Venue: The Secret World
Created by: Funcom
Event: Samhain (Halloween 2013)
Mission:The League of Monster Slayers presents: Spooky Stories of Solomon Island
Location: The League of Monster Slayers' Clubhouse near Innsmouth, Solomon Island, Maine
Chapter One: The Hermit
Chapter Two: The Phantom Email
Danny, you were asking about me about my tribe and any scary stories. Some book about Solomon Island that you want to put together. Uncle Red spews out those sort of stories all the time, always carrying on about our oral tradition. And to be fair, a lot of what he says sticks. But I couldn't remember anything in particular. So I asked Uncle Red. Geez, you should have seen him. I thought he was going to have a heart attack, he was so excited. He was all "taking an interest in the family heritage" and "understanding the power that lies in our tradition." And then he told me this gross story which TOTALLY gave me nightmares. Thanks Uncle Red, anyway, I hope you can use this one, Danny. -Kyra
When the shaman was old, he left his apprentice to tend the tribe and he went alone into the woods. There he built a lodge and his apprentice and the grateful tribesman would bring him food, as thanks for his years of service to the tribe.
As the days grew shorter, the old man became strange, snapping at the ones who brought him tribute and demanding only fresh meat be brought. He ate with the blood running down his chin and he did not wash the stains away, so that his visage became frightful with the blood of many kills.
When the winter came, the old witch died, but he had instructed his apprentice to enshrine him in the loft of the lodge, an old Iroquois custom. His corpse was placed in a birch coffin and left in the loft.
The seasons turned and the tribe grew, for the winter was not harsh and the spring was prosperous.
A man with a wife and a newborn baby was looking for a new place to live when he found the hut in the woods.
"This is a good hunting area and this lodge is sound" he told his wife. "We can live here." his wife was nervous. Wasn't this the place where the old hermit was enshrined?
"He is dead. We will warm his home with our presence. He will be grateful."
The woman felt disquieted, but she did not argue with her husband.
On the day they moved into the hut, she went gathering berries and roots with her baby on her back in a sling. The husband was hunting all day, and when they returned home as the sun was setting, they were both exhausted.
She began to prepare the meal, mixing a stew in a great pot while the baby lay by the fire. Her husband, weary from his day went up to the loft to rest.
As the smell of roasting meat filled the hut, she thought she heard a cry of pain.
"Husband, is that you?" She asked.
"Just the wind" he called down from the loft. "Let me rest."
She continued to sort through the berries and roots when she heard a crunching noise, like bones being ground together.
"Husband, what is that noise?" she asked.
"Just the trees brushing against the hut." He called down. "Let me rest"
"She cut the roots and berries and added them to the stew. Now there came a drip, drip sound of water splashing on the floor. The woman turned to ask her husband if he heard the noise when she noticed the red drops of blood coming from the roof above her. She froze in horror, not daring to move for a few moments. Then, moving silently toward where she would have a view into the loft, she called up a final time.
"Husband, do you hear that dripping sound?"
She came to where she could see and held down a scream! A skeleton, with glowing red eyes was crouched above the body of her dead husband, gorging itself on mouthfuls of his flesh. The jaw of the creature was covered in blood.
At her call, the skeleton lifted itself from the body and spoke, perfectly mimicking the sound of her husband's voice.
"It is the rain" it called. "Let me rest"
Moving swiftly and quietly the woman grabbed the baby and put her in the sling on her back.
"I need more water for the stew" the woman cried, pushing out the door. She walked away from the house and then began to run, stumbling and crying on the uneven ground.
From behind her came a terrible howl as the creature realized her deception and then she heard it coming after her, crashing through the undergrowth.
On her back the baby began to wail and cry as she trashed through the undergrowth, desperately trying to escape the beast. She heard it breathing as it came after her through the trees and she gave out a desperate cry for help.
Luckily for her, some warriors from the village were passing by and they came to her call. They were carrying torches which they thrust at the creature that had eaten her husband. it fled, howling into the night, and they pursued it back to the hut and burned it to the ground.
However, the warriors say that they saw a rabbit burst from the hut and escape into the night. The old shaman is still out there, looking for another place to rest. And to feast.
