Straight Dope Horror Movie Game II: The Return

Cafe Society
1

Since remakes and sequels added years later are the movie industry norm at the moment, I think now would be a good time to play an old game again: The Straight Dope Horror Movie Game.

Game Premise: Several Dopers find themselves in the confines of a horror movie. Sort of a story-based game with rules.

Rules:

  1. You may write yourself into/ back into the movie at any time you like
  2. You can only interact with Dopers who are present(do not write in any doper but yourself), and any non-doper/animal/monster/mineral you wish to write in.
  3. You can kill off any doper who writes themself into the thread the thread
  4. Speak of yourself in the 3rd person (too many I’s would be confusing) and bold your username.

To sum up the last game: a lot of people wandered around in a mist, several juvenile deliquents are abandoned, someone decided to rob graves on a lark, someone was bitten by a cursed dog, the Old Ones lurked, several people were attacked by a gremlin, and, you know, a few dopers were eaten. The sequel here will probably be one of those “in name only” sorts considering the body count of the last one.

Anyway…

To be contrary, the morgue wasn’t quiet at all. Instead an indie punk band railed against the futility of society while Elfkin, M.E., bent over a body cooling on a metal table. She sighed as she examined the wounds on the corpse. It looked like something had chewed on the body for a while, which was a bit different than the shot/stabbed/car wrecked/drowned bodies she spent most of her time with. Not that being a doctor had really been her idea. Her parents had insisted she go to med school, and she had, despite a huge fear of injuring patients. That fear brought her to pathology, where her lack of bedside manner wasn’t going to hurt the corpses any.

Glancing up at the clock, she noted that it was finally 11p.m. “Great, break,” she told the corpse happily. Since she was stuck down in the basement all shift, lunch was the only time she could hope to see the resident that she was [del]stalking[/del] admiring from afar. She stripped off her gloves and lab coat, and turned off the light before bounding out of the morgue. Trying to figure out what had made the dead man a chew toy could wait.

However, before she could reach the lunch room, where she could gaze at the hottie doctor, all the lights went out. She gasped as the place went dark, but nearly laughed at herself when the emergency lights came on. “Must be a power failure,” she muttered and continued on.

2

A moment later Lumpy the security guard came by with a flashlight. “Hey Doc, everything ok? The power cutout screwed everything up. I’ve got no phones, no security cams and no P.A. Can’t even get a signal on my cell. I’m trying to get everyone assembled in one area and make sure everyone’s accounted for.”

3

Mr. Excellent had always been convinced that Hell would have indie punk music. Not that he had any particular evidence for this - if asked, he’d have described himself as an atheist, and he had perfectly pleasant friends who aspired to careers in punk music. However, Mr. Excellent was one of those men convinced that the least pleasant outcome to any situation was also the likeliest, owing to the fundamental perversity of the Universe.

Thus, having been set upon and brutally savaged by a fiend beyond the scope of human comprehension - describing it as part man, part jellyfish, and partly a malevolent shade of not-purple would come as close as anything else - Mr. Excellent was not particularly surprised that that the first thing he heard after emerging from oblivion was indie punk.

Gah, he thought.

That was disappointing. He tried to summon a more useful thought. Oww, he thought.

That was better - not a lot, but progress. At least it was appropriate - Mr. Excellent hurt. Great chunks of his arms seemed wholly insensible - he had vague memories of them disappearing into that Thing’s hideous maw - but the areas surrounding those chunks hurt terribly, as if some sadistic violinist (he’d dated one such) had taken to strumming at his nerves. So, too, were his legs, chest, and - ye gods - certain other quarters reporting that something had gone Very Wrong indeed.

Thinking was good. Speech would be better. Perhaps the indie punk could be persuaded to go to some other quarter of Hell, at least for a time. Fuck off would you? Mr. Excellent thought. Passing the thought to throat and lips, alas, elicited no sound at all. Nor, on further exploration, did it appear that he could move. Most alarming, he could not see.

4

twickster stumbles in. Should she don her moderator jackboots and move the thread? Nah, fuck it, let it stay.

