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Ski Lodge;
You are dreaming. You don’t quite know how you know that you are, but somehow you do.
The scene comes into focus slowly, like an adjusting camera lens. The first thing that you see is the rain. It dominates the space, great gray sheets of it slashing down, smashing into the ground you hover above- which you realize is also water. You are floating above the ocean and it’s pouring. All right, not the strangest dream you’ve ever had. If anything, it’s quite boring.
And then the island comes into view. At first it’s just a smoky outline in the distance, a fuzzy mass of land on the horizon, blinking strangely. But without a warning, you are suddenly much, much closer, now hovering just above the rocky shore. You see the terrain all laid out ahead of you, much of it obscured by the still falling rain. It’s stone and rock, mostly. Some vegetation here and there.
But what really catches your eye is the lighthouse. You know it’s a lighthouse because of the white and red candy-cane stripes and the shape of it; it looks ripped straight out of an old photograph. The give-away, though, is the single piercing beam of light cutting through the dark and mist and rain, sweeping in a wide circular motion over and over and over.
You blink, and when your eyes open, the scene around you has once again changed. While you can still hear the lashing rain and winds, they are more distant now, and you realize that you are standing inside the lighthouse, both feet planted firmly on the ground for once. It’s a neat and tidy space, and in the center of the circular room is the light, spinning around and around and around.
There is a young woman sitting there, next to the light. Her dark gray hair is pulled into a tight braid and her eye color is almost black. A splash of freckles across her nose. She would be wholly unremarkable if not for the fact that she is staring right at you.
She leans forwards and beckons you with one hand, and you drift forward, not really able to stop yourself.
You reach her seat, and the girl looks up at you and smiles a small haunted smile. A single strand of hair slips from its tie and falls across her face. She says, “Oh, hello there. Are you looking for a little adventure?”
You wake up.
There is a form for you, sitting innocently on your bedside table, and it looks like this:
Name:
Pronouns:
Age:
Appearance:
Personality:
Useful abilities (magic not allowed):
Biggest fear:
Luggage:
Are you scared of ghosts?:
Is the ocean forgiving?:
Other:
At the bottom, written in little loopy curves, are the words ‘Please come, dear friend, and join me at Wayfarer Island. Adventure awaits you and nine other lucky people. -Storm.’
You are holding a pen before you even finish reading it all. Something deep in your mind is telling you not to fill out the form, but you disregard it.
After all, how much damage could a little adventure do?
submitted by Storm, age Unknown, Wayfarer Island
(April 18, 2023 - 3:01 pm)
(April 18, 2023 - 3:01 pm)
They found Writing the next morning, seabirds nervously pecking around the body. Storm chased them away, face falling as she stood over her former guest.
Sterling got there next, hovering in the doorway, on top of the stairs. Fae saw Writing and turned away immediately, jaw clenched.
The rest of the guests arrived, wiping sleep from their eyes, the hope that maybe the murderer had stopped for just one day fading from their hearts.
Amarillis said, “Funeral time”. She began walking toward the stairs to the beach, resigned to dancing this dance with an unknown partner every day until it’s her that the birds are circling.
The funeral was sad. They all were.
Sterling cried for the first time. No one quite knew why.
As soon as they got back in, Periwinkle, Pangolin, and Tenebrous bolted upstairs.
“I wonder what they keep doing by themselves,” Wildsong wondered aloud. Amarillis knew, but her mouth stayed shut. Just in case.
Instead, Echo spoke: “Well, what should we do now?”
Leave, Amarillis wanted to say. She didn’t. She said, “How about we play Clue?”
<><><>
The book lays on the desk of Peri’s room, open to a certain page. The day prior, the three of them had perused through it, and found to their disappointment that most of it was unintelligible (the entire thing was handwritten in heavy black ink) or in an unknown language. But there were a few pages that they understood, and they made the hair on the back of their neck stand up.
The one that the book was open to said: Ghosts.
