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It had not wanted to come here; it had a more direct approach to get to the account it wanted. But it hadn't wanted to be seen, and so it hid in this account. It was new. It could feel...something, about this girl.Dawson. That was her name. Short, blonde, and currently, very tired.Perfect.-An entire night to just write sounded perfect. Now if only she could actually write something. Thunder rumbles outside loudly, darkening the evening sky. Dawson stayed inside, in her room. The lamp above her bathed the room in a golden-brown warm haze, the coral-coloured blankets underneath her as she sat cross-legged, typing away. Ukulele music plays in her ears, and she's humming. You should be working on ITOGW, her mind tells her. And those Halloween specials, Escape the Night with Tyler Oakley....She shakes her head. Nah, I'm writing Sahara bringing Oli back to life.Fair enough, her mind reasons back. I'm in the mood anyways. Words fly out from her fingers, creating worlds with misshapen sentences but strong transitions, with greatly-described characters, but awkward dialogue. It's a mismatch of I'll edit it all before I publish it, but she just wants to get her ideas right now. A show. Sahara. A reunion. An explanation. Oli hugging Eva, describing everything in sight, the carnival, and the mansion, it all.
Hey, this isn't too bad!
She takes a break and checks on the rest of the community - I wonder if anyone updated anything...Then she sees it. Birdy's new story; it's short and sweet. Dawson clicks. It's a simple story; some creature attacks Birdy at her home, revealing fears. Apparently, it begins to attack other authors. Dawson grins goofily and decides to comment; "'Cool! So this thing is attacking AO3 Escape the Night authors? Eek! Hope I'm safe!'" She continues to write, boggling at the fact that she's used "reddish-brown and terra cotta" at least 30 times. Jeez. Aren't I unoriginal.She gets a reply in her inbox almost immediately: "'What? What thing?'" Dawson blinks, confused. Oh. Maybe she's in character? But as she scrolls up the comments, nearly all of them are about Birdy acting strange, with her replying cryptically things like, "It's here-" and "I can't-"Huh. Can't...what? She comments again, only to get cryptic replies over and over again. She makes a small comparison to her character Sahara. Almost trying to swindle ya, making up jokes, Dawson grinned to herself. She'd have to write more about Sahara. But as she digs through, some of the comments claim to have been attacked by the same thing. Soon, stories pop up everywhere, all with a similar pattern; Dawson's heart picks up double speed, hammering in her ears. They're writing, usually with a fear of something; they have killed a beloved character off, they need to update, they're out of time, something. Then something, a creature of some sort, talks to them. A "Cursed God." About their fears and insecurities. Then the creature leaves, and the author has no memory of the story, at all. But they post it anyways...
Is this a new trend I'm not aware of or something? Probably - I'm not good with trends anyways.
She brushes it off, going back to her own story. She plays a show in the background, and takes another animal cracker. Yes, she's eating animal crackers. Sue her. Maybe I should play some Deltarune later? It is fun to voice Ralsei...but nah, maybe the first Shelter game? Hmm...She continues to write, but something's nagging at the back of her mind like a headache. Maybe it is a headache. She isn't sure.Then more appear. More stories, more authors, more memory losses. Dawson's head starts to hurt. A lot. Man, I really did miss something, didn't I? What's everyone even going on about?
Me, I'd assume.
Thunder rumbles, shaking the curtains of her bedroom. Dawson nearly falls off the bed, but regains her composure. She didn't think that."Hello?-"
No no, think what you want to say. It'll make you sound much less insane.
Who are you?? Is this what was happening in their stories??
You may not know me, but I know you. You write adventure and cute stories, do you not?
Yes...
Are you writing right now?
I was. Until you interrupted. She doesn't mean to be so snarky, but holy-crap-there's-something-in-my-head seems to make her not care about being nice. Odd for her. Should I call someone?? My parents? No, how on earth would I explain this? The police? Yeah, that'll sound sane... May I see? It's a voice like gravel, like crushed up static and a thunderstorm embedded in her head.
