Ghost Story - Tumblr Posts
Meme as story prompt? Maybe
C H A P T E R 1 0 - S c é a l t a i b h s í ( p t 1)
For the longest time they were both silent. The soft hum of Orlaith’s stereo suffused the room, turning what would normally be an awkward situation into a rather pleasant one. Finally she looked up from her tea mug and spoke.
‘Thank you. Again. I honestly couldn’t handle them tonight.’
‘I could see that,’ he muttered, watching her face carefully. ‘Órlaith, what did the boy tell you?’
‘I… I don’t know. It didn’t make much sense. Maybe he was just scared.’
‘Scared of what?’ She shrugged in answer, yet somehow he knew. He knew she was lying and it surprised him how easy it was to read the lie in her. The way she squirmed under his scrutiny. The way she kept biting her lip.
Finally she looked back up at him, blue eyes sharp. ‘You never told me why Cassidy targeted you. Why were you easy prey?’
He started opening his mouth and with shock realised for the first time in forever it was not to finish the conversation. He wasn’t sure he was ready to tell his story. He wasn’t sure he ever will be. But for some insane reason this was the moment he needed to tell it. She was the person he wanted to tell it to. And just like that he put his mug down on the nightstand and talked.
< P r e v i o u s ☾ N e x t >
C H A P T E R 1 0 - S c é a l t a i b h s í ( p t 2)
D u b l i n, 2 0 1 6
There are a few moments in your life when the universe stops and lets you steer. Pivotal moments that can change the entire course of your life. Moments that, no matter how hard you keep running from, catch up and put a gun in your hand. Decisions like these can be deadly.
Some of them not for you.
The first time I realised she was flirting with me I didn’t do anything. I should have. Maybe if I did things would go different. But I was struck. I couldn’t, for the life of me, imagine why a pretty young girl would look at my face and say, man, I have to get me some of that. I was a teacher and I spend most of my time buried in dusty books and student papers. The high points of my socialisation were a few exchanges with faculty members and greeting my neighbour’s dog on the porch.
But the girl looked up at me and she was too pretty and I was too scared and all of a sudden I was lost to her…
I never even considered how lost she became in me. And I never considered I would be the one to make her fall.
< P r e v i o u s ☽ M o o d M u s i c ☾ N e x t >
C H A P T E R 1 0 - S c é a l t a i b h s í ( p t 3)
That night on that roof I still couldn’t believe I was there. I was watching my life flashing on a big screen from afar, like a film. All the tragedy and drama and pain, it wasn’t my life. I never has been. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say.
Still I spoke and the words coming from my mouth sounded stupid, robotic, fake. I spoke a lot about how she mattered, about the people who cared, but I didn’t know who they, I didn’t know anyone she mattered to. I didn’t know anything about her and somehow she knew everything about me.
The only way I could’ve saved her would be to kill a piece of me. I should’ve done that. But I couldn’t. I was not strong enough then. Sometimes I wonder whether I’m strong enough now.
I watched her close her eyes and I knew she was gone. Moments before she stepped back, moments before her body fell and hit the ground. When I whispered her name and she closed her eyes she was already dead and her hesitant step back was nothing short of a confirmation.
I lost her five minutes before she even decided to take the leap and when the police came I lied my ass off.
< P r e v i o u s ☽ M o o d M u s i c ☾ N e x t >
Stormy waters of her soul
The gray sky and the water merged into one. They are tossed in a violent dance of the wind. The howl grows louder, and the loud hum of it becomes a silence. The silence that has been my eternal companion for centuries. For the depths of the dark waters are my abode, my cocoon and cradle. The storm does not abate, the silence of its voice grows louder with each passing moment. This voice is in me - my reflection on the surface of the water. We are one as two waves, we are different as a shadow and a flame. And between us is a thin thread that stretches through the blue water thickness. But it melts, dissolves in the timid rays of the night light. The silence envelops me, drawing me back into the cocoon of my old dream. But I can throw it off, I can break out. To the cold moon, which, like me, wants to break out of its cloud-woven cocoon, forward into the storm. And maybe I can touch her...
Model - Asya.
Studio - Ocean Stars.
Natalie Ina Photography.
April 2021.
Boosty
Behance
VK
People adore monsters. They fill their songs and stories with them. They define themselves in relation to them. Do you know what a monster is? Power. Power and choice. Monsters make choices. Monsters shape the world. Monsters force us to become stronger, smarter, better. They sift the weak from the strong and provide a forge for the steeling of souls. Even as we curse monsters, we admire them. Seek to become them, in some ways. There are far, far worse things to be than a monster.
- Ghost Story, Jim Butcher (via katduncan)
So today, I witnessed something strange.
I dont normally see ghosts and the paranormal with my eyes (I blame the glasses and my nearly incapable-of-actual-sight eyes), rather, I feel them (unless they're pretty powerful or appear in my dreams, which I dont feel really counts). I feel them like you feel a table or a chair in the dark, you get the basic grasp of things, and the more you feel around, the more information you can piece together to make a picture (but with your mind instead of your hands, and they dont have to be close to me). Now, I'm not saying this was a ghost, I'm just putting it out there that it might've been based on the odd behavior.
Also, I dont normally interact with old people, so I dont know how they usually behave. I know dementia is a thing that happens and some people begin to lose what makes them a person, and this is kind of the assumption I'm going with, even though the situation itself felt weird in a "supernatural" kind of way.
