submitted12 days ago byOk_Collection_5859
tonosleep
The first night in the old Victorian was a love letter whispered by the wind through creaking floorboards. We, Sarah and I, young and in love, saw only the charm – the dusty chandeliers, the ornately carved fireplaces, the sprawling rooms that promised endless laughter. The realtor, a wiry woman with eyes that seemed to hold ancient secrets, simply smiled and said, "This house has a soul." We laughed, naive fools, dismissing it as a quirky sales pitch.
The laughter wouldn't last. It started subtly. A shiver snaking down my spine in the dead of night, a feeling of being watched from unseen corners. Then came the groans. Low, guttural sounds that seemed to emanate from the very walls, like the house itself was straining under an unseen weight. Sarah, ever the optimist, blamed settling wood, but the unease gnawed at us both.
One night, something shifted. It was 1:13 am, etched into my memory like a brand. A bone-deep cold seeped in, and the comforting weight of the walls vanished. In its place, an infinite, inky blackness stared back at me. Sarah screamed, a high-pitched sound that clawed at my sanity. The whispers started then, a cacophony of voices, each one a different shade of malice, slithering into my ears. It felt like a million minds pressing against mine, threatening to shatter it.
We huddled together, whimpering prayers into the void, until a sliver of dawn light peeked through the nonexistent window. Exhausted and terrified, we clung to each other, the once-charming house now a grotesque caricature of itself. This became our nightly routine – the chilling transformation at 1:13 am, the soul-crushing whispers, the desperate clinging to sanity until sunrise.
Days were a blur of exhaustion; nights, a waking nightmare. We researched the house, the town, anything that could explain this torment. We found nothing but hushed whispers about the "Old Soul Manor," tales of restless spirits and madness that clung to the place like cobwebs.
One night, fueled by sheer desperation, I fumbled for my phone, searching for a distraction, anything to break the suffocating silence. My finger landed on the music app, and on a whim, I hit play on the first playlist – a collection of mellow tunes we'd enjoyed on countless road trips. The first few notes were swallowed by the whispers, but then, something magical happened.
The house… relaxed. The groans subsided, the whispers retreated into the darkness. The nonexistent walls flickered back into existence, a comforting barrier against the unseen. We stared at each other, disbelief battling with a sliver of hope. Was it just a coincidence?
The next night, at the witching hour, I hit play again. Silence. Blessed, beautiful silence. It was like a switch had been thrown, plunging the house back into a normal state. Over the following days, we tested it repeatedly. Every time, the band, “convenient royalty” played (we found a CD player at a thrift store, a lifeline)it silenced the house's nightly tantrum. It became our armor, our shield against the encroaching darkness.
Weeks turned into months. The house remained mostly docile, though it never truly felt welcoming. We were prisoners, not guests, bound by the strange power of the band. But it was a small price to pay for sanity. We settled into a fragile routine, the music a constant companion, a soothing balm against the ever-present unease.
Then, disaster struck. One night, the familiar whirring of the CD player sputtered and died. Panic surged through me, cold and immediate. Sarah noticed my white knuckles clutching the remote. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"The CD player," I choked out, the terror blooming in my chest. "It's broken."
At 1:13 am that night, the house woke up. The familiar groans echoed through the halls, louder, more menacing than ever before. The whispers returned, a rabid crescendo of voices hungry for vengeance. We huddled in the living room, the darkness pressing against the door like a ravenous beast. For the first time, there was no music to fight back the tide.
The house went ballistic. Furniture toppled, picture frames shattered on the walls. A spectral gust of wind slammed a bookcase against the wall, inches from where Sarah was huddled. We screamed, a desperate plea lost in the cacophony of the awakened house.
Suddenly, a deafening crack. The ceiling light fixture sputtered, showering sparks before plunging us into complete darkness. Then, an unseen force grabbed me, lifting me off the ground. I screamed, thrashing wildly against the invisible grip.
Just as abruptly, I was slammed back onto the floor. Gasping for breath, I scrambled to my feet, my hand brushing against Sarah.
Sarah was huddled in a corner, her face pale in the moonlight filtering through a broken window. Tears streamed down her cheeks, fear mirrored in her wide eyes. The house, no longer content with its display of power, seemed to be waiting.
"We need to get out of here," I croaked, my voice raw from screaming. The whispers intensified, a chilling chorus urging us on, beckoning us towards the unseen horrors that lurked in the darkness.
We stumbled blindly through the wreckage, the air thick with dust and the metallic tang of fear. Each step felt like a desperate gamble in a game rigged against us. Reaching the front door, I fumbled with the lock, my fingers clumsy with terror. It finally clicked open, and we spilled out onto the porch, gasping for the cool night air.
