.... Alright. Beer is good, I guess. Hop in.

You hop into Jim's racket machine car. Over the loud cranks and chugs of the engine, Jim yells to you, "When the hell are you going to get married? I found out on sunday that Sylvia is pregnant with a third!" Jake sits quietly in the back. You glace to him, he smiles and rolls his eyes. "What happened to that Elizebeth girl from Portland? Oh well. You'll get to it eventually I guess. Unless you're one of them... confirmed bachelors! hah!" You cross the Aldervale bridge and roll along the Woodward's farm. He must have a hundred head of Jerseys. Someday he'll probably own this whole valley. As you travel from the fields to his actual barn, and by his house, you see old Dick Woodward actually hauling some milk to the back of a truck with his hired hand Pete. They both wave to you.
Jim picks up again, "I just don't get it. Jake back there, he's got no land, and on what I pay him, he can barely feed himself! But you? You've got land, a good herd, and plenty come the end of the month. I don't get it." The ride takes you along the river south, over a small hill, and through a tiny hamlet. The tall trees resume again, shading the road but eventually break, revealing old Nehalem. There were lots of logs in the river floating down, and the sound of saws fills the air. That sweet smell of cut timber fills your nose. You pull up across from the mill, into the town tavern, "The Bay Way."

I guess I go in. Follow my friends and order a pint of bitter. "Why arent you working today?"

You enter the Bay Way Tavern. Stained Cedar make of the floor and walls. A few pictures hang on the wall. One of your high school class down at Manhattan Beach, back in Ought-Two. Back before they built the Jetty. The floor is covered in chucks of muddy sawdust. No patrons are are in watering hole- but its only somewhere around one in the afternoon. Bill is behind the bar, as he always is, with a three day beard. His two hands and six fingers are drying a pint glass with an old rag. Jim offers up, “Howdy Bill. Gimmie three pints would ya?”

“Sure thing Jim.” He puts the glass down and turns to the bar.
“Hey Bill,” Jim announces as he pulls up a chair at a table. We take seats with him. “Sylvia's pregnant again! Woulda believe that?”
Bill brings the drinks over to the table. “Well, after you're accident, I wouldnt be surprised if they came out with red hair...” He looks over to Jakes wild crop of fair red hair. Jake bursts out laughing and Jim's brow furrows.
“You asshole...” Then his fat red checks pull back a wide smile and he belts out hardy laugh. “Alright, alright. We'll see. If so, you owe me a free round.”

What do you do?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DDf2ScrMsc&feature=results_video&playnext=1&list=PL47954
77577CC84EA

>>17721575
Punch him square in the nose. Keep punching until he's on the ground.

>>17721583

Punch who? It was a convo between the bartender and your friend who drove you here, and bought you a beer. 377

>>17721597
Jim. Fuck Jim. Punch that prick in the face.

>>17721602
Or don't. You know, whatever.

You take a swig of your beer. In fact, more than a swig. You down the hole thing. Shit, you've been up since three thirty, when you got ready for the first milking. Did you skip breakfast? Lunch too for that matter. You wave over to Bill to bring you another drink. Jim and Jake are conferring about the lower forty, and if it'll flood if there is another week of rain. The three of you have another round. Jim's cheeks get rosier and his eyes start moving slower. “Hey Rick... So what happened with that Elizebeth girl? Eh? You never filled us in?”

You take a drink of your beer, and look off, out the window to a truck that rolls by hauling some fresh cut planks.

“What, wont say? Eh? Couldn't find her pussy, and she ran off to find someone who could? Eh? Back to old stump town? Land of faggots and jews? Is that it, was she a faggot jew?” He belts out another laugh. This time, its not funny. His laughter, makes your head ache. “Or did she leave, cause.... nevermind.”

“Because what?” you inquire through a clinched jaw.

Jake leans forward, “Jim, just leave it alone.”

“Nothing I said.”

“Because what?” you repeat.

“Because she got that fever which made her guts rotten, from your fucked up dick!”

