It's not just horror stories. Things really do go Bump in the night.Welcome to
Bump, a mystery horror RP. Recently, people have been behaving strangely. Sometimes it's perfectly ordinary citizens vanishing, then turning up on the far side of town speaking gibberish. Others wake up one day and decide to eat their neighbours.
Nobody knows what's going on. The police treat the cases as though they are routine and psychiatrists are having a field day with certifying them insane. It seems there's nothing else to do. The victims, or culprits, depending on how you look at it, tend to die shortly afterward - often of nothing more than shock. Sometimes, it's not always clear that they died
after their incarceration. Either way, the problem solves itself and it's infrequent enough not to worry.
Ms Thorne disagrees. Something is going
Bump, and she is going to find out what.
"Where is he?"
"Through here, Ms Thorne."
"Excellent."
The conservatory was cool and lush. Great, leafy plants lined the glass walls. The blinds were down, just in case; it was a wonder that the greenery could survive with such little access to natural light nowadays. There was a faint whirr from above, a side-effect of the ceiling fan. Once upon a time, Ms Thorne was aware, the conservatory had been used for cocktail parties and the sort, the French windows open during the midsummer. Wicker furniture brought specially from somewhere Eastern was arranged all around the room, decorated and made comfortable with throws and cushions of similar provenance. Each armchair and sofa was unoccupied, all bar one; a man in a dishevelled suit sat in an armchair - or, rather, was strapped into it with thick leather belts. His eyes were open, but Ms Thorne did not get the impression he could see anything.
"What is his name, Edmund?"
Edmund lit a cigarette and offered one to Ms Thorne. She refused with a wave of a hand.
"Carter, I believe. Harold Carter," he put on a mock working-class voice and a stupid grin, "Or 'Arry to 'is mates."
"Thank you," Ms Thorne turned to their guest, and crouched before him, "Mr Carter? Can you hear me? My name is Emily Thorne," There was no response, to no great surprise, "Give me some indication if you can hear me. Blinking, nodding your head, they're all fine."
Edmund, a great plume of smoke billowing from between his lips, rattled a box of matches from his terrific slouch on the sofa. He tossed them over to Ms Thorne, who caught it loosely in one hand.
"Mr Carter - forgive me, I'll be calling you Harold from now. I feel we can dispense with the formalities given," she patted the solid leather girdles around his torso, "The circumstances. Now, these are matches. I don't know if you can see them," she struck one in front of his eyes. She could see the close source of light glimmer in his eyes, but he didn't react, "I really regret this part, but it's very important to us that we find out if you can respond to stimuli. We're not doing this to harm you."
One of his arms was unrestrained, for this purpose. She lifted it, a dead weight, and unfurled the fist manually. The match still burning, she took the flame to one fingertip. The man didn't so much as twitch. A few moments passed. Only when Ms Thorne could begin to smell burning skin did she withdraw the match and shake the flame out. She inspected Mr Carter's finger closely. It was a nice plump burnt red.
"Nothing?" asked Edmund, stifling a yawn.
"No. I don't think so," Ms Thorne stood up straight again and dusted herself down.
"Perhaps we need a better method," Edmund got up too, and wandered over to the restrained man and absently clapped a hand on his shoulder, "Or perhaps he just isn't chatty."
"What would you like me to chat about?"
Ms Thorne's blood went cold. She pushed Edmund out of the way and lowered herself in front of the armchair once again, eye to eye.
"Am I speaking to Harold Carter - or someone else?"
Harold Carter, or someone else, grinned, but said nothing and those eyes, that had not been in focus more than thirty seconds, rolled backward into his head. When Ms Thorne checked his pulse, there wasn't one. She dropped his arm, and it fell lifelessly into the crevice between his waist and the arm of the chair.
"It's chilly in here, Edmund," said Ms Thorne, matter-of-factly, "Could we not use the drawing room next time?"
"Good grief, no," Edmund tapped some of his cigarette ash into a plant pot, "I like the drawing room."
