Post by John Dee on Mar 24, 2021 8:03:10 GMT -5
Participants: John Dee | Open
Open/Closed: Open
Location(s): Arkham Asylum
Time of Day: Noon
Weather: Grey and dull
Summary: A hungering horror lurches deep within Arkham, it feeds on the minds of the sickly and now Doctor Destiny wants freedom from its eldritch shackles
A cavalry of thunder raced across the cosmos, billowing black clouds growling and snarling fiercely through the skies with a surge of lightning following suite. Splashes of blue raced through the air, sparking in and out in a hypnotic synchronization with the booming roar of the clouds and a howling wind which rushed ferociously across the land. Arkham Asylum leered high and horrific upon cursed soil. Black smoldering dirt which howled out aeons worthy of curses and agony. Illuminated by the fleeting effervescent glows of blue, the towering Arkham Mansion with its snarling curves and jagged vaults welcomes you... Past the Botanical Gardens riddled with hideous vines and gnarled foliage and beyond the spire of the ancestral Cathedral, howling winds guiding you past an effigy of old madman Amadeus and finally to the Intensive Treatment Facility. A gush of air brushed against the barred window of a quiet little room titled “John Dee”.
The billowing of wind and thunder echoed behind him. A glimmer of lightning vaguely outlining frazzled black hair of a husk-like creature, John Dee, decrepit and dead and collapsed limply into an old wheelchair. Waiting. Watching and waiting for a sign, a signal, something. Tiny unblinking white eyes gave an endless unrelenting stare to a gaudy black metal door with rusting iron bars. The minuscule glow of white glared, with a drooling stupid mug, at the lock, the steel and orange of a keyhole glared back with an empty black void. Nothing. For the longest time nothing. But then... A rapping at his chamber door, the slightest little scuttling sound. An empty face forced a smile as the stringy body of a red centipede forced its way through the lock, dancing in the air, beckoning him out.
The metal door creaked open, slowly, creak creak creeeeeak. Doctor Destiny rolled his way out to an empty hallway, eyes glaring brightly like a flashlight. The streaming glow of his eyes traced up the Arkham walls and then down a black corridor laced in shadows. Mangled fingers pressed firmly against the rubber wheels of his chair, John forced himself forwards. His eyes danced between black doors with ugly inhuman names, rolling past each cell door and down the imposing vestibule of doors and names. Creeping into the void, stealthily with only the glimmer of light from his smoldering eyes to suggest any life... He couldn’t help but give a giggle, it was almost too easy! Not an orderly in sight, only... Prey. A storm barked to him in the background as the hunter stalked... His newest meal? A room, aptly named “Sturges Smith”. A stuttering and stupid lunatic John knew far too well. The glow of his eyes looked to the lock, like a flashlight it illuminated the orange and iron colors as tiny dancing feet wriggled and writhed their way out. A dozen arachnids with spindly frantic legs rushed out, the swarm of ghoulish legs, thin like follicles of hair pitter pattering out of the lock and down the door. Creeping down to the floor, and then finally spiraling up Destiny’s sickly thin leg towards his crotch.
Sharp talons, five thin and ghoulish claws pressed firmly against the door and it creaked open. Sturges’ brown eyes gleamed back at John, panicked and awake. ”J-John?? Wha-What’re you doing outta your c-cell?” Sturges was a meek little fellow, but one with still more meat to him than the corpse of John Dee. He was short and jittery, with bleached white hair, shallow eyes, and a baggy black and white Arkham jumpsuit which was just a few sizes too large. ”You’re not supposed to be awake.” John hissed with a raspy painful growl. ”Shhh! K-Keep it down... You wanna a-alert the orderlies or-or somethin’’?!” John’s ratty uniform billowed and rustled around his wheelchair, his boney fingers reaching for a small dusty pouch which he tied to his jumpsuit with some black rope. ”No matter. My special Dream Dust will make you nice and ripe for beddy-bye! Hee~” Brown eyes danced between John’s rotting mangled hands, the left and right hands of a skeleton, for John came armed... In his right hand was an old straw, the kind of fat ones you’d find in a milkshake, and in his left limply sagged a sparkling pouch of sand. ”Y-Your wha?” Dee’s “Dream Dust” was a home brewed anesthesia of his own making. John swindled a menagerie of various psychotropic medications, muscle relaxers, tranquilizers and other drugs from the Arkham Doctors. With a mortar and pestle he smuggled in from the outside, John would proceed to ground up the psychiatric pills into a fine dust. Following this, Destiny would poor a few tranquilizer injections into his cell’s toilet, then mix in the ground up pills. A scoop of Preston Payne’s Clayface flesh would get the water to a boiling point, then finally he’d throw in various hallucinogens such as LSD which he stole from Warren White. The hallucinogens allowed for, shall we say, lucid dreaming. Once the solution finished diluting, he’d pour the liquid shlop into a beaker. He wasn’t strong enough to incapacitate anyone with a needle injection, so John needed to get creative... The contents of his beaker would get poured into an ice tray, then slid into Victor Fries’ cell for it to solidify. When all was said and done, the frozen solution would be ground up in his mortar and pestle, and voila, John had his (potentially lethal) Dream Dust. ”Nighty-night~” He cooed softly, his raspy voice held a motherly tinge to it. Destiny poked his straw into the dust thrice, sparkles of green and purple twinkling in the air, and with a huff, the maniac blew the billowing sparkles into Sturges face. Sturges coughed groggily, sneezing and hacking into the air until he collapsed to his bed with a thud.