Off she stumbles, confused and disoriented.

5

“Great, power is out” Aruvqan thinks to herself.

Aruvqan rolls over to the door of the bathroom and automatically hits the button to open the door.

“Oh for fucks sake!” slips out as the door refuses to open. She grabs the grabber from its spot in a bag hanging from the back of her chair and starts whacking the door with it.

“Anybody there?” Bang. Bang. “Help - the freaking door opener won’t work!”

She mutters to herself about the idiocy of the mechanical department not having the brains to hook the damned door openers to the emergency power systems.

6

Lumpy tried his best to herd the ME towards where the others had gathered, but she stopped short. “Hey, did you hear that?”

“What?” he asked, wondering if Elfkin was going to try to make a break for it. Things like that had happened during past power failures, and made roll call hell. Humoring her, he listened for a moment. There was definitely banging. “I think it’s coming from that bathroom.”

Elfkin looked up at the handicap symbol on the door. “The automatic door openers don’t open when the power’s out, do they?”

“Nah. The hospital didn’t feel like budgetting for that,” Lumpy said, sounding annoyed. He had a whole list of things that pissed him off about the budget, and that was one of them. “I should be able to get the door open, though.”

“Well good.” Elfkin leaned towards the door. “Hey, we hear you. We’re working on getting the door open.”

There was a muffled “thanks” and the sound of a chair wheeling back.

Lumpy hauled on the door and it grudgingly opened, revealing someone blinking up at them. Fortunately she was covered up, which is a concern neither of them had worried about before opening the door.

“Oh geez, thanks,” Aruvqan said. “I had this terrible picture of being trapped in there for hours.”

“Could have been days,” Lumpy corrected cheerfully. “You know how long the last couple of power failures went on.”

“Yeah, but those were during the winter,” Elfkin pointed out. “This is June. What’s the worst that could have happened?”

Neither of her companions had any guesses, so they let it drop as they made their way down the hall.

7

“At least it wasn’t the damned elevator …” groused** Aruvqan**. “At least I could go to the john if I needed to.”

“And speaking about the elevator, how the hell am I going to get upstairs?”

8

Cuckoorex stayed crouched in the broom closet and tried to assess the situation. It was clear that he had blacked out, and lo and behold, he wasn’t the only one; clearly power was out in the rest of the building. He thought about what happened back in Ohio two months ago when he went for a late night shopping trip, and how no one seemed to be able to explain why nineteen people had died in the grocery store that while he alone survived…

9

Meanwhile, across town, Oakminster sits alone with a bottle. And a rifle. It’s happening again, and nothing he can do will prevent it. He drinks. And waits…

10

Oakminster, of course, had been in Ohio when the Grocery Massacre (as the local college kids called it) happened. He had gotten there too late that time; he couldn’t even warn anyone of what was about to happen there. Not that a warning would have made much of a difference; no one believed him anyway, despite the obvious pattern to the massacres in New York, New Jersey, West Virginia, Pennsylvania and now Ohio. The signs were subtle, it was true; unless one knew what to look for it would have all seemed to be coincidence. But Oakminster did know what to look for, and there was little doubt; the erratic animal behavior, the hailstorms, the temperature fluctuations…all pointed to continuation of the hellish pattern he had discovered. He looked down at the gun in his hands, realizing that it would probably be useless, and took another healthy swig from the bottle. The police scanner had been quiet, but that was sure to change…

11

ExTank was kicked back, enjoying the season finale of Breaking Bad, when his cell phone rang. He picked it up and absently glanced at the phone’s screen to see who would be calling this late on a Sunday night, and his stomach turned to lead when he saw the incoming number.

Pressing the receive call button, he simply said, “Yes.”
The gravelly voice on the other end of the line said, “We have a Level One Event in progress. Tag; you’re it.”
“I can’t do this again. I can’t. Get someone else. Why did I ever agree to work for you people?”
There was a brief moment of silence on the line before gravelly-voice replied, “We made you an offer you couldn’t refuse. We’re emailing the brief right now. Get moving.” And the line went dead.

