text: [Themes: modern]
  
  You are Johnny Rad, or JR to your acquaintances. You're a short sixteen year-old on the hairier side of puberty, currently sporting some el disgusto straggly hair on your upper lip. You also have an eyebrow piercing, and long green hair. Your name was ultimately a poor choice you made in middle school, and it stuck. Your actually name is Jonathon Craft, an annoyingly bland name. Whenever people ask about your name, you claim it's ironic, and you scowl at them. "Who the fuck are they to judge me?" you often ponder.
  
  You don't have any friends. You don't have anybody you connect with well enough to consider a friend, you simply have acquaintances you surround yourself with on a regular basis. Currently you are in the attic of your large suburban middle class home, which also functions of your room, with two of these acquaintances. There is Dave, who is your best acquaintance. He's really muscular (probably to a freakish extent. His jaw is visible from behind) and both of his biceps are adorned with tribal tattoos. His head is buzzed, as his fascist father made him go to military school in middle school and he was never the same since. You keep him around for a sick sense of solidarity, as you feel like your white bread parents are holding you as P.O.W. He has okay taste in music, mainly metalcore stuff. You think it's a bit too produced for your liking. The other person in the room is Shauna, although that isn't actually her name either. She just wanted to sound more punk rock and you thought that was funny and cute. You guys fuck around, but you aren't really in a relationship. She has quills and dual snake bites. Nobody really talks to each other, you just sit on a saggy couch in your room and listen to your limited collection of records and cassettes (mainly you have just a bunch of Clash and Ramones, which you don't even like that much, but you do have a tape of this one local band called Kyle Massey and the Genomes, which is pretty okay. It's like reggae-grunge fusion, the brain child of Kurt Cobain and Bob Marley.)
  
  Dave is sitting on a milk crate twitching pretty badly because he's only had black coffee (mixed with protein powder) today with nothing to eat (he never really eats), and Shauna is caressing your arm longingly, but she's staring out your window at the pale fall sky with a blank expression on her face. You think there might be a concert tonight at the Revolting Puss Hole (your favorite venue), but then you remember it's 19+ and your parents took your fake ID. Your drug dealer might have gotten parole though. What do you do?
  
  > get some eats
  Dave's twitchiness is getting unbearable and you yell at him to calm the fuck down. He doesn't reply, he just kind of pauses what he's doing and stares blankly and sighs. Shauna turns to you and tells you she hasn't eaten since yesterday's breakfast. Your stomach rumbles and you think it would be best for everybody if you got something to eat. You decide on everybody's behalf that you're going to Helsinki's, a burger joint downtown. You guys need bus money though. Scrounging around the house leaves you penniless, so you just steal a 20 from your repressed homosexual father's wallet. You can break it down at the bus depot.
  
  The three of you are waiting for the bus in the cold of Fall. Why is it so dark at 4:30 pm? The bus is late, and the doors open revealing a very tall man driving with a shiny, bald head, big gold hoop earings, and a sweaty gut, in cargo shorts and a v-neck. You hold back your laughter and give him a fiver for the three of you. He's annoyed that you're a dollar short, but you tell him to fuck off, and you all force yourselves on the bus. The bus is crowded and the shocks are shot, so everybody is struggling to hold balance. The bus driver misses your stop just to spit you, and you guys all get off without a thank you, and walking back to Helsinki's.
  
  Helsinki's is badly lit with florescent lights that make everybody's skin look plastic and gross. The waitress, who has a big Monroe mole, in her late 30s puts out a cigarette and roller skates to you, like the whole 50s diner thing is still in style. It's funny, in an ironic way. That's why you keep coming back. You each order a Philly cheese steak, and receive them with a cup of copy and their signature dirty dishes. Dave says he's gonna be sick, and runs off to the bathroom. You think he might be bulimic or something. You decide to make out with Shauna until he comes back, and your greasy slobbery kisses warm each other's hearts, chunks of beef and processed cheese floating between mouths, becoming one. You think you love this girl.
  