The white and yellow teeth of a skull creased a smile against whisky strands of flesh limply dangling from under two black nostrils. The decrepit figure, with rattling bones and painful skin stretches painfully arose from his chair. Sandaled toes facing inwards as though his legs were twisted from injury, knees folded and buckled as though he were about to collapse, back haunched as though he were altogether about to topple over, white eyes leering, towering over Sturges who cuddled up into his own bed. Shaky shriveled up fingers tenderly caressed Sturges‘ skull, fingers dancing through white hair like a mother stoking a son. Two hands massaging the skull, then finally John pulled away, his thin stalks pulling off the skull with purple strands of corporeal Dream tethered from the head to his hands like putty.. Slimey pink jelly dancing like puppet strings from Sturges’ brain. The creature giggled childishly, shaping and malforming the squishy puss like it were some slimey form of clay. It spindled and spun around gnarled digits and oozed grotesquely dribbling down in tethered strands. It was a gnarly sensation, cold but also warm. Dry but also wet, like a watery gel. Pinkish jelly which, well... John simply couldn’t help himself... His mind went into haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head and fluttering rapidly as though he were having a seizure. Dee moaned sensually, his skull leaning in with whisky strands of his own hair dancing magically... Like I said, he couldn’t help himself........... Mangled teeth bit into the putty, chomping and chewing into the slime of Dream. Cold greasy pink slathered across mangled fangs and drooled down chapped lips. It burnt the back of his throat like boiling acid, and he loved it. The pain felt so heavenly, like the most painful vodka sizzling your innards god he wanted more. Black fangs reached in and tore ravenously through for another bite, ripping bits of pink off like a wild animal tearing through raw flesh. Then he chewed like a cow munching on grass. More. He leaned in, but could feel a scuttling upon his shoulder. ”Brothah, I wouldn’t do that” A cockroach scuttled across his neck and whispered into his ear. “‘Member our accord, Johnny Boy?” The dream demon frowned and sank like a scolded child. ”But I...... hunger.“
The tiny cockroach scuttled into John’s ear, and it tickled. Tiny legs trickling into his lobe and into his brain. ”Heeeee bring ‘em to meeee, baby... I’ll make it worth your while.” John pulled his fingers apart, the pinkish goo forming a tethered web from left hand to Sturges to right hand, ogling at its magical glow and vague depictions etched with in. ”But....”
With a shivering chill he awoke. Mind swirling and eyes groggy, he blinked. Sturge’s vision was clouded and foggy, he could see very little, but it was enough. Enough to know, that there was only darkness. So much darkness. Above and beyond. Yet there was blinding white below and around. A shrill wind bustled and bellowed. Goosebumps trickled down his spine with a sudden horrifying realization. He was no longer sagely cradled in his bed. Sturges was alone. Scared and alone... He’s had this nightmare a million times before! It’s not real! Dr. Leland said it wasn’t real! Unyielding darkness enveloped his hazy form. Black. An endless abyss. Black. Black. White and black. He gasped and he panted. Tears suddenly welled up in his eyes as he frantically looked left then right then left again. He dashed forwards into darkness, the bare feet crinkling against the ice and snow and slush. But he froze, frantic and unsure, he looked to his rear. His face riddled with indescribable horror, he gazed on into only more darkness. Clenching tufts of his curly white hair, the man became a boy, a scared little boy. Terrified. Confused. He knelt into the winter breeze. He slouched their, sobbing pathetically, alone with only the howling winds to hear him. Tears trickling down into an icy tundra. In that moment, that horrible fleeting moment... His thoughts were scrambled and frantic. He thought of his life. Of how this was the end, cut short, and swallowed in the swarm of frost. He thought of his sister, Joyce. She had hoped he’d get better. Guilt trickled down his throat like hot coffee. Then he thought of his mother. How she believed in him, and his he’d get better... But they were gone, and he was alone. Left with only darkness and silence. Silence which was drowned out only by the weeping of a scared little man.......... Yet, that crippling silence did not last. There was then, howling and growling. Grunting and groaning. Animalistic snarls and tweets of some many nameless entities. They chirped and they whined. Echoed and grumbled. They came from all angles. Left. Right. Center. Up and down. His heart rate spiked. Adrenaline soared through his veins. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. He shivered, then trudged through the snow. Noises. So many noises. Noises in the trees. Noises in the fields. Noises in the-were those headstones? Where did they come from? Then there were more. Headstones, graves, mausoleums, here, there, everywhere. They were before him, they were behind him. They came from nowhere, flashing in and out with the strike of lightning. The trees groaned and snarled, vicious and horrible gnarled faces, seemingly screaming out in shrill pain. Dread trickled down his spine. Goosebumps cascading across his skin. The earth rumbled and shook, and then with sudden blighting audacity of God himself, it bursted out! From the snow, and the dirt. An arm. Fleshy. Green. Mangled. Horrible. Then came a face. A groaning, snaggle-toothed face. Another arm, then a body, forced out from the dirt it reached out with rugged charred claws. Sturges screamed as his brown eyes locked with the blood shot red of this groaning angry corpse. It drooled, then giggled like lunatic. A sibling creature suddenly bursted out of a neighboring headstone, wailing into the moonlight like a banshee. Then another creature, a third, then a fourth, fifth and even a sixth! They limped and lumbered towards the man-child, groaning and moaning out into the moonlight in a tantalizing agony. Sturges cried out for someone, anyone. But nobody came. The zombies lurched forwards, heaving and hollering "We. Want. BRAINS!" He stumbled backwards, screaming hosannahs of terror as they reached out for him. They drooled, and burped. Flesh molting and peeling off with a squish into the snow. One reached out to attack, but Sturges jerked away. He sprinted off, as fast as his little legs could possibly sprint, never looking back, faltering only once, he ran until he saw light. Flashing, flickering, colorful lights. Hues of