Long Form Roleplayers

Previously: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11

Characters:

You are not logged in. - Lloyd Morgan-Jackson

You are not logged in. - Myster Emmet

You are not logged in. - Bartender Ghost

The Author:
With a course of action decided upon, Lloyd and Emmet head back out into the Overlook Hotel. The storm has reached its peak, and the ghosts have become their most powerful. Will the two detectives be able to put this mystery to bed?

Bartender Ghost:
As you return to the dining hall from the kitchen, everything is dark, just as you expected. It is then, at just after 6:00 pm, with the sounds of the raging storm outside, that the environment of the Overlook Hotel changes, and the lights come back on. More concerning though are the various figments wandering around, the dining hall seems to be quite the popular place with many people dressed up in formal wear from many different fashions. The people speak with each other, occasionally looking toward you, all of them clearly translucent. My counterpart is at the standing bar serving them various drinks and looks to be having a pleasant time.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
How are these people dressed? What I mean by this, does their fashion clearly belong to a certain point in time?

Myster Emmet:
"Huh...well that's interesting." I mutter as I look around a little.

Bartender Ghost:
The fashion tastes vary, but no doubt a man of your tastes, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, would be aware. Tuxedos and gowns from various times, the oldest you would guess being someplace in the mid-1800s.

Myster Emmet:
I look towards the route to the stairs, is there any obvious obstacle blocking them?

Bartender Ghost:
None at all, the guests of the Overlook Hotel seem to be engaged in their own entertainment, and there are no apparent rabid dogs this time around.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I nod to Emmet, pointing with my head, showing to him that we should get moving.

Myster Emmet:
I take his signal, and with my trusty frying pan by my side, I nonchalantly walk towards the entrance to the stairs...making sure to not bump into anyone. When I get there, I open the door and wait for Lloyd to catch up before going inside.

Bartender Ghost:
On your way down the hall, there are more guests who past by you, giving polite nods while engaged in their own chatter. If you care to look, you can occasionally make out a feature such a bruising around their necks, or an unusual limp to their movements. All the same, you can easily avoid them and focus on your business, the stairway is also lit and free to use. What is your destination?

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
The destination is Jack Torrance's room, which should be W333. When we get to the stairs, I tell Emmet: "Well, if the electricity returned, the elevators are probably working again, which means Jack is free to leave. His room might be the first place he'd go to. We need to be careful."

Myster Emmet:
I nod, gripping both the lantern and the frying pan more tightly. "Yeah, I'll be looking out for your back if you look out for mine. That way, at least he can't ambush us. Still, being careful is the game plan." I walk up the stairs with Lloyd.

Bartender Ghost:
You reach the third floor without incident, but as you open the door you find that this floor is still dark. Perhaps power has only been partially restored to the hotel? The lantern sheds its light allowing you to see the toy train tracks laid out in front of you, going all the way down the hall through both sets of wings. There are no apparent ghosts or madmen with hunting rifles around.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
We continue walking toward room W333 carefully.

Bartender Ghost:
Passing down the hallway, you reach the corner where there are a few things of note...

There are windows that allow you to see outside if you wish, no curtains on them at all. There is amber light coming from the south-facing window if you care to investigate. You also find that the toy train has successfully freed itself from its tracks here, it is laying on its side a few inches from the track, its little electric wheels still spinning.

Myster Emmet:
I want to investigate the window, but something tugs at me to move forward and pick up the toy train that's laying on its side. "I guess I am like the collector of trains now..." I mutter mostly to myself. I take a good look at this one under the light.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
As Emmet does this, I cautiously move toward the window.

Bartender Ghost:
It does look to be an elaborate model, perhaps a bit unusual for a child such as Danny Torrance to be playing with so regularly.

- Toy Trains

There is an off switch on the bottom, if you wish to put the little train to rest. Perhaps he has earned it after gaining his freedom. As for the ominous glow from outside, that is a far different matter, Mr. Morgan-Jackson. You see a wonderful view of the Overlook Hotel Garden.

