Long time, no see! I randomly decided to do a solo RPG after not doing one for so long! Well, okay, I did play Call of Cthulhu by myself recently, but that was for fanfiction reasons, haha!
But! This is the first time in a while I delved into something more original. I tried a different system too, The Creature Comes for Us. It’s a simple enough system and probably great with friends! I played by myself, however, and needed an extra push creative wise, so I also utilized DiXit cards when needed. It ended up giving…really disturbing results. Once I had an idea of where the story was going, I utilized both card stacks less and started just writing. The game itself asks for a lot of world building and I got to a point where I realized the story was better the less is explained.
In the end, I think the story I came up with actually didn’t fit the system that well, haha! But it was fun to experiment nonetheless!
Warning: The following story contains topics of grooming, sexual assault, teen pregnancy, victim shaming, eye horror, and implied cannibalism. Reader discretion is advised.
The eyes watch you as you walk. You go down the long hall—this place has nothing but halls, it almost seems. The eyes on the walls, they’re careful to follow your movements. They make note of where you go.
You’ve always wondered what they’re watching for. They have no means to tell what they have seen, or so you think. You’ve only ever seen eyes in the walls. No mouths or ears.
Whose eyes could they be?
You pass a girl of pale skin and dark hair. Her belly hangs with an expecting baby—it matches your own pregnant stomach.
The eyes watch as you two nod, a cordial greeting among wayward girls.
“By the way,” the girl says before she goes. “He’s stalking again.”
You know exactly who she means. A man—at least, you assume so—who covers his face with a mask and a hat. No men are usually allowed in the wayward maze for wayward girls, but for whatever reason, he comes and watches. The eyes never watch him. Either they do not care of him—or they do not know.
You do not take worry of him. It is not long before you will give birth and be away from this place. The baby will serve as an heir for a wealthy man, lied to about their true mother. And you and your family will be out of poverty. Not rich, but comfortable, as is promised.
I hunger for flesh.
You stop, looking around, glancing back.
Something has whispered, but you do not know what.
It can’t be the eyes. You’ve only ever seen eyes in the walls. No mouths or ears.
There is no one else in the hall.
Only you and the unborn baby.
I crave for you.
You suddenly feel…delectable.
You have no reason to worry. You tell yourself that over and over. The baby is almost born and you will leave this maze of madness. The Man of the Skies has promised it to you. “Give me a child and you and your family will be free.” That was what he said.
Do not give in now. You’re almost there.
You go, walking again. Walking, walking, always walking. You remember when you first met The Man of the Skies, how he doted on you. Telling you you were much too beautiful for the thing you were. He took you home and dressed you up in his wife’s clothes and perfume.
The Man of the Skies stands for hope and that is what he gave you. Something better than the life you and your family were living, constantly working for nothing more than dirt and mud.
“Give me a child,” he said, with you in his arms, dressed up as his wife.
How could you not agree?
Perhaps you were not thinking clearly then. You tell yourself it will be worth it, but the way your family screamed at you when you first began to show. The way they begged to know whose it was. The way they told you you’ve sent them to ruin, even more so than they already were.
You never wanted to come here. They forced you here, told you this place would take care of you.
But all you do is walk, walk, walk.
While the eyes watch, watch, watch.
A girl with a pony tail passes you. She is barely showing, a new resident of this labyrinth.
She smiles at you and stops to offer her hand.
You are not rude, so you take it.
Her smile deepens and, without a word, lets go and continues on.
There are now a pair of scissors in your hand.
The eyes watch as you pocket them.
You don’t know what they are for. You don’t know why she gave them to you.
But you feel so delectable right now!
Perhaps a cut into your cake of flesh is in order?
No! You shake your head as you continue on. You are almost there. Almost, almost.
A band of girls comes next, five of them, chatting and laughing.
“Did you see him?” one asks. “I think he is looking for a wife!”
“Doesn’t he know our children are already promised away?” another titters.
“It’s a good thing we are all together!” says the one with yellow hair. “If I was alone here, I might have let him whisk me away.”
As she says this, a girl with braids watches you, noting your aloneness.
She smiles, an invitation.
You smile back, a refusal. You can’t go back. You’re almost there.
The eyes watch as you separate.
You keep walking, walking, walking, feeling like it can’t be much longer now.
No, not much longer. It is almost time, my sweet treat.
The whisper is back, coming closer. It does not sound like anyone you know—that is what saves you. If it were the voice of The Man of the Skies, perhaps you would stop, lay down, sleep and let him tell you of all the things you deserve, if you’ll only give him a child.
You’re almost there.
When have you slept?
You’re almost there.
When did you last eat?
You’re almost there.
Where…
are you going?
The eyes watch. They do not know.
You feel…ripe.
Ready for picking.
You’re so sick of being watched.
You want teeth to sink into you.
I am coming.
I will devour you.
Your hand slips into your pocket, taking out the scissors.
What will you use them on?
What comes for you?
Or yourself?
Pretty things deserve to be eaten.
Cakes are so beautiful—it’s a waste not to eat them.
Aren’t you a sweet, delectable cake?
Aren’t you hungry?
Taste it.
Feed.
You take the scissors to your lips, making a small incision.
The blood, it’s sweet, tasting of pomegranates and honey.
You’re so beautiful. You don’t deserve to be poor. You don’t deserve to be leftover.
You deserve to be eaten first.
The man is in front of you. You do not know when he got there. He wears his mask and his hat.
He lifts his hands, he takes them off,
he is nothing but teeth.
It is finally mealtime, and you shall get what you deserve.