The Narrator Part 15


Part 15

So, I asked around and nobody in the group knows who you are. Nobody invited an Oliver to the group.

I quickly open my eyes, removing myself from the Author’s desktop view and try to act casual, like I wasn’t just snooping through his folders.

You don't even have a user profile. How are you here? How are you editing this?

“Oh, well, yeah, you see, uh, about that-” I begin to fidget, shifting my weight from one leg to the other as I try to find a place to keep my hands that seems casual and confident. I settle with one hand on the back of my neck and the other tucked comfortably in my armpit. “You see, the thing is… I don’t know.”

Yeah, ok. Clearly you're a hacker or something. System shows no one logged in so you're, what? Hacking my mainframe?

“What does that mean?”

I don't know, I'm not a hacker. I saw it in a movie or something. But that's beside the point. What do you want? Why are you here? What is your endgame? You're not deleting anything, you're not making demands, so what are you doing here?

“Uhhhh,” I drone a single syllable for several secon

Stop the damn Roleplaying thing. It was cute at first but now it's annoying.

“Um,” I scramble to find an answer to his question

JFC

What do I want? I wonder silently to myself. That has never been a thing I have ever had to consider in the past.

Just tell me what you want. Please, for the love of God]

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything; never had my own thoughts or desires. I’ve always just been a conduit of stories.

“I don’t know,” I finally mutter.

Uh uh. Took that long to say I don't know?

“It’s a tough question.”

It really isn't.

“Maybe not for you, you’ve always existed.”

I don't know what that means and I honestly don't care right now. I'm logging all users out, changing the passwords, and locking the files. If you want to give me your demands, or whatever, just talk about why you're here, just email me like a normal person.

“Sure, yeah, okay, I will… I will definitely… em… ail… you? did I say that right?”

I wait for a response but none comes.

“Do they do this often?” I hear someone ask. I turn around to find Bastian and Phil watching me. It was Bastian who just spoke, and he sips politely at his tea as I watch him.

“Frequently, yes,” Luda responds with a new, snarky, well enunciated tone of voice. I think the readers would identify it as a British accent.

“Why do you sound like that?” I ask.

“‘Tis the tone of tea,” Luda states, then sips his tea.

I look to Bastian, who raises his tea cup in cheers at me and nods confirmation.

“The author is trying to find a way to get rid of me,” I say quickly.

“We heard,” Bastian states. “Do you have any other ideas, or plans to move forward?”

“Well, the Scribe has given me magical insight into the Author’s life. I think… I need to find some way of using that to my advantage.

“Smashing idea,” Luda says, and sips his tea.

“Banger of a plan,” says Phil, and he sips his tea.

I roll my eyes and make a note to myself to never include tea in any future story.

“We need to get someplace quiet, and safe, so I can spend some time going through everything he has,” I say.

“We can head back to Namelater,” Bastian suggests. “I need to return the McGuffin to Mayor Questgiver.”

“Mayor Questgiver?” I ask, once again flabbergasted by the lack of world building by the Author. “Nevermind, I don’t care. We will go to Namelater and find Questgiver and give him the McGuffin; those are words I actually spoke.”

“May I join you?” Phil asks.

“Sure,” I mutter. “Why not.”

The Narrator Part 14


Part 14

I lead the small arrow up to the yellow folder labeled ‘Documents’ and poke at it. The folder expands, filling the screen with a series of other folders on a white background. I read through them; Freaks, EmVee, MAZE, MISC, Sixes, Tales of the Wasteland, The Ancient, Zeds.

“These are all stories,” I whisper. I recognize all of these labels, they’re all stories that I’ve narrated. Well, almost all of them, I don’t recognize the Ancient, Zeds, or… MISC? How the author managed to write a story without me is beyond my comprehension – but, that’s a question for another time.

I poke the folder labeled MAZE and another field of white opens with a scattering of different images; different types of paper, some blurry paintings, blank boxes. One of the small, plain images catches my interest when I scan over the title beneath it; BastianHollows.txt

I poke it.