I don't know-
In a second, her stories on AO3 have been opened up, and she feels nothing in her head, which still hurts. After a brief moment, she hasn't heard whatever this thing is. She settles back down into her soft yellow pillow, smiling blearily. Alright, I'm just tried...maybe I should stop...
I like them.
Dawson jumps, although when one's sitting cross-legged it's hard to really go anywhere. Please stop doing that - and leave me alone.
The stories, I mean. I like them.
But I can sense insecurity. I can sense what your dream is - "I'm going to write about these killings and take the fanfic world by storm!" Is this not you?
Uh-
And you seem to be blinded by plots and dialogue and all of this - you believe that you are the only one who will never be able to express how many ideas and how much love she has for storytelling. I have news for you, young mortal - you're not special.
Dawson's headache hurts even more, feeling like she's been stabbed right in her heart. Ouch. Alright - but everyone's different! Even me! She lets out a sudden groan of agony. She pauses the ukulele music, saves her stories.
You're scared that you'll never be good enough. That you won't have enough to express your un-special thoughts and un-special voice, that you'll never be able to animate and live your dreams and do everything you want to do. You're scared that you'll never be enough.
W-What!? That's not true at all! I-
You're scared that you'll never make an impact. That no one will care about your ideas, that you'll pour your heart and soul and every fiber of your being into the worlds you create, and yet no one will care.
"Shut up!!" Dawson screams aloud. She notices it's gone silent. From next door, the neighbor's Chihuahua barks nervously. Dawson's shaking, and she hugs a pillow to her chest. Holy crap. Her heart slowly gently calms itself down.
Then, the voice laughs.
Impressive. I've never had anyone try and stand up to me before now. Maybe you do have the spirit for what I'm looking for...
Looking for...what?
I'm making a game. You see, you create worlds of the chaos I've created. You make chapters of the deaths I've had a part in, you make alternate timelines where anything is possible as long as it's different, and you find these things - ships - to make you convince yourself this torture is okay. I need strong-hearted beings who write my stories for me, to play in my games.
Dawson stays silent, too stunned to speak, so the creature, "he," she assumes, continues on.
I'm planning something huge, and I've already gathered some people to participate. Deserts, carnivals, challenges...they'll go through it all.
Dawson feels her throat dry up to nothing but sandpaper. She has a pretty good idea of who these people are. The lamp beside her dims suddenly, and her gut twists and sinks.
So...this is why people have been acting so weird? Because they've been going through your challenges?
They haven't gone through any challenges yet. I'm just...recruiting them. Getting into their heads. Turning their memories of me to dust - after all, what good is knowing their weak points if they're just going to know I can use it against them? You understand, right?
I...think so.
Good.
Something suddenly clicks in her brain.
And...you're the one who started all this, aren't you? The 1920s party, the deaths, the SAE, everything, and you're getting us because we're capable of killing in story form...so you think we'll be good at whatever you're planning...aren't you?
The voice seems impressed.
Yes. You are very smart, Dawson. Perhaps you will be spared, but don't count on it. I've enjoyed talking to you, although now I must de-part. I might think of you as...a friend. But now I must go recruit more, you see, and your memory must be erased. My apologies.
As he's finished talking, Dawson's head feels pain start to crawl along the base of her neck towards her forehead, and she yells out, gripping the edges of the bed. The lamp's flickering out much more. I have to warm people. She goes to her profile, then to her kudos. Everything hurts. Who hasn't been affected....Leah. Leah hasn't...More pain makes her scream as thunder makes a loud cacophony around her. The warm peach-golds and golden-browns of the room are spinning as her head and brain both feel ready to completely explode. Dark colours of cyan and reddish-brown swim through her head. She gets to Leah's account.
Please be alright please be alright please be-
She stops. They got her. New stories are up on her account. They've taken her. Dawson's shoulders sag in sudden panic. And then the pain completely overworks her, screaming as the lights turn a bright, bright yellow-orange before something cracks. The voice is gone.So is Dawson. -Not even a minute later, Dawson snaps awake, bolting upright. She pants, terror gripping at her heart. She touches her face, then her chest, then her head. She's alright. The pain is gone. She looks around. Where am I? Sand sinks beneath her palms and legs. Why would the creature send me here? I-She stops. She realizes.
