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, Chapter 12

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:
The pieces of the puzzle are revealed as the storm reaches its peak. With the impending destruction of the Overlook Hotel, Lloyd and Emmet search for the substance needed to draw this story to a close.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I let out an audible groan. "Ugh.... so.... depending on the number of digits in that combination, we might need several hours to several days to guess it just by brute force. But... maybe there is something else that can serve as ink. Apparently... it's the typewriter, not the ink", I say, scrambling for options.

Myster Emmet:
"If there are any squids or octopuses here...that could solve our problem. Though we would have a completely new problem if we encounter a giant squid..." I say this as a joke, but I quickly change the subject. "Maybe the safe combination could be cracked..by finding out the those girls' father's birthday? Or maybe their own birthday?"

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I nod. "Yeah, I was thinking that too. Some number that might be meaningful to him. I suppose we should go and try to find them again. They said Danny's in the foyer, which would mean he left the kitchen. Not sure what to make of that. I guess it would be the best to bring that typewriter along." I look at it, trying to assess how easy it would be to carry it just under one arm.

Bartender Ghost:
Typewriters are heavy machines, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, this one in particular weighs 35 lbs. Typically there is a case to help carry them around, but it would seem this one was lifted right off the desk from the Office and brought up here. It is about a foot wide, 10 inches long, and 8 inches tall.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Maybe you can try carrying it, you're the stronger of the two of us", I look at Emmet with a smirk.

Myster Emmet:
"Hmmm, sure. But I am not sure I can carry the lantern and frying pan, or at least both of them, with me while lugging this around..." I set the frying pan down and take the typewriter in my grasp, do I need two hands to hold this thing?

Bartender Ghost:
That is partially up to you Mr. Emmet. Do you think you could carry such a device with a single arm? It is a delicate device too, an antique perhaps a hundred years old even. I leave it to your discretion of how you wish to keep it in possession.

Myster Emmet:
"Ugh...I think I'll need two hands to hold this."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Alright..." I secure the lead pipe between the two belt loops of my trousers and slide the hammer in my pocket. "I can carry the lantern and the pan then."

Bartender Ghost:
As a reminder gentlemen, the lights have come back on. It would seem that either that or by some means, electricity has been restored to the hotel.

Myster Emmet:
"Hmmm...maybe you can leave the lantern here?....But...hmmmmmm...the potential fire hazards..." I get flashbacks to a pretty old event, where even a lighter can burn buildings to the ground.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Oh... right...", I laugh a bit sheepishly. "I guess the light IS back on. But yeah... best not to leave it unattended. Plus, we never know if the light might suddenly go out again." I take the pan and the lantern. I walk to the door, and realize that I need one hand to unlock the door and then open it. Ugh.... I place the lantern on the floor briefly, then unlock and carefully open the door.

Myster Emmet:
I trudge behind, making sure to cradle the typewriter close to my chest so I don't drop it.

Bartender Ghost:
At present gentleman, the time is 6:30 pm. As you open the door, the lights of the hallway do not reveal any immediate monsters, psychopaths, or debonair bartenders. The coast is clear.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I pick the lantern back up and slip out of the room, waiting for Emmet to do so as well.

Myster Emmet:
I slipped out, getting used to the weight. "Lead the way...Lloyd."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Ugh... wait.... Should we also take his manuscripts? Does your fancy coat have any inside pockets?"

Myster Emmet:
I nod my head. "Lots of inner pockets."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I leave the lantern on the floor just outside the door, and slip back into the room, grabbing the manuscripts from the table.

Bartender Ghost:
The stack of papers is rather high, a good 10 inches of typed paper, each of which the standard 8 x 10 inches no less.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I pause at this daunting pile of manuscripts..... "Ugh...." Is there any bag, purse or a briefcase in the room?

Bartender Ghost:
Of the objects that have been pushed aside on the bed, there is a briefcase that presumably belongs to Mr. Torrance. Perhaps that is how he was carrying the original manuscripts that the young child procured some time ago. It is suitably large enough to carry the manuscripts with, if you so desire, Mr. Morgan-Jackson.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I open the briefcase and start putting the manuscripts in it, thinking of how to handle all the different items I'm trying to carry. Could I possibly jam the handle of the frying pan in between the handles of the briefcase?

