St Margaret Institute for Perturbed Children

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Artsydaze, Oct 3, 2012.

  1. This is a collective storytelling horror thriller, that is to say that all the characters are playable by everyone and the only rule is to make this as creepy and scary as possible.

    St Margaret Institute for Perturbed Children, 1951.

    Heavy rain pelted the Gothic-styled windows as a cacophony of giggles and children lullabies echoed in the pristine corridors. It was a Saturday night, the occasional doctor patrolling the various passage of the old asylum making sure that their cursed charges were behaving themselves. Today had been like all other day for them, an endless cacophony of giggles, screams and cries echoing in the halls as the staff tried various treatment on the demented children, most of them taking pleasure in their pitiful sobbing and all being disturbed when one of them would start giggling in the middle of a session. Those times were the worse, in their opinions, and were a sure thing that the little demons were possessed and needed punishment.

    From faraway sounded a grandfather clock, signalling another bout of treatments. Eager to shut up the little menace some, the doctor set out for their grim work. Syringes were filled with tranquilizers, restraints were being tested and “pedagogic utensils” were being readied in preparation of what was to come. Little did they know that the children had enough, and would no longer stand such treatment from their caretakers.

    They would take this institute of the mad as theirs tonight.
  2. A flash of lightning illiuminated Kakure's thin rocking frame as she stared off into the distance. She heard the grandfather clock chime. She had been informed by her older sister, Tora, that tonight was the night. She reached over to her roommate and best friend to shake her awake. Her roommate was the only one she didnt have trouble communicating with. Kakure's voice never actually worked but that didn't pose a problem for her friend, Mei, since she could read minds. No one understood that, though, so she was sent to the St Margaret Institute for Perturbed Children. Mei herself even soemtimes seemed to forget that the voices were from actual people. She gently touched her friends shoulder and her friend's eyes opened. Their eyes met and Mei instantly understood what was about to happen.

    Tonight, they would take the hospital.
  3. Argent looked up from his seating, hearing such a chime was beautiful to his ears. He wasn't very friendly and very..... Disturbing child as you could call it. He was sitting on the floor, hunched over and looking super thin. People wondered how he could get so thin and still have energy to do what he wanted to do. He looked down at the floor, at a pentagram made out of blood. He didn't have a room mate, his old roommate was on the floor. He'd killed his roommate on the first day and now that boy existed as a pentagram and weird shapes of some sort. Argent could see such shapes all the time so he just drew them out. The chime finished and he looked over at the door. He didn't have any friends but he'd been informed about the raid.

    Tonight the doctors would get their own treatment.
  4. Iamora was sown of the seeds of iniquity, and borne of the blood of a malignant, sinful mankind. Her ageless counteneance was a perfectly formed guise of a ten year old girl, her flaxen locks tied in place at the sides of her head by black ribbons. She delighted in the abuse of the others, the evil which had taken residence within the walls of the institution. She beheld the others with abyssal black eyes, and thought back to her mother. She was of a different time, different realm of existance, but Iamora could easily fit in a more modernized time. She would take her mother's place as best she could, within the Devil's playground she would become a leader, orchestrating the others, tendrils of malevolence reaching the minds and hearts of her peers. They would soon become enthralled to this evil, black stains left by her mother's paw ensnaring their souls, Iamora would open these plagued children's eyes to a whole new world of deviltries, wickedness.She stood in the corner, her features not marred by the perpetual sneer her mother wore, but adopting a mask of no emotion.