I still have my memories.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Dawson stands up. Agony overtakes her legs, but otherwise she's alright. She appears to be in some sort of...temple. There's a reddish sand mixed with golden-brown sand, swirling and mixing. The temple itself is smaller, more enclosed; everything's a dark aquamarine colour, with torches illuminating different doors.Each has some sort of puzzle on it, leading to the way out. And in the middle, stuffed into the reddish sand, is a tape recorder. She picks it up.-[Click]Huh. This is interesting. Hey - I'm Dawson. You may know me as someone else, but I'm Dawson right now. I'm in this type of....temple, a temple of sand and puzzles. I'm trapped, I have no idea - [By her panicked voice you can tell DAWSON doesn't know if she's safe.]I've been looking through all these different twists and turns, and I can't tell where I am. I was just at home when this...cursed creature started talking to me. It's terrifying.[DAWSON begins to pace.] If there are others, they might say that they don't have any time, but I have nothing but time. Seriously. I'm trapped here. I don't know if anyone's going to come for me, but I have my memories. I'm not sure why, but I'm the only one who hasn't forgotten, and that's awful. I bet you guys - sorry, I make gaming videos and I guess when I'm talking during them I say "guys," sorry, habit, anyways - want to get out of here as much as I do. Well, I'll get out. For all of us. [Crunch.][DAWSON stops. Her footsteps in a circle have also stopped.]Did you guys just hear that? [Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.]Crap - holy crap holy crap alright I gotta go. If you find this, let's just say I survived, alright? [Click.][End of Recording.]-Dawson turns the corner, heart pounding. She clutches the tape recorder so hard she feels like it's going to break. It's a terrifying feeling, to be cornered by something, and she only just to wherever this place is.So, we're all here for a reason, she tells herself. We just need to meet up with each-other. Then from there we'll figure out how to defeat the Cursed creature, and we can all go back home. The footsteps grow louder, and Dawson hopes her tiny self won't spontaneously combust.Instead, she focuses on the temple. How she'll manage to get past these puzzles, and what the sudden hieroglyphics on the walls mean. Then, the footsteps stop."Dawson?" Her heart leaps to her throat, and she turns her head around the corner. There's a figure there, and even though she knows none of her Archive friends personally, she recognizes them almost instantly. "It's you! I'm so glad you're alright!"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The girl hasn't woken up yet. She likes deserts and puzzle-filled temples, so he's put her here. She's completely wiped, her memories gone. She'll wake up like all the others, and she'll escape and find them, and then she'll be a part of his Games.
He watches from the side, nothing but dark shadow, perched on a seafoam-coloured pillar, just near the roof of the sand-covered temple. He's picked a nice locating, just next to the Woman With No Name's lair, which has now been, 're-decorated,' into a swamp.
Everything in Everlock has been redecorated.
Everything's falling into place. His beloved has all she has ever wanted and will soon fall to his spell; the others are being corrupted, lying to each other, hurting each other. It's complete anarchy, which will be perfect for his ultimate plan, his Games.
The Cursed One notices something.
He's been manipulating all of them by making them think their stories were real; that every word written to their website, their draft, their story would kill the characters they loved. He made them all believe that this was their fault. But not with this one.
There's no leverage he has on her; plenty of opportunities to guilt trip, but he's been in her mind. She wouldn't feel guilty about any of them, all with an excuse. "They're alive in canon. They both get to come back in the end. It's not real."
An idea suddenly strikes him.
He will return her memories. That question of 'why me' will completely eat her alive. You wanted to be special, young mortal? Well, you've gotten your chance. Now you are.
With the others, he will let them rest. He will let them update their stories, make them think that by posting another chapter of their story, that they're really truly fine. But that is not the case. It's simply the calm before the storm. Let the Archive community think everything's back to normal.
He makes a tape-recorder; he's been leaving them around.
He uses it.
[Click][You hear static.]We'Re gOIng to Ha Ve SoME FUn, NoW [You hear crunching][Click] -Dawson bolts up, sitting. Soft sand squishes into her palms...Where am I? Why would the creature send me he- She stops, realizing.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
[Click][You hear the crunching of sand, distant voices, like it was turned on by accident.]I'm so glad you're alive! [A slight wheezy laugh] [A new voice]
Dawson! I didn't know you got captured, too. What's happened?