I shouldn't have opened it. Maybe. It was in my inbox. It was addressed to me. Shit, shit, shit! Usually I am that guy everyone has blocked. the guy sending out the mass emails marked "THE TRUTH ABOUT FLOURIDATION OF THE WATER SUPPLY". Email for me is usually a one way communication stream.Imagine my excitement when something comes to me and it isn't from a trustworthy businessman from Nigeria. But this email. This fucking email. It was creepy, like they knew what was going on in my trailer. They knew details, intimate details, about who I was and where I lived and what I was doing. Perhaps I'm paranoid. But I believe that intelligence can spring from the most unlikely of places. That technology is a new form of life, just waiting for a spark. What if spam is the internet trying to communicate with us? What if these kind of emails are a desperate plea for intelligent discourse from an entity that doesn't know any better? And we ignore them. We delete them from our inbox. We refuse to communicate. So it cajoles, demands and eventually threatens. It adds subject lines like "IF YOU STOP READING THIS YOU WILL DIE" and "FORWARD THIS TO FIVE FRIENDS OR YOU WILL DIE IN 6 HOURS!" It is reaching out to us, and we are trashing it.
So in the end, it starts to make good on the threats. It understands that people don't take it seriously and, like disciplining a child, the internet starts to kill us to teach the rest of us a lesson. It is exploring the boundaries of its communication. And now, here I am, about to go into the Fog. I know I have taken every precaution, but sometimes it feels like a march toward the end. Did the email lead me here? Should I have done as it asked and forwarded it? It's too late to ask those questions. Now I just need to move forward.
-Tyler Freeborn
WARNING: YOU MUST FINISH READING THIS EMAIL!!!
I know who you are. Do you think that your grand conspiracy will protect you?
I've seen you, day after day, living in your shitty trailer, typing away on your Anansi laptop. you are always looking for stories on this Island but you never understood that you are a part of them. you are as much a victim of the conspiracy as everybody else.
Your blog, your emails...nobody cares. Nobody reads them. They don't want to know and they aren't interested. What is your life worth to anybody? Have I got your attention? Let me tell you a story. There was a girl, Carmen Winstead. She was never born. She didn't exist. And then the girls who pushed her told everyone she fell.
People read the email, and some felt sad for her, others horrified. many deleted it. But just a few forwarded it to friends. And then a few more. The email which gave her birth spread into the world.
Carmen understood that her existence was dependent on this email. Dependent on belief in the email. So she added a line. "If you don't repost this, then Carmen will get you, either from a sewer, the toilet, the shower or when you go to sleep you'll wake up in the sewer, in the dark, then Carmen will come and kill you."
And the fear spread and the email spread and Carmen, growing strong on the fear, found the ones who would not forward her mail. She killed them, dragging them screaming into a sewer that only exists in the minds of people who have read the email. They die and she lives.
Another story? Certainly.
A girl, babysitting for a wealthy family, finds the size of the mansion that they live in intimidating. She does her job, putting the children to bed in the nursery on the upper floor. Then she goes downstairs to watch television.
She finds it hard to concentrate however, considering the creepy clown statue in the corner. She has never liked clowns and this one seems out of place in the tasteful surroundings.
The father calls, voice slurred with drink, to check on his children. They babysitter assures him that all is fine and asks what possessed him to buy the horrible clown statue.
"Get the children and get out of the house."
She complies, bundling her bewildered charges out the door as the police arrive. The clown statue was not a statue at all, but a clothed killer.
In a bloodier version, the babysitter is cut down and the story ends as the killer clown moves up the staircase of the mansion.
The clown prefers this version. He enjoys killing the virtual babysitter, the taste of her digital fear. He reaches out into his newfound existence and finds his niche in the uncanny valley. he flickers easily among all the forms his legend can take and sidles up beside John Wayne Gacy in the Google hits for Killer Clown.
And to ensure his survival, he adds a line to the email. "If you don't forward this to 10 people, the clown will be standing next to your bed at 3am with a knife."
It's always 3am somewhere.
There are things that exist in the universe because they fill a space in our minds. A fear-shaped hole drilled into our souls. You feel it, don't you? you spend your life trying to fill it. I am the clown and the woman. I am the emptiness that lives.
There is a car park on Solomon Island, by Whale Watch. And I will be waiting for you, inside the mirror.
You will bow to me. You will salute me. You will worship me.
And if you don't forward this email to 5 friends within the next 2 days, you will die.