Bastian Hallows – Half-Elf

STR 16 DEX 20 END 16 INT 18 WIS 18 CHA 26

These numbers look very familiar. Where have I seen these before? Ah! When the Author wrote the Dungeons and Dragons recaps there were numbers like these. He must be assigning values to his story characters as well! That means not only do I have his notes, but I have his stats on every character and-

I open one eye and glance off in the bugbear’s direction. He notices me and politely raises his tea cup in my direction. I nod and close my eyes again. Back in the folder I backtrack to the MAZE folder and click the image labeled Bugbear and begin to scan his information.

Phil – Bugbear

STR 14 DEX 15 END 12 INT 16 WIS 11 CHA 11

“Phil?” I mutter quietly.

“Yes?” The bugbear, Phil, responds. I open my eyes and look at him.

“You… uh… have a very high intelligence score for a bugbear,” I say.

“Thank you?” He says, uncertainly. A moment of awkward silence follows as we stare at each other, then I shrug and return to the folders on the back of my eyelids.

The Narrator Part 13


Part 13

“All better?” I ask, patting the Scribe on the shoulder. I may as well have been talking to a wall since he ignores my words and my touch and just continues to scrawl letters and sentences across the pages. I shrug.

“I guess so,” I mutter, before leaning down to pick up the last page the Scribe had been working on before I was attacked.

“something tackles me from around the corner,” I read aloud, “and I fall sideways, crashing into the back of the Scri-.” The page ends and I flip it over to find it blank on the other side, then search the other nearby sheets for any more loose sheets. 

“Is that it? Did it end there?” After a moment of searching I return to the sheet in my hand, read it silently to myself, then curse quiet under my breath.

“The entire last few minutes weren’t recorded,” I say, waving the sheet in the direction of Bastian and the Bugbear as they sip tea by the fire. I try to remember how this all came about but… I’m drawing a  complete blank. “Do either of you know what happened? Weren’t we fighting?”

Bastian politely sets his tea cup upon the plate in his free hand and looks at me.

“I have… no idea. I’m drawing a blank,” Bastian says. Beyond just being the one who writes, the scribe is also the record keeper. Without him, without his writings… nothing happens.

“I thought I was the most important part,” I mutter. “But, without the scribe, there is no record of a story ever occurring. I’m just-“

“You are both equally important,” the bug bear says. he shifts his glasses up his nose, sips his tea, and continues speaking. “Without you, the scribe has nothing to say, without the scribe, your story has nowhere to go. Without the author, neither of you have a story to begin with. It is a perfect trifecta, none of you can succeed without the others.”

Bastian and I stare at the bugbear.

“I didn’t know you could talk,” I say.

“You never asked.” The bugbear replies.

“Fair enough,” I mutter. “Where did the tea come from?”

Bastian ooks to his tea cup, then from the tea cup to the bugbear. The bugbear does the same, looking from his cup to Bastian. The two turn to face me and both shrug.

“Ok,” I say and shrug in return. “Plot hole, I guess.”

It is then that I notice a piece paper clenched in my left hand. I flatten the sheet as best I can and read it. It seems to be mostly gibberish, just a string of numbers, letters, and symbols, but as I read I feel myself compelled to continue reading. I begin reading quietly to myself when the string numbers turns into a series of letters and words separated by symbols.

“C colon backslash users backslash SeeJay backslash desktop…” I pause at the end. I scan the page for a moment, then notice a word at the bottom corner. “Enter?” The instant the word leaves my mouth my mind suddenly swells with knowledge and when I close my eyes I find myself staring at… at… I… I don’t now what I’m staring at.

It seems to be a window opening to a still night time scene with silhouetted trees against a sky full of stars. A number of strange objects stand in the sky like birds frozen in time. One of them seems to be a yellow folder in the top left with little white letters naming it ‘Documents’. A few other similar objects are labeled ‘Photos’, ‘Games’, ‘Journals’, ‘Roleplay’ and so forth.