Bartender Ghost:
It would be possible, but doing so may make carrying the briefcase awkward. The briefcase with the manuscripts in it also weighs roughly 15 lbs.

Myster Emmet:
"Hmmm, maybe shove it between the typewriter and my chest, I can carry both that way." I add.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Ah, a good idea!" I approach Emmet and carefully slide the pan in between his chest and the typewriter. Then I pick up the briefcase, close the door of the room, lock it, return the keys to my pocket, pick the lantern back up, and carefully start moving down the corridor.

Myster Emmet:
"Mmmm...I was talking about the briefcase....but I guess this works too." I mumble as I follow Lloyd.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I grin. "Well, the pan is lighter than the briefcase, I'm not trying to have you carry all the heavy stuff by yourself."

Bartender Ghost:
With the mystery of Inventory Management solved, you two make your way down the hall. The glowing light from the window at the corner has only grown brighter since you were last here, and Mr. Pennywise is no longer standing there either. The hallway is empty, but on the bright side, it would seem as though the storm has calmed down, from a raging blizzard to a gentle snowfall.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Hmmm.... if the storm heralded the awakening of all these creatures... do you think they might go back to... hibernation soon, now that the storm seems to have weakened?" Can Wendigo be seen outside?

Myster Emmet:
"Uh...maybe? I thought the storm was just an effect caused by these supernatural beings....But it could be the cause...? Maybe?"

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"It could be the effect as well, but since they now seem to be quite... firm and concrete... shouldn't that cause the storm to be even stronger?"

Bartender Ghost:
Coming to the window to look, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, you can indeed see Mr. Wendigo at work in the garden. The bonfire has grown large as he burns the shrubs that Mr. Hallorann has maintained for years, and those elephant hedges... Oh my. I regret to inform you that they are now moving of their own accord, animated by the will of the Wendigo. In fact, they are actively lighting their long trunks on the fire, whatever could the primal spirit be planning?

Myster Emmet:
"Huh....am I tripping or are those hedge elephants setting themselves on fire?"

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Uhmmm.... He might be using them as... fire transporters, or mobile torches in a way. If those elephants come to the hotel, they might set the whole thing on fire!"

"We need to find Danny fast. Or those girls.... ugh!" I start walking quickly toward the elevators, but not running, so as not to make it too hard for Emmet, who's now rather encumbered, to follow me.

Myster Emmet:
"Where's a rainstorm when you need it?!" I mutter in haste as I make my way towards the elevators! Hopefully Lloyd pushed the button, so we can wait for the elevator to arrive.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I use one of the knuckles of the hand that's holding the lantern to push the button. As Emmet turns the corner, I say. "But... wouldn't it be safer to take the stairs? What if power suddenly goes out again?"

Bartender Ghost:
As you two are making your way down the hallway, you see a few of the spectral guests of the Overlook Hotel looking less spectral now. A finely dressed gentleman with his neck slashed. A young lady with a fashionable ice pick lodged into her skull. They nod to you as they move about their business, some even headed to the elevator no doubt headed to the festivities downstairs in the dining hall.

Myster Emmet:
I give polite nods to the...well dressed guests before catching up to Lloyd to wait for the elevator to ding. "I rather not go down the stairs holding these things." I whisper to Lloyd.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I nod, and then look around at the undead guests. I decide to try my luck. "Good evening, pardon my forwardness, but... does any of you happen to know Mr. ... Delbert Grady?"

Bartender Ghost:
The west elevator doors open with a ding, revealing the bloody insides. The young lady seems to be also waiting on the elevator and is happy to engage in small talk while she boards it. "Oh yes, Mr. Grady I believe is in his office. He's always working so late." She politely holds the elevator for you two gentlemen.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I nod, and enter the elevator. "Thank you so much." Then I pause, unsure how I should proceed with a person who has an icepick sticking out of their head. "Uhmm... how are you finding the Overlook Hotel so far?" I wait for Emmet to enter as well.

Bartender Ghost:
At a glance, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, you might guess her dress dates back to the early 1900s. "Oh yes, it’s been a lovely stay so far outside of one night long ago. Everyone around here has a similar story of how they met their demise. I fear now is not the time for gossip, the party will be starting at 7pm."

