You sit on the ground, scrubbing the cold stone floor of the Grey Castle, named as much for its cold, lifeless demeanor as much as its owner. Haygarth stands over you, watching as he makes sure you do a proper job cleaning the blood stains that cover the ground, a remainder of the last girl foolish enough to be out at night.

So far, your job has been simple. You have little contact with Count Grey, as you work in the day and sleep at night, whilst he sleeps in the day, coming out at night to hunt, feed, plan and much more. Mostly, Haygarth forces you to work at any job he sees fit. He seems to think you're little different from a pack horse, working you as hard as them. If anything, he's feeding the pack horses better. You see your role in the castle as a servant on your more optimistic days, and as a slave on the worse ones.

"Good, good, put your back into it! Yes, that's it!" Haygarth says, as he hurries around the room, collecting pieces of clothes left over from the poor girl being brutally murdered.

"Yes, Haygarth," you reply, putting your pressure on the brush as you splash some more water to get rid of a particularly disgusting stain of a mixture of blood and urine.

Haygarth is a hard ruler, forcing you to work day and night. He's not sadistic or cruel, he just doesn't seem to understand that you're not an animal who needs a break. Hell, perhaps his only redeemable feature is the fact that he works himself even harder. As he rushes past, trying to do various chores, you can hear him angrily mutter to himself to go faster.

You finish off the stain, quickly crawling over to the next. You sigh as you realize just how much you need to clean. Your knees hurt from crawling around all day, your hands are covered in blisters, and you've done nothing but work all day. You had two ive minute breaks to cram food into your mouth, and one more to shit, and that was it. Who the fuck has only two people to keep an entire castle from falling into disrepair?

"Hurry up, boy! Use some of those strong muscles! I want to be able to see my reflection in it!"

Will he ever leave you be? The bastard can't just let you fucking work, he has to constantly remind you that you're not doing good enough?
> You keep working
"Yes, sir," you mutter.

You continue working, as does Haygarth. It takes about half an hour before the entire place is clean. You look out the window, seeing the large moon rising in the distance.

"Yes, yes! Tonight, tonight is the night, little one!" Haygarth says. "The year of the mule is ready. Now, let's go! We must wake Count Grey!"
> You follow Haygarth
You follow Haygarth along the hallways with haste. You hurry down the stairs, quickly heading to the lowest floor, at the center of the castle, into a dark room, empty except for a single, candle-adored coffin leaning against the stone wall, and a large, black sword hanging above the coffin.

The coffin in intricate, a large, black wooden coffin with an intricate, thorny pattern, and a single silver, demonic face with a roaring mouth with a pair of fangs on the front.

The sword, on the other hand, is somehow even darker, its surface seeming to suck the very light from the room. Even staring at the thin edge makes you feel like you've been stabbed. You can practically taste the hatred and malice that emanates from it.

"Do you feel it?" Haygarth says. "That is the master of the home. Don't be scared. It grows on you."

You feel the hairs stand up on your skin. The air tastes stale and rotten, and there's a general feeling of dread emanating from it. In a place like this, you feel even if you called on the good Lord to save you, he would be unable to find your soul in such an abyss of all warm or love, let alone rescue you from it.

"What now?" you ask.

"The Count needs blood to awaken. Be still. I'll make it as easy as possible. Just don't resist."

Haygarth gently grabs your hand, pulling it forward until your hand touches the metal.

"It... stings," you say, as it feels like your hand is both being put against a hot stove and a freezing block of ice.

"It's OK. You'll get used to it," Haygarth says, drawing an iron blade from his side.

Haygarth presses the blade against your arm, quickly slicing a small cut in your arm.

"Ah!" you yelp.

Haygarth slowly presses your wound into the mouth as the silver demon. Blood begins to pour down the creature's mouth, as the coffin's door clicks open. Haygarth grabs you by the shoulder, pulling you back. Count Grey steps forward. He looks the same as he has every night since the night he took you, except now his lips look parched and cracked, his eyes immediately darting down to your arm.

"Thirst," he moans, staring at your wound.

Haygarth gently nudges you forward.

"The master needs to feed, Samuel. Offer up your arm."

You hold your arm forward, as Count Grey grabs it, his mouth darting down to your bleeding wound with an insane speed. You close your eyes and wait for the pain of his bite, but instead feel his cold lips on your wound, instantly beginning to suck the blood out of your arm. You take a deep breath as you go pale, Haygarth putting your arm around his shoulder to keep you from fainting. After about a minute, Count Grey stops, raising his head as he smiles.

"Good. I was thirsty. The bitch from the other night was dry, and half her blood ended up on the floors. Good thing I managed to stop myself from draining you completely," Count Grey says.

He looks up at the sword that hangs above the coffin, staring at it for a second.

"Do you see that sword? While I like to keep up to date with my weapon technology, such as with rifles. grenades and the new and innovative Maxim Gun, in cases of the super-natural, the old stuff is the best. I've had that sword since I was a child. Forged it myself under command of my master. So many ancient, arcane inscriptions, horrid rituals and infinitely worse had to be done to make it the thing it is today. It's name is the Psychí Líptis. It is a killing machine. You will become the same."

Count Grey s walking past you, and up the stairs.

You stand there, waiting, looking at Haygarth for what to do.

"Follow!" Count Grey's voice booms.

You quickly hurry up the stairs after him.


You scuttle forward for the gun, grabbing it. You aim it at the vampire, grabbing the trigger and pulling it tightly.

The gun explodes, sending you falling back with the recoil and smacking into the wall with a painful thud. The vampire roars as buckshot slams into his back. He grabs your father by the head, twisting with inhuman speed as your hear a painful snap. Then, he turns, staring at you. He snarls, walking forward quickly. You reach for the gun again, but he steps on your hand as you yelp in pain.

"You dare shoot me? I have lived millennia, you think you'll be the one to end my life?" the hunter snarls, before laughing, a horrible, terrifying noise. "You have balls, little one."

You stare at the monster in front of you, trying to stare him, but you see nothing but hate and unquenching thirst behind his eyes.

"Yes... I see strength in you. Potential. I have an offer for you, as the newfound man of the house. Join me. Let me take you on as my... apprentice. As my servant. As my slave. As whatever I need you to be. In exchange for your servitude, I offer you not only your life, but the life of your mother and sisters."

You stare at the monster, whose eyes narrow as he waits for you answer.
> You refuse
"No," you say.

"No?" the vampire asks. "You have more balls than I thought. You're courageous. Too courageous. Can't have you getting brave and trying to get revenge for your peasant father some day."

With that, the vampire grabs your head, quickly twisting it with unnatural speed, nearly tearing your head off before you can even blink in reaction.


The night is cold, dark and starless. The only light other than the candle Mama clutches in her hand comes from the moon, whose once bright, white, inviting and warm light is now deep red, like it's been splattered with blood. You're curled up with your two sisters, Ivana and Lilia, with Mama sitting over you, her candle in one hand and a wooden crucifix in the other. Papa is nailing boards to keep the door shut, hastily trying to give you some extra protection.

It's the Night of the Blood Moon. You've never been through one, the last happening less than a year before your birth, but now, after another twelve years, it had arrived. Your eldest brother, Dornan, told stories about it, stories that chilled you to the bone, that kept you from sleep, that gave birth to the horrors of your nightmares. If even a fraction of what Dornan said is true, the screams should begin soon.

"Mama?" Lilia asks.

"Hush, darling," Mama replies, as Papa finishes boarding up the door and grabs his shotgun from it's place on the wall. He takes his spot next to you, his gun pointed at the door, and you wait.

The screams start soon. Howls of pain and terror from other houses of the town. Ivana is old enough to know to stay quiet, but Lilia soon starts to cry. Mama desperately tries to hush her six year old daughter, but to no avail.

"Sssh! Sssh, darling! It's alright, you just must stay quiet!" Papa says.

Suddenly, a tall, dark shadow passes by the window. Papa immediately grabs his shotgun, frantically raising it to his shoulder. The shadow disappears, and Papa breaths a sigh of relief.

"Scared of something?" a deep, guttural voice says from behind you.

Papa turns, firing his shotgun as the monster speeds forward. It grabs Papa's throat with unnatural speed, smiling as it holds him in the air, strangling him.

The monster looks hideous. It's dreadfully pale, it's face twisted with hate, and looks to be hairless. It's eyes are completely black, like the endless darkness of its soul, and it's mouth is filled with mangled teeth with two large fangs, curved and bloodstained, with even more blood pouring down its face. The creature snarls, before smiling as it turns to look at you and your siblings.

"Ah... so young... so fresh..." the vampire says, licking it's lipless mouth with a forked tongue. "Peasant, your daughters are mine. Don't struggle."

The vampire tosses Papa to the ground, turning towards your siblings.

"No! No! You will not take my daughters!" Father says, grabbing for his gun.

The monster strikes, smashing it's boot into Papa's head.

"How dare you?!" the monster screams. "I gave you your land, I gave you your house, I give you your life!"

The monster begins walking toward Papa, who desperately crawls back to the wall.

"I keep the beasts away from the village! I let you roam the night all but one night every twelve years! I don't ask for your wife, to allow you to sire more. I don't ask for your son, to leave you a legacy. I only ask for your daughters! How dare you attempt to deny me that?"

As the vampire walks towards Papa, his fangs bared, you see a chance to get Papa's shotgun. Still, you don't want to anger the vampire further. Perhaps the best option is to hope for the beast's mercy.
> You beg
"Please, please don't hurt my papa! We don't want any trouble! Please, show us mercy, and we'll remain forever loyal! We never miss food shipments...!"

The Vampire snarls.

"You are a sheep," he snarls. "Look at you. Look at all of you. Weak. Mindless. Sheep. You only exist to feed me. Your lifespan is measured in decades. I've lived over a millenia! I am the hunter, you are prey!"

The vampire grabs Papa's head, twisting it with amazing speed. You hear his neck crack, as the vampire drops his limp body. Tears stream down your face, as he walks towards you. He grabs you by the scruff of your neck.

"You are a sheep," he snarls.