“Oh my god,” I mutter. I raise my hand and wave it through the field of what my vision would be if my eyes were open; a small white arrow follows the trail of my index finger. “I can see his work… I have access to the author’s notes, his stories, his- his everything.”

The Narrator Part 12

(Quick Note: This part is just shy of 400 words. I usually aim for 600 to 800 per post. I’m sorry for the quick pace of it. I’ve had a rough week and almost didn’t even make a post today. As it is I’m 12 hours late. I will do better next week! Promise!)


Part 12

You're still editing this?"

“Oh, shit!” I shout, then immediately cover my mouth with my hands. I turn toward Bastian and raise a hand, pressing a finger to his lips before he can say anything. He cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Shhhh!” I say is a whisper. “He’s back!”

“The Author?” He asks around my finger. I nod slowly.

“The author?!” One of the nearby elves shouts. Suddenly the name is bounced around the room as every other elf in the area repeats the name. Voices from beyond the shelves catch the wave and add their own voice. I estimate about a dozen others.

“Shhh!” I shush harder, raising my hands over my head and waving them frantically. “Stop, he might-” I pause. “Wait, you guys know about the author?”

Still roleplaying? Are you actually roleplaying or are you writing?"

“The Author, the creator!” The elf nearest me says. “You hear him?!”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I grumble.

Ouch lol Hey, Icey says he didn't invite you. Was it Di? They weren't at the meet up so I haven't asked her yet.

“I… I don’t remember their name,” I respond.

“Whose name? The Author’s name?” The nearest elf asks.

“No, the name of- stop talking.” I answer.

lol... "alright then, keep your secrets"... But, I did notice no one is logged in right now, so if you have some VPN hiding your activity, please turn that off.

“You want me to stop talking?” The confused elf asks.

“Yeah, will do. Will turn that right off.” I respond to the Author.

“Turn my mouth off?” The elf asks. He looks to the other elf beside him to confirm he’s heard me right. The other elf shrugs.

Ohm hey, also, add an angry bugbear to this scene. It's kind of boring, it's just a library, needs some spice. Talk later, noob.

“Oh yeah, totally will!” I respond. “Talk later.”

“Ahhh!” Someone from out of sight screams. The sudden cry is followed immediately by a loud crash.

“Shush!” I shush loudly, then take a moment to listen for the author. Did he leave again? It’s hard to tell over the racket of two other elves screaming and the heavy foot falls of people running.

“Alright, whatever. I think we’r-” something tackles me from around the corner and I fall sideways, crashing into the back of the Scri

The Narrator Part 11


Part 11

His hand flies across the paper in front of him, moving in a blur of motion that my eyes can’t keep up with. As his right hand scribbles line after line of words his left carefully dips a quill into an ink well, then just as the quill in his right hand runs dry, his left immediately falls upon the paper and continues to write with the same fervor.

“Wow,” I mutter under my breath, watching for several moments as he switches from hand to hand, writing without break.

“Fellas,” I say, turning to face Bastian and Luda. I raise a hand and motion toward the black robed man at the desk. “Meet the Scribe!”

“Hello, sir,” Luda says quietly as he keeps a distance. Evidently the dark robes and snow pale skin, combined with the ridiculous speed of his hands, is keeping Luda at bay.

“Good afternoon,” Bastian says. He steps forward and bows with a flourish. “A pleasure.”

I turn back toward the Scribe to find that he has no acknowledged Luda or Bastian’s presence in any fashion. I suppose he must not have time for minor characters; though, Bastian is the main character. Perhaps this is all too meta for the scribe to acknowledge anyone in the story.

“We’ve never met, but I’m sure you know who I am,” I say, stepping to stand opposite the scribe at his desk. I pause to give him time to reply, but he doesn’t. I clear my throat.

“It’s… it’s me, the Narrator,” I say, and pause again. The scribe does not acknowledge me.