  You are Johnny Rad, or JR to your acquaintances. You're a short sixteen year-old on the hairier side of puberty, currently sporting some el disgusto straggly hair on your upper lip. You also have an eyebrow piercing, and long green hair. Your name was ultimately a poor choice you made in middle school, and it stuck. Your actually name is Jonathon Craft, an annoyingly bland name. Whenever people ask about your name, you claim it's ironic, and you scowl at them. "Who the fuck are they to judge me?" you often ponder.
  
  You don't have any friends. You don't have anybody you connect with well enough to consider a friend, you simply have acquaintances you surround yourself with on a regular basis. Currently you are in the attic of your large suburban middle class home, which also functions of your room, with two of these acquaintances. There is Dave, who is your best acquaintance. He's really muscular (probably to a freakish extent. His jaw is visible from behind) and both of his biceps are adorned with tribal tattoos. His head is buzzed, as his fascist father made him go to military school in middle school and he was never the same since. You keep him around for a sick sense of solidarity, as you feel like your white bread parents are holding you as P.O.W. He has okay taste in music, mainly metalcore stuff. You think it's a bit too produced for your liking. The other person in the room is Shauna, although that isn't actually her name either. She just wanted to sound more punk rock and you thought that was funny and cute. You guys fuck around, but you aren't really in a relationship. She has quills and dual snake bites. Nobody really talks to each other, you just sit on a saggy couch in your room and listen to your limited collection of records and cassettes (mainly you have just a bunch of Clash and Ramones, which you don't even like that much, but you do have a tape of this one local band called Kyle Massey and the Genomes, which is pretty okay. It's like reggae-grunge fusion, the brain child of Kurt Cobain and Bob Marley.)
  
  Dave is sitting on a milk crate twitching pretty badly because he's only had black coffee (mixed with protein powder) today with nothing to eat (he never really eats), and Shauna is caressing your arm longingly, but she's staring out your window at the pale fall sky with a blank expression on her face. You think there might be a concert tonight at the Revolting Puss Hole (your favorite venue), but then you remember it's 19+ and your parents took your fake ID. Your drug dealer might have gotten parole though. What do you do?
  
  > continue to stare at the floor
  Your gaze is stuck on the rotten grey oak floorboards, filled with rusty nails, a few sticking out. You try to make some sense of the grains, maybe making a picture or something but you get nothing. This would have been a lot more fun with some pot or something. Shauna wants to kiss, and asks if you actually want to do something, and you just lift a finger and say "shh. I'm focusing" and you continue to stare. The Rocket to Russia album is over, but the needle keeps playing the last note or two over and over. Everybody is too lazy or apathetic to actually turn off the record player or change the record. The wood isn't changing. Your life isn't changing. You realize that this is all your life is going to amount to. You decide to eat an anti-depressant you stole from your sister Terri's underwear drawer.
  
  "Fuck," you utter.
  
  You are Johnny Rad, or JR to your acquaintances. You're a short sixteen year-old on the hairier side of puberty, currently sporting some el disgusto straggly hair on your upper lip. You also have an eyebrow piercing, and long green hair. Your name was ultimately a poor choice you made in middle school, and it stuck. Your actually name is Jonathon Craft, an annoyingly bland name. Whenever people ask about your name, you claim it's ironic, and you scowl at them. "Who the fuck are they to judge me?" you often ponder.
  
  You don't have any friends. You don't have anybody you connect with well enough to consider a friend, you simply have acquaintances you surround yourself with on a regular basis. Currently you are in the attic of your large suburban middle class home, which also functions of your room, with two of these acquaintances. There is Dave, who is your best acquaintance. He's really muscular (probably to a freakish extent. His jaw is visible from behind) and both of his biceps are adorned with tribal tattoos. His head is buzzed, as his fascist father made him go to military school in middle school and he was never the same since. You keep him around for a sick sense of solidarity, as you feel like your white bread parents are holding you as P.O.W. He has okay taste in music, mainly metalcore stuff. You think it's a bit too produced for your liking. The other person in the room is Shauna, although that isn't actually her name either. She just wanted to sound more punk rock and you thought that was funny and cute. You guys fuck around, but you aren't really in a relationship. She has quills and dual snake bites. Nobody really talks to each other, you just sit on a saggy couch in your room and listen to your limited collection of records and cassettes (mainly you have just a bunch of Clash and Ramones, which you don't even like that much, but you do have a tape of this one local band called Kyle Massey and the Genomes, which is pretty okay. It's like reggae-grunge fusion, the brain child of Kurt Cobain and Bob Marley.)
  