He flings you to the ground where you bounce off the wooden floor, skidding into the wall with a painful thud. Mama tries to strike him, but he catches her hand, yanking her into his grasp and biting down on her neck. She gasps as he tears open her throat, pressing his bloody mouth on the bleeding wound. He feeds for about a minute, as you lie there, too terrified to move. Then, he strides forward, catching your sisters by the hand and lifting them into the air. He flings them over his shoulder like a young lamb, and looks at you.

"Bleet," he snarls, before walking out of the door, leaving you alone.
> The Next Morning...
You only peer out of your blood-spattered house when the sun rises, driving the vampires back like a shepherd driving off a wolf pack.

The village is destroyed, and the vampire's promise is broken. Corpses lie strewn in the streets, in various states of dismemberment. One cadaver in particular stands out to you; the baker's son, who you used to play Knights and Goblins with, has been messily hanged with his own entrails. His face is bloated and blue, and you disgustedly realize that his eyes have been messily removed.

You open the door to your house. As it swings out, it pushes the bisected corpse of a village toddler out of the way. You promptly vomit all over the corpse.

The sound of a carriage rolling into town attracts your attention. Two riders sit astride, dressed as wealthy mourners attending a funeral might. The man nods curtly.

"You're probably quite angry, then."
> You life continues.
A sob racks the woman's body as the grim-faced bishop slips the noose over her neck.

"Please," The peasant woman begs as he pulls it taught and prepares to kick her off the platform. "I haven't done a thing, m'lord!"

"For the crimes of murder, incest, communing with Satan and cannibalism, I sentence you to death."  The holy man's voice wavers at death. Sympathy? Guilt? His face is unreadable, as always.  A swift kick sends her off the platform.

The young woman slumps like a marionette with its strings cut as the rope goes taught. A sign around her neck reads WITCH!

You push through the crowd of peasant onlookers. Some jeer, some gasp in horror, but most shake their head and disperse, driven indoors by the chill and rain that comes with the mountain climate. Your hand touches the sword at your belt, feeling its reassuring weight.

"Father Harrison." you murmur, nodding your head to the older man.

"The sellsword returns," He looks at you disapprovingly. "What brings you back? No more corpses left to butcher for coin?"

You bite back a swell of irritation. "Corpses that dine on human flesh. An important distinction."

He laughs. It's a cold, humorless sound. "Of course. Best to charge for their disposal, no?"

"Dangerous or not, I've still got to -"

He silences you with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'll hear no more of it. Tell me what brings you back to Eden."

"I was looking to get my sword consecrated," You say evenly. "I was told that the Holy Roman Church provided such services."

"We are obligated to, yes." He scowls. "See Friar Jameson. Stay no longer than is necessary."
> The Blood of the Christ
The basilica is empty, save for Friar Jameson, who frets over a golden bowl of what appears to be human blood. Along the carefully-crafted stone walls lie stained glass windows, displaying the adventures of various saints and angels from Catholic mythology. On the far wall is an oversized statue of Christ crushing the life out of a vampire with his two oversized fists.

Friar Jameson looks up as the massive oak door swings shut behind you. He strides forward intently, grimly furrowing his eyebrows at you. He stops five feet away, glaring at you; you can feel his eyes pierce your very soul.

"Hello, Jameson."

He bursts into a grin and embraces you. You can feel your back crack under the big man's bear-like embrace. "Good to see you, you mercenary bastard!"

You awkwardly pat his back. "Y-you as well, Jameson."

"What brings you back to Eden?" He asks cheerfully, pulling back. You notice a fresh new scar running the length of his chin.

"Lodgings for the night, and a Consecration. Been tracking a pack across the damn continent. Pretty sure they passed by here not too long ago." You explain, rubbing your shoulder. You hope he doesn't hug you again.

His cheerful demeanor slips away, somewhat. "A Consecration, huh? Might be trickier than you expect. Blood's been angry recently."

"How does blood get angry?" You wonder aloud.

"Your guess is as good as mine, mate,"  He frowns deeply. "But shit's been  going very, very wrong with the Ministrations."

You're filled with a sudden impatience. You can feel your quarry slipping away. You hand him the leather scabbard, blade inside. "Do your best, anyhow."

You leave the church, then, leaving Jameson clutching the blade with an ever-increasing look of alarm on his face.
> You find yourself some lodgings for the night.
You find yourself some lodgings at The Serpent, a run-down, overpriced inn on the edge of town. The beer has more in common with water than booze, and prostitutes and alcoholics glower at you from the edge of the common area.

You rent yourself a room from the heavyset, nigh-incomprehensible Scottish bartender. He waves you to the back, where you find your meager lodgings.

You lay your head against the stuffed straw pillow and doze off instantaneously.
> You morning in Eden.
The sun rises over the township of Eden,  beating back whatever bloodthirsty creatures of the night lurk in its darkened streets. A cry is taken up in the town square, and it's carried to your ears on the backs of frightened townspeople.

An old woman has been found dead in the night. Her one remaining arm is splayed out to the side, and the other lies ten feet away, on the other side of the street; it's been sucked dry of blood.

From your vantage point in a nearby alley, you can see the church move in on the corpse almost immediately. Two glowering, armored figures dragging the corpse, along with the arm, back towards the basilica.

One of the Paladins glares at you as you as the corpse is transported to the religious fortress on the hill. He appears to give you a silent challenge to come follow him.

You suspect vampirism is at play, but there's no way to be certain until you can manually inspect the corpse for bite-wounds; otherwise, it could be werewolves, or even a plain serial killer. Of course, your sword is still  in the basilica being consecrated.

> You follow the Paladins.
You follow the two agents of the  Church as they drag the desecrated corpse back to their armored fortress. You maintain fifteen feet of distance, and use the crowds and narrow, winding streets to avoid their suspicious gaze.

You become acutely aware of the two massive spears that they each carry; a four-foot hickory rod with a steel blade mounted on one end. You have no doubt that it could crack your head, or remove it wholesale, if swung by one of the two muscled brutes.

They ascend the winding path to the basilica, leaving a steady trail of visceral fluid as the corpse scrapes along the ancient cobblestones.
> You surprise!
The unencumbered brute suddenly turns around, at a moment where you're exposed. You try to scramble backwards, but trip over your own feet. The last thing you see is the armored figure standing over you, prepared to club you over the head.
> You sweet Sleep
Finding the armored grasp of the Paladin quite comfortable, you slip once more into the land of unconsciousness. You go limp once more, leaving yourself a heavy burden for the alleged holy man to drag along.

You awaken chained to a moist stone wall. A pounding headache graces your senses.

"Oh, shit." you say to no one in particular.

"Ephesians, four twenty-nine," A monotone voice chides you from the darkness. "Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear."

Even in a dungeon, with a head injury, chained to a wall, you can't escape the proselytization of  Father Harrison.

> You retrieving your sword.
The restraints effortlessly fall off. You rub your wrists, slotting your thumbs into the grooves dug in by the  chains. Harrison's words about retrieving your sword linger with you; you find it curious that the elderly priest directed you to arm yourself. "Turn the other cheek" appears to have been replaced by "don't die".

You leave the dungeon (why does the basilica have a dungeon?) and wince as sunlight assaults your senses once more. Your head injury flares up immediately, sending you sprawling to the carpeted floor. Curiously, your pain is ignored by the sparse population of friars and monks stewing about.

You stand at the back end of the room you entered two days before. Before you lies the rom where mass would typically be held. On the leftmost side of the wall closest to you is a doorway leading to the upper floors of the building.

A longing strikes you, the sort and intensity of which you hadn't felt in years; a desire for something spiritual, something greater than yourself. You feel a newfound awareness for your place in the universe. Either that, or you got hit really fucking hard.
> You take a moment for prayer.
You sit on the closest pew, and stare at the massive statue of Jesus Christ that dominates the preacher's stage. You bow your head a moment in contemplative prayer. It feels awkward, clumsy and out-of-place, and your throbbing head prevents you from any real introspection.

After a few minutes, you get up to retrieve your sword. Intuition tells you it's upstairs.
> You upstairs
The upstairs isn't as large as you expected, but to call it "small" would be a disservice. After walking up the fifty stone-tile steps, you find yourself in a carpeted hallway, stretching out for a couple of hundred feet in front of you.

Either side is lined with small wooden doors, where the monks and permanent inhabitants of the church sleep. Behind you is the entrance to a library; given as this is a church, there's likely not much in the way of interesting reading, unless you like Latin bibles and apologetics.

Logically, you know there must be an armory somewhere, but it's not up here. You head back downstairs.
> You head downstairs.
You head back down through the central room and back downstairs. The stairs are little more than a darkened stone tunnel, lit intermittently with  flickering torches.  Through process of elimination, you realize that the armory must be somewhere on the subterranean level.

You walk down the stairs, with the trepidation of one who has lived their entire life in a world filled with vampires. Thankfully, nothing lurks in the shadows, and you reach the armory fairly easily.

It's roughly a ten-foot by ten-foot stone chamber, with walls lined with rifles and the like. You find your sword fairly easily, as it's been placed separate from the weapon's owned by the church, on an opposite table. You slam it into your scabbard and buckle it around your hip.

You go back upstairs.
> You pounding at the Door
    You hear a pounding at the thick, oaken door. The three friars  milling about the central room look up in alarm. You quickly approach the door, and you’re ushered back by one of the stone-faced monks.

    “It’s in all of our best interest if that door stays sealed.” he explains in mute tones, not meeting your eye, “A… large flock moved in on the town shortly after we sealed the church. Father Harrison saw fit to leave you untroubled with these matters.”

    “Fuck.” you mutter, as you slowly begin to realize why you dislike the church.

    “If you want to speak to him, he should be in the War Room.” the grim man explains quickly.

    “Why the fuck would there be a War Room in a basilica?” you ask, growing more irritated by the moment.

    “Perhaps,” he runs a hand over his bald scalp, sweating profusely, “It would be best if you allowed Father Harrison to explain this matter to you personally.”

    “Perhaps,” you muse bitterly, “Where is the War Room?”

    “Come.” he instructs curtly, as he walks back across the large room. You’re beginning to suspect that it may be a very long time indeed before another mass is held in it.
> The War Room
    You recognize a half-dozen high-ranking priests and  town officials inside the strangely-titled War Room. They’re cloistered in a semicircle alongside a parchment map with arcane sigils scratched into it. You see what appear to be troop markers, which is strange in and of itself; why does the Roman Catholic church have an army at its disposal? What army is denoted by an upside-down cross? These questions burn into your mind as Father Harrison nods to you.

