#mr. macabre

[thegraveyardsh1ft]

So I was wondering... can we, like, macabre mart-ify/graveyard shift-ify other horror protags? Because I've been getting back into older and newer horror games, and I now have the temptation to slap a nametag on their protags and send them to retail hell.

That is...

...a 𝒲ℴ𝓃𝒹ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓊𝓁 idea~!!

Why didn't I think of taking advantage of these s 𝙾̰𝚞̰𝚝̰𝚜̰𝚘̰𝚞̰𝚛̰𝚌̰𝚒̰𝚗̰𝚐̰ 𝚏̰𝚘̰𝚛̰ 𝚗̰𝚎̰𝚠̰ 𝚎̰𝚖̰𝚙̰𝚕̰𝚘̰𝚢̰𝚎̰𝚎̰𝚜̰~???

This world really provides amazing suggestions from such lovely customers~

Well, you got 🅼Ⓡ. 🅼Ⓐ🅲Ⓐ🅱Ⓡ🅴's approval~ Feel free to share your little employee suggestions! Maybe they'll show up in 𝓜𝓪𝓬𝓪𝓫𝓻���� 𝓜𝓪𝓻𝓽 someday~

...

ᴵ ᴶᵁˢᵀ ᴴᴬⱽᴱ ᴼᴺᴱ ᵀᴱᴱᴺʸ ᵀᴵᴺʸ ᴿᴱᵠᵁᴱˢᵀ...

T̫͒̀̎͌̅h̷̉͘e͑̚_̷̗̄y̧̛͍̘ͬ͞ c͇ͯ͢͝a̴͉͙͌̒̅̿n̤̳̎̀̾̌ń̷̵̔ō̴̢̝̣͔̿ț i͓̍̄͟nt͓̆͐̚ͅȩ͚͂̂́r̘͍ͣͭ̊ͯf̰̝ͦ́ͥͤ̅e̡̨̮͇r͙̀e͚̰̥̽̾ w̿iͩ͞t̴̠̍͐̕h̷ ẇ̎͢͡_̈́ͯhͮa̺̥̤̮̾ͧt�� I̻͒͡ͅ ha͍̬ͮv̄ͮe̙͉̒̎͒͠ p̺͌l̞̼̼͉ͦͅa̭̗̦͜n̶͖͑̓ṋ͚ͬ̆̕ę̴̶̤͐̌̑d̋͒_͖͓͠ f̗ͥ̎o̙ͅr͙̖̼͖ͩ̀ t̷hȯ̼͂s̶̯̻͂̀̀̉ẻ_̧͉̎̔̕ b̷̺̉o̡͖̳ͦ̄y̺̲̣͇̐ŝ̛ͭ̇̉͑.̘̘ͣ̑.͟.̻͚͈̩̅̾̕

(see details down below)

[astralportalmultidimensional]

Mr Stitch.

[vertigoartgore]

1984's Moon Knight Vol.1 #38 cover by Michael Kaluta.

[schlock-luster-video]

On December 10, 1993, The Tingler. Mr. Sardonicus, Macabre, and 13 Ghosts were screened on MonsterVision.

[patricktsao]

There's no way I'm getting another Fall of the Crow today, so instead here's another for Repostober. This is "St. Cerise's Offering", a personal piece that doubles as fanart for Fallen London. More tomorrow.

[bumps-in-the-night]

I’ve started “Dracula: The Danse Macabre,” a Dracula adaptation in podcast form by Gabriel Urbina. I’m a big podcast fan and I love Wolf 359, so I have high hopes for this. I might do a comparison to Dracula (the novel) like I did for Nosferatu.

[sardinedweeb]

”Suddenly I stop, and I know it’s too late. I’m lost in a forest…..all alone.”

Sorry for the art spam, but I rlly wanted to show this fanart of @woomymatsu’s Ryuu AU from December/January. This is probably one of my best pieces of all time. 🐉 🐲✨💙 Go check him out! He has some of the best art I’ve ever seen.

[macabre-noir]

Trevor Dunn, 1995

[shanxpennywise]

The X-Files: Mr Chuckleteeth (Reupload.)