“The Narrator,” I say again. “Your connection to the author?”

The Scribe does not acknowledge me.

“Sir?” 

I jump and spin on my heel, forgetting there were others here besides myself and my companions. To the side an elf stands with a fresh tray of tea.

“Uh, yes?” I say.

“The Scribe does not speak, sir,” the Elf explains. “He does not speak, he does not see, and he does not hear.”

I raise my brow at this curiosity.

“Really?” I ask. The elf nods and motions toward the Scribe’s hood. I turn back to face him and carefully lean over the desk to pear under the hood. I am greeted with a pale face, blank of features like a stick figure head with nothing drawn inside.

“Huh,” I mutter. “That’s… disturbing.”




I raise a brow as the Scribe’s hand stops. It’s barely half a second before he immediately starts writing again, but given his speed the deviation is very apparent.

“You’ve offended him,” the elf says.

“How?” I ask. “He has no ears.”

“You said you are the Narrator?” the elf asks, I nod confirmation. “Well much like yourself, the  Scribe… knows. He does not perceive the world in any normal way, he simply knows of it. Images appear in his mind and he writes them down. Whole stories play in his head, fed to him by, we believe, you.”

“By me? I-” I pause to consider this. I suppose it makes sense; I’ve never actually spoken to the guy but he somehow gets all of my stories and puts them to paper. “So we’re connected on a psychic level?”

“Yes, sir,” the elf replies.

I pass around the desk, watching the Scribe’s hands continue to scrawl line after line.

“So, what is he writing now?” I ask as I lean over his shoulder and peek at the paper, reading what he writes.

“I lean over his shoulder and peel at the paper, reading what he writes. “I lean over his shoulder and peek at the paper, reading what he writes. “I lean over his shoulder and peek at the paper, reading what he writes. “I lean over his-” ” ” “

I am yanked away from the pages. The room spins around me and I reach out to steady myself, finding my hand on Bastian’s shoulder and his hand on mine.

“Thank you,” I mutter at him. “Don’t read that.”

The Narrator Part 10


Part 10

A small, warm room waits for us on the other side of the door, lit with several dozen candles spread across the various shelves and surfaces. I step out in front of Bastian, crossing the threshold before him and scanning the room. The walls are lined with shelves filled from floor to ceiling with hand-bound books and stacks of loose papers. One shelf houses a dozen small jars of dark liquid, another with a pile of goose feathers and metal nibs. 

I can hear scuffling in the distance, somewhere deeper into the room behind the shelves and it reminds me to keep my sword up and ready to fight should someone spring from around a corner. I check over my shoulder and see Bastian peeking around the other end of a bookshelf, searching for threats. Luda sidles up beside me and nods encouragingly toward my end of the bookshelf. I return the nod and move to the end, press my back to the shelf, and slowly poke my head around th-

“AHH!” Someone screams and I hear a clatter of glass and the splash of fluids on the stone floor.

“AHH!” I scream as I instinctively duck back behind cover, then remember that I am a main character and am supposed to be heroic, and I jump out from behind the shelve and brandish my sword.

“AHH!” The mysterious someone screams in response to my screaming and jumping and brandishing my sword.

“Ahhyuh?” I begin to scream in response but my fighting spirit becomes confused by the sight of a very young looking Elven man as he cowers upon the floor next to a platter with spilled mugs of… tea?

“You may lower you sword,” I hear Bastian say as he approaches. Another Elven man, his arms full of loose papers, follows behind him.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I mumble as I fumble about, trying to get the short sword back into its sheath. My hands are shaking from the adrenaline rushing through me and it takes me a moment.

“Wheres the Macguffin?!” Luda shouts, springing forward and waving his dagger in the elf’s face. The elven man cowers away from him, raising his hands defensively in front of himself. Bastian quickly steps between them.

“It’s alright, Luda. They’re peaceful and will not harm us.” Bastian says.