    “I suppose you’ve started to understand that our purposes here aren’t exactly… ecclesiastical.” Harrison says acridly. He looks strange, armored in medieval chain with a double-barreled shotgun strapped to his back. Gone are the clipped, judgmental tones of an aging priest, having been replaced with the pragmatic, competent voice of a general ordering his troops.

    “No,” you murmur, amazed, “Not much of a Christian operation you’re running here.”

    He scowls. Warrior or not, the expression still fits him perfectly. “Deus Vult, my friend. Whether you like it or not, there are occasions when God demands his flock pick up the shepherd’s rod in his stead. Whether it’s warlike Mohammedans and blaspheming Jews, or bloodthirsty vampires… he cares little.”

    You recognize the quotation from  one of the old historical texts Sir Gregory crammed down your throat. Pope Urban the Second, shortly before the first “Crusade. You’re planning a crusade.”

    “Yes,” he says with a grim smile, “We’re planning a crusade.”
> You specialist Knowledge
    “But… why?” you ask, equal parts fascinated and horrified.

    “Why not?” he responds simply, “We’ve been fodder for too long. You yourself were almost a digestif, when you were a lad.”

    Now it’s your turn to scowl. You’re beginning to suspect that Harrison might be a fucking nob. “Not how I’d describe a massacre of innocents, but that’s one way to describe it.”

    “Semantics,” he mutters, waving your concerns aside  with a sharp gesture of the wrist, “Now, your… unique skills as a corpse-hunting sellsword put you in a uniquely valuable position.”

    “But what would you have done if I hadn’t come here?” you ask.

    “It was assured that you would come here. A job posting near Eden didn’t spring up organically.” he smiles, a touch of sinisterness brushing his lips.

    “But why would I —“

    “You will be rewarded most handsomely, let me make that clear.

    The situation becomes clear. He’s offering you a job.
> You join the Crusade
    You’re not sure if you believe in God or not, but you believe in gold and revenge, and the Church has given you ample opportunity to sample both. Within a couple of months, your knowledge of the scourge placed you in control of a small garrison  in Eastern Europe. To your relief, you were far from the heavy fighting.

    You expected a Crusade, but WWIII may be a better descriptor. Within a few days of the Pope’s declaration, mass hysteria gripped the general populace. Although good, faithful Catholics were more than willing to take up arms, Europe’s resident protestant and Jews were unwilling to fight, at first; this quickly changed when entire hamlets and villages began to disappear into the night.

    Governments proved to be ineffectual for more than the usual reasons; most parliaments and senates had long since been infiltrated. A few dead heads of state and parliamentary massacres later, most of the governing  bodies were left headless.

    As you saw, the  Church fought with little regard for the common man. Those who were unable to fight found themselves out in the cold, and those who found themselves out in the cold oftentimes found something colder still waiting in their homes.

    Some might say you’ve found a grander purpose. Others might say you’re still a mercenary,  whoring out your dignity for gold. Perhaps, both are true. However, with the war raging, you have no time for such esoteric matters.
> You mixed Squad Tactics
    Seven feet tall, if it’s a foot. Blood drips off its curled tusks, which protrude from its mouth like massive, arching fingers pointed upwards. How does a vampire become a monstrosity like this? Gabriel tells you that it’s a result of pacts with Satan. Raziel, the village apothecary, informs you that the vampires have “read the writing inside”, and have unlocked the secrets to transform at will. You’re not sure about either explanation.

    Either way,  the beast is an immediate threat to the supply chain crossroads you’ve been tasked with defending. Gabriel trains his rifle on it; his hand shake violently as he takes aim. You can see him struggle to hold on to his gun, white-knuckled and terrified. The two other men at your position are all in similar states of apprehension.

    The ground vibrates slightly as the colossal horror shambles onwards, marching down the forested road for reasons unknown. In the feeble light of the streetlamps, you can see the blasphemous tokens hanging about its neck, made out of bits of human bone and sinew.

    Your hand touches your own weapon, a plain-looking revolver hanging in a simple leather pouch at your waste.

    You could annihilate the beast right now, and bring an end to its life; or, you could follow it back to its lair, and see if you can’t drive out the swarm.
> You bring it down!
    “Fire!” You whisper fiercely to Gabriel. He complies immediately, violently jerking on the trigger. His shot goes wild, and strikes the foliage behind the creature. A flock of crows takes flight into the trees, blotting out the moon in their frantic numbers.

    The other two men dive for their weapons, and launch a hasty volley as the creature bellows out a challenge. One bullet strikes its shoulder, rewarding the firer with a burst of thick, tar-like ichor. The other strikes a tree branch, scoring its deep  bark with an ugly new wound.

    By the time you reach for your weapon, the jig is up. The creature barrels into your team of saboteurs, sending you barreling into the underbrush,  and sending your pistol flying into the bushes some four feet away. You sympathetically wince as the vampire plants a foot on one Gabriel’s chest, and crushes his ribcage in one motion.

    You shimmy through the scratching thorns, frantically searching for your only hope of salvation. Struck by the back of a monstrous fist, a man begins an ill-fated flight into the night sky.

    Your grasp closes around the revolver as the third man is run through with a clenched fist through the stomach. Hot blood coats your face as he twitches and feebly claws at the oversized creature’s massive bicep.  You scream in agony as a foot crushes your right hand, shattering the bones within.

    You look up, and see the beast   standing above you. The ghost of a smirk touches it’s oversized features as it grabs your other arm and plants its foot on your chest. An enormous force is applied to your shoulder. As the agony grows, you become aware of your muscles and tendons snapping like rope, until your arm is pulled free of your body. Darkness takes you then.


    Seven feet tall, if it’s a foot. Blood drips off its curled tusks, which protrude from its mouth like massive, arching fingers pointed upwards. How does a vampire become a monstrosity like this? Gabriel tells you that it’s a result of pacts with Satan. Raziel, the village apothecary, informs you that the vampires have “read the writing inside”, and have unlocked the secrets to transform at will. You’re not sure about either explanation.

    Either way,  the beast is an immediate threat to the supply chain crossroads you’ve been tasked with defending. Gabriel trains his rifle on it; his hand shake violently as he takes aim. You can see him struggle to hold on to his gun, white-knuckled and terrified. The two other men at your position are all in similar states of apprehension.

    The ground vibrates slightly as the colossal horror shambles onwards, marching down the forested road for reasons unknown. In the feeble light of the streetlamps, you can see the blasphemous tokens hanging about its neck, made out of bits of human bone and sinew.

    Your hand touches your own weapon, a plain-looking revolver hanging in a simple leather pouch at your waste.

    You could annihilate the beast right now, and bring an end to its life; or, you could follow it back to its lair, and see if you can’t drive out the swarm.
> You follow it.
    You decide then to trail the beast, hopefully finding its lair in the process. Silently, you motion for the two other saboteurs to stay back, taking just Gabriel with you. Out of all the village conscripts, you find him to be the least incompetent. That, and he quickly learned the valuable skill of shutting up. Terror crosses the boyish face under a blonde mop of hair, but he nods.

    You creep down the secluded lane, carefully avoiding twigs and treacherous birds. Crows, in particular, appear to be friends of the vampires; you’ve seen many a man fall to startled birds. Well, that and horrific injuries to the jugular.

    You stalk the beast for a good quarter mile, before it stops, seemingly at random, somewhere along the forested road leading into town. It steps into the bushes across the road from you, and looks down. And then, it vanishes completely.

    You move to follow it, and then you abruptly faint. The strings of consciousness are severed, leaving you as a marionette plummeting towards the stage.
> A gateway.
    You awaken in a cold sweat, bundled in rags, and restrained to a bed. You find yourself in a small shack, scarcely illuminated by a few candles. It appears to be held up by naught but twigs and thatch, bound with bundles of rope. Piles of books line the corner. If you focus, you can see an unfamiliar language that makes your eyes water.

    An old man with a face like a mannequin flits about the shack. What he’s doing is unknown to you, as are his intentions. You gasp in horror as the candlelight surges; for a moment, you can see a pair of skeletal wings, extended into the shadowed corners of the makeshift building.

    He turns,  and you wince as you feel his bright eyes bore through your defenses, laying bare your very soul. “The prodigal son awakens!” he tuts.

    “Prodigal son?” you ask as you regain your faculties.

    “I certainly hope so.” he responds with a warm chuckle.

    “Why?”

    “Disorder is bad for research.” he responds matter-of-factly, as if he were stating that the sky is blue.

    “Research… what do you research?”

    His body goes rigid. “Nothing.”

    “Nothing?”

    “Everything.” he smiles guiltily.

    You decide to change tack. “Why did you bring me here?”

    “I didn’t bring you anywhere,” he says defensively, “Gabriel brought you here.”

    “Why did he do that?” you ask. His double-talk is quickly growing tiresome.

    “You fainted,” Raziel assumes his matter-of-fact tone once more. “And I nursed you back to health?”

    “How did you nurse me back to health?”

    “I tied you down to prevent you from biting your fingers off.”

    “Why would I bite my fingers off?”

    “You had a fit of madness.”

    You let out an even sigh through your teeth. “Why did I have a fit of madness?”

    “It would appear that you looked into Hell.” despite the sudden and abrupt lurch  to the unusual, his clipped, explanatory demeanor remains unchanged.

    “I looked into Hell?” you ask, incredulously, “How did I do that?”

    “You stalked a vampire, no?” Raziel takes the tone of a disappointed teacher, or perhaps a parent.

    “Yes.” you sound suspiciously like a misbehaving child.

    “Well,” he explains, “It’s only rational that you looked  into Hell.”

    “Why in the hell would it be normal for me to look into Hell?” your temper flares, before you restrain it once more. He doesn’t seem to notice.

    “Vampires are dead, no?”

    “Yes, vampires are dead.”

    “Dead people go to Hell, no?”

    “I’m not so sure.” you’re unsure of how he’ll take to your agnosticism.

    “They do, trust me,” the ghost of a smile touches his lips, “As an undead species, vampires can traverse Hell if they’re so inclined.”