As soon as Peri had seen that title, a plan formed in her mind like a magnet snapping into place. They would find a way to summon one of the ghosts of a murdered guest and the ghost would be able to tell them who killed them. It would work, she just knew it.
What could go wrong in a seance learned through an old, mysterious book?
Now that they had the whole day, the three of them busied themselves with gathering the materials that they would need. The instructions in the book required possessions from the person they were trying to summon, as well as candles and incense, which Storm had stowed away in her room.
Speaking of Storm’s room, the book also said that they needed to be in a secluded, dark room with little chance of interruption, so after a quick confirmation from Storm, they set up on the top floor.
Tenney, who was dressed in a loose t-shirt and leggings with leg warmers on top and a high ponytail in 80s fashion, had set up the room according to the diagram in the book: She scooted the furniture away and set up pillows in a circle for them to sit on. In the middle went a circle of white candles, unlit. A cup of incense sat on the top of the dresser, burning.
Pangolin returned with Darvine’s Zelda sword and Hawkstar’s hunting knife, Peri followed soon after with Donatello, Writing’s emotional support radish, and Reuby’s Nintendo Switch. They laid the objects out in a diamond pattern around the candles.
“Okay,” Peri said. “Do we have everything we need?”
Pangolin read from the book (which two of them had hauled up the stairs with some difficulty), listed the requirements off: “Dark room, white candles, incense, at least three candles, and objects that the dead person owned. Yep, we got it all.”
“Okay,” Peri said, opening a pack of matches. “Let’s begin.”
~~~
Dead: 4 (Reuby Moonnight, Darkvine, Hawkstar, Writing_in_the_dark)
Alive: 7 (Tenebrous, Periwinkle, Pangolin, Echo, Wildsong, Sterling, Amarillis)
(May 23, 2023 - 8:04 am)
Why? Why did you stop there? so mean.... :(
(May 23, 2023 - 9:18 am)
I swear, this ski lodge keeps just getting better and better! The first bit of this was so sad -- but I feel fairly certain we can rule out Sterling and potentially Amarillis as the murder. And the seance is such a cool concept! I wonder if it will work, and what we'll learn from the ghosts of it does work. If it's like when Darkvine encountered the ghost of Reuby, the ghosts won't be able to speak, right? Anyway, I love this ski lodge so much, and am really excited for the next part :D
(May 23, 2023 - 2:35 pm)
The three sat in a circle, the book open to the ghost page in front of Peri. The lamps were switched off, and the room was windowless, so the only illumination in the room was from the candles which casted a weak light from flickering flames. The scent of incense hung heavy.
Peri squinted in the dimness to make out the words scrawled on the page. She cleared her throat and began reading the incantation. The words, in whatever language they were in, were clunky and awkward on her tongue at first but became easier to say as she kept going.
She reached the end by saying the names of the departed: “Reuby Moonnight, Darkvine, Hawkstar, Writing_in_the_dark.”
Tenney, who had been closing her eyes up until now, blinked them open. “Did it work?”
“Not from what I can tell,” Pangolin said, glancing around. “What does the book say?”
Peri checked. “It says that if it doesn’t work, we should try again. Apparently it rarely works the first time.”
So they did the entire thing again. And again and again. The candles burned to half their original height, wax dripping slowly down the sides.
“Are we sure this is going to work?” Pangolin asked, stretching (they had been sitting down for quite some time now).
“Let’s do it one last time,” Peri suggested, and cleared her throat before beginning.
This time, about halfway through, Peri almost stopped reciting when the temperature in the room dropped suddenly, goosebumps rising on her arms. Tenney shivered. The candles flickered once, twice, three times before going out entirely, and Peri would have been lost without the light if she hadn’t had to read these exact words about two dozen times already. Excitement fluttered in her stomach.
A few seconds later, the candle flames sputtered back to life, but this time they were not a soft orange but bright, harsh white. The shadows they casted were sharp and unnatural. A breeze ruffled Pangolin’s hair, despite there being nowhere for it to come from.
Peri finally finished the incantation. For a second, it was just the three of them, sitting there in that white light.