green, yellow and blue just over the distance. They were faint at first, but grew bolder as he sprinted deeper into the dream. His feet grew weary, and his eyes hazy. Tired and dreary, and with not a zombie in sight, his pace slowed to a mere power walk. Tombstones and crypts still dotted every iota of this snowy white field, as far as the eye could see, white and grey stone slabs with dreary long forgotten names etched into their surface. He crept through what grass and snow were slushed together until he came upon a massive rusted metal fence. An ageless, timeless structure that was barred and spiked. He could not fit through the bars, and he figured he ought not to risk impalement. Yet.... Those alluring lights, they were just beyond these large metal bars, shrouded in a fog, so thick it could be cut with a knife. His only option, then, if not through it, up it, or below it, would be around it. He followed the fence down for what felt like a millennia, and when all hope had seemed lost, he'd found an entrance. A pair of massive barred metal doors under a stone and spiked rail archway. The stone pillars on either side had particularly unpleasant looking faces plastered on either aside, but above the stone was a single ugly, snarling, and giddy face woven into the metal bars of the archway. It looked as thought it were, at any moment, about to break into some deranged chortle, or maniac's cackle. The doors creaked with the wind, the rust and iron eerily echoing out into the swirling smog of fog around him. Sturges poked the right door only slightly, and yet both llarge metal doors swung open as if expectantly. The doors fanned the fog away, and brown eyes could finally cast a weary gaze upon.....
Well, he wasn’t quite sure what this was... His nightmares usually ended at the cemetery, this? This was new... It looked like a festival, sorts. A foreboding black cave leered in the background, with shadowy figures dancing around a brothing cauldron in front of it. Turquoise yellow and green flowed dimly from the floors which seemed to be cracking away beneath him. The cauldron itself shimmered brightly a hue of green, and the.. Things which danced around it basked in its glow as if it were some heavenly embrace. These ugly things, impish and fowl... Horrible evil little things, bastard children of the devil himself. They danced and they pranced and they giggled and they cackled. These devious little creatures, they lept and they twirled around that wretched cauldron fire. It bubbled and oozed with a sticky viscous and mucousy green hue, broiling and boiling. It made a grotesque gurgling with it's ooey gooey juices, but it was drowned out by the imps. The imps and their chanting and cackling. They hymned some blasphemous tongue. Horrible unknowable words, which they sung out in a cruel and horrid delight. Sturges gazed on in... Well, he wasn't quite sure what this feeling was. Shock? Awe? Horror? Amusement? A cacophony of emotions, and yet through all the horror, the disgust, the fear... This all looked rather.... Fun.... That’s right, fun.Those little creatures, some his height, some shorter, some taller; why, they were having a hell of a time! The laughing! The dancing! The joy! The scenery! It was grand! It was great! Even when one of them jumped out at him, all still seemed spectacular.
That one little imp that jumped out at him, it was hideous... It wore a fanged wooden mask that smiled with a demented glee. It's eyes were hollow, and it had a long wooden tongue draped below the lips like a panting dog. It wore tattered old robes, with chains and bells dingling and jingling. It had goat horns on its head, and wielded a large and macabre pitchfork. It poked at Sturges cruelly, thrusting it's masked face forwards with a mad delighted giggle. Sturges smiled faintly, chuckling to himself as the creature danced all the way back to his little troupe of brothers and sister. They circled the cauldron, each one with a mask of it's own. One was in burlap, with a stitched grin and hollow eyes, another with a top hat and the face of a plastic bird. A third with a helmet, and large eyes poking out. Then a feminine figure, with a dress, and a powdered porcelain smile. They looked rather mean, but it all seemed in good fun. They laughed, and they played, chortling and cackling in a childish delight. Sturges was strangely allured by this decadent delight, and was half tempted to join in the festivities. Yet... However delightful and however macabre.... Let there be no mistake, they were malicious and mean. A lesson Sturges learnt, as two more snuck up from behind. They grabbed his arms, and pulled him down. A mangled wooden face, with large rabbit ears, and a hunchback clown who snarled maniacally. The creatures brought him before their cauldron as it rattled and stirred... It sputtered and spat out green goo, erupting like a volcano it slathered down the sides and bubbled on the ground. Hellfire roared from the kettle, and something exploded out. A mask. Not I like the imps’ masks. Each one was unique, and this one was a very long, very tall moaning tiki mask. An imp grabbed the mask and held it out to Sturges, who looked into it and shuddered........ He saw only bugs. Millions upon millions of bugs. Crawling and scuttling little creepers, crawlers, and hoppers. A mushy moist mass of insect, pulsating like a heartbeat, yet in a constant swirling locomotion. The mass gurgled and oscillated inconsistently, swarms of beetles swimming in and out of each other. The large green digit shaped torso of a locust crawled slowly across the mucousy surface. Trudging it's massive hind legs across the phlegmy and squishy surface of beetles and roaches and ants and arachnids. Large black millipedes, as long as a forefinger, and similarly just as chubby scampered across. Dozens of legs on one slinky torso squirming around, propelling the faceless black thing across the horde beneath. It slithered and slinked. Then was followed by a squeaking, writhing centipede. It's pincers chopping at nothing but air, then burrowing into maggots and meal worms. The creatures all curled and swirled around the masks eye holes. The wriggling innards of the mask, colorful writhing centipedes, twisting and curling in the air, reached out. Their grotesque little feet scuttling desperately, wildly and frantically attempting to cling on to whatever fleshy surface it could. The imp stepped forwards, and with a sudden jump the centipedes pinched, chomped, and clung on to Sturges’ face. There was a muffled scream echoing across the snow and ice, and then nothing. The mask slinked up like a living accordion, and the brand new little imp giggled and danced under the moonlight.