Myster Emmet:
I enter while they are talking.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I realize, with some surprise, that she is aware of being dead. "Oh... what kind of party?" When Emmet enters, I press the button for the ground / first floor.

Bartender Ghost:
As the doors to the elevators close, you can see the damage that Mr. Torrance did to them in order to pry them open with Mr. Hallorann's hunting rifle. His whereabouts are currently unknown. The young lady continues, "Just a lovely gathering for all the guests, dinner and drink with that lovely old bartender. Lloyd, that's his name I believe. Rumor has it that we will all be released from this place soon."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Oh... and... do you have any idea how that might happen?"

Myster Emmet:
I listen with interest...

Bartender Ghost:
"I hear that this old place will finally go up in flames like Mr. Grady tried to do last time around. I do look forward to leaving this place and moving on to someplace new, perhaps that one opera house in Paris." The Elevator moves to the ground floor, "Now if you will excuse me, I think I shall go and have myself a drink."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"The flames.... are necessary to release the trapped spirits?", I utter, but unsure if the lady still hears me or wants to reply.

Bartender Ghost:
If she heard your question, she does not respond to it. Beyond the doors of the elevator are the main hall leading to the Foyer, the large opening to the dining hall to your left, and two doors to the right. The door to the office that had strangely been blocked with bricks has reverted back to its normal state, while the door to the storage is unhindered.

Myster Emmet:
I look around, is there any axe-wielding maniacs like Jack Torrance around?

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I exit the elevator, and also survey the area for anyone we might know from before.

Bartender Ghost:
Looking about, there are a few things of note, gentlemen. The Dining Hall is very lively, filled with many guests with their fatal injuries on full display. There is a version of myself active at the bar engaged in conversation with guests, he seems to be having a good time by the looks of it. At a glance, you can see the kitchen doors are open. As for the hallway leading down to the Foyer, there doesn't seem to be anything of significant note there, no obvious signs of a madman with a hunting rifle for example.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"We could try Grady's office now....", I say to Emmet, unsure if it might be too late.

Myster Emmet:
"Well...you definitely fail at the ideas you don't try...so let's go." I let Lloyd lead the way, since he has less restrictions in the way he moves.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I knock on the door of the office, expecting Grady to be there, as the lady said.

Bartender Ghost:
A polite knock on the door causes a raised voice from the other side to speak, "Come in!" Perhaps that is Mr. Grady's way of inviting you in, but it does seem to indicate that he is in a foul mood.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I use the elbow of my lantern-holding arm to press the handle, and then push the door open.

Bartender Ghost:
The office is much as you remember it, Mr. Morgan-Jackson. There is the central safe, a couple of desks next, and sitting at one of them smoking a cigar is none other than the man you've heard so little about in this story, Delbert Grady.

You are not logged in. - Delbert Grady

He is wearing a fashionable red tuxedo with a black bow tie. He turns to see the guests who have come to his office while he is so busy. "What do you two need?" He asks bluntly.

Myster Emmet:
"Um...hello, Mr. Grady..." I start but trail off...trying to remember what I was going to say while holding the typewriter.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"We have been informed that this hotel is set to go up in flames soon, and... I'm sure you'd understand... we find that news rather concerning. Could you explain to us what is going on?", I say, unsure if my approach makes sense, but better than nothing.

Bartender Ghost:
His eyes first go wide, with a smile crossing his face, as he sees the object Mr. Emmet is carrying. "Oh yes, I'm sure that damn demon is going to burn it to the ground soon. I tried to do the deed myself last time. Come in, come in, need a cigar?" His tone changes rather quickly as he ushers you into his office trying to close the door behind you.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Uhmm... no thanks. If you don't mind, why did you try to do that, Mr. Grady?"

Bartender Ghost:
"Isn't it obvious? This place is cursed. Here, my boy, let me help you with that." He holds out his arms toward you, Mr. Emmet, offering to take the heavy typewriter off your hands.

Myster Emmet:
I am a little wary, but the exertion of my arms make the decision for me as I give the typewriter away to Mr. Grady. I grasp the frying pan in my right hand. "So...I assume that you recognize that typewriter? Is it yours?"

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I look at Emmet a bit panicked as he hands over our prized possession just like that to what is, by all accounts, a homicidal maniac. But I say nothing.

