A Haunted (Farm) House

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Gulliver, Feb 27, 2014.

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  1. [​IMG]

    Lynzy (open)

    Character's Name: Lynzy
    Sex: Female
    Age: 18
    Appearance: Long dark brown hair, fair skin, green eyes, pale skin, birthmark over her left shoulder that looks like a deformed heart.
    Personality: In a word- trickster. This girl loves a good prank. Curious, fun loving, adventurous, and tenacious, Lynzy is not to be trifled with.
    Background: Lynzy grew up in a big family of seven, born number four, she had her fair share of babysitting and having others to look up too. Was homeschooled her whole life and loved to get out of the village and explore what is beyond her small hometown.

    Foka (open)

    Name: Foka Alcatraz

    Age: Mid-late twenties

    Appearance: Foka has shaggy, chocolate brown hair which is always unkept and tangled. Not like a frizzy, 'I can't manage my hair because it's unruly', but more like it's almost been styled that way. His eyes are an icy shade of blue, set above high cheekbones and a defined jaw. There are a total of 21 piercings about his head alone, not counting the other seven located elsewhere. For this story, however, many of his piercings have literally been ripped out, leaving his ears shredded, a deep scar in his left eyebrow, as well as on either side of the bridge of his nose. Lastly, his time in the Farmhouse has cost him his little finger on his left hand, and two toes on his right foot.

    Bio: Foka was raised in Moscow in a Catholic home. After graduating school, he moved to the U.S. and opened a restaurant. To celebrate his success, a few close friends took Foka on a trip to the countryside. They stopped at the abandoned farmhouse for the night, but to their dismay, they were never allowed to leave.

    Greg (open)

    Name: Gregory Adams

    Age: 19

    Appearance: Greg is tall. He stands at about 6' 5'. He has short, blond hair that lays down naturally. His eyes are hazel. As far as his body type, Greg is a bit more muscled than the average adolescent male.

    Bio: He's the average high school jock, though perhaps a little more shy than several of his friends. He's been involved in his schools football league since his Freshman year, and now that he's just graduated, he intends to continue to be involved, one way or another.



    Foka waited, the continual hum of the van having become something of a comfort. John had said that he would go check and see if anyone was home, see if the coast was clear or not. He was still visible, standing at the front door, up the stairs. He had knocked, waited a few moments, and knocked again. Foka watched as John turned back to the humming vehicle and shrugged, holding his hands out in a gesture of unknowing.

    "Is it locked?" Al asked, sticking his head out the window to yell at the man at the door. John turned back to the door and tried the handle. The door swung open easily. "Well, it's not locked. The lights are out. I say we do it," Al said, turning the van off before stuffing the keys into his pocket. Foka nodded and opened the sliding back door, swinging his legs over the edge of the seat before grabbing his backpack and jumping out. Al followed, jogging for a moment to get in front, catching the door before it closed behind their friend.

    An orange-tinted light turned on, revealing a kitchen to the right of the front door. "Lights work," John said, tossing his own pack onto the old, wooden table in the middle of the dining room. The legs of the table creaked slightly under the sudden weight, which was then doubled as Foka and Al added their own backpacks to the pile.

    "Qvaint," Foka said with his tell tale, Russian accent. The place was quaint, with cream-colored wallpaper on the kitchen and dining room walls. There were small, blue and red flowers around the trim. The single light that hung from the ceiling was covered in dust, and several small dark spots were stuck to the glass shade from where insects had crawled in, and not been able to find their way out.

    "Cozy," Al replied, sinking into a white, wooden chair at he table. He let out a sigh and let his head hang back, shoulder-legnth, blond hair draping over the mans shoulders.

    There was a quiet rattling as John opened the refrigerator. "It might as well be empty," he observed, wrinkling his nose from the smell of sour milk. The door was closed gently, and John stood back, waving his hand in front of his face. "I guess it's snacks tonight."

    "Unless noble, Father Russia here can catch us a pig and fry it up."

    "No pigs," Foka said simply, shrugging as he sat down on a chair of his own. There were four, matching wooden chairs at the table, which was simple and round. The cabinets were also simple, lining two of the four walls of the kitchen. There was a single window, which was covered by a metal grate, held in place by screws.

    There was a few minutes of silence as the three men sat and breathed, relaxing from a long day of being cooped up in the van. Then there was the quiet rattling sound in the fridge. Three heads turned to look at the white refrigerator, then to each other. "The fuck was that?" Al asked, looking to his two friends on either side of the table. Foka was the one that steed and stepped over to investigate.