Doctor Destiny watched quietly, light growing dimmer as the nightmare subsided. He stood in the basement of Arkham, amidst a legion of ten, just standing. Unmoving, uncaring, brain dead. All of them with colorful masks just leering into the darkness as insects drooled and oscillated out of them. Sturges was now amongst them. A fog of shadows enveloped the air, and Dr. Destiny leered up to a fleshy mass attached to the wall. ”Mmmmm... He tastes good, Jimmy-John.” Destiny stood decrepitly amidst the mass’ mass... A congress of brain dead apostles which could do nothing but stand and be drained. John looked over his shoulder with guilty eyes. ”I don’t like this game...” A shadowy tendril crept down to John’s shoulder, a stalk containing the creature’s eye... It’s eye was the Materioptikon, shimmering brightly to Destiny. ”Shhhhhh” it whispered softly. Another tendril reaches down, grasping Dee by the neck, coiling it’s fleshy tentacle around his neck and lifting him up. ”I love you, John.” It lied in a loving whisper. ”Then shall we....”
If it could properly animate its disgust it would have. ”I’ll think about it.” the tendril lobbed Destiny aside like used trash, and fell with a thud. ”Run along to bed now an’ act cool for the docs, Johnny... Night-night! Don’t let the bed bugs bite huuuuhahahahaaah!”
Arkham was unusually peaceful that day, a serene and comforting grey blanketed the air outside with not even a chill breeze, just a still nothingness. It was nice, very quiet, soothing even. John was collapsed limply into his wheelchair. Watching and waiting in an almost comatose state. He was content to be dead, but folks around here simply wouldn’t let him. There came a tapping upon his chamber door, he’d hoped for some wriggly appendage to reach out from the door’s lock, but much to his discontent it was not to be. The door of his cell crept open, and Doctor Joan Leland was met with a skinny little man with large eyes and curly black hair. ”Are you ready, John? Today’s your big day.” People tend to be forgotten in this cesspool, and for the longest time, John was counted amongst those ranks. Forgotten by the staff, forgotten by the world, forgotten by the Justice League. No one ever found his misdeeds all that remarkable... In a sea of lunatics and meta humans, a dreamstrider is just another face I suppose. The Justice League dropped him off to the Asylum’s doorstep one day with no real explanation, his file was paper thin, and he never spoke much, so to the staff? This “Doctor Destiny” was mostly an enigma. Quiet and assuming, so unassuming in fact, that the doctors had simply left him be to rot in his cell for the longest time. No visitors, no treatment, just the occasional orderly dropping off food. That is until Dr. Leland noticed him. She was always so kind, this place didn’t deserve someone like her. The other doctor’s sure as hell didn’t care. She’d been treating him for a few months, and considered him a model patient for the facility (which... let’s be honest, isn’t saying much).
Leland strolled cheerfully behind the nightmare king. He liked her quite a bit. She was sweet and always smelled like lilacs. It always made him want to coil his fingers around someone’s throat and strangle them. ”Let’s get you situated in the Common Room, Nurse Pratchett will get your favorite song on the radio” Today was a special day, Leland (the bleeding heart that she was) had this wonderful idea for a patient enrichment program. She called it the “Buddy Program”. She rounded up some of the more passive and sedated patients of the Asylum, and enlisted various do-folders from Gotham to get to pair up with a patient and get to know each other. She rolled Dee down a few hallways until they reached the Common Room. Various patients were already settled, some watched television, others doodled, others still had various knick knacks to keep them occupied. Leland settles Dee next to an ornate wooden radio which played soothing antique tunes from the thirties. John resigned himself to the music, and Leland went to greet the various volunteers, pairing all the “Buddies” up. ”We’re trying the ‘buddy program‘ to combat the negative stereotypes on mental health people like Joker and Scarecrow perpetrate around Gotham.” she explained to the entourage, anxious and excited for this all to work. ”Honestly? The people here can be some of the sweetest in the world” She introduced patients and people and eventually it was Dee’s turn. Dee timidly summer into his chair as she approached. ”This is John, he’s a real doll. Wouldn’t even harm a fly! Can you say ‘hi’, John?” His eyes shimmered slightly amidst a sullen face which frowned slightly. ”Hi.” He whispered painfully, more interested in his radio than the interaction. “This is going to be your ‘buddy’ for the day. How about you guys get to know each other? I’ll check back in just a moment.”