Bartender Ghost:
He happily takes the typewriter off your hands, Mr. Emmet, and walks over to his desk, setting it down. There is a light indentation from where it had been sitting for many years, he even takes the time to line it up perfectly. He then opens a drawer on his desk and begins to pull out some paper while responding. "Indeed I do... I'm sorry, I think I missed your names. I'm Delbert Grady, the owner of this hotel."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Lloyd Morgan", I say.

Myster Emmet:
"Emmet...Solare." I wince a little, but keep a straight face.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"We were hired as caretakers for the winter", I add.

Bartender Ghost:
"Ah yes, I guess the stockholders are still doing that. It makes sense, since the place seems to have been rebuilt. Well, thank you for returning my property. I was rather upset when I realized it was missing about a half hour ago. If you are still alive... it might be best to leave the premises before the flames start up." He loads the paper into the roll of the typewriter, then stretches his fingers while taking a seat at the desk.

Myster Emmet:
"Uh, I have a question actually...sorry to interrupt but...do you have children? Well, it's just...I have never been able to have children myself...and I wonder sometimes what it's like to be a parent? To remember all their important moments and celebrate them, like their birthday or their first words....Sorry, you just strike me as someone who knows. Didn't mean to presume." I rambled.

Bartender Ghost:
"I have a couple of boys around here, maybe you've met them. Twins in fact. Don't suppose you've seen them, have you?" He gives you a glance while finishing stretching out his fingers, and then gets ready to type something on the device. "Nah, don't worry about it, it won't matter in a few minutes anyways."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"It's... out of ink", I say, biting my lip.

Bartender Ghost:
He's just about to type something when you say that. "Oh is it now? I guess that means somebody has been using it?" He clenches his hands tightly. "It wasn't one you two, was it?" His eyes focus on the briefcase you are carrying, Mr. Morgan-Jackson.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Not at all, Mr. Grady", I smile innocently. "I believe it was... Mr. Torrance. He's... a famous writer, you know."

Myster Emmet:
"Nope, I am not a good writer." I say offhandedly.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"And his old typewriter broke, so he... assumed he might just avail himself of this one."

Bartender Ghost:
"I'm guessing another one of those caretakers hired for the winter. Hope he hasn't gone off the deep end, maybe that's what that gunshot was about earlier." He then scoots out his chair and rises, moving over to the safe. Taking hold of the dial, he starts to input the combination.

Myster Emmet:
I take note of the numbers he stops at when turning the dial!

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I try to note them too, wondering if it's visible from here. But as long as he supplies fresh ink to the typewriter, we could just steal the typewriter and run away. I am hoping that Emmet somehow might guess what I am thinking.

Myster Emmet:
I inconspicuously inch closer to the typewriter, getting into arms reach of it!

Bartender Ghost:
You both make note of the following numbers as he slides the dial back and forth. 14 - 37 - 60 - 83 - 06 - 29

Bartender Ghost:
Upon inputting the final number, the safe clicks and opens up.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I realize they keep increasing by 23... 1960... 1983....

Myster Emmet:
I keep note of the increasing numbers too...and I discreetly pick up the typewriter in my arms and silently start inching towards the door now that I know the numbers to the safe! I mouth to Lloyd, "Should we make a break for it?" When facing him.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I shake my head no. 'We need him to put the ink back', I mouth silently.

Myster Emmet:
I retract my previous action, putting it back on the desk before Mr. Grady turned around.

Bartender Ghost:
While he is opening the safe, a few objects can be seen in it. A vial of some blackish red looking ink similar to what you saw by the typewriter in Room W333. Some papers, a black velvet bag, and a pistol which he is reaching for. "You're gonna want to avoid taking that." He says threateningly.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
As I see him reach for the pistol, I decide to act. I might be making a mistake, but he is a known murderer, and I don't want to risk it. I drop the suitcase and the lantern, and lunge at him, trying to grab his arm before he can take the pistol.

Myster Emmet:
"Oh gosh!" I exclaim, but I decide to pick up the typewriter just on instinct, "Wait, let's calm down. You don't want to do anything rash, Mr. Grady! Otherwise..." And then I used my strength to lift the typewriter high in the air! My arms are shaking from the exertion! "I'll throw this typewriter to the ground!" I threaten!