[thegraveyardsh1ft]

~~Attention Macabre Mart Shoppers~~

After ███████ , we finally have the return of our beloved mascot, ЯOЯЯƎ ЯOЯЯƎ ЯOЯЯƎ Mr. Macabre! Be sure to be on a lookout for his cute little face promoting our amazing deals~

Rest assured, our beloved 𝗢⃥𝘞̸𝗡⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥ is looking into the sudden disappearance of the Front End staff members. 𝗔⃥𝘯̸𝗱⃥ 𝗽⃥𝘳̸𝗼⃥𝘱̸𝗲⃥𝘳̸ 𝘱̸𝘂⃥𝘯̸𝗶⃥𝘴̸𝗵⃥𝘮̸𝗲⃥𝘯̸𝘁⃥ 𝘄⃥𝘪̸𝗹⃥𝘭̸ 𝘣̸𝗲⃥ 𝗲⃥𝘯̸𝗳⃥𝘰̸𝗿⃥𝘤̸𝗲⃥𝘥̸ 𝘧̸𝗼⃥𝘳̸ 𝘵̸𝗵⃥𝘦̸ 𝘮̸𝗮⃥𝘴̸𝘀⃥𝘪̸𝘃⃥𝘦̸ 𝘥̸𝗲⃥𝘭̸𝗮⃥𝘺̸𝘀⃥ 𝗰⃥𝘢̸𝘂⃥𝘴̸𝗲⃥𝘥̸ 𝘣̸𝘆⃥ 𝘁⃥𝘩̸𝗶⃥𝘴̸ 𝘪̸𝗻⃥𝘤̸𝗼⃥𝘯̸𝘃⃥𝘦̸𝗻⃥𝘪̸𝗲⃥𝘯̸𝗰⃥𝘦̸…⃥

For now, enjoy 40% off in our 𝗗⃫⃥⃞ 𝗘⃫⃥⃞ 𝗔⃫⃥⃞ 𝗗⃫⃥⃞ Technology and Toy Departments*

*On select items and while employees are still alive

[theygotlost]

FIG. I

Authorities report the grisly and unforeseen murders of Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald Stonecastle, discovered in their home at dawn this morning. The whereabouts of their only heir, seventeen years of age, are unknown as no body of the youth was found. Our readers may be hasty to conclude the case a patricide, but one constable on the scene made the rather troublesome remark that the bodies were subject to such violent dismemberment he theorized the deaths were not the work of man but a sort of mad beast, or even the Devil himself. Funeral services for the Stonecastles will be held this Saturday at Dorsey Cemetery. As the investigation continues, the authorities welcome all information regarding Mstr. Stonecastle, or any additional suspicious characters or unruly animals.

— The Dorsey Hill Evening Post, November 1894

FIG. II

This issue marks sixth months following the grim and infamous deaths of one Stonecastle family in Dorsey Hill. Eight deceased have subsequently been found about the city in a similar unfortunate state to the Stonecastles: mauled and masticated, marked by animal's claws and teeth as if attacked by a particularly sizable mad dog. Should one visit the city today, he will hear rumors of a curious creature that feasts on persons caught out of doors late at night— but only under the light of a full moon. The physical attributes of the so-called "Butcher-Beast of Dorsey Hill" remain an enigma as eyewitness reports greatly conflict with one another. Notwithstanding, Dorsey Hill authorities advise citizens to navigate the streets with utmost prudence until the Butcher-Beast is apprehended.

— The Northside Oddities Report, May 1895

FIG. III

Mstr. Oleander D'Fleur, youngest-born son of Sir Hawthorne D'Fleur, has been reported missing to the authorities after disappearing from the family estate two nights prior. Sir D'Fleur has promised a sum of ten thousand dollars to any person able to locate his son and provide a safe return home in a timely fashion.

— The Dorsey Hill Tribune, March 1899

FIG. IV

In recent weeks, various sightings of a macabre apparition have been reported on the outskirts of the small northern town of Rembrandt. Witnesses describe "a figure with no face" wandering about the municipal cemetery. The more detailed testimonies describe a dark-haired man clad head to toe in black— or by some accounts a woman in a black dress— with flesh rent from the face such as to expose the underlying bone and sinews. When asked for comment, the cemetery's resident undertaker replied, "Cemetery hours are from dawn to dusk. Now won't you go away? Please don't hurt me."