Open/Closed: Open
Location(s): Arkham Asylum
Time of Day: Noon
Weather: Grey and dull
Summary: A hungering horror lurches deep within Arkham, it feeds on the minds of the sickly and now Doctor Destiny wants freedom from its eldritch shackles
”Stand up you sinners! I got you at last!
Ain’t no gettin’ away, I got a story to say!
Then your finish is gonna be fast!”
Ain’t no gettin’ away, I got a story to say!
Then your finish is gonna be fast!”
A cavalry of thunder raced across the cosmos, billowing black clouds growling and snarling fiercely through the skies with a surge of lightning following suite. Splashes of blue raced through the air, sparking in and out in a hypnotic synchronization with the booming roar of the clouds and a howling wind which rushed ferociously across the land. Arkham Asylum leered high and horrific upon cursed soil. Black smoldering dirt which howled out aeons worthy of curses and agony. Illuminated by the fleeting effervescent glows of blue, the towering Arkham Mansion with its snarling curves and jagged vaults welcomes you... Past the Botanical Gardens riddled with hideous vines and gnarled foliage and beyond the spire of the ancestral Cathedral, howling winds guiding you past an effigy of old madman Amadeus and finally to the Intensive Treatment Facility. A gush of air brushed against the barred window of a quiet little room titled “John Dee”.
The billowing of wind and thunder echoed behind him. A glimmer of lightning vaguely outlining frazzled black hair of a husk-like creature, John Dee, decrepit and dead and collapsed limply into an old wheelchair. Waiting. Watching and waiting for a sign, a signal, something. Tiny unblinking white eyes gave an endless unrelenting stare to a gaudy black metal door with rusting iron bars. The minuscule glow of white glared, with a drooling stupid mug, at the lock, the steel and orange of a keyhole glared back with an empty black void. Nothing. For the longest time nothing. But then... A rapping at his chamber door, the slightest little scuttling sound. An empty face forced a smile as the stringy body of a red centipede forced its way through the lock, dancing in the air, beckoning him out.
The metal door creaked open, slowly, creak creak creeeeeak. Doctor Destiny rolled his way out to an empty hallway, eyes glaring brightly like a flashlight. The streaming glow of his eyes traced up the Arkham walls and then down a black corridor laced in shadows. Mangled fingers pressed firmly against the rubber wheels of his chair, John forced himself forwards. His eyes danced between black doors with ugly inhuman names, rolling past each cell door and down the imposing vestibule of doors and names. Creeping into the void, stealthily with only the glimmer of light from his smoldering eyes to suggest any life... He couldn’t help but give a giggle, it was almost too easy! Not an orderly in sight, only... Prey. A storm barked to him in the background as the hunter stalked... His newest meal? A room, aptly named “Sturges Smith”. A stuttering and stupid lunatic John knew far too well. The glow of his eyes looked to the lock, like a flashlight it illuminated the orange and iron colors as tiny dancing feet wriggled and writhed their way out. A dozen arachnids with spindly frantic legs rushed out, the swarm of ghoulish legs, thin like follicles of hair pitter pattering out of the lock and down the door. Creeping down to the floor, and then finally spiraling up Destiny’s sickly thin leg towards his crotch.
Sharp talons, five thin and ghoulish claws pressed firmly against the door and it creaked open. Sturges’ brown eyes gleamed back at John, panicked and awake. ”J-John?? Wha-What’re you doing outta your c-cell?” Sturges was a meek little fellow, but one with still more meat to him than the corpse of John Dee. He was short and jittery, with bleached white hair, shallow eyes, and a baggy black and white Arkham jumpsuit which was just a few sizes too large. ”You’re not supposed to be awake.” John hissed with a raspy painful growl. ”Shhh! K-Keep it down... You wanna a-alert the orderlies or-or somethin’’?!” John’s ratty uniform billowed and rustled around his wheelchair, his boney fingers reaching for a small dusty pouch which he tied to his jumpsuit with some black rope. ”No matter. My special Dream Dust will make you nice and ripe for beddy-bye! Hee~” Brown eyes danced between John’s rotting mangled hands, the left and right hands of a skeleton, for John came armed... In his right hand was an old straw, the kind of fat ones you’d find in a milkshake, and in his left limply sagged a sparkling pouch of sand. ”Y-Your wha?” Dee’s “Dream Dust” was a home brewed anesthesia of his own making. John swindled a menagerie of various psychotropic medications, muscle relaxers, tranquilizers and other drugs from the Arkham Doctors. With a mortar and pestle he smuggled in from the outside, John would proceed to ground up the psychiatric pills into a fine dust. Following this, Destiny would poor a few tranquilizer injections into his cell’s toilet, then mix in the ground up pills. A scoop of Preston Payne’s Clayface flesh would get the water to a boiling point, then finally he’d throw in various hallucinogens such as LSD which he stole from Warren White. The hallucinogens allowed for, shall we say, lucid dreaming. Once the solution finished diluting, he’d pour the liquid shlop into a beaker. He wasn’t strong enough to incapacitate anyone with a needle injection, so John needed to get creative... The contents of his beaker would get poured into an ice tray, then slid into Victor Fries’ cell for it to solidify. When all was said and done, the frozen solution would be ground up in his mortar and pestle, and voila, John had his (potentially lethal) Dream Dust. ”Nighty-night~” He cooed softly, his raspy voice held a motherly tinge to it. Destiny poked his straw into the dust thrice, sparkles of green and purple twinkling in the air, and with a huff, the maniac blew the billowing sparkles into Sturges face. Sturges coughed groggily, sneezing and hacking into the air until he collapsed to his bed with a thud.