Bartender Ghost:
As you grip hold of his arm, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, he growls as he manages to grip the pistol, but is now unable to aim it properly. With Mr. Emmet's declaration, he releases the firearm letting it clatter out of the safe to the floor. "You don't know what you are doing, boys. That machine is the only way to stop this. You don't want to end up trapped here, like the rest of us, do you?"

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
If the firearm is close enough, I will kick it away. Either way, I say. "We certainly do not. Why don't you be a good sport and tell us how we can use this machine to stop this?", I ask, politely, but firmly.

Bartender Ghost:
As you kick the firearm away, he jerks his arms free from your grip. He is, perhaps to no surprise, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, unnaturally strong. He holds up his hands though and moves back to his desk to take a seat. "Alright, sure. This place is going up in flames soon enough, so let's talk. It's a typewriter, you type on it and words come out."

Myster Emmet:
I keep the typewriter in my arms, but lower it so my arms aren't going through too much strain. "What kind of story ....can you type to make sure all this... ends?" I grunt.

Bartender Ghost:
"Not normally. Only specific people can make it work. Two parts are needed, the machine itself which took a small fortune for me to get, I would add... and a person who has some type of second sight. What they type on that device happens. Sound crazy enough for you?"

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"We have been informed of as much already", I state.

Bartender Ghost:
"Well if you know much, then let me ask you what this Torrance fellow was writing? If he used up the ink, then whatever he was typing should have bled over. I assume the monsters are all here right? That demon, the clown, the rabid dog?" His mood is clearly growing more sour as he lights up another cigar.

Myster Emmet:
"Yes...plus the Wendigo, and the twins too...." I add.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"He wasn't writing about you or any of the guests that are now mingling outside. How come you all materialized now?"

Bartender Ghost:
"Wendigo? Is that what you are calling the demon? As for those twins, well I took care of them last time around." He begins puffing on the cigar. "Every 23 years something happens here... well other places I think too, I'm no expert. All I know is that the people who die here get stuck, and every 23 years they start to appear when a storm comes through. Those monsters appear first, given it's coming up on 7, I guess I'm considered a 'lesser' one, like the majority of the victims around here." He glances at the clock which shows the time is 6:50 pm.

Myster Emmet:
"Have you ever seen...a train? Or a bartender?"

Bartender Ghost:
He gives a dumb look, "Of course I have. But if you mean ones that haunt this place, then yes I have. An old bartender over in the dining hall, and the sounds of a train running through the mountains even though there aren't any tracks. Ghosts of who knows what drawn to this place, maybe trapped."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"And if this place burns down in a fire, all the trapped spirits are freed?"

Bartender Ghost:
"This place needs to be destroyed. Burning it last time seemed like the right course of action. The plan was simple, first I had to make the ink from those boys I took under my wing. Had to deal with their fathers first though, and did my best to make it look like suicide. Once the boys started to manifest that ESP stuff, I made the ink, so I could use the typewriter. All that was left was to wait for the storm to come, burn the place, and write the ending to make sure this place would never be built again." He sits back looking smug while he reveals his big plan.

Myster Emmet:
"Wait....that means...you aren't their actual biological father? You killed their fathers to...my god." I mutter....

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
My face twists in disgust, but I don't comment on any of those heinous crimes. However, all things considered, maybe destroying this place isn't such a bad idea after all. "So, what went wrong back in 1960?", I ask.

Bartender Ghost:
He takes a deep puff on the cigar and shows off his skill at making a smoke ring, "I had set up the boiler room to explode. Then when I got to the door, something happened... something jammed it. I figure I was the first one to burn."

Myster Emmet:
I share a look with Lloyd, but I don't say anything.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Well, the demon outside seems to be getting ready to set fire to this whole thing now. But no one wrote anything about it...."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"Could the demon just happen to have similar intentions as you?"

Bartender Ghost:
"It wants to be free. It hates this place, hates us. Now if you two gentlemen would kindly put that down, I'd like to end all of this. The demon can burn the place for all I care, I just want to write the final line to put this all to rest. Just need some of that ink there and a few strokes of the keys." He stands up returning to the safe and retrieves the vial of ink on it, a name is written on it, Rosslyn.