“Sorry,” Luda says and quickly lowers his weapon. “I got into the moment.”

Bastian nods and pats Luda on the shoulder before crouching and helping to clean the spilled tea.

“These are monks,” Bastian explains. “They wear robes similar to those worn by the Inkdrinkers of Southern Andelucia.” Gathering the mugs back upon the platter, Bastian rises, pulls the elf back to his feet, and places the platter in his hands.

“My apologies,” Bastian continues. “We were not expecting a monastery at the back of a dungeon.” The monk bows his head and turns to move off to disappear around a tall bookshelf.

“Uh, hey,” I say, nodding at the other elf as he shuffles papers between his arms. “Seen any, uh, macguffins around?”

The monk shrugs his shoulders at me.

“How about a scribe?” I ask with a chuckle. The monk nods once and turns away, moving off around a different tall bookshelf.

“Huh,” I mutter and look at Bastian. “He just nodded, right?” Bastian nods, returning my befuddled expression. “Should we, like, maybe… follow?”

As we stand about exchanging bewilderment, the monk returns and stands at the corner of the shelf, staring at us. The three of us turn and stare back at him. He nods his head at us, then jerks his head sideways, signalling us to follow, before turning around and moving out of view again.

“Yes,” Bastian says. “I believe we should.”

We follow the monk through a winding maze of shelves, all packed with volumes of books, until we enter a clearing surrounded by shelves. At the center rests a desk, and hunched over the desk in dark robes sits…

“The scribe!” I exclaim.

The Narrator Part 09


Part 09

“Where do we find the Scribe?” Bastian asks. I stare at him for a long moment as I consider this question.

“Well,” I begin, then pause, then open my mouth, close it, and finally I shrug. “I have no idea. I don’t know if he actually exists, to be honest. I’m just going off the fact that I am here, existing, as a hint that perhaps he exists as well.”

“Who is the Scribe?” Asks Luda.

“He’s the third of the writers trifecta,” I say, and when I see that my explanation has given him no satisfaction, I expound further. “There is a writers trifecta; three minds that process a story in order for it to be written. The Author is at the top, creating. The narrator searches the creations for stories, and follows them. The scribe actually puts those stories down and makes them coherent, so that others can partake. Does that explain it?” Bastian nods as Luda shakes his head.

“Well, I’m sure if we find him his presence will clear it up for you,” I say and reach forward to pat Luda on the head. Luda swats my hand away with the practiced effort of someone who has had to swat many hands away from patting his head.

“Alright, a new quest,” Bastian says, tapping thoughtfully at his chin with the tip of his sword. “First, we must find where this being is. Do you have any clues?”

I shrug.

“The scribe is at the end of this dungeon,” I mutter, “for all I know.”

I stumble as the ground suddenly jolts beneath me, shaking violently under my feet. Something in the distance rumbles deeply. I grasp at Bastian’s shoulder to keep myself upright and he grasps at my arm to hold me steady. Luda flops himself upon the ground before the quake can throw him down. Bastian… seems oddly unfazed, like some sort of perfectly balanced being.

“That is an ominous sign,” Bastian says. He helps steady me on my feet then swoops down to assist Luda back to his.

“Yeah,” I say, “Ominous indeed. Quite ominous… ominously ominous.” I pause. “Why do I keep saying ominous? Anyway, the best bet is to return to the nearest town and ask around. I am certain someone, somewhere, will know of the scribe.”

“I agree. However, I am still on a quest,” Bastian says. “I can not abandon a quest, it is against my adventurers code.”

I nod in understanding.

“Then I will head to town and start asking. You finish your quest and come find me when you’re oh my god, I’m splitting the party.” I nearly stab myself int he face as I bring my hands grasp at my hair. “I’m trying to split the party. Rule number something or other, don’t split the party. Yeesh.”

“I don’t think you an split the party,” Luda says from somewhere behind me. I turn and find him standing near the door we entered from; the handle is in his hand, but the door is still closed.