And then, the ghost of Hawkstar bursted into being. It looks just like how she was in life, just a little less defined, a little more blue, a little more transparent.
Pangolin gasped; Tenney looked frozen in place, eyes wide as saucers. It suddenly seemed very hard for Peri to speak, but she tried anyway: “H-hello? Hawkstar? Can you hear us?”
Hawkstar nodded once, the expression on her face tense.
“Can you tell us who the murderer is?” Peri asked, leaning forward. This was it, they were so close…
Hawkstar opened her mouth, furrowed her brow, and shook her head angrily. She tapped a hand to her throat.
“She can’t talk,” Pangolin realized.
Peri tried not to panic, but there was a voice in her mind screaming ‘we didn’t plan for this!’
Tenney, who was thinking faster than anyone else, tore a piece of paper out of her back pocket and unfolded it. On the paper were the names of every remaining guest (and Storm) in black Sharpie.
“Can you point to the murderer’s name?” she asked, and Hawkstar’s face lit up, one hand reaching out towards the paper. But not one second passed before her limbs locked up, as if ropes were tied around her arms and legs, pulling against her. The wind kicked up again, and Peri’s hair whipped into her face as she struggled to see what was happening. The paper went flying out of Tenney’s hand and Peri barely managed to snatch it out of the air before Hawkstar leapt toward her, eyes full of determination. She made it only a few inches before dissolving into flecks of light that drifted lazily through the air. The candle flames flickered back to their natural color. It was quiet.
One of the scraps of light landed on Tenney’s head, and she quickly brushed it off. “What just happened?” she asked slowly. “I don’t- what happened?”
“I think,” Pangolin said, the color slowly returning to her face. “We summoned Hawkstar’s ghost. And she tried to help us, but couldn’t, for whatever reason.”
Peri clenched her hands, paper crinkling. She said, “I was so sure that it was going to work,” and her voice was laced with sadness.
“Hey, it almost did,” Pangolin said, reaching over and putting one hand on Peri’s shoulder. “It was a good idea.”
“She’s right,” Tenney said, surveying the area around them. “But we should probably clean up now.”
“Yeah,” Peri agreed quietly. “Good idea.”
~~~
Dead: 4 (Reuby Moonnight, Darkvine, Hawkstar, Writing_in_the_dark)
Alive: 7 (Tenebrous, Periwinkle, Pangolin, Echo, Wildsong, Sterling, Amarillis)
(May 25, 2023 - 7:06 am)
Ooooooo this is so good so far...Im pretty sure I'm not the murderer, but...Hm. There's a small possibility. Great writing! :3
(May 25, 2023 - 10:55 am)
oh my gosh oh my gosh this is amazing! I love the spooky vibes in this part and your writing is so good (as always) -- it's suspenseful and sharp and perfectly captures the emotions of the scene, and not a word is wasted. As for theories...hmm, it seems like whatever magic summoned Hawkstar was overpowered by...something. Perhaps by the magic that causes the murderer to kill? Like, maybe the murderer is controlled by some stronger type of magic, or something, and that magic doesn't want the remaining guests to figure out who the murderer is? I don't really know.... Anyway, this ski lodge is just so well done, and your writing is phenomenal.
(May 25, 2023 - 2:46 pm)
I kind of feel like I might be the murderer.
This is so fun to read! Kudos to you!
(May 25, 2023 - 3:05 pm)
I'm a little suspicious of Sterling, for some reason, and myself.
(May 25, 2023 - 4:58 pm)
:0 Yessss more ghosts! I haven't had time to check back in on this in forever, but I love all of the last four parts that I just read! They were all wonderful! I especially loved the one where Writing and Sterling looked at the stars--I thought the imagery and personification of the stars were magnificent!
(May 26, 2023 - 12:45 pm)
*flicks hair*
I always love to be helpful... Too bad I couldn't tho.. Great part!