You couldn't see it all too well when you went to help Mrs. Torrance in the Hedge maze, but from the 3rd story window, you can see it a bit more clearly. It's lovely, a lot of care was put in place for the layout with marble braziers and a few trees. It too has hedges, but they are immaculately sculpted to look like elephants. There is a large central flame, that is likely not intended by design, that is the source of the light, and standing beside it is the silhouette of your acquaintance Mr. Wendigo. Both of his clawed hands are outstretched toward one of the Elephant Hedges with his eyes glowing a piercing bright green.

Myster Emmet:
I turn off the model train, and put it in one of my pockets to join their brother and sister in my coat. "See anything, Lloyd?" I whispered a bit louder than usual.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Yeah... the wendigo is in the garden, standing next to a huge fire. But... let's think about that later....", I say as I rejoin Emmet and go to carefully look around the corner.

Bartender Ghost:
As you say that, a voice speaks up from down the hall toward the east back from where you came, it is familiar to Mr. Emmet. "Quite the view, isn't it? My colleague at work." Stepping into the range of the light a few doors down is Mr. Pennywise, juggling three orange glowing balls.

You are not logged in. - Pennywise the Clown

You are not logged in. - The Dead Lights

"You realize what he is planning, don't you?" The clown asks with a smile on his face, both painted and otherwise.

Myster Emmet:
"Who are you talking about? Jack? Because I suspect he's planning on pushing all the stories he made into one." I put on a blank face and monotone voice, while I ask my question, as I face Pennywise.

Bartender Ghost:
The other hall Mr. Morgan-Jackson, the one to Room W333 is clear with the train tracks continuing to run that way. Mr. Pennywise responds though...

"Jack... Jack... JACK. You don't seem to realize it, he's a used-up toy with no value anymore." The clown kicks the train track breaking one of the pieces free. "He's not Special anymore, at least not enough. Nor are the girls. Have you figured out what is going on around here yet?"

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I stiffen a bit at the sound of this voice, but I remember what Emmet said and do my best to appear nonchalant and disinterested.

Myster Emmet:
"Characters coming to life, causing chaos...it's almost like you guys want to revolt against the author himself."

Bartender Ghost:
"Coming to... life?" He gives out a chuckle while continuing to juggle his strange glowing orbs. "We... WE... have always been alive. The man JACK... he merely reimagined us. A suicidal train who was tired of working. A sweet little dog who becomes vicious and has to be put down. A primal creature who despises what you humans have done to the planet. And please don't tell me you think I'm just a Clown with a charming face and taste for queers."

Myster Emmet:
"Well, to be honest, I kind of don't think much of you at all. You just strike me as a clown who hasn't seen happiness in a long time." I state succinctly, storing away what Pennywise said.

Bartender Ghost:
He stops juggling while the three orbs levitate above his hand. "You think I'm a man... a friendly face to lure my prey in so... I... can... feast." He gives a wide smile allowing you to see the sharpened teeth in his mouth now starting to step forward. "You try to hide it... but fear is just a spice. If you wish to be on your way, I will not stop you, but if you wish to know what few others do... now is your chance to ask."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I am quite conflicted. I of course want to know more, but I am not sure if we can trust this creature, or if he'd try to attack us once he's done with his info dump. I ask Emmet: "What do you think?", while glancing at those orbs, wondering if they seem like objects with a light source of some sort inside them, or if they seem like pure ectoplasmic matter.

Myster Emmet:
I stand tall, it seems this creature knows my weakness...my burning curiosity! I stare straight into Pennywise's eyes one last time, and ask. "Who threw that oven down the stairs to trap Lloyd and Richard in the boiler room?" I ask this question, but I unconsciously ready myself for any sudden movements from the clown.

Bartender Ghost:
"You're still hung up on that?" He shakes his head, then stares right back. "It was probably the girls, they like to trap things and watch them suffer. Another common story reimagined by Jack..."

Myster Emmet:
"Then, what do you want to happen? What's your ultimate goal?" I know this might be a bit too vague, but maybe he'll answer it anyway.

Bartender Ghost:
"My goal?" He places his hand against his chest while the other continues to have the strange orange orbs float overhead. Focusing on them, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, you can see that they lack a physical form, they appear to be more as light, something akin to your speculation of ectoplasmic matter, as you put it. Pennywise continues...