Created by: Funcom
Event: Samhain (Halloween 2013)
Mission:The League of Monster Slayers presents: Spooky Stories of Solomon Island
Location: The League of Monster Slayers' Clubhouse near Innsmouth, Solomon Island, Maine
Chapter One: The Hermit
Chapter Two: The Phantom Email
In the League of
Monster Slayers clubhouse, there is a mysterious book of unfinished tales, with
a note nearby:
So some people
collect pennies. Boring! I’d rather collect scary. In this case, in the form of stories. I want to take these stories and put them
into a little book. I’ll put it up in
the old tree house in honor of the League of Monster Slayers. I’ve communicated with several people in town
(by spy plane!), and they said they have stories for me. I need those and I need more. But you can’t really kick a pile of dead
leaves in this town without disturbing a scary story. Get the Stories and put them in the
binder. How hard can it be. Right?
This is our collection, a collection of penny dreadfuls.
– Danny of the
Dead
Chapter One – The Hermit (By Kyra)
Danny, you were asking about me about my tribe and any scary stories. Some book about Solomon Island that you want to put together. Uncle Red spews out those sort of stories all the time, always carrying on about our oral tradition. And to be fair, a lot of what he says sticks. But I couldn't remember anything in particular. So I asked Uncle Red. Geez, you should have seen him. I thought he was going to have a heart attack, he was so excited. He was all "taking an interest in the family heritage" and "understanding the power that lies in our tradition." And then he told me this gross story which TOTALLY gave me nightmares. Thanks Uncle Red, anyway, I hope you can use this one, Danny. -Kyra
When the shaman was old, he left his apprentice to tend the tribe and he went alone into the woods. There he built a lodge and his apprentice and the grateful tribesman would bring him food, as thanks for his years of service to the tribe.
As the days grew shorter, the old man became strange, snapping at the ones who brought him tribute and demanding only fresh meat be brought. He ate with the blood running down his chin and he did not wash the stains away, so that his visage became frightful with the blood of many kills.
When the winter came, the old witch died, but he had instructed his apprentice to enshrine him in the loft of the lodge, an old Iroquois custom. His corpse was placed in a birch coffin and left in the loft.
The seasons turned and the tribe grew, for the winter was not harsh and the spring was prosperous.
A man with a wife and a newborn baby was looking for a new place to live when he found the hut in the woods.
"This is a good hunting area and this lodge is sound" he told his wife. "We can live here." his wife was nervous. Wasn't this the place where the old hermit was enshrined?
"He is dead. We will warm his home with our presence. He will be grateful."
The woman felt disquieted, but she did not argue with her husband.
On the day they moved into the hut, she went gathering berries and roots with her baby on her back in a sling. The husband was hunting all day, and when they returned home as the sun was setting, they were both exhausted.
She began to prepare the meal, mixing a stew in a great pot while the baby lay by the fire. Her husband, weary from his day went up to the loft to rest.
As the smell of roasting meat filled the hut, she thought she heard a cry of pain.
"Husband, is that you?" She asked.
"Just the wind" he called down from the loft. "Let me rest."
She continued to sort through the berries and roots when she heard a crunching noise, like bones being ground together.
"Husband, what is that noise?" she asked.
"Just the trees brushing against the hut." He called down. "Let me rest"
"She cut the roots and berries and added them to the stew. Now there came a drip, drip sound of water splashing on the floor. The woman turned to ask her husband if he heard the noise when she noticed the red drops of blood coming from the roof above her. She froze in horror, not daring to move for a few moments. Then, moving silently toward where she would have a view into the loft, she called up a final time.
"Husband, do you hear that dripping sound?"
She came to where she could see and held down a scream! A skeleton, with glowing red eyes was crouched above the body of her dead husband, gorging itself on mouthfuls of his flesh. The jaw of the creature was covered in blood.
At her call, the skeleton lifted itself from the body and spoke, perfectly mimicking the sound of her husband's voice.
"It is the rain" it called. "Let me rest"
Moving swiftly and quietly the woman grabbed the baby and put her in the sling on her back.
"I need more water for the stew" the woman cried, pushing out the door. She walked away from the house and then began to run, stumbling and crying on the uneven ground.
From behind her came a terrible howl as the creature realized her deception and then she heard it coming after her, crashing through the undergrowth.
On her back the baby began to wail and cry as she trashed through the undergrowth, desperately trying to escape the beast. She heard it breathing as it came after her through the trees and she gave out a desperate cry for help.
Luckily for her, some warriors from the village were passing by and they came to her call. They were carrying torches which they thrust at the creature that had eaten her husband. it fled, howling into the night, and they pursued it back to the hut and burned it to the ground.
However, the warriors say that they saw a rabbit burst from the hut and escape into the night. The old shaman is still out there, looking for another place to rest. And to feast.