    “Oh, of course.” he doesn’t seem to pick up on the sarcasm.

    “Do you know how undeath works, Samuel?” gooseflesh ripples up your arm as he glares at you. You realize for the first time that he’s blind.

    “No.” you nervously respond. The temperature in the room must have dropped thirty degrees.

    “God is a novelist,” he whispers.

    “A-a novelist?” you stammer back. Who is this man?”

    “His works are written in blood.” A single tear leaks out of the old man’s broken eye. He ages forty years in front of you, and suddenly seems very small and fragile indeed.

    You begin to shiver uncontrollably. “W-what do you mean?”

    “The Church can only repeat his works. I read too many of them, that’s why he took my eyes.”

    “Who took your eyes?” A surge of dread seeps through you, from your chest down to your gut, and into your toes. You feel heavy under the weight of your terror.

    “They’re are writing their own works.”  he wheezes in pain, as if he’s under duress.

    “What does that -“

    “We have little time,” the strength seems to fade from him, “you must become a copyist to find their strength.”

    “How do -“ Your question is interrupted by his lifeless corpse hitting the ground.

    You wake up on the forest floor, gasping for air.
> You awakening.
    The morning rays of dawn cannot penetrate the deep, unsettling, soul-penetrating cold that set in on you over night. You crane your neck, listening to the individual pops as your spine aligns itself. You look over, and see the corpse of Gabriel in the bush next to you. He’s frozen in place, an awful terror burned into his face for all of eternity. You pick up his rifle, and begin to walk back to town.

    Raziel’s words linger in your mind as you approach the hastily-erected fence around town.

    “Mornin’,” the watchmen mumbles though his late-in-shift exhaustion.

    You rub your eyes. “Where’s Raziel?”

    The watchmen looks at you, puzzled. “Who in the Hell is Raziel?”

    “Nobody,” you respond, sharing in the man’s exhaustion, “did any of the men make it back?”

    He shakes his head. “Nossir, thought they was with you!”

    “Fuck,” you mutter, “That’s a damn shame.”

    “Sounds like you had quite the night, sir,” he remarks, “Sure Father ‘oud love to here about it.”

    “I need sleep.” You mutter absentmindedly, already brushing past the man on the way to your quarters.

    “Don’t we all, sir?” He laughs, bitterly.
> You head back to the church.
    You meander through the makeshift wall, and slowly begin your walk back to the church-turned-stronghold that quickly became the seat of power for the local religious militia. You marvel at how dirty the town had gotten; what was once a small European township with cobblestone streets and small, mom-and-pop businesses on every corner was now filthy, and comparable to a refugee camp. Old fire-barrels and trash litter the ground.  The people you pass glare at you; perhaps one too many brush with looters is all it takes to gain a permanent mistrust of your fellow man.

    Your stroll ends at the church. A sign once read “FIRST PARISH CHURCH”, but it’s long since been replaced with  a small sign that says  “BASE OF OPERATIONS ” in small black lettering.

    The door to the small, unassuming little building has been ripped off, you you move the rubbery tarp aside as you enter. As with most churches converted to military strongholds, the pews have long since been scrapped for their requisite parts and nailed to the windows.

    The church smells of woodsmoke and unwashed bodies, consequences of the smoldering flame and lack of running water in the town.  Fifty or so men are packed into it, milling about in various states of undress.

    In the far right corner, there’s an entrance to back room; this is where you need to be.
> You reporting in.
    You enter the small office in the corner of the church, after shouldering your way through the dense crowd of sweaty, compacted men pressing in on each other.

    It’s original purpose was probably for the pastor to have a place to prepare his notes and sermon, but it’s been co-opted by the local militia,  and is now used as a place for the local  alderman to gather his thoughts and meet with advisors.

    The alderman is a small, grey-haired old  veteran, worn out by  the horrors of a lifetime of campaigns. You once heard that he cut a man’s head off with a trenching  shovel.

    “Was your mission successful?” he croaks.

    “We were able to counter a vampire raid from the usual spot,” you begin, “but we made another, more alarming discovery.”

    “Don’t keep me in suspense, boy.” he croaks bitterly. The old man laughs, then; it’s a cold sound, lacking in mirth and warmth.

    “I collapsed, shortly after I witnessed a large vampire disappear into the underbrush.” you explain, as you begin to doubt your own experience.

    “You collapsed? What’s the matter, boy? The cold finally get to you? Would you like a cup of tea?” his sarcasm is grating, as always. You’d punch him, but hanging from a pole isn’t in your wheelhouse.

    “And after I collapsed, I had some sort of vision, or dream, or something.” your head begins to ache.

    “Well, boy. Do tell of this vision-dream-something you speak of.”

    You explain your vision in excruciating detail. His mask of snark and sarcasm drops quickly, and he leans forward in keen interest. His hands rest on his knees, and you can’t help but notice that they’re faintly shaking.

    “Well, boy, it sounds like your vision-dream-something knows a thing or to, eh?” He grins unexpectedly.

    “Sounds like it.” you say warily. You were expecting a religious tantrum, not a… whatever this is.

    “So he was instructing you to become a copyist,” the man lets out a heavy sigh, “One can assume that he wasn’t intending for you to live the life of a medieval friar.”

    “One can assume.” you echo.

    “So if a vampire can read “God’s Language”, then it sounds to me as if he’s telling you to become a copyist of it; that is, he wants you to become a vampire.”

    “Shit.” you mutter.

    “Shit indeed, ” he responds quietly, rubbing his beard, “Well, I suppose the decision has to be yours, then. Far be it beyond me to judge matters of the soul.”

    “But you’re the alderman, aren’t you going to tell the men?” you ask worriedly. You know the local  superstitions; the second you’re suspected of communing with the devil, you’re one of “them”.

    “Tell them what?” he says meaningfully.
> You mulling it over.
    You spend a fevered night at the church, tossing and turning. You’re chased through your dreams by a winged specter, gurgling at you in a language unknown to you. You run through a shadowed forest like a deer, artfully bounding over roots and tree-branches in the night. However, it isn’t enough, and the cruel ghost is never more than a few feet behind you.

    You awake with a start, shortly before dawn. Not  a soul has stirred. You go outside, taking in the once-beautiful landscape of the small Eastern European town that has become your home.

    And then, quite abruptly, a vampire leaps onto your back, sinking its fangs into your shoulder. You react immediately, grabbing two fistfuls of its dry hair and throwing it into the ground. You plant a boot on its neck before it can react, and quickly snatch your revolver from its resting place. One bullet to the brain and its struggles cease.

    Onlookers rush towards you.  You’re infected. You know that it’s only a matter of time before you’re strung up and left as an example. Even if their intentions are sympathetic, your path is clear; running.

    You fire another bullet into the air, startling the would-be first responders rushing towards you. With a cry of “back the fuck off!”, you run off into the woods, towards where you spotted the gigantic vampire.
> You gateway
    You run full-pelt into the woods, exhausting your supply of stamina and then some. Your lungs beg for air, and your face goes flush as you prop yourself up against a nearby tree. You appear to have escaped your would-be pursuers, but the concept of a militiaman running about as an undead beast will likely bring them back in force.

    You can see the gateway that you saw a vampire walk through earlier. Perhaps, “see” is the wrong word; you can sense it. Like something in the corner of your vision, you know that it must exist, and where, even if you aren’t laying eyes  on it directly.

    Out of options and desperate, you approach the hole in the ground. It’s cold and has no precise dimensions, appearing to you as a  circle of indeterminate radius, shifting and slithering along the ground. It feels strangely inviting; like a blanketed bed in the morning.

    You could slip through, but there’s no guarantee of what you’ll see on the other side. Or, you could stay right here.
> You enter the gateway.
    You step through. It feels as if you’ve just leaped into a pool; one moment you are on Earth, in the realm of the living, and the next, you are in the next life. Immediately, you feel uncomfortably warm. Sticky, uncomfortable sweat clings to your clothing as you materialize in a small dirt tunnel.

    Your arms and legs are uncomfortably close. There’s no room to stretch out, or even crawl backwards; you’re forced to slowly move forward. Vampirism begins to set hold on you;  you feel weakened and feverish, as you begin to die.

    You can see an exit. It’s even narrower, and roughly fifteen feet away. Beyond it is complete and utter darkness. You force your failing muscles to propel you towards it. With a final, titanic effort, you force yourself out through the hole.

    You feel yourself falling down a gigantic hole, down to the interminable depths. Suddenly, you enter through another gateway, and rematerialize on a corn field. If you had to guess, you’d say you’re in Kansas at eight o’clock in the evening.

    You see the Devil standing before you. He’s tall and cultured looking, clad in a tuxedo and clutching a timepiece to his breast. He smiles at you.

    “My friend,” he begins in a vaguely English accent, “We’ve so much to talk about!”


    You run full-pelt into the woods, exhausting your supply of stamina and then some. Your lungs beg for air, and your face goes flush as you prop yourself up against a nearby tree. You appear to have escaped your would-be pursuers, but the concept of a militiaman running about as an undead beast will likely bring them back in force.

    You can see the gateway that you saw a vampire walk through earlier. Perhaps, “see” is the wrong word; you can sense it. Like something in the corner of your vision, you know that it must exist, and where, even if you aren’t laying eyes  on it directly.

    Out of options and desperate, you approach the hole in the ground. It’s cold and has no precise dimensions, appearing to you as a  circle of indeterminate radius, shifting and slithering along the ground. It feels strangely inviting; like a blanketed bed in the morning.

    You could slip through, but there’s no guarantee of what you’ll see on the other side. Or, you could stay right here.
> You don't
    You decide to reject the vampirism thrust upon you. If it means dying as a man, so be it. You turn your back to the gateway, and walk back towards the town. Already you can feel yourself growing feverish and weak, as the disease takes hold. Soon, the son will burn you to a crisp; and that’s just fine with you.

    You put your head to the ground and close your eyes. You’ve earned yourself some rest.


The night is cold, dark and starless. The only light other than the candle Mama clutches in her hand comes from the moon, whose once bright, white, inviting and warm light is now deep red, like it's been splattered with blood. You're curled up with your two sisters, Ivana and Lilia, with Mama sitting over you, her candle in one hand and a wooden crucifix in the other. Papa is nailing boards to keep the door shut, hastily trying to give you some extra protection.