"My goal remains the same, to feast and sleep, the same as any other creature. This..." He waves his hand around flamboyantly, "Is new, not the town you humans built over my nest, but someplace else entirely. I will continue to exist as I always have, who knows what the next might interpret me as?"

Myster Emmet:
“I see…could it be…you guys change from each retelling of your story? Whether in legends, myths, or actual written stories…you live through them. They keep you alive, don’t they?”

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
Astute observation, I think to myself.

Bartender Ghost:
Mr. Pennywise responds while stepping closer, his gaze looking toward the south-facing window seemingly less interested in you at the moment. "Every now and then a person comes along who is... Special. Jack was special, the groundskeeper was special... Benedict and Rosslyn were special. They had the means to reinterpret us, but to never truly change us. They are not creators, they are merely retelling us through a different mindset... You don't think I've always been a clown, do you?"

Myster Emmet:
“No, actually you might have been the entire circus at one point.” I quip, but take his momentary look towards the window to take a step back. “I think I got all the questions I wanted to ask, how about you, Lloyd? Do you want to ask Pennywise anything?”

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
One thing I want to know is how do we stop this whole thing, but I don't expect the creature to tell us that. "Why now... and why twenty-three years ago?", I ask instead.

Bartender Ghost:
He gazes out at the work of the Wendigo down in the garden. "Your measurement of time is flawed. You measure things based on the rotation of objects around others." The orbs start to move with one becoming stationary and the other two circling it. "Our cycles are not about you or your arbitrary constructs. We awaken when we desire, and the special ones may feel... Inspired to listen and tell others. Who knew you creatures would find a way to do all this? Maybe he was right to want to wipe your kind away... even if you are my favorite food."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I roll my eyes. "I'm done here, Emmet, so, if you are too, let's move on."

Myster Emmet:
I nod my head, "Alright, we'll be on our way...Pennywise." I turned and walked away towards room W333.

Bartender Ghost:
He continues to stand there at the window watching while you leave him. The hallway continues on as you make your way to room W333 with no more interruptions. The door is locked of course.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I take out the set of master keys that Emmet gave me earlier, and pick the suitable one. I put it in the lock and try turning it.

Bartender Ghost:
The door clicks open and the room is revealed. It is like the other hotel rooms in terms of layout, with a restroom to the side, and the central area where a bed would normally be. It however has been pushed into the corner with the television, radio, and other distractions placed on it. The desk in the room has also been moved in front of the window, its curtains are drawn open with the storm raging and what little remnants of the sunset visible through the clouds. On the desk are stacks of paper, a few crumpled up into a crude ball, and an old-fashioned typewriter with an empty jar of ink next to it.

You are not logged in. - The Typewriter

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
Is there any sign of Jack Torrance?

Myster Emmet:
I hold up my lantern to illuminate the room in its somber glow. I walked towards the obvious: the desk with the typewriter.

Bartender Ghost:
The room is empty, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, Mr. Torrance is elsewhere. Further investigation of the typewriter, Mr. Emmet, reveals that there is a piece of paper in it, with the letters written on it gradually growing more faded as it was typed. Eventually, there are a couple rows of blank text before the writer stopped their work.

Myster Emmet:
"Hmmmmm..." I pay close attention to the letters written on this page, wondering if there is any understandable words written on them.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I join Emmet in front of the typewriter. I also start reading the text.

Bartender Ghost:
The presumed previous written pages are on the desk if you are inclined to read them, but this page reads as the following:

Bartender Ghost:
"The two girls came to love their new dresses while their old clothes were burned. They stood there obediently while their father tended to his duties, grabbing any object of masculine nature and chucking it into the fire. They looked at each other and shared their thoughts as usual, longing to keep what was being taken from them. They are but children, unwise as to their purpose in the world. They are but an extension of their parents, and so the father had decided they were to be his daughters, as he too had decided to discard the wretch who cursed him with boys." The passage is faded as it would seem the ink was running low when it was written.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I go to the door, close it and lock it, so that it wouldn't be immediately apparent that we've entered the room, before returning to the desk and looking at the previous text. Is all of that the story of the twins?

Bartender Ghost:
You lock the door, securing your privacy. Looking through the stacks, you see that this is indeed a story about a pair of twins whose father was imposing his views on them. There are other stories though, similar to the manuscripts that the young child had taken. Each is in different steps of completion, but what is clear is that each story is further along than what you had read earlier in the kitchen.