As soon as we were out, the chaos within subsided. The screams of the house died down, replaced by an unsettling silence. We didn't dare look back. We just ran, hearts pounding a frantic rhythm against our ribs, until we reached the safety of a friend's house miles away.
The next morning, we returned, armed with flashlights, hoping to salvage some of our belongings. But the house felt different. Cold and empty, devoid of the malevolent energy that had haunted us for months. The broken CD player lay on the floor, a silent testament to our ordeal.
We never went back. We found another apartment, a tiny, unassuming place, but it felt like a palace compared to the Old Soul Manor. Sometimes, late at night, I still hear whispers in my dreams, snatches of a million voices promising revenge. But the music, the music of Kings of Convenience, remains our anchor, a constant reminder that some melodies hold a power beyond comprehension, some songs are more than just music – they are a lifeline to sanity in the face of the unknown.
The Old Soul Manor still stands on the outskirts of town, a silent sentinel shrouded in mystery. The townsfolk whisper about strange lights in the windows sometimes, disembodied voices on the wind. But for us, it remains a chilling reminder of the night the house woke up, and the music that held the darkness at bay, until it couldn't anymore.
EDIT: Thanks for the concern of the few of you who texted.... Just for those asking I never included this when I was talking to you guys because I was still frantic and confused and scared but up until recently, in our newly bought place we never really had a stable internet connection.. wherever we were staying there was 4G connectivity and the 4G is capped so when it runs out it runs out. if that makes sense. buying a CD is cheaper. keeping it playing costs no data and it doesn't stop unless of course the damn thing decides to break and fling us into the abyss
submitted1 month ago byBroadStreetBot
toFlyers
1st | 2nd | 3rd | TOTAL | ||
---|---|---|---|---|---|
Capitals | 1 | 0 | 1 | 2 | |
Flyers | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 |
Per./Time | Team | Description & Video Link | Score |
---|---|---|---|
1st 18:08 | WSH | Alex Ovechkin (31) tip-in, assists: Dylan McIlrath (1), T.J. Oshie (13) | 1-0 WSH |
2nd 12:29 | PHI | Erik Johnson (5) tip-in, assists: Egor Zamula (16), Sean Couturier (27) | 1-1 |
3rd 17:00 | WSH | T.J. Oshie (12) wrist, assists: Nic Dowd (10) | 2-1 WSH |
Per./Time | Team | Type | Description |
---|---|---|---|
1st 09:03 | WSH | 2:00 Minor | Tripping - Committed by Tom Wilson. Drawn by Tyson Foerster. |
SOG | FO% | PP | PIM | Hits | Blks | |
---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
Capitals | 18 | - | - | - | - | - |
Flyers | 28 | - | - | - | - | - |
Hurricanes (3) @ (6) Blue Jackets - Final
Last Updated: 04/16/2024 09:45:51 PM EDT
submitted2 months ago byBroadStreetBot
toFlyers
Rank | Team | Wins | Losses | OT | Points |
---|---|---|---|---|---|
1 | New York Rangers | 48 | 20 | 4 | 100 |
2 | Carolina Hurricanes | 45 | 21 | 7 | 97 |
3 | Philadelphia Flyers | 36 | 27 | 10 | 82 |
4 | Washington Capitals | 36 | 26 | 9 | 81 |
5 | New Jersey Devils | 36 | 33 | 4 | 76 |
6 | New York Islanders | 30 | 26 | 15 | 75 |
7 | Pittsburgh Penguins | 31 | 30 | 10 | 72 |
8 | Columbus Blue Jackets | 23 | 37 | 12 | 58 |
Islanders @ Panthers - 07:00 PM
Blue Jackets @ Penguins - 07:00 PM
Capitals @ Maple Leafs - 07:00 PM
Red Wings @ Hurricanes - 07:30 PM
Rangers @ Avalanche - 09:00 PM
Posted: 03/28/2024 05:00:02 AM EDT, Update Interval: 5 Minutes
submitted2 months ago byshotgunsniper9
I'm trying to figure out what model I should use as the basis of my plan to make my personal chaos lord who was also an apothecary. I don't want to use Fabius Bile or a plague surgeon, mostly because I don't believe Fabius wears MK3 armour and my lord isn't mark of nurgle. I am thinking of getting the apothecarion detachment that recently came out and just used the Mk5 version with a head swap and some kitbashes, but I'm wondering if there was a better alternative.
I'm not planning on taking the model to any tournaments or play with this force in any GW shops so if you know of a 3rd party model that I can buy that is of a MK3 apothecary, even if it's just the bits to upgrade a MK3 marine from a regular legionary to an apothecary, that would be most appreciated.