Myster Emmet:
"Rosslyn? That's an interesting name..." I ask, still wondering if it was really a good idea to let him do this.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"But even if you write on it... it won't change anything. You don't have the gift", I say.

Bartender Ghost:
"That is what is so special about the ink, Lloyd. It's why I had to wait for those kids to mature. I made the ink from them. A little test here and there, extracting some fluid from the spine and using it. With this ink, anybody can use that machine." He again looks smug while he looks at the vial. "Now... let me end this. I'll even make it worth your while."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I am once again unable to suppress a disgusted grimace, as I turn to Emmet, who is holding the typewriter.

Myster Emmet:
"Hmmm.....wait, are you sure that this will really work? What if destroying it is actually the correct way to destroy this curse?" I challenge him with a questioning glance, raising the typewriter higher! "And if anyone can use it, why can't we use it?"

Bartender Ghost:
"You don't seem to get it, you two are just another set of victims here. If you die, you become trapped and this goddamn cycle repeats. You could use the ink to write whatever ending you wanted." He then removes the lid of the vial and starts to turn it sideways threateningly while looking you in the eyes, Mr. Emmet, "But without it, none of us are special. Put that machine down and let me write my ending."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"What are you going to write?"

Bartender Ghost:
"Something along the lines of, the Overlook Hotel burned to the ground and was unsalvageable, the trapped souls moved on. A perfect ending, don't you think? Come on, I'll even make you both rich at the end." He gives a smile hoping to win you both over with his bribe.

Myster Emmet:
"What about the rest of the living people here? Danny, Wendy, Richard and even Jack??"

Myster Emmet:
"The other caretakers here that haven't died yet...what will happen to them?"

Bartender Ghost:
"Sure, I'll even write a little something nice about them. They can be rich too. Now put it down, boy." He takes a puff of his cigar while still threatening to pour the ink out.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"You should specify that the fire will happen later on in the night, though, so we all have the time to evacuate", I say.

Bartender Ghost:
"But of course, whatever you want, buddy. We can have the fire happen at 8pm, sound good? The place will burn, and the caretakers will all be able to get out safely. Even the groundskeeper if he is still around. We'd better act now soon."

Myster Emmet:
My instincts are screaming at me that something is wrong, but I look at Lloyd, wondering if this is really the right choice. "You are right...without that ink, only special people can write on this typewriter. Like...Jack. And..." I hope Lloyd gets the implications of my train of thought.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I know that Emmet is thinking about Danny and how he could write the ending on the machine even without the special ink, however, we haven't been able to find any ink, ordinary or otherwise in the hotel, so I am unsure if we have much choice at the moment.

Myster Emmet:
"I wonder...that safe of yours looks pretty familiar actually. Do you always keep your ink in there?" I ask out of the blue?

Bartender Ghost:
He does look a bit confused by the rather unusual question, but just smirks. "I keep the valuables in there obviously, this ink of course, the papers, the deed, other stuff. It's not really important though, what's important is that you put that down and let me finish this." His statement doesn't shine a direct light on the topic as you stand there still holding the antique typewriter.

Bartender Ghost:
It is at this moment, just before 7:00 pm, that the fire alarms throughout the Overlook Hotel start to ring. "Guess the party is getting started, boy."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
Hearing the fire alarms, I realize that we really don't have much more time. The fire started and we have no idea how quickly it would spread. I walk from the safe and move behind Grady's desk, standing behind his back. "Alright, Emmet, I guess you really should return the typewriter to Mr. Grady, so he can type out an ending that suits us all." He still has the ink, so I believe our best bet is to actually let him apply the ink to the ribbon himself, rather than fight him for it.

Bartender Ghost:
Mr. Grady watches as Mr. Morgan-Jackson maneuvers around while ready to pour the precious ink out onto the lovely carpet. He seems relieved at the suggestion. "Come on, boy, let me put an end to this. I'll give you whatever you want from this, fame, fortune, whatever you desire." He stands there waiting for your next move, Mr. Emmet.

Myster Emmet:
I hear the fire alarms as well, flinching a little, before looking directly towards Grady and turn to Lloyd. I was thinking that perhaps we could have just bypassed Grady as a middleman… but trusting Lloyd's judgment of the situation, I set the typewriter down, "Okay, there you go, Mr. Grady."