“You, uh… you broke the door, buddy?” I ask.

“The door broke itself,” Luda explains. “And I’m pretty sure there’s a big pile of rocks on the other side.” As he says this he leans forward and puts his eye to the hole where the handle had been. I move closer and lean down, peaking though when Luda steps aside.

Sure enough the other side seems to be piled upon by rocks.

“Well, poo,” I grumble and stand straight. “Ok, well, I guess this story lies that way.” I turn and aim the tip of my sword toward the next door on the opposite wall.

“Dungeons typically have secret exits near the end,” Bastian explains. “I am certain we will find one in the final chamber, or beyond.”

We cross the room together. Once Luda has cleared the door I raise my sword, ready for action, and Bastian pulls the handle.

My eyes widen at the sight within.

The Narrator Part 08

(A Collaboration with SeeJayStarkDotCom)


Part 08

“What is the author?” Luda asks. I realize that while I have spoken to Bastian about this, to some degree, that I haven’t mentioned anything to Luda. I wonder what I can tell him… for that matter, I wonder if I should share more with Bastian.

“Well,” I mutter and with a sigh I decide to simply spill the beans. “Well, the author is a God of sorts. He is the creator of the universe and everything inside of it – as well as everything outside of it.”

“Outside of the universe?” Luda asks. “What’s outside of the universe?”

“Other universes. This world is just one of many that he’s created – that he’s written. The author is a writer and what he thinks becomes… this, it becomes the reality around us. He… he creates all, he knows all, and he sees all.”

“And you are a follower of his?” Bastian asks.

I have to pause briefly to consider this before I answer.

“Well,” I say, “no, not really. I am – well, I guess.” I have to stop again and consider this further. “No, technically not a follower, I’m a… I guess I’m an extension of him. In a way, he created me, but I’m more like his voice in the world. He creates it and I find the stories.”

“What stories?” Luda asks.

“Oh geeze,” I grumble. “I feel like I’m really digging a hole here. Uh, well, basically, the author is a part of a race of beings that live in a very boring world and they seek out stories of adventures and daring actions so that they can live vicariously through them.”

I can see the confusion in Luda’s face, and I see it mirrored in Bastian’s as well. I raise a hand to cut Luda off before he asks another question.

“I appreciate that you ave a lot of questions, but a Q and A session doesn’t make for very interesting reading for the readers.” I explain. This brings a brief moment of silence before Luda speaks again.

“What readers?” He asks and I roll my eyes.

Suddenly, an idea comes to me; it’s a silly story writing method to relay information between characters that readers are already aware of, without boring the readers with having to re-read what they already know.

I nod with determination and put it into action;

I explain everything to them.

“Oh, wow, that is a lot to take in,” Luda says.

“When you put it that way, it all makes sense though,” says Bastian.

“Yeah,” I say. “So, that’s why I’m here now, to protect you guys from being forgotten and lost in the back of his mind. You deserve a story – not to be forgotten.” I look Bastian in the eyes as I say this, letting him know that he was the one that I broke the pattern for; there is something special about him worth risking everything for… I’m sure he got that from my gaze.

“So,” Bastian begins. “How do we defeat a being that knows all and sees all, and create whatever he wants?”

“He doesn’t know all, or see all,” I assure him, “he-” I pause and throw my hands up, not sure where to start, “it’s hard to explain; he creates it all, it all exists in his head and when he thinks about it then it exists. He is the author, the creator, but I- I am the narrator, I am the one who sees it all and knows it all, I’m just – just out of touch with my normal self.”

“So, what do we do then, how can we get you back where you belong,” Luda asks.

“I -,” I begin to answer, begin to say that I’m not sure how, that I’m not sure there is a way, that without my powers and my abilities I wouldn’t even begin to know whether it was possible or not, but I hesitate and crease my brow as something crosses my mind.

“No,” I say, “actually- I think I know where to start; we need to find the scribe.”