You stand up, knock the table over and land a solid haymaker into Jim's face, crushing his nose into a rapid splatter of red ink. He falls back and the chair brakes from underneath him. “I'm SORRY! FUCK! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!”

>>17721690
Hurrah!

Smash his head in!

Jake pushes you back, and Bill picks up Jim from the floor. With Bill's mangled hand smearing across the blood of Jim's shirt, it looks like he just lost his fingers in a savage mess- instead of two summers ago.

“I'm sorry Rick, fuck. I- I- Whenever I get to drinkin', I just remember how much Sylvia used to go for you. It makes me jealous and angry... I'm sorry.”

Jake looks up, and surveys the bar. “Hey Bill... where is Randy?”

Randy was in his late forties. He spent most of his time here, most of his life actually. Occasionally he'd go out in the morning and collect mushrooms and sell them around. He occasionally worked in the shingle yard, but... Not much. But what you could always rely on, was that Randy would be in the Bay Way.

“Hell if I know,” Bill spit out. “I ain't his keeper.” But if any man had a keeper, a drunk's keeper was the barman. “He said something about going up, the northfork, near Orvile's place... and looking into to some signs of wolves... fucking idiot.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. Wolves? “When was that?”

“About two days ago.”

Jim now was on his feet, and face wiped mostly clean of blood. “What? That's crazy?”

“Well, somebody should go look for him,” Jake added.

Bill went back behind the bar. Looked down. “Well, get the fuck out of here then.”

Hrm. Herp and a derp. I guess.... Go check it out.

No!
Stick our dick into some cheese and see what happens!

You pile in the car with Jake and very quiet Jim and take off going north. The car rolls along, and back along the same road. You pass the Woodward's farm, but you don't see anybody outside. The rolling green of trees blur by as the car speeds north. Over the hills to the west, towards the ocean you can see a grey bank of tall, thick clouds rolling in. After a few miles, Jim breaks the silence of your trio. “Look Rick, I'm sorry.”

The loud uneven churning of the engine is all the noise that's heard as you continue along. Jim turns off at Aldervale and continues north, into the woods on a old logging road. You keep riding, passing the old Schovel house, still covered with blackberries, watching how quickly the forest can take back its own. You ride along for another thirty minutes until the road turns east, and up towards Onion Peak and Orvile's farm. Jim pulls the car off to the road to the right. “Well, this is where Randy would usually climb around to get his Mushrooms, lets go down to the river and see if we can find him passed out under a tree.”

The three of you climb down a branch strewn trail, pushing aside a few ferns until you make it to the bank of the old Nehalem, that dark and winding river. You fan out, and follow the muddy bank line for close to an hour. Up ahead, Jake stops. You and Jim come up along side of him. Thirty feet ahead, a torn Hickory shirt lay wrapped around a rock in the river's shallow bit.

What do you do?

check it out.

The hickory shirt is torn, and you can see a dark red stain around the tears, but the flowing river water has made the whole thing a dark and ragged mess.
“What the hell?” Jake mutters.
Jim points to the far side of the creek, “Well what the fuck is that?”
Across the river, half buried in the mud, is an Winchester 1897. The three of you scramble through the shallows, about a fifty yards up stream and work your way back.

“That's...” Jim stammers out.
“...Randy's gun.” Jake finishes.
Sure as shit, it was. Splattered in mud, but resting on the muddy bank, there sat an 1897 winchester thirty-two special carbine. You scan around, looking upstream, then down stream. The gun was clearly dropped. Foot prints in the mud go up and into the forest. You motion for your friends to follow you. The footsteps continue, in a wild and clumsy path, pushing in on the soft october muddy ground. Forty yards into the woodline, you stop. Ahead of your friends, you look down, and see a paw print. Now a wolf paw print was somewhere around the size of a large dog's. A little smaller than your fist. But there weren’t wolves seen around here, since the Schovel's homestead. The old Nehalem indians used to have a Wolf tribe... but even they said they rarely came out here. No, this was something else.
“Could this... be a bear?” Jim offered.
“You know as well as I do, that this ain't no bear Jim,” Jake replied.
“Well, maybe.. like some deformed bear then?”
You eye the track. It looks like a dog paw print, but wider. Must be maybe a foot across, and one and a half feet tall. The print faces east, and you can see another two up ahead, continuing east into the hills....

