Title: Stolen Away
Fandom: Scratches: An author trying to write the follow-up to his smash debut novel moves out to an old mansion in the English countryside. It makes a lot of weird noises. And he must discover what exactly happened there.
Taunt: My fandom actually scared my sister!
He was crazy to attempt this, even at night. The tribe was sound asleep, to be sure, but the slightest noise could spell death if even one person awoke. He had seen first hand what these people were capable of.
He had witnessed their fury with his own eyes, having seen them actually tear a man apart with no weapons or tools save their collective hands. He was fully aware of what they could do.
And he knew their feelings towards this mask. It was their deity, their god.
If he was caught, then James Blackwood would be little more than a forgotten notch in the belt of history. He would never make it back to England alive or in pieces; he had no illusions about that.
This was, quite possibly, the most ludicrous thing he had ever even attempted. The risks and the penalties far outweighed any possible gains he could potentially achieve for doing this. He couldn't even imagine what gains there could be! But…
That mask. That damnable mask. A mask made of wood and painted in simple colors. The god of this village, of this barbaric people. It was nothing truly special or spectacular to look at.
And yet here he was, creeping into a village of brutal warriors to steal it. Something about it had captivated him, had kept him thinking about it longer after that man's gruesome death in its presence. He had been unable to push the mask from his mind. An obsession had formed in mere moments.
The mask sat before him now, nestled into the pedestal where it held pride of place in the village. The eyes seemed to stare right back at him. He couldn't decide what its look was. It might have been amused at his gall. It might have been interested to see what he was goin to do next. It might have been challenging him to go ahead with his plan.
James' steps slowed as he approached, though he could not quite say for what reason that was. Was it reverance? Or was it fear?
He stopped an arm's length away. There really was no time for hesitation, though. Every second he stood here was one second closer to someone waking up, realizing that something was wrong, discovering him, and…
The consequences would doubtlessly be horrific.
Now was not the time for indecision. Now was the time for action. He reached up with trembling hands…
And he took the mask from its pedestal.
The next few moments were a blur. James had not even realized that he was running until he had gone a fair distance and could no longer see the village. It was then that he slowed to a stop, panting and gasping for air. His hands were still shaking dreadfully, even as they clutched at his prize.
James looked down at the mask, clutched tightly in his fingers. It seemed to look back at him.
He had done it. He had taken the mask. It was his now.
But how strange it was, he thought as he gazed at it. He was alone in the jungle right now, probably very near his camp. There was no one around to be making any sounds.
Yet he could have sworn he heard low laughter coming from nowhere and yet everywhere at all. It sounded anything but friendly. It sounded evil.
Again, his eyes fixated on the mask.
What had he just brought down upon himself?
PS. Scratches is a horror game for the PC. It's a very interesting game, and definitely creepy. I think the taunt on this fic puts it best: my sister is afraid of nothing (except maybe spiders). While she was playing this game, even she remarked that it was really, really creepy. And then an enormous blast of speaker interference honked into the room. We both ran out screaming.
I know this game has a following, but there doesn't seem to be much for fandom. So I'll be the first! Thanks for reading! Much love!