The Narrator Part 07

(A Collaboration with SeeJayStarkDotCom)


Part 07: The Correspondence

Good morning! Who's editing right now?

I swing my sword wide against an imaginary foe, then freeze as I realize that the voice I just heard had no echo… and it didn’t match Bastian or Luda. I turn about and search the room but don’t see anyone else.

“Um… Hello?” I say.

Bastian turns his head to me and knots his brows.

Lol! Hey, it's CJ. I'm the admin here and writer of most of the content on this site. Are you new?

My heart skips a beat and the sword drops from my hand sending a loud clattering of metal against stone echoing through the small chamber. Luda’s attention has turned to me now as well and Bastian takes a few steps closer. It must seem weird with me standing here staring off into space. My eyes are wide beneath the goggles, and my breathing too loud for the small, quiet room.

“It’s the author,” I say quietly. The author; the one who abandoned the story to go watch tv, leaving Bastian to his tortured fate.

Haha, rude. I'm guessing you're a new editor. Did Icey bring you in?

“The Author?” Bastian asks. He follows my gaze through the empty room but since the author is manifesting as a voice in my head there is nothing for him to see. “Are they here now?” His hand settles upon the hilt of his sword but he doesn’t draw it. I shake my head at him.

“I can hear him,” I say quietly.

“He’s hearing voices,” I hear Luda try to whisper to Bastian. He then pulls his crossbow from his shoulder and sets about loading it.

Loving this roleplay thing you're doing. Also really digging this new app. It's supposed to allow multiple editors but I've never really used it before. I can only seem to access editors notes, so I'll have to figure this out later so we can collaborate. What's your name anyway?

Uh oh. A name? Well I can’t tell… wait, can he see everything I’m thinking? He’s the author and I’m the- no, I can’t think that right now. Just give hi a name, any name; “Oliver,” I blurt out. “I’m Oliver… Uh, Gray. Oliver Gray.”

Awesome! Welcome aboard Mr. Oliver. Would be great to meet you in person. The whole group is meeting up at the donut place off Nicholas, you should come join us.

“I… um,” how do I respond to that? “Yes, of course.” I don’t even know where this Nicholas is that I am agreeing to visit. My hands tremble at the thought of being caught like this, images of punishments run through my head for being here and doing what I’m doing. I’m pretty sure I’m violating some writing code somewhere.

Lol, no, don't worry about it. You're here to edit so edit. You won't get in trouble for that. I keep backups on a few hard-drives anyway. I'll text Icey and ave him send you the address. Seriously, love this roleplay thing. You should join our D&D group every other Saturday. You'd fit right in. Alright, gtg, see ya there! 

“Yeah,” I chuckle nervously. “See you there!”

Silence follows for several long seconds. I can see Bastian bursting to ask me questions, and Luda seems ready to shoot me.

“Are you still there?” I ask. I wait moment for a reply and when I don’t get one I crumble, my knees falling out from under me. Bastian is quick and catches me under my arms and sets me gently upon the ground.

“It was the author?” He asks. “The god you spoke of? He was speaking to you?”

I nod at him.

“What did he say? You seem very shaken up, did he threaten you? Are you in any danger?” He asks.

I turn to look him in the eyes; his face is contorted with concern for me.

“He… uh,” I mutter. “He invited me out for donuts.”

In Space No One Can Hear You Bleh

(A Ridiculous Story Based on a Ridiculous Concept. Hope you enjoy.)


The launch is successful. The ship breaks the atmosphere.

“We are now in a stable orb-” something thumps against the ship outside.

“What out of the world was that?”

The captain looks through the small portal and sees a corpse floating just outside. It is pale as snow with jet black hair. It seems to be wearing a black cloak with red inner lining and a ruby red brooch.

“There’s a corpse outside,” he says. Just as he speaks the eyes of the corpse open, revealing blood red eyes. The eyes lock on the captain and the mouth opens, mouthing the word “bleh” with blood red lips around large sharp fangs.