— The Northside Oddities Report, August 1899

non-eviscerated family portrait

[schlock-luster-video]

Day 14 of Inktober!

Today's prompt is "Castle," so here’s a new sketch of one of my favorite campy directors, William Castle!

[cityofmeliora]

Nihil & Marika's family is from Transylvania 🇭🇺🇷🇴

before the Sister Imperator comics released, i was the #1 champion of the "Nihil is American and his accent is fake" headcanon, based on the information we had at the time– the fact that the band was started in Los Angeles and Nihil has an American accent in the Dance Macabre music video.

but with the release of the Sister Imperator comics, it's revealed Nihil and his family are actually from Europe, and while it's not explicitly said that they're Transylvanian, there are a lot of hints that this is the case.

even before the comics, though, i already knew that the Papas' accent was actually always intended to be a Transylvanian accent (though it's really more of just a Dracula accent). Alan Ursillo, the actor who plays Papa Nihil, has said in an interview that he was specifically asked to do a "Transylvanian accent".

INTERVIEWER: The accent– was that your choice? Was that Tobias? Where did that accent come from? 'Cause it's distinctive; it's perfect. People try to mimic it all the time, the "Seestor", you know, kind of thing. It's adorable. […] ALAN URSILLO: Yes, that's an accent that was given to me to do. So uh, you know, I– there was a lot of guys who interviewed for this. And when they came to me to say "Will you interview for a band and be this character?", I said "Sure." And they said "Well here's the accent you need to do." And I said "OK." And they said "OK, can you do it in Latin?" And so I said "Sure." I'm raised Catholic, so the Latin was easy. So you know, here I am doing my Latin-Transylvania accent. And they went, "You're in." Clergy Talk Podcast interview with Alan Ursillo (Papa Nihil) (July 5, 2024)

anyway. in the comics, it's revealed that Sister Imperator was an American from Hartford, Connecticut, but she left the country and traveled to Europe when she was a teenager. she initially landed in Germany, but ended up "Somewhere in Eastern Europe" after being adopted by a touring circus family– the family of Marika (who later became Mr. Psaltarian's wife) and Nihil.

Marika tells Sister that she has four brothers, and while Nihil is still unnamed as of issue #2, it's revealed that one of their other brothers is named Farkus.

the names Marika (a diminutive of Maria) and Farkas (meaning 'wolf') are both Hungarian in origin (though 'Farkus' is an anglicized spelling of it), so it would seem that they are ethnic Hungarians.

however, they're not shown speaking Hungarian, and Marika calls their dad "tata", which isn't used by Hungarian speakers. "tata" is used for 'dad' in Romanian, though.

and if they're ethnic Hungarians who speak Romanian, it's almost certain that their family is from Transylvania.

i'm not going to explain the full history of Transylvania here, but basically, Transylvania was historically a region of Hungary until it became part of Romania in the early 1900s (only a few decades before Nihil and Marika were born), and it still has a large ethnic Hungarian population today.

so... yeah! i used to think Nihil's family was American and his accent was fake, but now the lore shows that his family is actually European and they are most likely Transylvanian!

[yan-lorkai]

-- A/N: Lowkey I love his eyes, every single time that his eyes are showing I'm like ooo cute, beautiful eyes you have there, mr! First time I read it on the manga I was jumping and giggling fr, so I wrote this hehe <3

Undertaker has very beautiful eyes. They are like deep pits where shadows dance in a macabre symphony.

His eyes oscillate between being your safe haven and your worst nightmare. When he's kind, his eyes shine like two giant sunlit emeralds, he tells jokes to make you laugh and he bakes you some cookies. His touch is soft, gentle as if you were a work of art he doesn't want to destroy, don't want to taint with his hands.

But sometimes his eyes are like a deep foreshadowing of a promise of regret and guilt that will bloom in your chest if you do something wrong. Facing them is like challenging an endless abyss, feeling your own soul being pulled into the darkness that inhabited those green eyes.