This RP is set in England in 1935 in a reasonably large fictional town called Redheath. Redheath is in the South of England, in a reasonably well-to-do area. Household telephones and electric installations are commonplace. Rich family dynasties still exist with extravagant houses, but they are becoming scarcer. Middle-class families tend to have very streamlined service staff (such as housekeepers, gardeners or perhaps cooks). Historical events are as they are, but I don't anticipate real historical events having any real bearing on the plot of Bump.
Edmund had, in his youth, attempted to learn not to pout when in a bad mood. It was a skill he had never quite managed, and so had begun to embrace it with theatrical aplomb. His back was arched, one leg was crossed over the other knee, and his head was turned away; the clouds of smoke were more impressive in profile.
"So," he said, sniffing, "We appear not to require the conservatory this afternoon."
"No," Ms Thorne placed a folded piece of paper on the coffee table, "Look at this."
"You know, I never did like the drawing room. I almost feel like a normal person," he picked up the paper and opened it up, "'An Evening With The Spirits'. What is this?"
"A psychic medium will be in the town next week."
"Sorry, I meant: what is this?" he repeated with added disgust, "You know these people are all charlatans."
"There's a first time for everything."
Edgar glanced at Ms Thorne, but she was staring right back at him. He never quite could meet her eyes: her gaze was unwavering and an odd sort of stony, neither compassionate nor discompassionate. If he had a soul, he was under the impression Ms Thorne would have seen it. Besides, with one glass eye, she had an unfair advantage.
"I've done it all, you know," said Edmund, "I've leapt on every psychic, ouija board and séance I've found for as long as I remember. It drove Mother spare. The only thing that ever shocked me was how ungodly stupid everybody seemed to be. Besides, a medium doesn't simply carry a reanimated corpse around with them."
"Mhm."
Ms Thorne and Edmund:Ms Emily Thorne is a woman in her mid-fifties that has taken it upon herself to investigate the bumping. She doesn't talk about herself too much, but she is ostensibly unmarried and, when pressed, reveals that she has been, in her time, a nursemaid and governess (sort of a live-in nanny-and-teacher).
Edmund Atherton is rather chattier. He is a young, absurdly wealthy heir with a dark attraction to the macabre and otherworldly. He is, to all intents and purposes, an '30s playboy. While he doesn't appear to have any real concerns about the bumps in the night, they are a source of great amusement and satisfaction for him, and so he both finances Ms Thorne's investigations and gives her frequent use of his inherited mansion for the purpose.
Characters and Players:The question is: who are you, and how will you help? This RP has something of a plot behind it, and I will be GMing to help bump it along. However, this doesn't mean you shouldn't feel free to have your characters do, by and large, whatever they want to. If you guys drive the plot in one particular direction, I'll adapt to that - if you get stuck, I'll point you in the right direction. On the whole, that is Ms Thorne and Edmung's role in this. In keeping with the spirit of 'giving you the freedom', I want to be able to work with you to build your characters into the plot.
Assuming you've read the section entitled 'It Begins', clearly there's a hole there for people to get involved in the plot through coincidental attendance of the spirit reading, but variety is the spice of life. Perhaps one might be a friend of Edmund? I'd like to hear your ideas, and I'm happy to build connections to Edmund and Ms Thorne where appropriate. Please don't be scared to try to contribute to the overall world of this - that's exactly what I'm looking for!
Because of this, I'll post a character sheet and some guidance below, but don't feel as though you should fill it in first and ask questions later. Questions are always good and there's no such thing as a stupid one. Ask away - in the OoC ideally, unless you want to keep your own secrets... :P
Name:Gender:Age:Occupation:Personality:Appearance:Experiences:History:
Guidance:
- Age - I'd prefer to keep the average age of the characters higher than most RPs. Twenty is the minimum I'd plump for.
- Occupation - Because the RP might be involved for your character, it may be worth considering a middle-class character as standard. Working-class characters would not have the funds to spend their time galavanting around in pursuit of nutters the 'bizarrely-behaved'. Just something to think on - there is no 'right answer'.
- Experiences - ie: what experiences your character has of 'bumps'. They don't have to have any. They will soon.
- Appearance - I would prefer written descriptions. This is because it is difficult to find period-style photographs.
Anyway, I hope you'd like to join me into this little venture into the macabre.
Bump