“Vampires!” The captain yells.

“I knew it!” The pilot says. “I knew they were out here!”

“There can’t be vampires! Our telescopes would have seen them!” The engineer says.

“No, you fool!” The pilot says. “Our cameras, our telescopes, even our film, all use silver! Silver is too pure t be tarnished by the reflection of these foul creatures!”

The vampire moves away from the window revealing a dozen others behind him, frog paddling through space toward their ship. Each of them has the same black hair, the same pale skin, and the same black cloak with red inner lining.

The captain rushes to the phones and lifts the receiver.

“Houston, we have a problem,” the Captain says. There is no response.

“Houston? Houston! HOUSTOOONNNNNNNN!” The captain yells.

“Dear god!” The Engineer yells. “They’ve cut the phone lines! We’re all doomed!!”

“No, we are not!” The pilot yells. “You need not fear, for I am-” the pilot rips away his tear-away astronaut uniform revealing a messy white button up shirt with the top three buttons undone, under a worn leather jacket, with faded trousers and rugged boots. He strikes a heroic pose.

“For you are-” the captain lets his words trail off into a question as he raises his row, confused.

“Oh, hold on.” The pilot steps toward the lockers and removes his sack. He fishes a battered fedora from it and returns his spot. He places the hat on his head and strikes a heroic pose.

Silence follows.

“Who are you? Where is Sandberg?” Asks the captain.

“I am… Narniana Jones.” The not-pilot says. He strikes pose.

There is silence.

“Who?” Asks the engineer.

“I’m Nar-” Mr. Jones shifts and stares at the two but he sees they are not joking. He un-poses. “Narniana Jones, the world famous archaeologist? I was on the cover of Thyme magazine? There was an article about me in Lyfe.”

“Not ringing any bells,” the captain says.

“Well, I’m not going to lie,” Mr. Jones says, “that really stings. Hold on, I have a few article clippings.”

As Narni digs through his bag a loud bang draws the crew’s attention.

“That’s the airlock. Their trying to get inside” The Engineer yells.

“How long will that take?” Narniana asks.

“Judging by the sound of their pounding I can calculate; with the thickness of the wood… carry the pi… I can give you a rough estimate of seven minutes thirty two seconds, give or take a second.”

“Good, that gives us time,” Says Mr. Jones. He pulls a small folder from his bag and passes it to the captain. He sidles up behind him and points to the first page.

“This was post in the Warshington Post about my adventure across the Sahara in a race against the Nazis to recov-“

The captain throws the folder to the side, sending papers flying everywhere.

“Gasp!” Narniana gasps.

“We don’t have time for this!” The captain yells.

“We had seven minutes!” Mr. Jones yells in return. “Plenty of time to read at least one article!”

“They’re going to break inside and kill us all!” The engineer screams.

“Put your suits on!” The captain orders.

Narniana just has his helmet sealed when the airlock gives and the first vampire swims into the ship. 

“Not today, blooder fucker,” Narniana says. He pulls out his Colt 45 and stuffs it into the vampires face. The vampire’s head explodes when the trigger is pulled.

“There are more!” The captain yells, pointing to three more vampires. The three lodge themselves in the doorway trying to squeeze through at the same time. 

“Sucks to be you,” Narniana says as he blasts another vampire.

“Fangs for the memories,” he says and pulls the trigger again.

“Have a bloody good day,” he says and dispatches the last one.

The captain, the engineer, and Narniana Jones put their combined weight against the door and force is closed, severing the groping limbs of several Vampires trying to reach through.

“Quick,” Narniana says, ” pilot us into the atmosphere, they will all burn up on re-entry!”

“Genius!” The captain exclaims.

The captain rushes to the pilots seat and turns the wheel down. The ship falls into the atmosphere and all of space is filled with the screams of the vampires as they burn.

They land in the ocean, safe and sound.

“Haha,” says Narniana Jones. “Another grand adventure.”

Little did he know, the captain was a vampire the whole time.