    She clutched the remains of the stuffed teddy bear she could not be parted with, the lower extremities of the plush toy was ripped clean off by the doctor in an attempt to separate her of it. It would be studied, and then cast in the incinerator as if in some sort of exorcisim, to relieve her of such an impurity of innocence. She had attacked the doctors before, in a fury of small, black talons and jagged teeth. Her powers were somehow shut away within the confines of the bastille created within her. The treatment to rid her of them failed, but they only existed by small, fragile threads which were growing stronger everyday. The torment of mankind was the key to unlocking her power. She was a sadistic, waiff of a girl, but the temptations of the children was allowing more of her power to seep out in small doses. Desire. They all had their innermost desires, this would turn to sin.
  5. Marshall waited chained up in his room. He heard the chime of the grandfather clocked and he immediately twitched when each chime was sounded. He clenched his jaw. Marshall soon started yelling through his stapled shut moth and struggling to break free of his chains. The chimes he heard from that clock made him more and more insane. He would try to escape again and again. The few times he escaped from his room were the few times he was thrown back inside of it with triple the restraints. Marshall's mouth was stapled, each finger broken and put into iron splints with locks on them, his eyes also stapled shut and a straight jacket covered by locked chains. Marshall was officially named insane, possessed, and supernaturally and unbelievably lethal.
  6. Argent stood up as his shoulders rolled. He had a collar with a single chains all around to try and keep him in place and has been known to be the demon leashed. You really could call him a Demon, with his disturbed mind on killing and other such things, the things he drew, and then of course the crows that'd follow him anywhere. They were outside the instustion but they've gotten in on a few occasions. Argent tugged on his collar and sighed as he scooted carefully over to the closet, they tried to record his movements as much as possible so he had to be very careful on moving. He reached over to the closet and pulled out a jutting nail and began to pick the locks of each chain. Suprisngly he wanted to keep the collar. He grinned in satisfaction as the last chain fell away with a clatter then concealed the small nail into his pocket. A small nail could be used as a weapon until he got his hands on something better like the syringes or maybe the cat tail whips he'd seen once down in the basement.

    Like the others, he'd been aloud to roam around here but that all changed when he went into the basement. Finding the cat tail whips as well as knowing the basement could be a very good hiding place as well as killing stage. He smiled a little at the thought of a doctor having no head at all. He began to walk down to the basement so he could complete such a plan.
  7. A glistening black tongue peeked out from slightly parted black painted lips. Iamora was doll like in stature, her immaculate features thinking of finely crafted porcelain. Although they have succeeded in almost stripping her of her most maleficent gifts, she still had a few she could have fun with. The rubious eyes of her crippled stuffed bear shone like sanguineous stars, gleaming through the darkened area she now sat, a pose uninterrupted by bodily movement. The youth observed her surroundings mostly in silence, the cottony entrails of her toy falling to the floor like it was a victim of some sort of dolly disembowelment. She no longer possessed the knowledge of how to weave the mortal sins like Anger and Gluttony into existence, but it would suffice for now that she could influence others of the more venial ones like Vanity.

    As her mother had shown her, it could become a most destructive force in the frail minds of humankind. Her forebearer known as Ravenwitch had ended worlds which transcended space and time, crippling the spirits of humans with sin and the other powers she possessed. Surely an offspring of the embodiment of Hell would hold such power for herself. Iamora's gaze, the color of pitch, now fell upon a Nurse whose face was boldly a few inches from her own. She was being physically shaken from her reverie, the vision was crumbling into nothingness as the rocks of the cliff side would tumble into the sea. Her upper arms being restrained by the vice like grasp of the Nurse's hands, she had not the strength to break free of her assailant. Instead, a voice flowed from the girl, one which would be foreign for a child. It was one of another, long ago.

    The sound of her utterances would usually strike the audience blind and deaf, if they were to even survive hearing it. She sought not to kill anyone, not yet. She would leave this to the other children, unfortunate souls that would be emboldened with sin. She was not a vessel of which the human soul would spend eternity in the wrath of the ever consuming fires, but she did not envy her mother. Now as she looked upon the frozen face of the Doctor's assistant, the fear was like a paralytic toxin seizing the woman's voice and features, Iamora's lips adopted a slight smirk, a look of amusement. She spoke the words which would plant the seeds of Vanity within the woman, leaving them to flourish within this pitiful creature.

    There was much she could mold and shape of this, as the Nurse was rather obese, a result of her ravenous appetite that was never quite satiated. Iamora had felled many a human being having wielded Gluttony, which was among her most favored of sins. She didn't even need to infect this creature, the woman was influenced of her own will afterall. The hungry maw within the Nurse had made a wreck of her figure, the voracity she had given into for so long was forged into existence of her own thoughts. Whilst the woman's peers were rather fair of face compared to her, she had never taken the time to truly observe how the flesh sagged upon her face, the texture of her flesh closely of overly sun dried leather. She was fat and ugly. Most she would interact with had held their tongues, feigning a politeness in her company to give her some sort of compliments on her appearance. Now Iamora's abyssal gaze acted as mirrors, reflecting the true visage of the Nurse. "" She voiced, enunciating each word slowly, as if they were wholly foreign to her vernacular. "The Doctor doesn't want me. He...doesn't want me." She rose and slowly receded down the dim corridor.