What do you do?

wtf? Alright.

Is this, like a real place or something? So much with directions, it seems like you've been around here before.

A massive wolf paw print. Hrm. From beer and nose breakings to this. Why didn't we get the rifle?

>>17722166
Guess you were surprised to find it there in the first place.. And taking it probably isn't the first thought crossing your mind, but to find Randy.

Alright, I say we continue on. See if any of us have a gun.

You follow the trail. Jim is sweaty, and shaking a bit. Jake is steely eyed. You notice in Jake's hand, is a revolver. You knew he carried it, but its always surprising to see. The trail goes for six or eight more steps, but then stops. There are a few broken twigs and waist high in the same direction. You continue to follow it, pick up a paw print now and then. What was it Apache used to say? Everyone knew he wasn't an Apache, but when you were a kid, all the damn Indians looked the same, so the people in the town just gave him the name, and it stuck. He'd always try to tell his stories of life before white people arrived, and sometimes, when he was good and drunk, stories about before his people had arrived. “When the wolves come, we go to the ocean.” Was that it? Or did they go south to the bay? “We never saw them, but we knew the wolves would come... They were not wolves, but... we never came up with a name for them. Our ancestors would say they were the walking shadows. Black shapes of hate, who would crawl into your longhouses, and steal your young.” While it always seemed like jiberish, maybe he meant some sort of large wolf? Like a Brown Bear to a Black bear? Your brother Arthur, who died four years back working out of Vernonia, would say that up in the hills, they knew things watched them. They never seen it, and it weren't no Sasquatch or whatever they say. It was something else...”

Up ahead a good ways, in a small clearing of the grove, where there were stones piled around, we found Randy.

Or most of him. A ribcage torn asunder, looked like white claws reaching into the air. An arm was hanging from a tree, with most of the flesh ripped off. His guts, like purple ropes lay all about what was left of him. His head was torn off, and lay askew to the north, with its face caved in, and tore up. You could tell it was him from the close cropped black hair though. A piece of his face lay just four feet off of my boot under a fern. The branches of all the leafy alder trees were splattered in his dried blood. You can see several paw prints continue to the south east, further up the hills... into God's Valley.

what do you do?

>>17722356
>You follow the trail.
>follow the trail.
>the trail.
>trail

>Oregon Coast Horror Vol. 1

.... uh, i wish i had grabbed that gun. Whats up ahead at god's valley? thats a nicely named place. wtf?

Whats the weather like now, since it was getting cloudy earlier? and how the fuck do my friends react?

“HOLY SHIT!” Jim yells out. “WHAT THE FUCK DID THIS? Its got to be a bear, or a pack of bears.”

The clouds have crawled across the sky, reach to the west over the ocean, to the horizon in the west, climbing over the tops of the cascades. A cool wind feels all the more bitter, from your wet pant legs, which now feel like the cold muddy earth is reaching up and pulling at your calves.

“This ain't no bear's doing...” Jake adds.

You look over the hills to the south east, where the trees get thicker. A lot of old growth fir back there. You knew old Hank Crawford, who's older brother, by must've been twenty years, tried to start a place back there. Walt Crawford. Hank said he built most of a house up there, near where the Acey Creek logging road runs, but he gave it up after just one fall there. He didn't finish it in the spring, so he tried to live in it while he worked on it in the early autumn. But Hank said Walt just packed up his stuff and left. He moved to Astoria, then took a boat out west somewhere. Hank said he hadn't seen him in fifteen years. Whatever did this was back over in God's Valley.

The pregnant clouds offered up their wet tears for this scene, crackling and breaking. Sheets of rain suddenly poured down from above.

“Sun will be down in about an hour...” Jake stated.

What do you do?