It's the Night of the Blood Moon. You've never been through one, the last happening less than a year before your birth, but now, after another twelve years, it had arrived. Your eldest brother, Dornan, told stories about it, stories that chilled you to the bone, that kept you from sleep, that gave birth to the horrors of your nightmares. If even a fraction of what Dornan said is true, the screams should begin soon.

"Mama?" Lilia asks.

"Hush, darling," Mama replies, as Papa finishes boarding up the door and grabs his shotgun from it's place on the wall. He takes his spot next to you, his gun pointed at the door, and you wait.

The screams start soon. Howls of pain and terror from other houses of the town. Ivana is old enough to know to stay quiet, but Lilia soon starts to cry. Mama desperately tries to hush her six year old daughter, but to no avail.

"Sssh! Sssh, darling! It's alright, you just must stay quiet!" Papa says.

Suddenly, a tall, dark shadow passes by the window. Papa immediately grabs his shotgun, frantically raising it to his shoulder. The shadow disappears, and Papa breaths a sigh of relief.

"Scared of something?" a deep, guttural voice says from behind you.

Papa turns, firing his shotgun as the monster speeds forward. It grabs Papa's throat with unnatural speed, smiling as it holds him in the air, strangling him.

The monster looks hideous. It's dreadfully pale, it's face twisted with hate, and looks to be hairless. It's eyes are completely black, like the endless darkness of its soul, and it's mouth is filled with mangled teeth with two large fangs, curved and bloodstained, with even more blood pouring down its face. The creature snarls, before smiling as it turns to look at you and your siblings.

"Ah... so young... so fresh..." the vampire says, licking it's lipless mouth with a forked tongue. "Peasant, your daughters are mine. Don't struggle."

The vampire tosses Papa to the ground, turning towards your siblings.

"No! No! You will not take my daughters!" Father says, grabbing for his gun.

The monster strikes, smashing it's boot into Papa's head.

"How dare you?!" the monster screams. "I gave you your land, I gave you your house, I give you your life!"

The monster begins walking toward Papa, who desperately crawls back to the wall.

"I keep the beasts away from the village! I let you roam the night all but one night every twelve years! I don't ask for your wife, to allow you to sire more. I don't ask for your son, to leave you a legacy. I only ask for your daughters! How dare you attempt to deny me that?"

As the vampire walks towards Papa, his fangs bared, you see a chance to get Papa's shotgun. Still, you don't want to anger the vampire further. Perhaps the best option is to hope for the beast's mercy.
> You do nothing
The vampire grabs Papa's head, twisting it with amazing speed. You hear his neck crack, as the vampire drops his limp body. Tears stream down your face, as he walks towards you. He grabs you by the scruff of your neck.

"You are a sheep," he snarls. "Look at you. Look at all of you. Weak. Mindless. Sheep. You only exist to feed me. Your lifespan is measured in decades. I've lived over a millenia! I am the hunter, you are prey!"

He turns, walking towards Mama. Mama tries to strike him, but he catches her hand, yanking her into his grasp and biting down on her neck. She gasps as he tears open her throat, pressing his bloody mouth on the bleeding wound. He feeds for about a minute, as you lie there, too terrified to move. Then, he strides forward, catching your sisters by the hand and lifting them into the air. He flings them over his shoulder like a young lamb, and looks at you.

"Bleet," he snarls, before walking out of the door, leaving you alone.


Dad's told you three things about Dawnwood: It's a small town with less than a thousand people, it's a friendly, closed-knit community and it's in the Deep South, between the middle of nowhere and some godforsaken shithole you've never been to. You sit in the back of Dad's Ford, staring out the window at shitty fields and forests.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" your dad says, cheerfully looking out the window.

"Dad, I don't have bars on my phone. I genuinely didn't know there were places outside of Alaska in this country where that was possible."

"Well, maybe it'll encourage you to spend more time actually talking to people, or read. Hunter loves reading."

You look at your nine year old brother sitting next to your, his eyes glued to the screen of a Kindle.

"He's not reading; he's playing games. I told you he shouldn't have gotten a Kindle."

"Shut up, Hazel!" he says.

You quickly thump him in the arm.

"Hey! Hazel hit me!" Hunter whines.

"Hazel! What have I told you about hitting your brother?"

"Do it when you're not looking?" you ask sarcastically.

"For God's sake, Hazel, you're sixteen, act your age! I'm sick of your acting like a spoilt brat because of the move!"

"You're dragging me from my home to the middle of bumfuck nowhere, of course I'm pissed!"

Dad angrily slams his hands on the wheel, losing his cool once again.

"Stop swearing! I had to move here, I wasn't given a choice! The firm..."

"There's plenty of other law firms! It's New York, there's not such a lack of crime you can't find work!"

"That's another reason! New York was dangerous and full of crime. The only thing people die of where we're going is old age or eating too much fries!"

"Fine, pick your job over us again!"

Dad sighs as you pull out your headphones and put them in. You stare out the window as you pass through endless fields.
> One Hour Later...
An hour later, you pull into Dawnbrook, and find you were far too optimistic. The town is a shitty series of low buildings. Hunter looks up from his Kindle briefly, before shrugging and looking back down. You pull up to one of the many, generic looking houses pulling into the driveway.You can already see faces peeking out from windows at the new arrivals. Dad opens the car door and lugs two suitcases up to the door and fishes through his pocket for his keys and opens the door.

"Here we are! Home!" he says cheerfully, obviously trying to raise his children's spirits.

You follow Dad inside, dropping your backpack on the floor.

"I'll begin unpacking, you guys can get settled in or go meet the neighbors or explore," Dad says.
> You go to your room
You pick up your backpack again and walk up to your new room. It has a large wardrobe, a large double bed, a desk and chair and two dressers. You sit on the bed, taking out your laptop, and go on Facebook. Thankfully, the WiFi's already set up, so you can go on. You go down your Timeline, seeing all your friends having fun. Fiona had a party, Dan's now dating Leone and a bunch of other shit's going on that you wish you could take part in. You sigh, and continue flicking through pictures and posts. After an hour or two, Dad calls you down again. You close your laptop and go downstairs, finding Dad waiting there in the kitchen.

"Hey, sweetie. The house is pretty barren, so we're going to go out to eat and I'll pick up groceries in the morning. I saw a pizza place in town. Do you want to go?"
> You say "Sure."
"Oh, good! Come on, let's go!"

You follow Dad to the car, and climb in the passenger seat. You don't even need to turn your head to know your brother's in the backseat, hearing the opening tune of Angry Birds: Stalin's Show Trials or whatever the fuck version they have now. You lie back in your seat and stare out the window as you go through the town. Eventually, you arrive at some shitty, greasy pizza joint, and get out of the car. You walk inside, and find yourself in a Chucky Cheese knock-off. You walk up to the counter and find yourself faced with a girl your age with long brown hair and a massive zit that looks like a red dot sight in the middle of her forehead.

"Hello, welcome to Pizza Corner, can I take your order?" she asks.

"Yeah, can we have a large Pepperoni Pizza and three Cokes?"

"Sure thing. Small, Medium or Large?"

"Medium."

The girl begins pouring the drinks as another, far prettier blond girl appears from the kitchen, holding a large piece of dough. She glances briefly at you, before grabbing a cloth with her spare hand and disappearing back again.

"So, are you new here?" the cashier asks.

"Yeah, I just moved in."

"I'm Lucy."

"I'm Hazel."

“Oh, really? Well, it’s a good town. You can’t find much work except in a dull pizza joint, but there ain’t much here to even spend the money on. Some old clothes stores and a cinema, and that’s about it.”

“Do you work here full time?”

“Jesus no. If I got to the point where I was working here full time I’d dip my head in the deep fat… well, I wouldn’t be happy. Im still in school.”

“What grade?”

“10th.”

“Oh, I’m starting there tomorrow. I guess I’ll see you there.”

“”Sure. If you want, I can always get you a job here. Becca, the blond girl, has literally done shit all since we started. She’s only working so her daddy an think she’s learning real-life experience and still feel justified buying whatever she…”

“I can hear you!” a voice calls out from the kitchen.

“I know, Becca, I’m getting a point across!”

Dad appears standing next to you, grinning.

"Look who's already making friends!" he smiles.

You roll your eyes.

"Yeah, sure. Let's just sit down," you say, pulling Dad towards a booth to sit in.
> Two Days Later...
The school is a shitty building filled with no good kids who are learning about geography and Shakespeare despite the fact that they’ll almost certainly end up in the shitty jobs that are needed to keep this town running. You walk through the doors, a backpack slung over your shoulder.

“OK, it’s not so bad,” you mutter, walking past a row of lockers down the hall. "I just have to find my classes and…"

“Hey, Hazel!” a voice cries.

You turn to find the familiar, zit stricken face of the pizza cashier, Lucy.

“Hey,” you reply.

“So, it’s your first day, huh? Do you know what classes you’re in?"

You search your pockets and pull out a crumpled class schedule, handing it to her.

“OK, we have the same Spanish, English, Math, History… you do Chemistry? Gay! That’s the hardest class!”

“Well other than that we seem to share a suspicious amount of classes.”

“Yeah, I talked to the principal and begged him to put you in my classes… it’s a tiny school, what do you think would happen? Of course we share most classes. Oh look, Carter’s here.”

You turn to see a tall kid with neat, combed hair and an awkward grin bounding over. His clothes are all too small and his teeth are messed up and chipped, which becomes more obvious as his grin widens.

“P-p-pleased to meet y-you. I’m Carter,” the boy stutters awkwardly.

“This is Carter. He’s one of my best friends here.”

“It’s a t-tiny town. You di-didn’t exactly h-have a lot to choose from.”

“Yeah, I guess not. If you want, we can both show you around. Between the two of us, we should share pretty much every class.”

“Except Chem… Chemistry,” Carter points out.