Myster Emmet:
"It seems that he had better luck writing in here. It seems he got pretty far...." I mumble again to myself, "But if completing them makes them go away..how can we end these stories?"

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"I suppose we could try writing the endings ourselves. Although... since that clown said that people only reinterpret them, but never truly change them, it might be that, if the ending seems too... out of... character... it won't work."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"And also... he mentioned that Jack has no value anymore. That sounds like they might have achieved independence from the... interpreter."

Myster Emmet:
"Maybe, we write down an ending where they all go after each other? Maybe they'll cancel each other out?" I mostly throw this out as a joke, but I wonder if that really is possible.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"I mean... we can try....", I shrug. "How fast can you type?"

Myster Emmet:
"Pretty fast...but okay...let me see that story with the twins." I took the manuscript with the twins on it and thought for a minute what to write. I decided to just start with something simple: "The two twins then met a clown, who juggled balls of pure light. They asked for him to play with them, and he lovingly agreed..especially since he could see the truth the two 'girls' hid in their dresses. They decided to play hide and seek, with the twins heading down to the second floor to hide in room W205, the clown gleefully looking for them. He opened every door on the floor, taking him a long time to find them. But sooner or later, he found them. But they kept wanting to play, so they all did this for about 2 -3 hours of fun on the same floor!"

Bartender Ghost:
An interesting ending you intend to write, Mr. Emmet, but alas as soon as you start to type, it becomes clear the typewriter is out of ink.

Myster Emmet:
"Shit...it's out of ink. Well there goes that plan." I grumble in frustration.

Bartender Ghost:
It is at about this point, around 6:20 pm, that the lights flicker back on. It would seem that the power has now been restored to the third floor.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I look through the drawers and other places in the room for spare jars of ink. "I don't think it should be too important how the story is created or written down. Why would there be anything special about ink.... or the typewriter? This isn't even the typewriter which Jack originally used...", I talk out loud, mostly to myself, as I rummage through the place, also on the lookout for pens, pencils or anything else that can be used for writing.

Bartender Ghost:
Looking around the hotel room, you do find some ribbons of ink, however... they were for the old typewriter that was broken. The bottle of Ink next to the Typewriter is empty except for a few drops. There are some pens around though you can easily use.

Myster Emmet:
"I'm just going to try with a pen, if it doesn't work...oh well." I grab a pen and started writing what I was going to type earlier on the typewriter on the twins’ page.

Bartender Ghost:
Taking the page from the typewriter, you go to work penning your creative ending. There are no obvious signs if it worked or not, just the howling of the wind as the last of the sunlight disappears through the storm's dark clouds.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"How about trying to write something about wendigo now....? But I guess before that let's look what was written about it."

Bartender Ghost:
Flipping through the written work, the revision of the story "Wendigo’s Wrath" talks about how a group of people was running from it, trapped in the woods. Slowly it was picking them off by manipulating the natural environment around them, before appearing and brutally killing one with its huge claws.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Hmm, it doesn't say anything about it lighting a fire in the garden here..."

Myster Emmet:
"Probably not its fault then...fire is actually the last thing I would have expected from it."

Bartender Ghost:
One might question why Mr. Torrance would have stopped writing? If it were an issue of Ink, wouldn't the natural inclination be to go get more of it? There is a stark contrast between Mr. Emmet's handwriting and the pristine written text from the machine. That being said, with the better light of the hotel on, you can see there is a slight color difference in the blue ink from the pen and what was written with the typewriter.

Myster Emmet:
"Could it be...that there was a finite amount of this...special ink?" I ask, hoping to be proven wrong.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Special ink sounds a bit far-fetched...", I frown.

Myster Emmet:
"Well...and so does a murderous clown, a nature spirit, creepy ghost girls, and a rabid dog roaming about!" I fire back!

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"That clown out there talked about certain people being special... able to reimagine and reinterpret the stories about creatures that exist independently of them. It didn't sound like they needed any additional tools, such as ink... But, if you want... you can go out and ask", I shrug.