"Sometimes I feel like you love my eyes more than you love me, darling." He laughs when he notices you staring at him again, mesmerized, analytical. But you couldn't help it.

Every time you found yourself before those eyes, there was no fear for you knew he would never hurt you, just a strange fascination that compelled you to dive deeper into that ocular abyss.

"Uh, well, they're so beautiful!" You replied, a little shy. "Beautiful things deserved to be stared and loved. Don't you agree?"

He tilted his head, thinking. A smile graced his lips as if he found something very amusing.

"Indeed!" He murmured in a singsong tone. "But be wary, my dear. Beauty can often conceal darkness and not all that is beautiful is meant to be loved."

He leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming as he took hold of your face, holding it gently in his heads while his thumbs caressed your cheeks. "Remember that and you'll navigate this world with more clarity than most, hehehe."

As Undertaker's words lingered in the air, you felt a shiver crawl down your spine, there he go again, saying strange things that sometimes scared you. Really, your lover must be very happy to scare and then comfort you.

"But beauty's still worth admiring, even if it's got a few skeletons in the closet, right?" Undertaker chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement at your carefree attitude and he nodded.

He pulls you close, letting you rest your head on his chest as you intertwine your hands together. "Regardless, your eyes are still pretty and I don't care about any danger or darkness if I have you by my side."

[nana-mania]

"PAIN FORGET?" he helps you forget your pain..

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ oneshot

࿐*ೃ feat : mr. chopped

࿐*ೃ fandom : homicipher

࿐*ೃ extra : fem! reader, fluff to nsfw

࿐*ೃ trigger warning : nsfw content ahead!

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ THE weight on your stomach woke you, along with the faint sensation of something wet trickling through your shirt. Groggy from days of fever, you blinked away your sleepiness. Your throat ached, and your limbs felt like lead, but none of that mattered when you opened your eyes and found yourself face-to-face with a familiar sight.

Mr. Chopped was set on your tummy, his round head tilted forward, and—oh. He was crying. Actual tears streamed down his cheeks, his hair slightly dishevelled, as though he'd been too distraught to fix it before coming here.

“Ah-” he wailed dramatically, his voice high-pitched as if relieved. “You wake—” His lips trembled, and he broke into loud, theatrical sobs. “Miss you!”

“Mr. Chopped?” Your voice came out hoarse. You reached up to rub your eyes, as though that might make the absurd sight before you make more sense. But no—he was still there, his tiny form as vibrant and unsettling as ever. “How...you come up?”

Instead of answering, he scooted closer—well, as much as a head sitting on your stomach could scoot—and nudged his face against your hand. His skin was cool to the touch, smooth but eerily lifelike, and the sensation made you shiver. “You left me!” he accused, voice muffled by another sniffle. “Gone long. Me worried..”

“I—I was sick,” you croaked, still processing the situation. Your hand instinctively moved to cradle his face, lifting him from your stomach. “I’m sorry. Never want worry you.”

His eyes gleamed with tears as he stared up at you. “I cried, a lot. Many nights. Miss you so much.” He sniffled again, dramatic as ever, and buried his face in your chest.

You hesitated for a moment before hugging him close. The weight of his head in your arms was bizarre—heavy, yet not quite solid. His hair tickled your chin as you murmured, “I’m here now. I’m fine.”

“Don't leave again. Me sad.” he demanded, pulling back just enough to glare at you.

“I promise,” you said softly, stroking his hair to soothe him. “Me won't leave you. But.. how you come here?”

He sniffed, then brightened. “White hair help.” He grinned proudly, the motion somehow unsettling without a neck to support it. “He kind. Ask me, take care of you.”

“Mr. Silvair?” You smiled. You forgot how oddly close these two were.

“No more white hair. Me, only me here!” Mr. Chopped interrupted, puffing up his cheeks since you were smiling while thinking of Mr. Silvair.

You bit back a laugh at his sudden shift in mood. “Why? Jealous?”

“Yes. I want comfort from you.”