The white and yellow teeth of a skull creased a smile against whisky strands of flesh limply dangling from under two black nostrils. The decrepit figure, with rattling bones and painful skin stretches painfully arose from his chair. Sandaled toes facing inwards as though his legs were twisted from injury, knees folded and buckled as though he were about to collapse, back haunched as though he were altogether about to topple over, white eyes leering, towering over Sturges who cuddled up into his own bed. Shaky shriveled up fingers tenderly caressed Sturges‘ skull, fingers dancing through white hair like a mother stoking a son. Two hands massaging the skull, then finally John pulled away, his thin stalks pulling off the skull with purple strands of corporeal Dream tethered from the head to his hands like putty.. Slimey pink jelly dancing like puppet strings from Sturges’ brain. The creature giggled childishly, shaping and malforming the squishy puss like it were some slimey form of clay. It spindled and spun around gnarled digits and oozed grotesquely dribbling down in tethered strands. It was a gnarly sensation, cold but also warm. Dry but also wet, like a watery gel. Pinkish jelly which, well... John simply couldn’t help himself... His mind went into haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head and fluttering rapidly as though he were having a seizure. Dee moaned sensually, his skull leaning in with whisky strands of his own hair dancing magically... Like I said, he couldn’t help himself........... Mangled teeth bit into the putty, chomping and chewing into the slime of Dream. Cold greasy pink slathered across mangled fangs and drooled down chapped lips. It burnt the back of his throat like boiling acid, and he loved it. The pain felt so heavenly, like the most painful vodka sizzling your innards god he wanted more. Black fangs reached in and tore ravenously through for another bite, ripping bits of pink off like a wild animal tearing through raw flesh. Then he chewed like a cow munching on grass. More. He leaned in, but could feel a scuttling upon his shoulder. ”Brothah, I wouldn’t do that” A cockroach scuttled across his neck and whispered into his ear. “‘Member our accord, Johnny Boy?” The dream demon frowned and sank like a scolded child. ”But I...... hunger.“
The tiny cockroach scuttled into John’s ear, and it tickled. Tiny legs trickling into his lobe and into his brain. ”Heeeee bring ‘em to meeee, baby... I’ll make it worth your while.” John pulled his fingers apart, the pinkish goo forming a tethered web from left hand to Sturges to right hand, ogling at its magical glow and vague depictions etched with in. ”But....”
”FEED ME, SKELETOR!!”
Passage to Normal - By Paul McCollough
Passage to Normal - By Paul McCollough
With a shivering chill he awoke. Mind swirling and eyes groggy, he blinked. Sturge’s vision was clouded and foggy, he could see very little, but it was enough. Enough to know, that there was only darkness. So much darkness. Above and beyond. Yet there was blinding white below and around. A shrill wind bustled and bellowed. Goosebumps trickled down his spine with a sudden horrifying realization. He was no longer sagely cradled in his bed. Sturges was alone. Scared and alone... He’s had this nightmare a million times before! It’s not real! Dr. Leland said it wasn’t real! Unyielding darkness enveloped his hazy form. Black. An endless abyss. Black. Black. White and black. He gasped and he panted. Tears suddenly welled up in his eyes as he frantically looked left then right then left again. He dashed forwards into darkness, the bare feet crinkling against the ice and snow and slush. But he froze, frantic and unsure, he looked to his rear. His face riddled with indescribable horror, he gazed on into only more darkness. Clenching tufts of his curly white hair, the man became a boy, a scared little boy. Terrified. Confused. He knelt into the winter breeze. He slouched their, sobbing pathetically, alone with only the howling winds to hear him. Tears trickling down into an icy tundra. In that moment, that horrible fleeting moment... His thoughts were scrambled and frantic. He thought of his life. Of how this was the end, cut short, and swallowed in the swarm of frost. He thought of his sister, Joyce. She had hoped he’d get better. Guilt trickled down his throat like hot coffee. Then he thought of his mother. How she believed in him, and his he’d get better... But they were gone, and he was alone. Left with only darkness and silence. Silence which was drowned out only by the weeping of a scared little man.......... Yet, that crippling silence did not last. There was then, howling and growling. Grunting and groaning. Animalistic snarls and tweets of some many nameless entities. They chirped and they whined. Echoed and grumbled. They came from all angles. Left. Right. Center. Up and down. His heart rate spiked. Adrenaline soared through his veins. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. He shivered, then trudged through the snow. Noises. So many noises. Noises in the trees. Noises in the fields. Noises in the-were those headstones? Where did they come from? Then there were more. Headstones, graves, mausoleums, here, there, everywhere. They were before him, they were behind him. They came from nowhere, flashing in and out with the strike of lightning. The trees groaned and snarled, vicious and horrible gnarled faces, seemingly screaming out in shrill pain. Dread trickled down his spine. Goosebumps cascading across his skin. The earth rumbled and shook, and then with sudden blighting audacity of God himself, it bursted out! From the snow, and the dirt. An arm. Fleshy. Green. Mangled. Horrible. Then came a face. A groaning, snaggle-toothed face. Another arm, then a body, forced out from the dirt it reached out with rugged charred claws. Sturges screamed as his brown eyes locked with the blood shot red of this groaning angry corpse. It drooled, then giggled like lunatic. A sibling creature suddenly bursted out of a neighboring headstone, wailing into the moonlight like a banshee. Then another creature, a third, then a fourth, fifth and even a sixth! They limped and lumbered towards the man-child, groaning and moaning out into the moonlight in a tantalizing agony. Sturges cried out for someone, anyone. But nobody came. The zombies lurched forwards, heaving and hollering "We. Want. BRAINS!" He stumbled backwards, screaming hosannahs of terror as they reached out for him. They drooled, and burped. Flesh molting and peeling off with a squish into the snow. One reached out to attack, but Sturges jerked away. He sprinted off, as fast as his little legs could possibly sprint, never looking back, faltering only once, he ran until he saw