.01. With @bleaksummer As Killian.

  ■■■■ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐒. ■■■■ 「  01. ╱ ∞ 」          ⁽ with @bleaksummer as killian. ⁾

𝙲𝙻𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙴𝙽 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙳𝚈.

(feat. @deadtimestorys as delia.)

■■■■ 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝒇𝒕. 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐆. ■■■■ 「  @bleaksummer 」

The House Across the Street - number 40, West End Drive. Innocuous to some, but for Antigone, it was the nucleus in an already peculiar land to inhabit that altered the way she viewed the world. Buried at the end of the cul-de-sac out in Inertia Island. She and her sisters would play chicken whenever they’d visit their Aunt Peg. No one had lived there since the 70’s, and the neighbour, Marlene, a sickly looking older woman who’s fingertips were yellowed by years of nicotine use seemed to revel in telling the stories. 

Hauntings, poltergeists, perhaps the devil herself. Perhaps it was the placebo effect, but anyone who passed by would feel the tension headache that settled over the brow and crackled it’s way back over the skull and into the spine. 

The family that had moved in there, the Wood Family, had moved in not long after Marlene and number 40 had been finished. The paint had not yet inhaled the creatures pushing into it from the earth below. The cement had not yet settled, oven shiny and not marred by grease and yet.. From the very first day Gwyneth and her husband, Joe had stuck the key into their new family home, something wanted them out. Pools of liquid would appear as if from nowhere, marbles missing the inhabitants by no more than a whisker. their daughter Theresa had been pulled up the stairs, kicking and screaming. Taps on and off with no warning and large black shadow figures would be seen floating around the property. 

Antigone herself remembered being at Aunt Peg’s, she and her sister Aimee, nosey as they were had overheard the panicked voices of Marlene and Robert, the older gent across the street. He had banged and banged on Marlene’s door to wake her, to tell her - the thought, waking a sleepy neighbourhood at 7am to the empty house next door having the contents of its upstairs bedroom flittered over the front lawn. To anyone who didn’t pay attention, it looked as if the scorned wife had tossed out her husband…and yet, number 40 had seen no sign of human life since 1978 and truly, the Woods had given it their best shot. No one dared replace the items, merely placed them in a pile inside the front door. 

Truth be told, it fuckin’ terrified her. 

It had begun a lifelong obsession. There must be sense in the nonsensical, and she, the open minded skeptic, needed to find the root. Antigone was not stupid, every decision, every move was measured and calculated. Ask her any time, she would not be called a ghost hunter, even less a ‘paranormal investigator.’ and yet the things she collected from various so-called haunted locations were some of her most prized possessions. 

That’s why, when she married very well. She bought that fuckin’ house. An attempt for her to gain control of whatever inhabited it. Defiant in the face of the boogeyman that had haunted her childhood. Now, as a side job, something to keep the adrenaline pumping and perhaps a way to fancify the monsters in her waking hours, she opened Locke-d in. A paranormal investigation company and even still, 4 years after buying it, she had never managed more than an hour in it, long enough to change the way she saw everything. Long enough to tell her the tales that had shattered her sweet dreams as a kid were more than true. Photos slashed, knives shoved between couch cushions and EVP’s that would pick up unmistakable voices. 

Undeniable…and yet she denied she had seen it every time. Defiant in the face of it and terrified that if she admitted it, it had all won. 

Dermot, her husband thought her ridiculous, and refused to get involved, making it clear his upbringing would only serve to show that the scary ones were the living. Antigone was not one, and had never been one to sink into the shadows, and there was a level of idiocy to a woman of her stature pissing about in the dark looking for ghosts…or whatever the energy wanted to call itself. She had done multiple locations across Malvada with her team, but 40 West End Drive evaded her. 

It had been described by her staff as a property housing ‘pure evil’ and each time they said it, she’d chuckle. It was, however, still her everest.