Smiling despite yourself, you brushed your thumb against his cheek. His skin felt startlingly real. “Alright, Mr. Chopped. How make you happy?”

His eyes widened, glinting with childlike delight. “Oh, oh!” He leaned in, practically pressing his face to yours. “Head pets, kisses, carry me— anything!”

You laughed. “Demanding as always.” Though, you couldn’t help but oblige, pulling him close once more. His hair was soft beneath your fingers, a startling contrast to the macabre reality of his existence. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, murmuring, “Sorry for worry you.”

For a moment, he melted against you, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss. But then he wriggled again, his lips pulling into a pout. “Not enough. More, more.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What more?”

He huffed, his cheeks puffing out. "Kiss - Here.” He tilted his head—literally—toward you, puckering up his lips.

You hesitated, unsure whether to laugh or sigh. But the earnestness in his gaze—however absurd—made your decision for you. With a soft chuckle, you leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his lips. They were unexpectedly warm, softer than you expected, and the sensation left you both amused and slightly flustered.

When you pulled back, his entire face was flushed, his eyes wide with giddy delight. “Perfect! Me, so happy!” he squealed.

“I'm glad,” you said, watching him affectionately.

You set Mr. Chopped down back to your lap, grinning from ear to ear. “You feel better?" The question caught you off guard, his inquisitive gaze locking onto yours.

You nodded, but a wry smile tugged at your lips. “Still tired, though.” 

He stayed quiet for a moment, his expression shifting as if deep in thought. Then, out of nowhere, a mischievous smirk curled onto his lips—a grin that sent a jolt of both intrigue and caution through you. 

“Me, can help. Pain forget.” he declared, his tone playful yet laced with an odd seriousness that made you raise an eyebrow. 

“Forget...?” you echoed, blinking at him. “What do you mean?” 

His smirk widened, and he shifted in your lap, his round frame wobbling slightly as he leaned closer. “Trust me.” His voice was sing-song, a hint of giddiness creeping into it. “Spread legs.” 

The request made you freeze, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What?” 

“You heard!” he chirped, tilting his head with an almost innocent air, though his grin betrayed him. “Spread legs. Trust.” 

Caught between embarrassment and curiosity, you could guess what he was planning but kept quiet. Finally, with a shy nod, you shifted on the bed, moving your legs slightly apart. 

“There,” you said. “But...what are you—” 

He had positioned himself between your legs so his face was directly in front of you; your heat especially. His grin widened. 

“You trust me,” he said, his tone oddly sweet. “Good. Now...relax.” 

Your pulse quickened as you watched him. Mr. Chopped ripped apart your panties with his teeth, eating the fabric in process. You gasped when the cold air brushed against your sensitive folds.

"Ah- hah-" you covered your mouth in embarrassment as you felt a tongue caressing your clit. Tilting your head up, you stared at the ceiling, face heating up. 

Mr. Chopped was too curious and adventurous for his own good. The first time he discovered he could pleasure you despite lacking a body, he took every chance he could to fulfill his sinful desire.

"Mhm," the noise escaped your mouth, fingers tangling in his locks. He chuckled, enjoying the noise you made because of him. He nibbled on your clit, making you bit back a moan.

"Taste good," Mr. Chopped murmured in fascination. "You taste good. Want taste you everyday."

"Everyday is a bit-- Oh, God." You were unable to finish your sentence as his tongue already entered your wet folds, your slick walls clenching around him. He hummed when you bucked up your hips, desperate for more from him.

"Please, I can't." You begged, tears rolling down your face. "More, more."

The wet sounds of him eating you out echoed in the room, so loud that it turned you on, making it harder for you to control yourself. You could feel the climax nearing close. Gripping his hair, you moaned loudly before experiencing your release, fluid oozing out of you.

Mr. Chopped hummed in delightfulness, drinking your fluid to his heart's content (as if he had one). He pulled out his tongue, giving your clit one quick kiss before he tilted his head up, staring at you with his cute eyes.