Myster Emmet:
"Uhhh, I’d rather not." I chuckle nervously, but I think about it a bit more... "Why would Jack not get more ink? Did he...give up? Or did he...not need it anymore?"

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Maybe there was no way to get more, since this place has been snowed in and everything", I offer. "Typewriter ink might not be something that a hotel like this would have large supplies of. But... what do you mean about him not needing it anymore?"

Myster Emmet:
"I mean, it's crazy...but what if he doesn't need to write anymore? What if...he completed the stories?"

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I look again at the one about the wendigo. What is the last thing written there?

Bartender Ghost:
The passage reads as follows:

"Looking around full of panic, I try to calm myself knowing that it is out there, watching us. Jonas' body was so mangled, it was more than an animal kill, as though his limbs had been broken carefully in order to maximize the amount of pain. We've seen the trees shift, at least I think I have, but it could be dehydration affecting my mind. If we don't find a way back to the car soon, I fear that we will all end up like Jonas."

It looks as though this was intended to be a chapter end in the story.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"So if this is the end, the Wendigo is on the loose and people seem to haven't figured out a way to either defeat it or appease it. Quite a grim prospect."

Myster Emmet:
"Urgh...I really hope I am wrong about this then...what can we do then? Do we try and destroy the pages? If they live through the stories maybe they will disappear if the stories are destroyed..."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Oh.... well.... that's one thing we haven't tried", I say.

Bartender Ghost:
Almost as if to answer your questions, a pair of voices speak behind you by the bed. "Why would they do that, Trixie?" "It doesn't matter, Rose, they can't write it anyways." The two girls are by the bed playing a hand game with each other.

You are not logged in. - The Twins

Myster Emmet:
I startle at the appearance of these girls!

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Who can write it then?", I ask.

Bartender Ghost:
"Somebody who has the gift can. Father was jealous back then." One of them says while the two continue to play their hand game. With them facing each other, you are able to see the back of their heads, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, and the grievous injury they seem to have suffered to the back of their skulls.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Does it matter what is used to write the story? Does it have to be a typewriter?", I continue, wondering if it's too optimistic to expect that they'd answer this.

Bartender Ghost:
"Father would type on that all day long, yet could never change things around him." One of the two starts, "But when others who are gifted use it, that device could change things. Only if they were special like we were, isn't that right, Rose?" The two continue to play.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"This device right here....?", I ask. "Is there something special about it? Maybe this is why things started getting weird only after Jack's old typewriter got broken. He started using this one instead...."

Bartender Ghost:
The two stop playing and turn their heads toward you, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, in unison. "Oh yes, it's very special." "Father paid a great sum for it, yes he did. Had to mortgage part of the hotel, he did."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Oh... and do you know if there are any spare jars of ink for it anywhere in the hotel?", I ask.

Bartender Ghost:
They look at each other again, "Where did he put the jar he made from yours, Trixie?" "Why, he kept mine in the safe alongside yours, I'm sure. That's where he puts all the things of value."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"...he made from your....?", I ask, feeling a chill run up my spine. "Your... what?"

Bartender Ghost:
With a deadpan look, they turn their heads to you again and speak in unison. "...our brains." It is just as chilling as you imagine, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, as they reveal what Mr. Grady did to them in order to steal their gift.

Myster Emmet:
I stifle the urge to gag at that new tidbit.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I look at the girls with sadness and compassion. "That's... horrible. I think... you two deserve a happy ending. For that... we're going to need to open the safe."

Bartender Ghost:
The two start a conversation, "Danny is such a lovely boy, isn't he, Trixie?" "Oh yes, Rose. It's too bad he is always playing with his toys." "We should keep taking his distractions. Then he will have to play with us." "Let's go find him now, I think he is in the Foyer." The two then turn towards both of you again with their dead stare and give you a proper curtsy.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I don't suppose they will stick around long enough for me to ask them how we can open the safe?

Bartender Ghost:
They have yet to disappear, though it is clear they are about to.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Girls... how can we open the safe?", I ask, making the sweetest face I can muster.

Bartender Ghost:
"Father was the only one who had the combination." One of them begins, "He never told anybody and died in the fire." "Let's go see what Danny is doing." It is at this point that they disappear leaving you two again in room W333.

Published: 2023-03-30, viewed 17 times.