light. Flashing, flickering, colorful lights. Hues of green, yellow and blue just over the distance. They were faint at first, but grew bolder as he sprinted deeper into the dream. His feet grew weary, and his eyes hazy. Tired and dreary, and with not a zombie in sight, his pace slowed to a mere power walk. Tombstones and crypts still dotted every iota of this snowy white field, as far as the eye could see, white and grey stone slabs with dreary long forgotten names etched into their surface. He crept through what grass and snow were slushed together until he came upon a massive rusted metal fence. An ageless, timeless structure that was barred and spiked. He could not fit through the bars, and he figured he ought not to risk impalement. Yet.... Those alluring lights, they were just beyond these large metal bars, shrouded in a fog, so thick it could be cut with a knife. His only option, then, if not through it, up it, or below it, would be around it. He followed the fence down for what felt like a millennia, and when all hope had seemed lost, he'd found an entrance. A pair of massive barred metal doors under a stone and spiked rail archway. The stone pillars on either side had particularly unpleasant looking faces plastered on either aside, but above the stone was a single ugly, snarling, and giddy face woven into the metal bars of the archway. It looked as thought it were, at any moment, about to break into some deranged chortle, or maniac's cackle. The doors creaked with the wind, the rust and iron eerily echoing out into the swirling smog of fog around him. Sturges poked the right door only slightly, and yet both llarge metal doors swung open as if expectantly. The doors fanned the fog away, and brown eyes could finally cast a weary gaze upon.....
Well, he wasn’t quite sure what this was... His nightmares usually ended at the cemetery, this? This was new... It looked like a festival, sorts. A foreboding black cave leered in the background, with shadowy figures dancing around a brothing cauldron in front of it. Turquoise yellow and green flowed dimly from the floors which seemed to be cracking away beneath him. The cauldron itself shimmered brightly a hue of green, and the.. Things which danced around it basked in its glow as if it were some heavenly embrace. These ugly things, impish and fowl... Horrible evil little things, bastard children of the devil himself. They danced and they pranced and they giggled and they cackled. These devious little creatures, they lept and they twirled around that wretched cauldron fire. It bubbled and oozed with a sticky viscous and mucousy green hue, broiling and boiling. It made a grotesque gurgling with it's ooey gooey juices, but it was drowned out by the imps. The imps and their chanting and cackling. They hymned some blasphemous tongue. Horrible unknowable words, which they sung out in a cruel and horrid delight. Sturges gazed on in... Well, he wasn't quite sure what this feeling was. Shock? Awe? Horror? Amusement? A cacophony of emotions, and yet through all the horror, the disgust, the fear... This all looked rather.... Fun.... That’s right, fun.Those little creatures, some his height, some shorter, some taller; why, they were having a hell of a time! The laughing! The dancing! The joy! The scenery! It was grand! It was great! Even when one of them jumped out at him, all still seemed spectacular.
That one little imp that jumped out at him, it was hideous... It wore a fanged wooden mask that smiled with a demented glee. It's eyes were hollow, and it had a long wooden tongue draped below the lips like a panting dog. It wore tattered old robes, with chains and bells dingling and jingling. It had goat horns on its head, and wielded a large and macabre pitchfork. It poked at Sturges cruelly, thrusting it's masked face forwards with a mad delighted giggle. Sturges smiled faintly, chuckling to himself as the creature danced all the way back to his little troupe of brothers and sister. They circled the cauldron, each one with a mask of it's own. One was in burlap, with a stitched grin and hollow eyes, another with a top hat and the face of a plastic bird. A third with a helmet, and large eyes poking out. Then a feminine figure, with a dress, and a powdered porcelain smile. They looked rather mean, but it all seemed in good fun. They laughed, and they played, chortling and cackling in a childish delight. Sturges was strangely allured by this decadent delight, and was half tempted to join in the festivities. Yet... However delightful and however macabre.... Let there be no mistake, they were malicious and mean. A lesson Sturges learnt, as two more snuck up from behind. They grabbed his arms, and pulled him down. A mangled wooden face, with large rabbit ears, and a hunchback clown who snarled maniacally. The creatures brought him before their cauldron as it rattled and stirred... It sputtered and spat out green goo, erupting like a volcano it slathered down the sides and bubbled on the ground. Hellfire roared from the kettle, and something exploded out. A mask. Not I like the imps’ masks. Each one was unique, and this one was a very long, very tall moaning tiki mask. An imp grabbed the mask and held it out to Sturges, who looked into it and shuddered........ He saw only bugs. Millions upon millions of bugs. Crawling and scuttling little creepers, crawlers, and hoppers. A mushy moist mass of insect, pulsating like a heartbeat, yet in a constant swirling locomotion. The mass gurgled and oscillated inconsistently, swarms of beetles swimming in and out of each other. The large green digit shaped torso of a locust crawled slowly across the mucousy surface. Trudging it's massive hind legs across the phlegmy and squishy surface of beetles and roaches and ants and arachnids. Large black millipedes, as long as a forefinger, and similarly just as chubby scampered across. Dozens of legs on one slinky torso squirming around, propelling the faceless black thing across the horde beneath. It slithered and slinked. Then was followed by a squeaking, writhing centipede. It's pincers chopping at nothing but air, then burrowing into maggots and meal worms. The creatures all curled and swirled around the masks eye holes. The wriggling innards of the mask, colorful writhing centipedes, twisting and curling in the air, reached out. Their grotesque little feet scuttling desperately, wildly and frantically attempting to cling on to whatever fleshy surface it could. The imp stepped forwards, and with a sudden jump the centipedes pinched, chomped, and clung on to Sturges’ face. There was a muffled scream echoing across the snow and ice, and then nothing. The mask slinked up like a living accordion, and the brand new little imp giggled and danced under the moonlight.