"Pain forget?" He asked excitedly, like a puppy expecting a praise or reward. You managed a smile after you calmed down, cupping the back of his head and nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

"I'm glad!" His smile brightened, imaginary flowers floating around his head. You chuckled, ruffling his hair that was surprisingly soft and silky, despite the condition you both lived in.

"You love me?"

"Always, love you."

"Yay!"

Picking up Mr. Chopped, he nuzzled his face in your chest, blissfulness evident in the purr escaping his lips

࿐*ೃ thanks for reading this scenario! likes, interaction and reblogs are deeply appreciated ♡

[bloodblanks]

one umbrella cover two [mr. scarletella x reader] — chapter v.

You find yourself in macabre and unusual company.

note: reader is not player (mc).

author’s note: dead dove: do not eat. this fanfiction will contain dark and explicit content, including heavy dub-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

If you stopped thinking for a brief moment, you could pretend the world was ending.

Your surroundings were nothing but dilapidated, decaying structures. The rubble and crumbled bits of the building were all colourless, ranging in hues from off-white to charcoal black. The vast majority of your peripheral vision was filled with various junk, from tires to magazines. Not a single other living being was in sight.

It was just you, laying in solitude amidst a sea of ruin.

At least, you were able to imagine that for a few minutes, dazed and disoriented from whatever had occurred. Perhaps an earthquake? Laying against the heap of miscellaneous objects—some of which were uncomfortably poking at your back—you let yourself indulge in a moment of quietude, entertaining the concept of an apocalypse.

Of course, there was no worldwide calamity. It was just you, your bad decision making, and forsaken luck.

“▮▮▮▮! ▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮!” Frantic shouting interrupted your moment of peace.

“Shut up,” you groaned, not caring if they could understand you or not. Your head hurt. Hell, your whole body ached and everything was sore. You could not care less about whatever they wanted; you just needed them to stay quiet and let you recover.

However, it seemed like your words did the opposite, your presence seemingly exciting whoever it was.

“▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮? ▮▮▮▮! ▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮!”

Fucking hell, your head hurt way too much for this. You begrudgingly opened your eyes, looking around to find the source of the yelling. Whoever it was, you could not care less, you just needed them to stop talking.

Upon first glance, you couldn’t see anyone, human or monster. You tried to watch for movement, or listen for where the sound was coming from.

“▮▮▮▮! ▮▮▮▮!” The voice called out again. It came from behind you.

Turning your head to look behind you, you violently flinched at the sight, your elbow crashing back into something solid.

Your lips parted to make your usual vocalization of pain, but no sound came out. You were too stunned by the sight before you. Sure, you had seen some strange creatures upon your arrival, but this one in particular you could not even begin to comprehend.

It was a decapitated head, smooth auburn locks framing its face, which looked just as shocked to see you.

The head recovered from the initial surprise much faster than you did, quickly returning to its incessant yelling.

“▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮! ▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮!”

Your mouth opened and closed—you wanted to talk, but you were too astonished to know what to say. A head was speaking to you. You felt like Alice, fallen into a rabbit hole and awakening in a surreal world. The sight of a severed head would typically make you scream and run as far as possible, but you could barely believe your eyes, let alone know how to respond appropriately.

So you continued staring in horrified awe, which the head didn’t seem to appreciate.

“▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮! ▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮!” It repeated the same words from before.

You were certain by now that it wanted something from you, but you weren’t sure what. Judging by the tone of their voice and their distressed expression, they wanted assistance of some sort.

What could a sentient head possibly need assistance with? The first thought that came to your mind was perhaps it needed to find its body. If that was the case, then you just needed to carry it to where it wanted to go, right?

The sight of the chopped off head alone made you queasy; the last thing you wanted to do was touch it. But you remembered the crawling man, how friendly he was, and how he helped you. Maybe it would be good for you to assist another resident of this realm.

Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves, you looked at the head. You held your hands out as if grasping an invisible sports ball, before flipping your hands, palms side up, and lifting them. That was a suitable way to express picking something up, right?

The head was still for a brief second before the corners of its lips tugged up frighteningly high. It nodded—or at least appeared to.

You inhaled again, holding your breath this time as you reluctantly brought your hands over to the head, lifting it up. You could feel its chestnut strands brushing against your fingers; they were surprisingly tidy.