[A quick silence; there's a small forced out squeak; one hugging the other much too tightly.] You tell me! I've been trapped here! I have no idea where I am or what's happening or where everyone else is-I was sitting at home, making my stories, and poof! [The sounds of sand being thrown into the air, followed by coughing and Dawson coughing out, 'mistakes have been made, that wasn't smart, ah-"][Coughing.]
I'll explain everything, but we've got to get out of here.
Oh wait! Let me get something first -[Background sounds, crunching sand, more coughing, and then the tape recorder being picked up by Dawson.] Hey, I'm here. Yes. It's me. I'm not dead. Alright, let's go.[Walking]Alright, Dawson here again, turns out I'm not dead, and beside me at the moment is- [Dawson makes a sudden hard and loud, 'oof!' before stumbling backwards. The tape recorder falls.][Click.]-"Ah, crap, ow," She hissed. They looked up to see a large temple door, a dark prismarine embedded with tan-coloured puzzles. "The heck?" She traced one of the outlines with her finger. "This looks like...Matt."Terror seeps through her spine. He looks almost...inhumane. There's a giant near-claw attached to his shoulder, and a terrifying snarl at his jaw. She spins around. They're all here. "Are these part of the Games?""What 'Games?'""The Champion Games of some-sort that he's planning, to see if we can prove ourselves, or something." Silence."Well, then we better get out of here."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
[Click]Hey - It's Dawson again. I'm here with Chala, who managed to save me from the temple. Sorry you didn't get to introduce yourself earlier, I might've hit one of the walls in that thing.[A new voice, a lot more serious]No big deal. We found our way outside the sand temple - I'm not sure how much longer we can hold out. We're currently near a small cafe, hiding out. It's one of the only places with the lights on. But they're pretty dimly-lit...I wish we knew where the others were. [Silence.]
Dawson, are you scared?
[A dip in the conversation.]Honestly...I'm terrified. [They side-hug. DAWSON gives a half-laugh.] Anyways. Tell me what's been going on. I've only been trapped for like, 3 minutes in that place, but we know something's going on...[Click. The tape is set down on the table.]
It all started with ETNMystic.
She posted something about a "cursed creature." They all thought it was a joke. Then everyone who commented got infected as well, but things really started when Birdy posted. From there, authors all over created stories and them promptly forgot they had made them.
Shortly after, they'd be kidnapped. There's been all types of "Voice Documentary," stories. Currently, the Cursed God's trying to corrupt us. Making us lose our minds, separating us from each-other, making sure we don't trust each-other.
We don't know why this is happening, at all. Teagan and Cinder are together, Mystic's currently being held somewhere here, and everyone else has been corrupted in some way shape or form. The Cursed God wants Mystic to marry him, I have no idea why, though -
And then we know from everyone else that the season three guests were turned into the monsters they were killed by, in the show. It seems to me that we have a lot of sporadic random information, but no solid connection between any of them. We have us being taken, the sand temple, the guests being monsters, Mystic, and us being corrupted, but there doesn't seem to be an end goal, ya know?
[A silence as DAWSON takes the information in slowly.]Wow. Well, I mean, I knew he wanted us in these games, so-
Hold on, go back. What?
The Cursed God talked to me before I ended up in here. He mentioned something about seeing who was 'worthy.' He kept mentioning that we were killers - sure, he killed lots of people in parties in the 1920s and all that, but we wrote them. Made them so much more worse. He thought we could handle it so much better than we actually can.
My theory is that he's taking authors who write about his killings and putting us here - I think that maybe we're going to go through the same types of challenges, the same murder mystery. I think...we might be forced into our own Escape the Night.But...I feel like this is going to have some weird sort of explosive climax. I know we're eventually going to learn what's going on...but I'm terrified of what it's going to be. [Sudden high-pitched giggling.]
Did-did you hear that?
[The laughter is much closer. Chairs and tables scrape as the two girls stand.]
Its the Doll Twins -RUN!