Wolf monsters... no guns... oh wait, a mud covered cowboy bullshit, and a revolver + wolf monster home den thing + darkness? fuck this. Go home. Try again tomorrow.

>>17722470
Get home, organize us a posse for tomorrow.

Also, bump because this is awesome and well-written.

We sat in silence for the rest of the ride home. By the time they dropped you off, the sun had gone down, but the rain did not stop. You walk into your home, and your dog Daisy, a black and white australian sheep dog followed inside. You start a fire and eat some jerky you had laying out in the kitchen. With the fire, your home got warm pretty quick. It was a pretty good house, and farm for that matter, that you bought off 'ol Bruce Hurlesonn. Swede you called him. You take your rifle from out of the closet, and sit in a tall chair. Apache's stories, Hank Crawford's brother... what the hell was this? Daisy trots up beside you and takes curls up by your feet. You tongue the last piece of elk meat from your teeth and clutch the rifle. Tomorrow you'd go into town, go by the mill, and get a gang. Would they believe you? Probably not. A few of your friends, Steve, Adam, Isaac and Vernon might... they knew you weren't a liar. Maybe if you just told them there were some bears, and they got Randy. A bear problem like that was a menace to everybody. But... some wolf monster? No. Absolutely not. But here, tonight, in your house... its warm. Tonight, tonight you can... rest. Here, in this, chair. Rest...

BANG BANG BANG. THUD. BANG BANG BANG. “RICK! RICHARD! GET UP!” A voice shouts from outside. Daisy barks furiously in reply. BANG BANG BANG. “RICK! PLEASE! RICK!” You stammer to your feet. The fire has died down, and you check the old clock, two thirty in the morning. What was this? What the hell?

Jim, his rain slick face beat red from violent tears. “Rick.... Rick... my kids...”
Jake was with him, in an old duster, and a wide brimmed hat pulled low. He held a lamp and a ten gauge shotgun. Your eyes glance over to Jake and he meets yours. He nods solemnly and lowers his head.

“My kids Rick! My fucking kids-”
“What? What are you talking about Jim?” you interrupt.
“They're gone. All of them,” he gasps between choking sobs. “I went to bed around nine, and I got up around one. I needed a drink after today... and the front door was open. All the lights were off.. and... and...” he gasps again... “My fucking kids are gone!” His face explodes in angry coughs and tears.

“We looked all around for half an hour Rick,” Jake added. “We saw one of them prints, going north. We ran down to the Blanchard's theirs are gone too. Earl is in the car. We checked the Pullmans. Theirs too. Paul wouldn't come though, he didn't believe us. But we saw more of them tracks. He went off into the woods on his own. We've got some petrol, guns, and we're going to fix this.”

The sky shouted an angry thunder, which sounded like the earth itself cracked.

What do you do?

>>17722835
Well, shit just got real. I suggest we get together everyone we can and get to a single place. Maybe a town hall or some common meeting place. We'll organize and figure out what the hell to do. Everyone with a gun, bring it. And ammo.

>>17722835

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVzwxQMuOww

scene's music.

>>17722866
>>17722835
Is it still raining? Even if it's not we should wear a good thick jacket. Anything to put a little extra distance between our skin and this things teeth, just in case. Also, remember to bring a full lantern.

You climb in the car and nod to Earl. Jake takes the wheel again and Jim is shaking in the back, his fat heaving cheeks forcing his eyes into a crushing squint. Jake accelerates through the mud and the sound of daisy's bark dies away as he speeds down the road to Highway Fifty three. He burns through Aldervale and on to Nehalem. The sound of the engine drones out as the constant rapid beat of rain pelting the window and canvas roof pounds in your years. In an instant, a brilliant purple flash of light illuminates the countryside. You were gazing into the black woodline, which is suddenly a mass of tall reaching black spires against a blue glimpse. The shadows seem all wrong. As if they were curling. But in the same instant it came, it was gone. Minutes later, the car slides to a halt in the heart of the tiny town of Nehalem. Earl and Jim run out into the mill's night shift. You and Jake get out and lean on the hood, accustomed to rain, the wet night doesn't bother you. Jake checks his revolver.
“I'm worried,” Jake murmured.
“Of course you're worried. I am too. We don't even know what's out there.”
“No,” he responded. “About Jim.” Jake looked up from his pistol and shot me a pensive look, and a slow, slight nod of his head saying 'no'.
“It's his fucking kids Jake!”
“You seen what that thing, those things did to Randy-”