Carefully observing the head, you noticed no negative reaction from it, indicating that you had done the right thing. You turned it around to face away from you, allowing it to see which way you were going.

You rotated your body to the left, waiting for its response.

“▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮!” The head didn’t sound too pleased, so you supposed this wasn’t the correct direction.

You turned the other way.

“▮▮▮▮!” It exclaimed. This time, it sounded much more positive, but you faced a different direction again, just to be sure.

“▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮!” Its response was the same as earlier. There should only be one correct direction, so you deduced the other one was indeed right. You turned back and began walking that way, the head seemingly satisfied. You were glad it stopped speaking, even if it meant that you had to carry it around.

It was difficult navigating through the junkyard, debris and waste crunching underneath your feet. You casually glanced around, noticing some magazines, some clothes, what appeared to be a sex toy—

You paused for a second, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected sight. You were glad you did, because you then noticed what appeared to be a box of granola, just next to the silicone phallic object.

You reached towards the granola box, praying to whatever god was out there that it wouldn’t be empty.

Much to your relief, the seemingly intact box had some weight, and you could hear rattling from the objects inside.

“Yes!” you triumphantly shouted. The head didn’t seem to understand or partake in your joy, which you couldn’t really blame it for.

Holding the box of precious granola in one hand—you were tempted to eat it now, your hunger awakening at the sight of food, but wanted to finish your quest with the head first—and the head in the other, you continued walking through the wasteland, before arriving at a corridor.

You glanced at the head, awaiting instructions.

“▮▮▮▮! ▮▮▮▮!”

You assumed this word meant either ‘yes,’ ‘go,’ or ‘continue,’ but you weren’t sure which it was. Hopefully it’d be more clear soon—not that you looked forward to staying here for longer.

At the end of the corridor were a few doors. You faced the first one.

“▮▮▮▮!”

You opened the door, seeing a suspiciously ominous hole in the floor, from which stairs led down to a mystery place.

“▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮!” This time, it said something different. As per usual, you failed to understand your interlocutor, but you stepped towards the opening, hoping it would protest.

It did not. You gulped nervously, gingerly stepping into what could be your approaching death. Do I really want to do this?

You hesitated after taking the first step, but the head spoke again.

“▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮!” The first word you recognized, now deciding to assume it meant ‘go.’ Naturally, the second word that followed would be ‘down.’

Go down into the creepy basement, you thought to yourself. Totally not a bad idea! This isn’t how everyone in horror movies dies at all!

You considered just leaving the head here and turning back, but considering how you had come this far already, you decided to just ignore every instinct in your body and descend the stairs.

I’m going to die, you thought, I’m so going to die. Any second now...

Those words cycled through your head as you walked down, one dreadful step at a time. After arriving at the bottom, you were faced with another godforsaken closed door.

Are monsters sensitive about privacy or why the fuck are the doors always closed? You wondered.

“▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮!” Another phrase you didn’t know, but it was safe to guess he wanted you to open the door.

May my death be fast and painless, you thought, turning the handle and pulling the door towards you.

Glancing inside the room, you could see a sofa and a coffee table—what resembled a normal living room. You finally let out the breath you were holding, seeing that you didn’t walk into some horrific torture chamber.

“▮▮▮▮▮.”

You screamed, dropping the granola box and almost the chopped head, startled by the unforeseen voice. To your left stood a man with long, silver hair, ashen skin, and bandages wrapped around his eyes. There was some blood on the bandages, but it had long since dried.

The head in your arms quickly began speaking to the man, the two of them engaging in conversation with one another. You stood there awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you waited for them to finish speaking. You felt horribly out of place; your inability to understand the language excluded you from their interactions. It wasn’t so much that you longed to talk with them, but being left out nonetheless felt disheartening.

You had spaced out for most of the conversation, only paying attention when the conversation abruptly stopped.

The silver-haired man was looking at you, seemingly waiting for you to say something. Shit, was he talking to me? So much for having good manners...

“Hi,” you tried to smile, hoping it didn’t seem as forced as it felt. Your heart was anxiously thumping in your chest like a bird attempting to escape its cage.

“▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮?” he asked.

“I don’t understand, sorry,” you mumbled sheepishly. The man didn’t seem harmful, but much like the red umbrella man, he stood at an intimidatingly tall height.

“▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮?” Another question. You gazed up at him with a pitiful expression, hoping he wasn’t thinking anything negative about you—or thinking about murdering you.

To your surprise, he began making his way over to the sofa, sitting down on it. He gestured to the single seat across from him.

“▮▮▮▮ ▮▮▮▮.” He appeared to be instructing you to do something. You decided that the best course of action would be to follow.

You stiffly shuffled over to the chair, feeling a mixture of social anxiety and potential-threat-to-life anxiety.

—

“Can understand,” you responded. It felt like your pronunciation of the words was a bit off, still. Nonetheless, the silver-haired man seemed to understand you just fine. He was smiling, a grin that you would usually deem harrowing but had slowly gotten used to over the course of however long you’ve been here. You wished there was a way to tell time; you hadn’t learnt that word yet and therefore couldn’t ask. You decided to ignore that for now.

“You teach me, me happy,” you stated. “What say?” You wondered if there was a word to express gratitude.

“▮▮▮▮▮,” he replied. That must mean something like ‘thank you.’

“Thank you.” You tested the words out on your tongue yourself. It felt a bit strange speaking the language—not because the words were foreign to you, but rather, they almost felt familiar.

“▮▮▮▮▮.” The crawling man had said this word to you previously in a similar context. This confirmed the definition of the word now—welcome.

“Welcome,” you softly repeated. Another question came to the forefront of your mind, one that had been nagging at you for a while—you wanted to know the silver hair man’s name. Silver-haired man was a bit long for you, even if you were only mentally saying it. But without the word ‘name,’ it was hard to ask about it.

After carefully pondering what to say, you decided to try making use of your new vocabulary.

“Chair,” you said, pointing to your seat.

“Correct,” he answered with a smile.

“Table.” You gestured at the coffee table.

“Correct.”

“Y/N.” This time, you pointed back to yourself, hoping he would understand it.

“You...” his voice seemed to trail off in uncertainty. “Y/N?”

“Correct.” You nodded. “How say?”

The silver-haired man appeared to be carefully contemplating what he was about to say next. You anxiously waited, fiddling with your thumbs. You could only hope that they had the concept of names.

“▮▮▮▮,” he declared at last.

“What you name?” you tentatively asked, both checking to see if you had understood each other with the word, and trying to find an alias with fewer syllables for him.

For a second, he seemed bewildered, as if the question you had asked him was something alien. But the expression dissipated as soon as it came and he was smiling again, leaving you to wonder if you had imagined that brief pause.

“Not know.”

He doesn’t know his name? Your eyes widened in astonishment, your lips soundlessly parting. Does he just not know his name? Or are names not used here?

It was a strange concept for you to grasp. You wanted to inquire more about it, but you weren’t sure how you would even begin to approach that topic, especially with the limited vocabulary you have.

While the silver-haired man did teach you an abundance of words, you still found difficulty communicating in this language. The language used in this world was rather constraining; you had very limited word choices. From your current understanding, their vocabulary was rather sparse, only existing to communicate concepts and general ideas rather than having specific descriptions.

“Possible give you name?” you questioned, your tone gentle. The man nodded in response.

Perhaps you could find a way to shorten silver hair. That way, it would be easy to remember and it would make sense. You ruminated over the potential combinations and nicknames you could give before at last settling on one.

“Silvair,” you finally declared, proudly smiling at him. “Mr. Silvair?”

“Silvair,” he imitated your speech. You noticed then that he had a bit of an accent, his pronunciation slightly different from yours, though it wasn’t cacophonous at all.

“You like?” You waited for his approval. You saw his lips part, just about to answer you, when the sound of approaching footsteps caused both of your heads to snap towards the door.

“Danger,” Mr. Silvair announced.

You watched, aghast, as the space before you shredded and tore, materializing itself in a familiar flicker of scarlet.

“Find you.”

next chapter ->

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