The “Go Bag” was always packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice, so really there was nothing slowing him down other than transferring the brief to a jump drive, changing clothes, and grabbing his laptop and Go Bag as he headed out the door for the airport. Fast transport would be standing by; They we efficient that way.

12

Having left **Elfkin **and Aruvqan at the reception area for that floor, Lumpy then went back down the hall searching rooms. He was just about to check the broom closet when suddenly he spotted what he’d missed before in a dark area: something lying on the floor partly hidden under a desk. Sweeping his light he gasped at the bloody ruin that was Mr. Excellent. At first he quite understandably thought it was a corpse somehow mislaid from the morgue, until he distinctly saw the chest move and heard a ragged bubbling breath being drawn. Running back down the hall he shouted “DOOOC! Get over here quick!!”

13

Cuckoorex had heard the shoshing sounds outside of the broom closet, but he also knew from experience that nothing good could come from opening the door to check things out. After a while, the sound of footsteps could be heard in the hallway, followed quickly by someone calling for a doctor, accompanied by the sound of footsteps receding down the hallway.

Cuckoorex thought back over the past few months, how many states had he been through? Five? Six? Each time, the same story; the blackout, and waking up in a charnel house, body parts strewn about and blood everywhere, and not a scratch on him nor any clue as to what had happened. He started running then, but each month the same thing would happen. He wondered if he might be cursed, but he had never believed in such things; there must be some rational explanation for all of this…and then there were the scars that he found, looking for all the world like bullet holes in his chest…and yet he had never been shot, as far as he could remember, nor had he endured any other wound that might have left a similar mark.

Cuckoorex decided it was time to figure out things once and for all. He pressed his ear to the door and still heard the sloshing sounds, and off in the distance he could barely hear the shouts of other people responding to the call for a doctor. He opened the door tentatively, and peered out…and was shocked to see a familiar sight!

14

Meanwhile, Lost4life was out taking one of his pointless, late night walks. The walks helped him temporarily forget the memories of that horrific night, for what has been seen cannot be unseen. As he staggered past the morgue, he was snapped out of his trance. The morgue was dark. In fact, the whole area was dark. As he gazed at the stone building, a lump formed in his throat; it was happening again.

Lost4life knew that he was the only one who could stop this. He was this town’s only hope. Gathering up his courage, he raced into the darkened building. “This time things are going to be different” he thought as he fumbled through the pitch black lobby. His hands found the opened elevator and he stepped in, prepared to put an end to this madness. The time was now.
Unfortunately the elavator was currently on the 4th floor, and Lost4life plummeted to his death.

15

The police scanner crackled to life, as Oak knew it would. Vandalism at the local cemetery. An opened grave. Candles, blood, and feathers strewn about. Occult symbols spraypainted on nearby tombs. Spray painted. Sigh. Amateurs can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. Only three bodies. Well, most of three bodies. Each was missing the left arm and right eye.

**Oak **drained the bottle, relishing the fiery warmth as the whiskey seared his throat. Then he loaded the rifle. Blessed Silver Hollow Points with powerful magics. Probably not enough to stop the Ancient One. Maybe enough to slow it down.

And the phone rings…

16

Several hours later, the G550 touched down at a small airport not far from the town currently sliding, like a car with bald tires on black ice, towards something not too terribly different from most common representation of Hell.

Tank collected his bags and descended the stairs to find a large, powerful (but deliberately nondescript) sedan that practically screamed, “We’re from the government, and we’re here to help you.” Per SOP, it was already loaded with his personal selection of hardware, but Tank hadn’t survived this long in this business by taking chances, so after settling his other bags, he popped the trunk to take stock.

Mossberg 500 12 gauge riot gun, M-4 carbine, M-14 rifle, Winchester Model 70 scoped high-powered rifle in 7mm Remington magnum, 2 M-9 9mm semi-autos, silencers for same, MP-5 SD, C-4, detonators, det cord, timers, remotes, night-vision goggles, fully-loaded mags for all, bitch box, camcorer with extra memory cards, tac vest, kevlar, foot powder, canteen, first aid kit, protein bars…sunscreen??? who the fu-???..holy water, prayer cards, crucifix, star of David, Crescent, Anhk, swastika (Indian type), etc, etc, yup, it’s all there.