Jim runs back leading four other men, half dressed, but all wielding large rifles or shotguns. “Alright guys, let's go... we can't waste anymore time...”

What do you do?

"Hey, get back in there and get some fucking coats on. If this is a god damned bear, be damned if I'm going to let you get clawed up cause you ran off half cocked, and half naked! Allen, you spent ten years in the woods as a chokesetter, and you come out here like that? You should be fucking embarrassed! Go get a fucking lantern too!"

You look back over to Jake who holsters his pistol.

What next?

My mind keeps wandering back to what the old Apache said, but... Goddamnit, we're men, not boys - no goddamn ghost story's going to stop us.
We need some lanterns, and then we can set off where we saw those tracks earlier. Also, we need a volunteer to stay behind with the rest of the womenfolk and any children who might still remain.

Your car filled up, followed by another race east across McDonald bridge and over the old, dark Nehalem river. Lights from the mill shine off its black surface, in a wavy, and haunting symmetry. You turn left on Highway Fifty Three and blaze down the road. You pass farms, homesteads, and the white clover grange. As you round the curve at Lloyd's place, your head lamps catch a heard of forty Elk standing aside the road... staring at you unflinchingly. You pass them, and their silhouettes fade quickly into the darkness.
This damned road is the curviest thing ever engineered. Left, right, left, right, left, left, right. It goes for another four miles and eventually, in front of Blain's farm, you turn right up the muddy logging road... God's Valley. Immediately you are under the tall, long branches of old fir. The road goes up a hill and onto a small landing. It curves by little rackheap creek, and then twists back again, through an odd, and out of place patch of new growth Alder. The hill on the left suddenly turns rocky, and the right side drops off, over a hundred feat to big rackheap creek. Jake's steering is steady, and you hug the rocky wall at a tremendous speed. The sound of the rain is downed out by a whaling wind from the north. It pushes against your auto like an invisible wall, trying to keep you away. After the steep cliffside, the road resumes into the forest, going up and down hill, until you pass an old quarry and enter God's Valley.

>>17722984
Something's really strange about this. Like, how did it quietly open the door? How did it get Jim's kids without causing and awful racket or mess? Animals don't do things like this.

Anyway, Jim is right when he says there's no time to waste. Hope whatever light sources we have are good and bright because tracking at night sucks. Maybe we should stick close to Jim and make sure he doesn't do something dumb like running blindly away from the group if he hears one of his kids calling. Did we think to bring a knife with us?

>>17723098

Yeah, the longer we wait, the farther the kids get away from civilization. Everybody just keep their head on, stick together, and don't panic.

>>17723088
The shitty thing about this is that while we know these things probably came from God's valley we don't have much of a clue WHERE in the valley they came from. Guess we'll just have to search until we find some sign. Out of curiosity, is that quarry we just passed shut down and abandoned?

After driving like the devil for seven miles up through the dark, densely wooded hills you reach god's valley. The logging road peters out. You think back to those stories of Apache. “Well, whatever it is.. those Indian bastards didn't have these...” You down at your rifle, and eye the other nine weapons which shine wet in the lamplight.
“Alright, Crawford's place is up this way. We followed the tracks yesterday,” you announce. “and the pointed to this area. We came up from the North West though, so I don't know what we'll find.” You wave your arm forward, and the group follows you into the tree line.

