience with the plane and Sheriff Wilson's emotional outburst, stayed by the front door.
Her pill timer went off. She took an extra pink one. Just to ease the edge --
"Hello."
Jo looked down. Her jaw locked. Her hands clenched, physically fighting to surge for her concealed weapons. Staring up at her was... was ...
... a small child.
"Breathe," Jo hissed, "breathe, I am in my happy place, no one can devour my flesh in my happy place..."
"I'm Gertie." Ah, right, the little sister, Jo thought. Blonde hair in ringlets, maybe six or seven, big blue eyes. Adorable.
Or so it WANTED HER TO THINK __
"Breathing," Jo continued to whisper. "In and out ..." Okay. Should actually do a little investigation here. Jo knelt down. "I'm sorry your brother's missing."
Gertie shook her head. "He's mean to Elliot and me. I'm glad."
Oh God, she's got a cornfield, she's going to wish me to the cornfield and then eat my braaaaainnnss ... "Ahem." Jo forced a smile. "Do you remember Friday night?"
"Un huh," Gertie nodded. "Do you want to see my doll?"
"Sure honey." Jo looked around. "Where is it?"
Gertie held a finger up to her lips. "Shhh! It's a secret, special doll. I just got it."
"When?"
"Last Friday. It just showed up in my closet."
Jo's smile froze. "Why ... don't you ... take me to see .. . the secret doll?" Gertie took her by the hand, leading her up the narrow stairs.
With her other hand, Jo eased one of her twin nine-millimeters from its hidden holster. "What's so special about it?" Jo asked.
"It talks."
Click. Off went the safety, and back went the hammer.
They went into the Gertie;'s bedroom. The girl already had more stuffed animals than Jo had ever seen in her life. The idea she had more crammed --
"In the closet,. There." Gertie pointed. She gave a little yelp as Jo pushed her back, raced forward and KICKED the closet door open.
Jo saw dead eyes reflecting light, inhuman eyes, her gun came up --
Last edited:
Spatzimaus
First Post
Why is it the people at work all look at me funny when I can't stop laughing?
dreadnought
First Post
Ah, Jo. Always hip-deep in one zombie excreta or another. When will she ever catch a break?
KidCthulhu
First Post
Dead, inhuman eyes. Talking. Evil.
Could it be Teddy Ruxpin?
Could it be Teddy Ruxpin?
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