Doctor Destiny watched quietly, light growing dimmer as the nightmare subsided. He stood in the basement of Arkham, amidst a legion of ten, just standing. Unmoving, uncaring, brain dead. All of them with colorful masks just leering into the darkness as insects drooled and oscillated out of them. Sturges was now amongst them. A fog of shadows enveloped the air, and Dr. Destiny leered up to a fleshy mass attached to the wall. ”Mmmmm... He tastes good, Jimmy-John.” Destiny stood decrepitly amidst the mass’ mass... A congress of brain dead apostles which could do nothing but stand and be drained. John looked over his shoulder with guilty eyes. ”I don’t like this game...” A shadowy tendril crept down to John’s shoulder, a stalk containing the creature’s eye... It’s eye was the Materioptikon, shimmering brightly to Destiny. ”Shhhhhh” it whispered softly. Another tendril reaches down, grasping Dee by the neck, coiling it’s fleshy tentacle around his neck and lifting him up. ”I love you, John.” It lied in a loving whisper. ”Then shall we....”
If it could properly animate its disgust it would have. ”I’ll think about it.” the tendril lobbed Destiny aside like used trash, and fell with a thud. ”Run along to bed now an’ act cool for the docs, Johnny... Night-night! Don’t let the bed bugs bite huuuuhahahahaaah!”
The Next Day
Arkham was unusually peaceful that day, a serene and comforting grey blanketed the air outside with not even a chill breeze, just a still nothingness. It was nice, very quiet, soothing even. John was collapsed limply into his wheelchair. Watching and waiting in an almost comatose state. He was content to be dead, but folks around here simply wouldn’t let him. There came a tapping upon his chamber door, he’d hoped for some wriggly appendage to reach out from the door’s lock, but much to his discontent it was not to be. The door of his cell crept open, and Doctor Joan Leland was met with a skinny little man with large eyes and curly black hair. ”Are you ready, John? Today’s your big day.” People tend to be forgotten in this cesspool, and for the longest time, John was counted amongst those ranks. Forgotten by the staff, forgotten by the world, forgotten by the Justice League. No one ever found his misdeeds all that remarkable... In a sea of lunatics and meta humans, a dreamstrider is just another face I suppose. The Justice League dropped him off to the Asylum’s doorstep one day with no real explanation, his file was paper thin, and he never spoke much, so to the staff? This “Doctor Destiny” was mostly an enigma. Quiet and assuming, so unassuming in fact, that the doctors had simply left him be to rot in his cell for the longest time. No visitors, no treatment, just the occasional orderly dropping off food. That is until Dr. Leland noticed him. She was always so kind, this place didn’t deserve someone like her. The other doctor’s sure as hell didn’t care. She’d been treating him for a few months, and considered him a model patient for the facility (which... let’s be honest, isn’t saying much).
Leland strolled cheerfully behind the nightmare king. He liked her quite a bit. She was sweet and always smelled like lilacs. It always made him want to coil his fingers around someone’s throat and strangle them. ”Let’s get you situated in the Common Room, Nurse Pratchett will get your favorite song on the radio” Today was a special day, Leland (the bleeding heart that she was) had this wonderful idea for a patient enrichment program. She called it the “Buddy Program”. She rounded up some of the more passive and sedated patients of the Asylum, and enlisted various do-folders from Gotham to get to pair up with a patient and get to know each other. She rolled Dee down a few hallways until they reached the Common Room. Various patients were already settled, some watched television, others doodled, others still had various knick knacks to keep them occupied. Leland settles Dee next to an ornate wooden radio which played soothing antique tunes from the thirties. John resigned himself to the music, and Leland went to greet the various volunteers, pairing all the “Buddies” up. ”We’re trying the ‘buddy program‘ to combat the negative stereotypes on mental health people like Joker and Scarecrow perpetrate around Gotham.” she explained to the entourage, anxious and excited for this all to work. ”Honestly? The people here can be some of the sweetest in the world” She introduced patients and people and eventually it was Dee’s turn. Dee timidly summer into his chair as she approached. ”This is John, he’s a real doll. Wouldn’t even harm a fly! Can you say ‘hi’, John?” His eyes shimmered slightly amidst a sullen face which frowned slightly. ”Hi.” He whispered painfully, more interested in his radio than the interaction. “This is going to be your ‘buddy’ for the day. How about you guys get to know each other? I’ll check back in just a moment.”
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