The rain, while lessened by the fir canopy, actually begins to die down. A cold wind however sways against the trees, and all you can here is a loud and steady “whoooush.” You hike along for awhile, until you see a clearing up ahead. The wind dies down, and the rain stops completely. The hard wind must have blown the clouds east, into the Cascades. You signal for the men to fan out. They do so and spread into a long line, each man an arm lengths apart. You come to the clearing, and the ivory moonlight pours down onto the clearing of tall grass. As far as you can see, the tops of all the white grass is a strange black. When you make it into the clearing, you feel the black tips and examine it under lamplight.

Blood.
The whole fucking field, for what must be a hundred yards.

“Hey, what's that?” Earl says in something less than a shout. He points to the north west. You see it.

A small glimmering red light on top of the hill, emanating from what looks to be a dilapidated house.

>>17723164
Yes, it is shut down.
>>17723098
yes, you have a knife.

what do you do?

>>17723175
>Blood.
>The whole fucking field, for what must be a hundred yards.

WHAT.

Ok, head for the house, but keep an eye out for whatever might be around. Whoever's there might have an idea of what happened... but be ready in case they also had a hand in it. This is far too much for just dumb animals.

>>17723175
>>17723175
The entire field is covered in blood? even after the storm we just had that should have washed all that blood away? How the fuck is that even possible?

Okay, so a light in a cabin implies a human agent to this mess. And a though occurs to me: A man could fashion a set of over sized fake wolf paws and strap them to his feet. Course that doesn't really explain what happened to Randy.

In any case head for the cabin. Have some of the guys keep an eye out behind us too. And watch your footing Wet grass can be really slippery.

As we left the clearing, and got back under the fir canopy, the ground got soft again. We were up to our ankles in mud. Its as if the earth was pull at us, trying to hold us back. While the others moved ahead, Jake grabbed my shoulder. He reached down, and grabbed a handful of the wet clay. He motioned with a nod for me to look at it. Under the lamp light I could see it. It was... some kind of bloody clay. Jake threw the mess down, and as if to clean his soul wiped it from his fingers violently off onto his overalls. I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and gave him a grim face. We trotted back up to the gang and climbed a steep hill, that lay between us and the awful red light. And as we crested it, our noses were attacked with a terrible smell. It was an awful acrid and sweet stench that smelled as if an infested cow had been left out for days, bloated. It wasn't the smell so much, it never was, it was the reminder of mortality, of our flesh and its vulnerability, and how the world continued on after us. You can smell it there on that hill, you can smell the fact that you will die, and there will be nothing left of you. In the darkness of oblivion, all know know, is that somewhere, a coyote is chewing at your gristle and bones.

Despite the smell, despite what you saw in the clearing, despite the bleeding earth which is pulling at you, trying to keep you away, despite all this you have a solid resolve in your mind. Not any kind of resolve for what you might find, but a resolve in knowing that whatever it is that you find, it wont live to see the morning.

Cont.

As you came through the gulley and up the hill to the source of the light, your lamps are no longer necessary. A scarlet light, guided you direct to it. As if hell itself had unleashed all of the light in its unholy fires upon the land, a sickly blood red light emitted from open doors and windows. Everything was suddenly bright by its unholy luminance. The trees, the mud, Jim, Jake, our gang... everything. Everything glowed with scarlet ugliness.
The worst part though, was not the ugliness of the devil's ruby light, but the sound.
As we got near, it called out to us. The sound seemed like a whispering wind as we climbed down into the gully, but as we approached the house, it was a sound which will haunt you forever. You could feel its shrill pitch in your back. The screaming of dozens of children in murderous agony. “Daddy, DADDY! Mommy- Dadd-ie-momiEEEEEE!”
Some in the gang dropped their weapons and covered their ears. Others began shooting wildly. You can see Jim, his entire frame heaving with a sobbing and, truly mad, savage violence.

But from the corners of your eyes, you see it again, from the lightning flash as you drove to Nehalem. The shadows were all wrong. When you focus, it seems fine, but in the edges of your vision, the trees curl unnaturally. As if, obeying a shadowed and other worldry geometry. But the worst of it, and you don't feel you could tell yourfriends, cause you can't SEE it... but you know, aside from the painful cries of dying children within, you can swear you see, the shadows of shadows moving in that red and haunting light. And a chilling, undecipherable whispering from the entire forest, growling, and laughing.

what do you do?