    "The only thing in there is a bottle of old, sour milk," John said, watching as the door of the refrigerator was pulled open and the Russian peeked his head inside and picked up the glass bottle.

    "It is not sour," Foka said after a moment.

    "Dude, I'm pretty sure that stuff is rotten. That or something died in it."

    "It is not," Foka repeated, turning to show the others. The milk really wasn't sour. There were no curdles, and the texture was as fluid as any high-quality milk was.

    "What are you doing? I'm saving that," said a young girl, standing in the doorway to the entryway. She was small, and couldn't have been any older than ten, with long, blond hair that was braided on either side of her head, and a baby blue Sunday dress with short sleeves and ruffles.

    The two men at the table jumped, suddenly sitting straight, their eyes going between Foka and the young girl. As for the Russian, he seemed rather unfazed.

    "Hello," He greeted, giving the girl a small smile. He was met with a scowl.

    "I got that for mommy. I got it all by myself. Put it back."

    "Alright, alright," Foka said, turning to put the glass of milk back into the refrigerator. "Is mama home?" He asked once he was done, being sure to close the door gently before addressing the girl again.

    "No, Mommy died. Bessy kicked the dog, and he died too. And papa, he's been dead for a long, long time. And your friends," she paused, looking to John and Al at the table. "They're gonna' die soon, just like Mommy and Papa, and little Ginger too..."

    -Two Years Later-
    #2 Gulliver, Feb 27, 2014
    Last edited: Feb 28, 2014
  3. (I love the picture you chose!)

    Swinging her arms back and forth, humming a little tune stuck in her head, Lynzy couldn't wait for the sun to fall.

    "Sissy, what are you so excited for?" asked the youngest of the family. "Your face... it won't stop smiling."

    Lynzy grinned even wider and responded, "Oh, I just have some plans for later." Secretly she thought And nobody knows but me.

    "But why do you always sneak out of the house and go to-"

    Lynzy stopped the little girl right there by putting a hand over her mouth and whispered sharply, "Don't ever tell anyone where I go after dark, you hear?"

    The young one, Delila nodded, tears brimming her eyes. Lynzy dropped her hand and hugged her sister.

    "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but you need to know the severity of the situation. What I choose to do with my life is not something the family needs to worry about, all right? Someday you will understand."

    Delila blinked back the tears and huffed, "You always say that, Sissy!"

    Lynzy smiled. "It's true! I didn't like it either when I was your age. But now that I am older, I do understand better what everyone was telling me."

    "Sissy, I'm hungry. I'm gonna go back home and get an apple. Wanna come with?"

    "That's all right, Delila. You go ahead, I'm waiting for someone."

    "Ok, then don't expect there to be any when you return!" the little girl ran off.

    Ah, to be young again and not have a care in the world. Lynzy thought, turning her focus back on walking to the hill a few feet ahead. It was her favorite spot to think, get away from the chaos called family, and meet new people that traveled by. There was an old, spiraled tree at the top that she used to climb when she was young. Now, she enjoys sitting under it, feeling the cool breeze blow through her long, thick hair.

    Once she reached her destination, her eyes scanned the scenery below. A few deer were two miles to the right, grazing on what was left of feed as the times were changing from Summer to Autumn. But no sign of any people.

    Lynzy sighed, "I wonder what's keeping them this time." She sat under the tree, slowly closing her eyes and drifting into slumber.
  4. A short, blue car sped down the road after several minutes, coming to a screeching halt at the bottom of the hill. There weren't really any parking places, but it didn't seem to bother the driver, who just pulled off to the side of the road before climbing out of the drivers seat. The driver was young and energetic, wearing the local high schools jersey jacket. There was a Wildcat patch on the right, upper arm.

    Greg nervously ran his fingers through his blond hair, his hazel eyes scanning the hillside as he trudged up the small path made by the wildlife. When he got to the top and found Lynzy, he walked up to her with all the calmness he could muster. He wasn't the most experienced with the young women at the high school, despite being on the varsity team, and an actually rather good player at that. No, Greg was just a bit too shy for the game that his other friends played. Lynzy was a little different, however. The fact that she was home-schooled, meant that there would be less publicity. Of course, Greg also thought she was brilliant and beautiful, and witty, and adventurous-

    "Hello," he greeted, smiling awkwardly and trying not to work himself up more than he already had. "Are you ready?" He asked, holding out a hand to help her up. So, forget the not wanting the attention of the public, Greg had asked her out to the Homecoming bonfire. The decision was mostly his, though there was no denying the outside influence of his peers. Ok, a lot of peer pressure was involved.
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