“Yeah, you’re pretty much fucked for that, but that’s your problem. Now we have double Math and English, and Miss Loaves is genuinely the easiest Math teacher to have to deal with. She’s the only one who lets you get books from your locker when you forget them rather than giving a write-out or detention or just yelling for ten minutes. Come on, we’ll show you around.”
> Two Hours Later...
The first few classes are easy. You've always been good at Math and Miss Loaves is quite eager to have a student who actually works hard. Of the class, it's mostly kids messing and doodling with the exception of you, the blond girl, Becca, who worked with Lucy in the pizza joint and a tiny kid sitting at the back of the class who looks as young as Hunter. English is similar, with you being among the few who can spell "Immediately". In the short space of three classes, you cement your position as a nerd in the class. When the bell rings for first lunch, you find Lucy smirking at you.

"You could've given us a heads up you were a nerd," she says.

"I'm not a nerd!" you protest.

"You were doing half the sums in your head!"

"I...!"

"Calm it, new girl. Shit, I didn't think you'd make such a big deal about it. Come on, I'll introduce you to the gang."

You follow Lucy to the cafeteria, where she sits down at a table. You recognize a few faces of those sitting there. Carter sits there, eagerly tearing into a sandwich. The nerdy, small kid is also there, as well as the blond girl, Becca, from the pizza place. The only others are a large, bulky kid who you don't recognize but seems unusually close to Becca.

"Alright, everyone, this is Hazel, she's new here. You know Carter."

"I'm Becca," Becca says, looking up at you.

"Hey, I'm Anthony," the small kid says.

"He's Ant," Becca buts in.

"Anthony, you prick!" Ant says again, but you resolve that Ant is a way better name for the tiny kid.

"I'm Kyle," the big kid says.

You sit down, and Kyle immediately continues telling a story he was apparently telling.

"So there I was, just walking into this shitty pet store that I genuinely think half the animals in were either dead or had a few hours to live, because I wanted to buy Becca a goldfish for our anniversary."

"It's not anniversary. Anniversary is yearly, not five monthly," Ant points out.

"Whatever, stop being a dick and interrupting the story. So I was trying to get a goldfish, when the manager or owner or whatever just stares blankly at me. After about a minute, he says "Buy something or get out", and I ask him what his problem is, and he says, no word of a lie, "All you Negroes is stealin' my cat food". I'm not even offended by that. I'm curious as to how much cat food has he had stolen by black kids to make that a stereotype in his head."

"Nah, s-sounds like b-b-bullshit. I bet you w-weren't r-r-really buying Bec... Becca an anniversary gift. You w-were going to... to steal c-cat food," Carter points out.

"Fuck you, Carter. Where was I?"

"You just finished," Becca says.

"Well, shit, I'm outta things to say. Where's Mason? He usually has something to say."

"There he is," Lucy says.

You turn your head slightly to see what could be the hottest boy you've ever seen. He stands tall with muscles that ripple under his t-shirt. He has short, straight black hair that looks really cute... shit, he's here. Say something! For God's sake, don't screw this up! USE THE RIGHT GREETING!
> You say "Hello."
"Hey," he smiles, extending a hand to shake. "I'm Mason."

He speaks with a sexy, thick Southern drawl that immediately... Shit, he's staring at you.

"I'm Hazel," you smile, shaking his hand.

"Where were you, Mason?" Lucy asks.

"I was talking to Drake about tonight."

"Who's Drake?" you ask.

"Lucy's older b-brother," Carter answers.

"Did you tell him I was going to be there?"

"Of course not. Can't you just trust me? Everything'll be fine. Hey, I forgot to say, I'm going to need you all to chip. Drake's got a heavy mark up."

"What's tonight?" you ask.

"We're all going out drinking in the woods," Lucy explains. "You can come, if you want. You don't even need to drink or anything, it's just a bit of fun."

"I don't know if my dad will let me,"

"Well, sneak out," Ant says.

"Well, I can try," you say.

"Cool, I'll save you some cans just in case," Mason smiles.

The bell rings, and Kyle and Ant swear in unison.

"What class is now?" Mason asks.

"Spanish," Carter replies.

You grab your bag and follow your new friends to Spanish class.
> Six Hours Later...
The rest of the school day is easy. You learn about the history of the town in History Class, the history teacher eagerly abandoning the notion of McCarthyism to explain what appears to be her favorite topic. Apparently, the town was once home to a large tribe of Native Americans, who were promptly wiped out by Colonists. The town rose to prominence due to its large number of cattle farms, before falling into obscurity as the modern age dawned. Eventually, it became the shithole it is today. After school, you take the bus home and say goodbye to your friends. Dad's still at work, so you collapse in front of the TV for a barrage of nearly identical Crime Shows. One features a team of guys who just kind of stereotype criminals, one features some guys who look at glowing stains, one features a guy who knows when you're lying and one features a modern day Sherlock Holmes.

Just as the team find a new bit of information about how the clown's car is full of some... particularly dirty stains, you hear the familiar whine.

"HAZEL! Can I watch TV!?!"

"No! I'm watching. Go play your games."

"But It's out battery!" he whines.
> You let the whining, snivelling brat watch TV
"Fine!" you sigh, as your brother gleefully snatches the remote and switches to the latest cartoon that's far too old for him.

You jump up from the couch, and grab your laptop, binge-watching Youtube until you hear Dad come through the door.

"Hello! I'm home!" he calls.

"Hey Dad!" you yell from the kitchen.

He walks in, smiling.

"You're not fighting. That's pretty impressive," he smiles, referring to you and your brother. "I'll put on dinner. We have chicken curry."

He begins to turn on the stove and start cooking.

"How was school, honey?"
> You say "Shitty."
"Well, honey, I'm sure it will get better. No, I swear it will. Don't worry, it just takes some time to get used to things."

You shrug and turn on your phone. After about an hour, Dad begins serving dinner.
> You sit down for dinner
You sit down.

"So Hunter, how was school?"

"Good," Hunter mumbles.

"Hey, Dad..." you ask.

"Yes?"

Now's the perfect time to ask him whether you can go or not... or you can just sneak out later.
> You say "Can I go out with some friends to the woods?"
"Into the woods? Hazel, it's late, you're not going to the woods," Dad says.

"OK," you say dejectedly, already planning how to sneak out.

You quickly eat most of your dinner before faking a stomach ache and disappearing into your room.
> You several Hours Later...
An hour before you're supposed to be meeting your newfound friends, you go out to Dad.

"Dad, I don't feel great," you moan. "I'm going to bed."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I need rest. I'm just going to sleep. Don't wake me any earlier than you need to."

"Sure, sweetie."

You disappear to your room, and immediately fill your bed will pillows even though it's a bit generic, and open your window. There's a small ledge you sit on, before you go to drop down. You hit the soil with a soft thud, and quickly break into a jog away from the house before Dad chooses to look out a window. You quickly rush away from the house and pull out your phone and call Lucy for directions.
> You ten Minutes Later...
After a long walk, getting lost on several occasions and using McDonalds as the landmark to navigate from, you end up trompsing through the woods, you feet softly landing on the soil that’s neither dry earth or wet mud, but a combination of both. After ten minutes walking, you come across the site your friends were talking off. A fire built from moss dry leaves and branches struggles to stay alight as two rusted pick-ups sit on either side. You see the group immediately. Mason, Lucy and Carter sit on the roof of one of the trucks, passing a large bottle of what looks like vodka between them. Kyle and Becca sit on the other sharing a strange mixture of various liquids that’s ended up a pale brownish color. Ant sits by the fire, letting out cursewords so dirty they’d make a sailor blush as he pours a can of lighter fluid among the flames in a desperate attempt to give the fire some self-sufficiency by setting alight one of the larger branches.

“Oh, you’re h-h-here,” Carter says.

“Oh, Hazel! I’m glad you could come! Shit, I half expectected you to get lost, give up and end up getting a McFlurry and going come,” Lucy admits.

As the sun begins to hit the horizon, illuminating the entire forest golden and orange, you sit at the edge of one of the pick up’s.

“You bring anything to drink?” Ant asks, turning a pile of leaves over to give the fire some air.

You shake your head, and Ant sighs.

“Figures. I’ve been telling half these guys to bring their own drinks since I knew ‘em, but the only ones who do is me.”

Mason holds up his hands in offene.

“And Mason,”

“I always bring drinks!” Lucy says.

“Your brother does, and he takes more than a pound of flesh in payment. Somebody ring him, anyway.”

Just as Ant finishes talking, you hear a rustle among the leaves. Mason immediately puts his drink under his coat before a tall boy with messy hair that looks to be in his early twenties appears.

“Hey!” he says sternly. “Underage drinking is illegal, unhealthy and can act as a gateway drug to the very dangerous Marijuana!”

“We don’t have time for your bullshit, Drake,” Ant complains.

“Why do have to spoil everything, short-round?” I was trying to scare the new girl,” the boy says, tossing a small grocery bag of cans of alcohol in front of Ant.

“Fantastic!” Mason sasys, immediately grabbing the bag as Ant gives Drake a wad of crumpled bills.

“I’m Drake, by the way,” he says to you. “Lucy’s brother.”

“Hazel. You buy your sister alcohol?” you ask in surprise.

“Shit, I was drinking when I was twelve and a quarter. I reckon she’s old enough to make her own decisions. Fuck, in some countries she’d be makin’ babies and runnin’ a household by now.”

“Thanks, Drake,” Lucy says, breaking the tab of a can of off-brand supermarket beer.

“No problem. Right, I gotta go, me and Ed are going out to do a few jobs. I’ll see you all around. Good meetin’ you, Hazel.”

Drake turns and walks off through the forest as the kids around you begin tearing through the bag.

“This all tastes like someone drank shitty liquor and pissed into a can,” Ant complains.

“Oh, b-b-because you brought o-only the f-f-finest of wines and c-cham-champagnes, Ant,” Carter says.

Mason pops the tab of another can, and looks at you expectantly.

“Hey, Hazel,” he asks. “Do you want some?”
> You say "No thanks."
“Are you sure?” Lucy asks. “A bit of drink never hurt anyone.”

“Plus, you’ll be really bland and we’lll be annoying to each other if you’re sober,” Ant adds. “Oh, and… peer pressure. We’re peers who are pressuring you, because that’s a thing that really happens."
> You say "OK."
"Cool," Mason grins, passing you the bottle of alcohol.