>>17723433

ABORT ABORT

Get out of there and come back in the morning by daylight. Whatever the hell is going on in there, we're not NEARLY ready to deal with.

>>17723433
We can't fight ephemeral shadows so we'll fight what's in the cabin. Get the guys calmed down steel ourself for what's likely to be a horrible sight and Charge!

Unless we have the ability to aim a gun with the corner of our eye. If we could do that then by all means take a shot at one of those freaky shadow of shadows.

>>17723518

No save ammo. They haven't tried to kill us yet.

Hold on to your butts and get inside that cabin.

>>17723484
Dude, we can't just leave the kids. If they're alive enough to scream then they're alive enough to save.

We really need to get everyone else calmed down and focused. Step up and take charge, if you show strength at a time like this, everyone else should follow your lead.

You call the men back. Shouting... but your voice is downed out over the sound of a hundred mind piercing shrieks and moans. You run to Earl, seize him by the shoulders and point back towards the way you came. He glares at you and you yell in his face, his eyes watching your lips, “GET OUT OF HERE.” He shakes his head 'no', to you, and looks back at the house. You run over to one of the men from Nehalem, it was your friend Vernon. You again implore him to go, and he shakes his head in affirmation. You begin to start heading back, hoping the others will follow you, and Jake stops you. He takes his hat off, and points behind you. You look over your shoulder, and you watch Jim take off into the house alone.

You follow Jake back to the house, and inside. The other men just stand outside, paralyzed with fear, or crumpled up on the ground covering their ears. But for your sanity, and for your soul you wish you had done the same thing. You wish you would have stayed out of the damned house.
cont.

You remember Jim clawing at his face until his nails dug in, and blood ran through his hands and down his frame. You remember Jake grabbing him by the shoulder, and pulled him out of the house. You don't know how you got out, rightly. It happened so fast. You remember Jake shouting to the other men to burn it. And you grabbed a petrol can and helped with that...We burned it to the ground, and the light died. Not long afterwards, the sun came up, and what was left of your gang...your sane minds that is, walked back out of there, and drove slowly away. You left that house a pile of ashes, not a single timber left even charred or recognizable...

But, these petty words, cannot do justice to what you remember inside there. What you saw in that dilapidated old wreck, which was haunted by something, something from another time.... The house was entirely empty, except for the walls; which were crafted entirely of living, screaming, children flesh. Their little faces stretched taut, and little limbs waving feebly. Screaming, begging, pleading for help....

The End.

>>17723764
Good story, thanks!

>>17723764
>except for the walls; which were crafted entirely of living, screaming, children flesh.

Least it wasn't bloody dysentery.
I'd hate to go starving after such adventuring.

>>17723792

Glad to bro. Thanks for playing along. It was my first quest I've ever done. I appreciate reading along to my poorly written scrawl. You should visit Nehalem someday. its a great little town. Get a beer at the Bay Way, it's still there. But the mill went down ages ago.

>>17723906
Tbh. I didn't post, I'm not very good at playing quests.
Followed the story from the second or third post though.

ah. Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it all the same. The original pic for the thread is the Nehalem Valley. God's valley is about 7 miles back, just to the right of that highest peak.

Anyone gonna archive this? Or want me too?

>>17723991

This is the OP... 1) I dont know how, 2) is it worth archiving?

>>17723991
Do eeet

>>17724018
Very much so, What would you like the description of the thread to be? also, some tags to go along with it.

>>17724053

Lovecraft inspired horror story in turn of the century rural-coastal Oregon, where a group of 3 friends search for a missing local and discover an ancient blood thirsty evil which has haunted the forested hills since before the Indians.

tags: oregon, werewolves, lovecraft, cthulhu,

i appreciate it. maybe I'll do another one tomorrow night (US day time. I'm in Afghanistan).

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/17721317/
Here you go, and no problem.