"What I desire is that everyone: Wendy, Danny, and Jack Torrance along with Richard Hallorann...including the two of us, Me and Lloyd....we want this whole slew of supernatural events to end peacefully!" I state with conviction.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I frown at this wording, but say nothing for now.

Bartender Ghost:
Mr. Grady moves over to the typewriter now eyeing both of you while he does. He loads a piece of paper into the device and then removes the top of it to resupply the ink, using half of the bottle in doing so. "You want everyone to have a happy ending, that makes sense, sure thing. Whatever you ask." He places the cover back on the machine and takes a seat moving his fingers into position, and then he starts to type.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I watch over his shoulder at the letters as they form into words, ready to stop him if he tries typing something fishy. I take out the hammer from wherever it is that I stored it previously and grip it tightly.

Bartender Ghost:
And indeed he does, Mr. Morgan-Jackson. He begins to type the phrase, "Lloyd Morgan and Emmett Solare suffer a heart..."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
I smash him over the back of his head with the hammer.

Myster Emmet:
I immediately widen my eyes in shock!

Bartender Ghost:
And with the bloody act of violence as he is moving to finish typing his deadly sentence, the hammer plows into the back of his head causing him to fall forward over the antique, seemingly dead, as liquid seeps from the back of his skull.

Myster Emmet:
"Uhh....why...?" I ask...as I creep around to poke at Mr. Grady's limp body to check if he's alive.

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
Not something I am proud of doing, but there is no time to waste or be squeamish now. I shove his body aside, and say to Emmet: "He was trying to kill us. He's a ghost, so he'll probably rise again. Keep an eye on him", I say, as I check to see if the machine is still operational.

Myster Emmet:
"Okay." I keep a close eye on Mr. Grady, making sure to see if he so much as twitches!

Bartender Ghost:
Mr. Grady's body remains motionless as he is unceremoniously dumped onto the floor, his final act of keeling over onto the typewriter causes many keys to fire up at once, crossing and getting stuck with one another, but it is a minor setback at most. The machine is loaded with ink, loaded with paper, and you detect the faintest smell of smoke starting to fill the Overlook Hotel. What do you do, gentlemen?

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
After getting the keys unstuck, I start typing: "...-wrenching feeling of guilt, but it passes quickly. The fire at the Overlook Hotel remains contained, so that everyone can escape safely. It is not until after Lloyd Morgan-Jackson, Emmet Solare, Richard Hallorann, John Torrance, Wendy Torrance and their son"... here I avoid typing the actual name, because I don't know if Danny is the legal name or a nickname, and if it is the latter, whether it would work, "...leave the hotel that the fire spreads and consumes it whole. The weather outside remains calm and does not cause any of them any difficulties. All the creatures, and especially Wendigo, remain peaceful and do not try to attack anyone."

I read this quickly to Emmet. "Should I add anything else?", I ask.

Myster Emmet:
"Um, wasn't it Jack, not John? Or did I miss something? Honestly I think Danny's legal name is Daniel, but what you have sounds good enough."

Lloyd Morgan-Jackson:
"I'm pretty sure Jack is a nickname, and that John is his legal name. Alright... let's go then and take this thing with us, so if this guy wakes up, he won't be able to try adding anything." I eye the suitcase with Jack's manuscripts. "I... think we can leave this here."

Bartender Ghost:
There is little need for that, Mr. Morgan-Jackson, for the effects of the typewriter are nearly instantaneous as reality starts to augment from your precise keystrokes. Who knows how these objects work, how they even came to be, and how the affecting of reality from the mind of the writer even occurs. What is clear though is that you've changed the ending to this tragic story.

Mr. Hallorann, who lies dead in the kitchen, shot as Mr. Torrance came storming in not long ago, disappears. Mrs. Torrance, fleeing through the hallways with the bloody knife she used to defend herself, also vanishes, as does her husband who is now chasing her mad with rage over an alleged affair. The young child hiding in the Foyer while a rabid dog sniffs around looking for him also vanishes from the hotel. Its inhabitants gather and mingle in their final hour in the dining hall. You two gentlemen as well soon begin to vanish from this grim narrative, as your ending takes place.

Published: 2023-04-07, viewed 16 times.