  Dave is sitting on a milk crate twitching pretty badly because he's only had black coffee (mixed with protein powder) today with nothing to eat (he never really eats), and Shauna is caressing your arm longingly, but she's staring out your window at the pale fall sky with a blank expression on her face. You think there might be a concert tonight at the Revolting Puss Hole (your favorite venue), but then you remember it's 19+ and your parents took your fake ID. Your drug dealer might have gotten parole though. What do you do?
  
  > find out where your drug dealer is
  You scan the floor to find where the hell your telephone is, and you groan as you get up from your couch, which springs wheeze. You lumber over to the dust laden phone and call up Marky. It rings for about two minutes, but you persevere.
  
  "Marky, I hear your cousin is out of jail. Can we score some pot now?"
  
  "You heard a dirty fucking lie, Johnny Rad! Johnny Rad, stay the fuck out of our business, you NARC. We know you're a dirt rat working for the cops. That's what Franklyn told me!", he says rather angrily. You decide not to fight back since he's spewing bullshit anyways. I guess you're going potless tonight. You say thanks and hang up the phone.[Themes: horror, zombie, serious, puzzle, humor]
  
  As a child, I was always told, Everygood story has a beginning, Well this is my beginning, alteast... I think so... It's so hard to tell now.
  
  *** Note in this story I encourage you to either play thru more then once or Press the Go back Button, Mainley because you will either die alot, Or miss out on some of the funnier/ more serious aspects.***
  
  This is my first story, be kind in your ratings.
  
  [Author's Note: A man is Trapped inside his own home, Will he ever Escape? You play the man.You are the demon, then you become a zombie. Ok but seriously a nice Beginners Puzzle game, Don' t think It's a game for beginners but A game made by a beginner... Has some cursing and adult material, Mostly Death related.]
  
  > The Story
  Well, anyway here is how it happened, I was one day, Sitting around the the t.v. With my wife, when we saw this well... Leak in the uhm... Walls... Everyone thought we were insane! but to be honest I was a little to sure it was a real ghost ... Considering I am a ghost hunter for a profession it was kind of weird to never see one, and I thought this was gonna be my big moment. Well after a few weeks more things started to happen, My wife went to go live with her sister... I was sad about this but I knew it was for the best, the weak minded are always seeking to leave a situation they don't understand.
  
  > Choices...Choices...
  So I had to come up with a game plan, I mean Really... How could a ghost hunter go into this and not think WOW!!! A REAL GHOST!! well My initial plan was to....
  
  > search the house.
  I began A thourough search of the house, starting in the most obvious place... the Basement, Well as I made my way thru the tricky steps and the WEAVING catacombs of junk, I found what looked like a splatter of blood dripping from a pipe, that to be honest I never even seen before, and when we bought the house me and the wife hired a plumber to attempt to teach us how to fix the plumbing on our own as long as we called him in for monthly inspections... I came out of it more confused then ever, But I did spend enough time looking at all the damn pipes and nodding my head to know them all like the back of my hand. It was at that time that I decided to...
  
  > unscrew the Pipe
  I began to unscrew the pipe... and well.. let me tell you something theres a reason Plumbers turn off the water before they start there work... Probally so they don't get a wrench stuck in there head... so uhm yeah... I forgot to turn the water off... Heaven isn't so bad though... Atleast I get all the drugs I want... Nothing to make you forget whats going on like a little acid.