(May 25, 2023 - 9:28 am)
In hindsight, playing a board game that doubles as a murder mystery may not have been the best idea. Well, Wildsong and Sterling didn’t seem to mind, and Echo thought it was kind of funny, but Amarillis didn’t like it at all. Usually she was a fan of Clue (and, not to brag, but she would usually win), but this time it was different. This time she was living a real life game of Clue, except in this one there wasn’t any clear answer or end.
“Ms. Scarlet in the Hall, with the… knife,” Wildsong said, and Sterling shook their head, indicating that fae didn’t have any of the aforementioned cards. Echo reluctantly showed her the card in her hand that had Ms. Scarlet’s smiling blonde face on it, and Wildsong crossed it off on her sheet, grinning. She finally knew that the person in question was Mr. Green, and she had figured out the weapon (candlestick) a while ago, so now all she had to do was figure out what room the murder happened in and she was good to go.
Or she would be, if Amarillis didn’t stand up abruptly mid-game and announce that she had to take a walk. Echo tried to convince her not to go alone, but she insisted on it, strangely enough. Wildsong shrugged, assuming that she just wanted some fresh air. She took Amarillis’s cards and redistributed them between the three remaining players, determined to win.
<><><>
In case you hadn’t guessed, Amarillis was not just going to get some fresh air. She exited the lighthouse with a nervous sort of feeling fluttering around her stomach, but, more importantly than that, she had a mission. Her mission was this: Amarillis was getting off this Clue-in-real-life island, one way or another.
According to her internal reasoning, to get off the island she would have to go through the ocean, and to do that she would need a boat. As far as she could tell, there was only one place on the island where she could launch a boat off of, and it conveniently had a myriad of boats waiting for her.
So, without waiting for her resolve to waver or for someone to spot where she was going, Amarillis speed walked to the top of the flight of stairs leading to the beach; they creaked as she descended. The rocks shifted noisily under her shoes as she made her way to where the boats rested. She grabbed the closest one to the shore and pulled, dragging it to the edge of the water. The waves were small, lapping gently at the shore, so different from the aggressive columns of water slamming against the cliffs on the other side of the island.
She slid the boat into the water gently, jumping in when the water became too deep for her to wade in. The riptide caught it and pulled it gently into the open waters. She had almost forgotten the strange float-y feeling that bobbing along in the boat induced.
Amarillis floated, floated, floated, in that little boat for a long time. It moved frustratingly slowly, but it was moving, so she simply laid back and rested. A little bit later, she sat up, restless, to find that the island was almost out of view. Just a small shape so far away; the beach was a thin line of gray. And- what was that? A person? On the beach? Amarillis squinted, but she couldn’t quite tell. Surely not, right?
<><><>
The murderer stood on the beach, enjoying the nice breeze from the water. Off shore, Amarillis’s boat was a speck on the horizon, moving further and further away. They hummed happily, spinning around and walking slowly up the stairs. They wondered: how much longer would it take for the pinprick holes that they punctured the boat with to let in water? How fast would it sink? How long could Amarillis tread water? Not long enough, the murderer thought.
Today was a good day. Amarillis’s death would hardly even be their fault; going out on that boat was a bad idea in the first place.
Yes, today was a good day, they thought. And tomorrow will be even better.
~~~
Dead: 5 (Reuby Moonnight, Darkvine, Hawkstar, Writing_in_the_dark, Amarillis)
Alive: 6 (Tenebrous, Periwinkle, Pangolin, Echo, Wildsong, Sterling)
(May 27, 2023 - 7:03 am)
Oh no Amarillis! :0
This is so good :D I love your writing style <3
I'll be back with theories later -- I can't really type out a lengthy comment right now :)
(May 27, 2023 - 2:14 pm)
aw man. im dead. that sucks--its ok though! lol.
i actually was beginning to take back my earlier comment--i thought maybe i was the murderer hehe. but nope! i was wrong.
(May 28, 2023 - 8:10 am)
Dun-dun-duh....
How interesting. Well she ain't a suspect no more heh...
(May 27, 2023 - 1:20 pm)
I suspect Tenney. She hardly is ever there if that makes sense
(May 27, 2023 - 4:13 pm)