Not that this small arsenal was going to do much good. Oh, it’d suffice to deal with scores of Lesser Minions allright, and for putting the contaminated out of their misery before they were completely possessed, but the really nasty Big Boys would laugh at such puny efforts. Of course, they hadn’t laughed much back in late '90, when one of theirs had been accidentally released (by a curious sergeant poking around a strange cairn of rocks out in the middle of nowhere), and had subsequently ran afoul of a company of M1-A1 Abrams on maneuvers in the desert of Saudi Arabia, prepping for the impending war with Iraq. Of course, all but one of those Abrams had perished putting that old spook down, and even that tank was down to its last belt of .50 cal when it was all over.

As Tank drove out of the airport and picked up the state highway to his destination, he reflected ironically, Well, if nothing else, it taught me not to go poking around in strange piles of rocks with incomprehensible markings on 'em. Oh yeah; this is going to be such a hoot. I just hope Containment gets their collective rears in gear and gets out here before everyone’s dead, or I’m out of ammo. Or the World-As-We-Know-It ends. “Pathfinders Lead!” my ass.

17

Aru starts rolling down the hall to the ruckus, and feels an odd sticky wetness on the palms of her hands as the blood pooling on the floor transfers off the wheel rims onto her hands.

“Sweet jumping jebus - what is going on here?” she mutters nervously. Continuing on, she moves to where she can see the body on the floor being worked on by Elfkin and Lumpy. Wiping her hands on her slacks, she works her cell out of the pocket in the arm bag and dials 911.

18

Cuckoorex had retreated back into the broom closet when he heard the people coming down the hallway toward Mr. Excellent. The sight of that quivering, amorphous mass of - well, of what, exactly? - had triggered his memory. He knew now that his “blackouts” were no medical condition, unless you count possession as a “medical condition.” He’Tgraava the demon (or whatever he was) had made Cuck a seemingly simple deal; He’Tgraava would bring back Cuckoorex’s beloved, Laura, and in exchange He’Tgraava didn’t even want his soul, which Cuck had thought would be the case; no, He’Tgraava had demanded that once a month, he would “borrow” Cuck’s body to “perform certain tasks.” At the time the deal seemed good enough; he had tried not to think about what “tasks” he might be forced to perform, but he would have Laura back, and that’s all that mattered.

The deal, as you might imagine, had gone sour very quickly. In New York, Cuck had blacked out while bar-hopping on a Tuesday night; 11 people had been found dead the next morning at the last bar Cuck remembered being in the night before; he had come to safe in bed and had found traces of blood on his clothing but no wounds to speak of. And then there was the mud on his shoes and pants, and the reports of grave desecration and evidence of Satanic rituals…what exactly was He’Tgraava up to?

As for Laura…well, Cuck hadn’t specified in what condition she would be brought back in, did he…?

19

Aruvqan pressed end before the call connected - it had only been panic that had inspired her to dial 911 in the middle of the hospital. Shaking her head, she gave the phone a pensive look before dialing a familar number.

“Hello?” a wary voice at the other end answered.

She was distracted for a moment by the doctor and security guard’s frantic actions, but eventually it dawned on her that she’d been asked a question. “Hey, Oakminster, have you noticed anything weird going on your side of town?”

“Define weird,” Oakminster said slowly.

That’s so like him, she thought. She and Oakminster had grown up next door to each other, and still lived right here in town, even though most of the kids they’d gone to school with had long since moved away to start families in new places.

“Oh, you know, your sort of weird.”

There was a pause, and she wondered why her old friend was so closed mouthed.

20

"Look, " she started, then stopped. “Can you get over here to the hospital. Trust me, I really need you here as soon as possible. Things are getting past weird.”

“On my way”

Powering down and tucking away the phone, Aruvqan rolls over to the group and looks on quietly.