Chapter Two – The Phantom Email (By Tyler Freeborn)
I shouldn't have opened it. Maybe. It was in my inbox. It was addressed to me. Shit, shit, shit! Usually I am that guy everyone has blocked. the guy sending out the mass emails marked "THE TRUTH ABOUT FLOURIDATION OF THE WATER SUPPLY". Email for me is usually a one way communication stream.Imagine my excitement when something comes to me and it isn't from a trustworthy businessman from Nigeria. But this email. This fucking email. It was creepy, like they knew what was going on in my trailer. They knew details, intimate details, about who I was and where I lived and what I was doing. Perhaps I'm paranoid. But I believe that intelligence can spring from the most unlikely of places. That technology is a new form of life, just waiting for a spark. What if spam is the internet trying to communicate with us? What if these kind of emails are a desperate plea for intelligent discourse from an entity that doesn't know any better? And we ignore them. We delete them from our inbox. We refuse to communicate. So it cajoles, demands and eventually threatens. It adds subject lines like "IF YOU STOP READING THIS YOU WILL DIE" and "FORWARD THIS TO FIVE FRIENDS OR YOU WILL DIE IN 6 HOURS!" It is reaching out to us, and we are trashing it.
So in the end, it starts to make good on the threats. It understands that people don't take it seriously and, like disciplining a child, the internet starts to kill us to teach the rest of us a lesson. It is exploring the boundaries of its communication. And now, here I am, about to go into the Fog. I know I have taken every precaution, but sometimes it feels like a march toward the end. Did the email lead me here? Should I have done as it asked and forwarded it? It's too late to ask those questions. Now I just need to move forward.
-Tyler Freeborn
WARNING: YOU MUST FINISH READING THIS EMAIL!!!
I know who you are. Do you think that your grand conspiracy will protect you?
I've seen you, day after day, living in your shitty trailer, typing away on your Anansi laptop. you are always looking for stories on this Island but you never understood that you are a part of them. you are as much a victim of the conspiracy as everybody else.
Your blog, your emails...nobody cares. Nobody reads them. They don't want to know and they aren't interested. What is your life worth to anybody? Have I got your attention? Let me tell you a story. There was a girl, Carmen Winstead. She was never born. She didn't exist. And then the girls who pushed her told everyone she fell.
People read the email, and some felt sad for her, others horrified. many deleted it. But just a few forwarded it to friends. And then a few more. The email which gave her birth spread into the world.
Carmen understood that her existence was dependent on this email. Dependent on belief in the email. So she added a line. "If you don't repost this, then Carmen will get you, either from a sewer, the toilet, the shower or when you go to sleep you'll wake up in the sewer, in the dark, then Carmen will come and kill you."
And the fear spread and the email spread and Carmen, growing strong on the fear, found the ones who would not forward her mail. She killed them, dragging them screaming into a sewer that only exists in the minds of people who have read the email. They die and she lives.
Another story? Certainly.
A girl, babysitting for a wealthy family, finds the size of the mansion that they live in intimidating. She does her job, putting the children to bed in the nursery on the upper floor. Then she goes downstairs to watch television.
She finds it hard to concentrate however, considering the creepy clown statue in the corner. She has never liked clowns and this one seems out of place in the tasteful surroundings.
The father calls, voice slurred with drink, to check on his children. They babysitter assures him that all is fine and asks what possessed him to buy the horrible clown statue.
"Get the children and get out of the house."
She complies, bundling her bewildered charges out the door as the police arrive. The clown statue was not a statue at all, but a clothed killer.
In a bloodier version, the babysitter is cut down and the story ends as the killer clown moves up the staircase of the mansion.
The clown prefers this version. He enjoys killing the virtual babysitter, the taste of her digital fear. He reaches out into his newfound existence and finds his niche in the uncanny valley. he flickers easily among all the forms his legend can take and sidles up beside John Wayne Gacy in the Google hits for Killer Clown.
And to ensure his survival, he adds a line to the email. "If you don't forward this to 10 people, the clown will be standing next to your bed at 3am with a knife."
It's always 3am somewhere.
There are things that exist in the universe because they fill a space in our minds. A fear-shaped hole drilled into our souls. You feel it, don't you? you spend your life trying to fill it. I am the clown and the woman. I am the emptiness that lives.
There is a car park on Solomon Island, by Whale Watch. And I will be waiting for you, inside the mirror.
You will bow to me. You will salute me. You will worship me.
And if you don't forward this email to 5 friends within the next 2 days, you will die.
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