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paracreepers · 3 years

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🆁🆄🅻🅴🆂.

kiki, twenty-two, she/her, uk, medium to low activity

my activity may end up being spotty but i always come back to blogs. otherwise you can find me @optimistsclub and @redheid

please do not take any of my original content - i’ve had issues in the past and i’m not up for it. i understand there’s a thing as taking inspiration and sometimes it can’t be helped, writers inspire writers, fair dos. but i’m really not here for stealing… just don’t, duh!

please don’t reblog resources i’ve found for myself (aside from memes) from this blog, i find it weird and it clogs up my notifs!

please only follow me if you plan on writing with me

triggers will be tagged accordingly

i reserve the right to unfollow anyone at any time, duh, and it’s usually nothing deep so don’t ask me about it! if you unfollow me, please softblock me. it’s so awkward to see that you’ve unfollowed after i’ve been liking all your posts without realising. unfollow me! it’s fine!

anyway

no godmodding

i read people’s rules but i don’t send passwords

excited to be here

it’s chill just have fun but like…. respectfully

information

part one

apparently, when norman were born, strange things happened. all the lights in the maternity ward blew their fuses at the very moment the doctor announced, ‘it’s a boy!’ two guys coming back from their shift at witchy weiner saw a rainbow in the sky – this may not sound too strange, but really when you added the details that it was one in the morning and that the rainbow was shaped like a huge question mark, it seems a bit out of place. things kept going in that direction. in biology quite a few years down the line, norman was dissecting frogs in class and the one plastered out in front of him started talking and wouldn’t stop. he wanted to go outside and so norman snuck him into his jacket, told the teacher he needed to use the bathroom and brought him out to the playground and put him in the grass to rest.

a few years after that, his grandma dies. at the wake, something similar happens except now it’s a person speaking to norman. not actually a person, but his dead grandma. the only real difference between his dead grandma and the dead frog talking to him all those years back, is that this time, norman talked back and he kept talking to her.

it wasn’t long before other people no one else could see with a green tint floating around them started talking to norman too. they seemed lonely and norman felt for them so he spoke back to them too. his family didn’t like that he do that, neither did the people at school. they suddenly didn’t really want to talk to norman anymore, but he didn’t mind. he’d much prefer the company of these greenish people instead.

part two

there’s a curse on this town and norman is the one to break it.

think fast! the dead are raising, just like in those films, sort of half like those movie posters on your walls. pretty scary, like. what do you do?

you’re going to stop them in their tracks, is what you do. halfway down the road to our favourite place, blithe hollow. ideally, just before they reach the tacky three hundred be-witchin’ years posters and the hanging witch that forced them to wake up in the first place. but if they make it that far, as close as the town centre, there will do the trick, too. as long as you break it before she wakes up and gets her revenge on the sleepy town you’re stuck with.

you read and you read and you read and you read till you can’t any more. that’s fine, the town’s history is worn on its sleeve. as a myth, as a selling point – whatever. it’s not hard to find out. you know this like the back of your hand: the witch was burned and she cursed the town. how bad of her, hm? what could this quiet town have done to make her goodbye such an angry one (apart from the, you know, death by flame).

scary! but it’s fine, it’s just a story, the thing to sell keychains with. the witch may have burned, but her curse did not have the strength to carry through (maybe she didn’t say her final wish with enough gusto). well, that’s what you’re told, that the curse wasn’t strong enough. but your uncle prenderghast, though – yes, the one up on the hill you are under no circumstance to talk to – he says otherwise. he tells you the story and leaves out but a few details that you need to find out yourself. maybe he doesn’t know.

well, aren’t you going to find them out?

stop the scary witch? terrifying, isn’t she? must be stopped! (the book and your uncle and everything you’ve ever heard in your life tells you that)

after a witch hunt, a real one, you find her and the sky breaks up into yellows and purples and reds even though it’s the dead of night, so you tell her a bedtime story. a story about hurting so much that you can barely take it and you have to make everyone else feel the same. it hurts her ears. she was just a scared little girl when it happened, when she was hurt, but she’s just as bad now. she can’t take the eye for an eye. when the story finishes, she doesn’t want to. she quietens down and it puts her to sleep, to rest for good. there never really was a villain, just people.

part three

that whole ordeal with the burning witch and having to shut up a dead army is done and gone. norman goes back to his bedroom, suddenly a quiet town hero.

word seems to get around in both worlds about the events that transpired in blithe hollow at norman’s hand eventually, and what was once a parade of friendly ghosts he sees around on the street and throw a passing hello at turn into a brigade of angry screams, demanding more of him.

they’re different to his grandma back at home, to the smiling green glowing ghosts. they’re figments of something norman doesn’t understand and they whisper horrible things in his ear in bed at night. after so long, it’s too much. speaking to both the living and the dead, especially when half are now screaming at norman. he doesn’t want it.

norman tells everyone he can’t see them anymore, that he doesn’t hear anything. something just switched and he’s just norman now. he says it to himself and closes his eyes shut and pushes the pillow down on his head when he locks yourself in his bedroom so the demands of those things he didn’t know could even exist are muffled. he ignores them, that’s all he knows to do now.

after a few years, the people in the town forget. something about collective trauma and really actually needing that witch story that was dismantled all those years ago so that they could sell the key chains again.

the screaming ghosts still seem to follow norman, and so he still tries to ignore them in favour of the kind one back at home, and even then he only speaks to the kind ones when he knows there’s no one watching.

norman is fifteen now and he’s back in hiding, just like he was when he was eleven and no one believed him. funny how that works.

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