You take a long drink, downing much of the bottle. Ant is right, it does taste like piss. Still, you manage to gulp down half the can, before passing it on.

"Shit. The new girl can drink," Ant smiles.

You continue sitting around the campfire, which is really a lot closer to a glorified candle sitting in a pile of leaves. Mason grabs the bottle of vodka and sits down next to you and your heart flutters. A large part of you knows that this is just infatuation and a childhood crush, mixed in with a fair bit of hormonal lust, but still… he’s really, really cute. The others seem bored, with Kyle downing what seems like more than his weight in booze.

“Well, this is boring,” Lucy complains, tossing a bottle in the middle. “Let’s play spin the bottle.”

“No way!” Ant complains. “I’m the odd guy out. Kyle and Becca go together, you and Carter and then Mason and the new girl.”

You blush at that comment as Carter nods in agreement.

“I agree. I d-don’t w-want to play spin the bo-bottle,” Carter says.

Briefly glancing at the indifferent Mason, you feel a twinge of annoyance of all possibilities of spin the bottle disappears as Ant suggests a new game.

“Truth or Dare!” Ant suggests, to the groans of Kyle and Becca.

“Remember what happened last time?” Becca points out.

“That’s not fair! That wasn’t my fault! You should’ve protected your dad’s stuff. How was I do know that that painting was worth a fortune?”

“You shouldn’t have been drawing over paintings in the first place, Ant!”

“It wasn’t skin off your dad’s nose! That rich bastard can handle a loss! Jesus, we all know his ancestors made his money off the backs of Kyle’s ancestors!”

“Fuck you, Ant!” Kyle shouts, slurring from his drink.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, calm down,” Mason says. “There ain’t no issues! We’re all friends here! I say a game of truth and dare would calm us all down.”

“Fine,” Becca says.

Mason downs the rest of his drink, and tosses the glass bottle in the middle. He drops to his knees and spins it, landing on Carter, who lies in the back of the pick-up.

“Truth or dare, Carter?”

“If I p-pick dare, will you… will you make me st-stand up?” Carter says lazily.

“Maybe,” Mason says slyly.

“Truth, t-then.”

Mason grins, glancing at him and Lucy.

“Have you ever kissed Lucy?” he asks.

“Nope. Sorry to disa-disa-disappoint.”

“Damn. I was certain,” Mason sighs, pulling out his wallet and tossing Kyle a crumpled bill. “You just cost me twenty bucks, Carter.”

Ant leans over, spinning the bottle. It slows to a stop, pointing off into the woods.

“Is that closer to Becca or Hazel?” he asks.

“Becca,” Carter says.

“Oh, fantastic. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Dammit, Becca. Fine, I’ll make this awkward. How far has Kyle got with you?”

“Shut up, Ant!” Becca hisses.

“Hey, you gotta answer!” Lucy says.

“Oh come on! That’s private!”

“We’re all friends here,” Mason says.

“Fine! We’ve… you know. Done it.”

“Respect, Kyle,” Ant smiles, holding back a giggle.

Becca goes red, grabbing the bottle and twirling it. Through pure luck or skill, it points directly at Ant.

“Shit,” Ant sighs.

“Truth or dare. I have a lot of embarrassing questions to ask.”

“Dare,” Ant grimaces.

“Well, you have a lot more balls than I though. You’ll suffer from it. I dare you to go into Herr Eichel’s basement.”

“No!” Ant replies.

“Come on, Becca! Herr Eichel’s tear out his throat if he caught him!” Lucy complains.

“Who’s Herr EIchel?” you ask.

“Oh, I’ll tell her. I’ve been practicing this story for my little brother,” Mason says, before clearing his throat. “During World War II, a young soldier rose through the ranks of the SS. He had a habit of hunting Jews and personally escorting them to the Camps. He would hunt men, women, children, and torture them all for information. He showed no mercy. Eventually, when the Russians invaded, he escaped by pretending to be a civilian, fleeing from Berlin to France to Britain to the US. He hid right here in Dawnwood, hunting down any Jews he could find. His name is Herr Eichel.”

“That’s the biggest load of shit!” Lucy complains. “Everyone knows that any Jew in Dawnwood would be scared off by Carter Sr. and his white power bullshit.”

“He doesn’t w-w-want white pow-power!” Carter says. “He wants white p-pride. There’s… a difference.”

“No there isn’t, Carter, now stop ruining the story. Where was I?” Mason asks.

“You just finished,” you point out.

“Oh. Well, now Herr Eichel’s going to kill Ant.”

“Becca, I’m sorry! Please change the dare!”

“Fine. You have to go into the Dead Man’s Barn and go up to the attic.”

“That’s even worse!” Ant complains.

“Nah, that ain’t bad,” Mason says. “Nazis are real and will kill you. Ghosts aren’t.”

You raise an eyebrow, and Mason smiles.

“OK, story time. Once, there was a Sheriff back in the Western times who used his power to wipe out any competition of the big ranchers of the town. One of the small time ranchers, Daniel Edwards, stood up and told the Sheriff he wouldn’t sell his farm to his competition despite threats. The Sheriff led a posse to bring him down, and Edwards tried to fight back. He killed two dozen men and took near a hundred bullets before he went down. They tortured him for a few days, even cutting his face wide open to give him... what'd ya call it, a Glasgow Grin. Eventually, you just hung him to finish him off. Rumor is he still haunts the barn where they strung him up. It’s a historical building so it can’t be torn down, so the owner just leaves it vacant.”

“I’m not going!”

“Don’t pussy out, Ant.”

“Will one of you go with me?” Ant pleads.

“Spin the bottle, and whoever it lands on has to go with you,” Lucy suggests. “I hope it’s Becca. That’d be ironic.”

“Sure,” Carter says. “Let’s do that.”

Ant thanks Lucy and spins the bottle. It wobbles and slows to a halt, pointing directly at you.

“Well, I guess Hazel’s going to Dead Man’s Barn,” Mason says.

“No, she can go to Herr Eichel’s if she wants. Eichel’s just an old, slow dude. The Dead Man’s a supernatural murderer,” Lucy says.

“Let Hazel pick,” Kyle says, trying to stand before stumbling and leaning back on the truck.

“Yeah. Go ahead Hazel. Ghost or Nazi.”
> You go with Ant to Dead Man's Barn
"Dead Man's Barn."

"If you think so," Lucy says as Mason nods encouragingly.

Ant nods nervously.

"Good choice," Mason says.

You nod. The group begins to stand, and starts walking towards Dead Man's Barn.

"I'll... I'll stay here!" Kyle slurs, collapsing into the back of the pick-up truck.

Lucy shrugs, and continues leading the group out of the forest. The group drops the various empty cans among the shrubs as you emerge in yet a bland, empty field with an old, clearly abandoned and boarded up barn in the center. It's a particularly large barn, but other than that it's just an old, boring barn.. The sun's fallen, so Lucy brings out her phone and turns on the flashlight. She leads you to the barn, and Mason grabs the edge of a piece of plywood and pulls it back.

"This is stupid guys," Ant says.

"What, scared of a ghost?" Mason chuckles.

"No! I'm just scared of tripping and getting tetanus from a rusty nail!"

"Pussy," Mason says, rolling his eyes.

Mason pulls the plywood back further, creating a large enough gap for you to step through.

"Thank you," you say as you step through.

"Of course, Ma'am," Mason smiles.

As you step through, you enter complete darkness penetrated by a single beam of pale moonlight coming from the gap. Ant steps in afterwards, looking around nervously.

"OK, we've went inside, dare's over," Ant says.

Mason sighs, pushing the plywood back in place. You hear his muffled voice a few seconds later.

"Go upstairs and open the boards at the window. Then we'll let you out, Ant," Lucy says.

"You're a bitch!" Ant says, thumping on the plywood, before turning to you.

"Let's explore," he says nervously.

You pull out your phone, turning on the flashlight. The inside of the barn is immediately illuminated. Several horse stalls made of rotten wood takes up most  of the barn, with the floor covered in dried, rotten hay.

"It smells like shit in here," Ant complains.

"Hush," you reply.

You spot a partially rotted out stairs leading to the upper floor. You walk over to it. You put your foot on the first stair and put some weight on it to make sure it'll hold. You slowly make your way up the stairwell, reaching the upper-floor. There's a dead silence inside, even the wind dying as complete silence consumes you. You scan the room with your flashlight. You wince as you notice a blood-stained noose hanging from the ceiling.

"Jesus. Is that what I think it is?"

"No, Hazel, it's a fucking... I can't even think of a mocking example. Of course it's a...!"

There's a creaking of the floorboards behind you, and you quickly turn to find... nothing.

"Hazel, please. If you're trying to freak me out, just... don't."

"I'm not doing..."

You feel something knock into your back and you fall forward with a yelp. Your phone flies from your hands. It falls forward down the stairs, thudding before it lands on it's back, obscuring the flashlight and plunging you into total darkness.

"What the fuck, Ant?"

"I swear to god, that wasn't me!" Ant says. "Let's get out of here, fuck the window."

You hear haggard, wet breathing in at the stairwell, and you freeze.

"What...?"

"Shut up!" you hiss.

The breathing continues, before turning to a wet, squelching chuckle. Ant whimpers, as you begin to back away from the stairwell.

"It ain't your night tonight, kids," a deep voice says, each word interspersed with the wet squelching you've heard before. "What the fuck makes two dumbass, chicken shit kids come into a place you don't belong?"

"What the fuck...?" Ant says, half whimpering and half shrieking.

"Sssh... save your breath. I ain't even given you a reason to start hollering... yet."
> You charge the figure
You charge forward, and the figure grabs you. It's arms grab your wrist and pin you to the wall. You hear the soft thudding of Ant's fists on the creatures back, but the figure doesn't even seem to notice.

"Oh, you're going to regret that, darlin'." The figure laughs.

You feel the cold metal of a blade press against your cheek. He laughs as he begins to carve your face apart, and all you can do is scream.


"Dead Man's Barn."

"If you think so," Lucy says as Mason nods encouragingly.

Ant nods nervously.

"Good choice," Mason says.

You nod. The group begins to stand, and starts walking towards Dead Man's Barn.

"I'll... I'll stay here!" Kyle slurs, collapsing into the back of the pick-up truck.