Anyway, the happening:
I was driving down a one-way road roughly 20 minutes from sunset. I see an old woman on the side of the road (like actually see, with my eye-balls) in typical old lady attire (gray curled hair, flowery blouse, brown pants, flat, ankle-length shoes) facing the way the road is meant to go. As I pass her, she slowly raises her right arm until its shoulder height (shes not even shaking or adjusting her posture, the wind isnt messing with her hair or clothes), and its just straight out. I pass her, and attempt to look back at her, but she's gone. (Important note I just realized, I never saw her face.)
For some reason, this lady really weirded me out, and I thought I'd share that experience with you all.
The Curious Mystery of the Vanishing Doll
"Auburn hair and eyes of Emerald green Sat atop the shelf, Regal and clean Catch her eye and blink you not She has you now, the fish is caught She has you now you will not sleep Come day or night you'll hear no peep. Try all you can to break this curse Banishment will make it worse for in the place you lay her down when you return she won't be found"
This is the only photo I have of Jolene, you can just make her out on my childhood bedroom shelf. She had ginger locks and wore a white and green dress with a matching hat and a folded parasol. I bought her when I was about eleven after falling completely under her spell a few months before in a tired gift shop. I saved up all my money, and finally, she was mine. Taking her home I kept her on my bedside table, undisturbed by her for several years. This was before the change. Out of the blue, something possessed to rearrange my room and she ended up on a shelf looming directly over my bed. From then on, nights were spent staring into her cold glass eyes. Transfixed to her like weeping angel; if to shut my eyes I was left exposed to her unbroken gaze. So disturbed by this, she was wrapped up in tissue and safely tucked away in an old shoe box to be left, all alone, in the loft. Only now she's vanished. The whole loft has been turned upside down in search of her, but. Nothing. She has strayed from that place. So tonight, when you settle down in your bed, just maybe you'll feel a certain cool gaze and the eerie feeling that you're being watched.
The Murder of Molly Brown
Have you seen the cat-tails Shifting beneath the bridge, Gathered in the shadows Down by the water’s edge? Have you heard the whispering That rustles in the reads? The rushes, they are speaking For there’s blood upon the weeds. And there’s a faint impression, A sadness in the air. A ghost of trauma lingers on To guide the seeking stare. And now down to the water We’ll gaze beneath the sheen To see the lifeless angel there, Drifting and serene. We wonder at her beauty, Her breasts, pale and bare, And curious we tremble: Is that image truly there? But then the water shimmers And things are put a’ right. But, Molly Brown was murdered here, And just the other night.
©️ JM Tiffany
The Headless Horseman
Ichabod Crane pressed his back against the headstone and gazed up to the horseman. With a gentle voice, “I have but one regret.”
“That I shall take your head?” the jack-o-lantern menaced.
“That you lack lips. You think you have me trapped, but I am the one who brought you here.”
The horseman hesitated, a moment, a moment longer, and reached out a gloved hand to touch Ichabod gently on the chest. The undead warrior placed his palm over the schoolmaster’s heart.
“How long have I searched for such warmth,” the ghost haunted, “as this ruby.”
Featuring everything you never knew you wanted to know about
the origins of the podcast
that bit in Ariadne where everyone accused Alex of stealing four imaginary mugs of Bovril from an NPC
Replay: Ariadne (Backstage)
Let’s go back to where this all started - with the slow-burn spookiness of Ariadne.
Prefer your podcasts audio only? Follow us on your usual podcast app - search Merely Roleplayers or head to www.merelyroleplayers.com
COMPERE: Josh Yard
WITH: Matt Boothman
MUSIC BY: Matt Boothman
EDITED AND PRODUCED BY: Josh Yard and Matt Boothman
whisper
I feel your hands like ghosts down my sides and I say
Come back to me,
where are you?
(you were never there to begin with)
Then I wonder
how I can long for something
I never had?
(but I do, I did, just once, so long ago)
I feel your lips like feathers in my hair
And I tip my head back into your kiss but
it’s just
the
rain
SPOOKY GHOST STORIES👻
1st episode of our writing poscast!
Not a Melliot musical without the obligatory heartbreaking Lana Gaige solo
Ghost Story Musical Updates!
Howdy, everyone! We're on our way out to Montana Right Now for our residency to work on Ghost Story, our newest musical!
The Melliot household camping our way through South Dakota!
Thank you everyone who helped to fully fund the Kickstarter for our reading! It's been an amazing show of support.
After casting calls closed last week, we discovered that we'll probably have to look further afield than we thought to get queer, trans actors to match our queer, trans characters (including some familiar faces, if you've been following our past work!)
To that end, it would be a great help if our project continued to get overfunded! We'll be using the extra funds primarily for travel costs for our actors. You can still get the limited edition rewards (like a signed program, your name in the credits of our filmed version of the reading, or the special Ghost Story sticker designed for this reading) until they run out, or July 1st, whichever comes first!
Consider sharing or donating before July 1st if you'd like to help out!
Our promo Tumblr post for the Kickstarter is here and the actual link is here. Thank you all for your generosity and we're excited to share more of Ghost Story with you!
I brought out the tux for this. It’s a special occasion.
I’m going to style my hair for this.
I will, in fact, be making Hao my entire personality for the next month. That’s all!
(Józef and Hao speaking their native languages at the end kind of killed me)
No but my problem is that they’re all bangers. I genuinely had to stop and pull out the “The Thinker” pose for this one because what do you mean I have to choose one favorite? They’re all my favorite.