Lucy shrugs, and continues leading the group out of the forest. The group drops the various empty cans among the shrubs as you emerge in yet a bland, empty field with an old, clearly abandoned and boarded up barn in the center. It's a particularly large barn, but other than that it's just an old, boring barn.. The sun's fallen, so Lucy brings out her phone and turns on the flashlight. She leads you to the barn, and Mason grabs the edge of a piece of plywood and pulls it back.

"This is stupid guys," Ant says.

"What, scared of a ghost?" Mason chuckles.

"No! I'm just scared of tripping and getting tetanus from a rusty nail!"

"Pussy," Mason says, rolling his eyes.

Mason pulls the plywood back further, creating a large enough gap for you to step through.

"Thank you," you say as you step through.

"Of course, Ma'am," Mason smiles.

As you step through, you enter complete darkness penetrated by a single beam of pale moonlight coming from the gap. Ant steps in afterwards, looking around nervously.

"OK, we've went inside, dare's over," Ant says.

Mason sighs, pushing the plywood back in place. You hear his muffled voice a few seconds later.

"Go upstairs and open the boards at the window. Then we'll let you out, Ant," Lucy says.

"You're a bitch!" Ant says, thumping on the plywood, before turning to you.

"Let's explore," he says nervously.

You pull out your phone, turning on the flashlight. The inside of the barn is immediately illuminated. Several horse stalls made of rotten wood takes up most  of the barn, with the floor covered in dried, rotten hay.

"It smells like shit in here," Ant complains.

"Hush," you reply.

You spot a partially rotted out stairs leading to the upper floor. You walk over to it. You put your foot on the first stair and put some weight on it to make sure it'll hold. You slowly make your way up the stairwell, reaching the upper-floor. There's a dead silence inside, even the wind dying as complete silence consumes you. You scan the room with your flashlight. You wince as you notice a blood-stained noose hanging from the ceiling.

"Jesus. Is that what I think it is?"

"No, Hazel, it's a fucking... I can't even think of a mocking example. Of course it's a...!"

There's a creaking of the floorboards behind you, and you quickly turn to find... nothing.

"Hazel, please. If you're trying to freak me out, just... don't."

"I'm not doing..."

You feel something knock into your back and you fall forward with a yelp. Your phone flies from your hands. It falls forward down the stairs, thudding before it lands on it's back, obscuring the flashlight and plunging you into total darkness.

"What the fuck, Ant?"

"I swear to god, that wasn't me!" Ant says. "Let's get out of here, fuck the window."

You hear haggard, wet breathing in at the stairwell, and you freeze.

"What...?"

"Shut up!" you hiss.

The breathing continues, before turning to a wet, squelching chuckle. Ant whimpers, as you begin to back away from the stairwell.

"It ain't your night tonight, kids," a deep voice says, each word interspersed with the wet squelching you've heard before. "What the fuck makes two dumbass, chicken shit kids come into a place you don't belong?"

"What the fuck...?" Ant says, half whimpering and half shrieking.

"Sssh... save your breath. I ain't even given you a reason to start hollering... yet."
> You run
You turn and start running the other way. In the darkness, you see nothing, and your foot hits a rotten plank that gives way. You scream as you wall, flying through the air before you hit the hard ground with a thud. You scream as you feel your arm break. Ant screams, before falling silence, as you struggle to pull yourself to your feet. You hear frantic yelling outside the barn as your friends realize something's happened, but not before the figure appears above you again.

"Ah, shit kid. You ain't even one of the old bloods. Some immigrant or Northerner or some shit. Well, can't have you telling the city to have this place torn down, though looking at the condition you're in, this'll be a mercy."

You start to beg as he slashes the cold steel along your throat as it mingles with a fresh stream of hot blood.


"Dead Man's Barn."

"If you think so," Lucy says as Mason nods encouragingly.

Ant nods nervously.

"Good choice," Mason says.

You nod. The group begins to stand, and starts walking towards Dead Man's Barn.

"I'll... I'll stay here!" Kyle slurs, collapsing into the back of the pick-up truck.

Lucy shrugs, and continues leading the group out of the forest. The group drops the various empty cans among the shrubs as you emerge in yet a bland, empty field with an old, clearly abandoned and boarded up barn in the center. It's a particularly large barn, but other than that it's just an old, boring barn.. The sun's fallen, so Lucy brings out her phone and turns on the flashlight. She leads you to the barn, and Mason grabs the edge of a piece of plywood and pulls it back.

"This is stupid guys," Ant says.

"What, scared of a ghost?" Mason chuckles.

"No! I'm just scared of tripping and getting tetanus from a rusty nail!"

"Pussy," Mason says, rolling his eyes.

Mason pulls the plywood back further, creating a large enough gap for you to step through.

"Thank you," you say as you step through.

"Of course, Ma'am," Mason smiles.

As you step through, you enter complete darkness penetrated by a single beam of pale moonlight coming from the gap. Ant steps in afterwards, looking around nervously.

"OK, we've went inside, dare's over," Ant says.

Mason sighs, pushing the plywood back in place. You hear his muffled voice a few seconds later.

"Go upstairs and open the boards at the window. Then we'll let you out, Ant," Lucy says.

"You're a bitch!" Ant says, thumping on the plywood, before turning to you.

"Let's explore," he says nervously.

You pull out your phone, turning on the flashlight. The inside of the barn is immediately illuminated. Several horse stalls made of rotten wood takes up most  of the barn, with the floor covered in dried, rotten hay.

"It smells like shit in here," Ant complains.

"Hush," you reply.

You spot a partially rotted out stairs leading to the upper floor. You walk over to it. You put your foot on the first stair and put some weight on it to make sure it'll hold. You slowly make your way up the stairwell, reaching the upper-floor. There's a dead silence inside, even the wind dying as complete silence consumes you. You scan the room with your flashlight. You wince as you notice a blood-stained noose hanging from the ceiling.

"Jesus. Is that what I think it is?"

"No, Hazel, it's a fucking... I can't even think of a mocking example. Of course it's a...!"

There's a creaking of the floorboards behind you, and you quickly turn to find... nothing.

"Hazel, please. If you're trying to freak me out, just... don't."

"I'm not doing..."

You feel something knock into your back and you fall forward with a yelp. Your phone flies from your hands. It falls forward down the stairs, thudding before it lands on it's back, obscuring the flashlight and plunging you into total darkness.

"What the fuck, Ant?"

"I swear to god, that wasn't me!" Ant says. "Let's get out of here, fuck the window."

You hear haggard, wet breathing in at the stairwell, and you freeze.

"What...?"

"Shut up!" you hiss.

The breathing continues, before turning to a wet, squelching chuckle. Ant whimpers, as you begin to back away from the stairwell.

"It ain't your night tonight, kids," a deep voice says, each word interspersed with the wet squelching you've heard before. "What the fuck makes two dumbass, chicken shit kids come into a place you don't belong?"

"What the fuck...?" Ant says, half whimpering and half shrieking.

"Sssh... save your breath. I ain't even given you a reason to start hollering... yet."
> You attempt to converse with the figure
"Please... I don't want to die."

"I didn't either, kid. It ain't so bad. Tell your grandparents I said "Fuck you.", ok?"

"Please!" you say, breaking into a sob.

"HEY! Mason shouts from outside. "Are you OK in there?"

You feel cold metal touch your throat.

"Tell him you're fine, darlin'."
> You tell Mason you're fine
"I'm fine! There was a rat!" you shout.

"OK!" Mason replies.

Ant continues whimpering, as a gloved hand runs through your hair.

"Good girl... I don't recognize you in the dark. Let's see who you are... don't scream, by the way."

Your hear the flick of a lighter before a flame splutters to life in front of you, illuminating all three of you. Then, you get the first sight of the Dead Man. His skin is grey and dead, his eyes cold, lifeless and pure black. His mouth has been carved open, the cuts carving upwards into a smile. Blood stains his rotting skin and his shirt. He wears a classic cowboy hat and leather duster, and his neck is covered in the deep bruises caused by a noose. Ant tries to scream, but can't find the air to do so. You freeze, immobilized in terror, as the Dead Man grin.

"Well look who we have here. A Ceder and a wanderer."

You stare at him as he caresses the side of Ant's face."

"What's your name, boy?"

"Anthony Ceder."

"I remember you. I remember your people. I remember seeing your great-great-grand mama. A little Jewish girl who ran the store and didn't have shit. You're one of the few families that didn't string me up in this town. I ain't got no feud with you."

He turns to you, and presses the knife to your lips.

"Darlin', you should smile more. It'd make you a hell of a lot prettier."

He traces the path of a smile along your face with the cold blade.

"Don't hurt me."

"Ah, I'd never hurt a woman 'less I had a reason. I don't recognize you. You're a wanderer, ain't ya? You ain't from Dawnwoods originally,"

"I'm from New York."

"Hell, might cut you up for that if I weren't as nice a guy as I am."

"Are you sure you're OK?" Becca shouts, and the Dead Man presses the knife to your throat.

"What's her name?" he hisses.

"Becca," you whimper.

"I fuckin' know that voice! I fuckin' know that voice! I fuckin'... Becca Montgomery. The great-great however fuckin' many greats grand daughter of Horton J. Montgomery. That bitch..."

The Dead Man is clearly quite distracted by his vengeful rant. If there's a time to do anything, it's now.
> You wait patiently
"...that goddamn bitch, I'll... Call her."

"What?" you ask.

"I said call her, you yankee bitch! Tell that Mongomery whore to come in!"
> You tell Becca to come into the barn
"Becca! Can you come in here, please? We need a hand. Ant got his leg stuck!"

"Sure, we'll come in!" Mason shouts.

Fuck, you didn't mean for them all to come.

"Good job, darlin'. Sorry 'bout this, but I can't let any of you kids get out. God, I'm bagging a Montgomery tonight!"

You scream as his blade slices open your throat, cold steel mixing with warm blood.


"...that goddamn bitch, I'll... Call her."

"What?" you ask.

"I said call her, you yankee bitch! Tell that Mongomery whore to come in!"
> You refuse
"Fuck you! Becca, don't...!"

The cold metal of a blade slices open your throat as before you can get out another word as cold steel mingles with hot blood.

"Dumb bitch."