Spooktober - Tumblr Posts
more on instagram @photosbynarumi
ghost hours
Roses are grey,
The colors died out.
My curse will just stay
There'll be no way out.
Thorns have already pierced through my heart
Coughing and cringing, as world falls apart
Blood will be fresh
On tip of my tongue
Forever and ever until I die young.
Notes:
Welp I was only thinking of making a spooky art ,but also wrote a poem(if it can be called so).
And yes more posts dedicated to OUaD !
As you can see it's just a possibility, (which started to grow rapidly inside of my skull)that Eleanora won't be able to go to her homeworld and curse will lead to slow death, even with mr.Horns trying to prevent it. Probably El will go insane and bad end appears. But I really hope that @avionvadion won't torture her readers...right..?...
I've been thinking for a long time about El's plague mask, but at the end made it look more like our gracious headmaster's attire
(Maybe he's so yasashine~* to share his style with others, or just has not so many original ideas)
That's all I wanted to say, so good day/night, guys and see ya ;)
"September 10, 2019
My name is Victoria Winters.
I'm on my way. A few hours by train from Bangor to Collinsport. Then pickup at the train station by the housekeeper, whom I've never met and who has never met me. Sure hope I don't get kidnapped....
This place seems nice, so far. Lots of trees, and rocks, and rain. Not so different from Boston, really. I haven't heard from Mrs. Collins-Stoddard since she sent my itinerary - I'm going to be optimistic and say she's just waiting for me to arrive, and this isn't a Taken situation.
This is a bad idea. I know this is a bad idea. But that feeling is still there. There's something important about Collinsport. Something to do with my history, where I came from. The draw I feel to this town I've never heard of before is stronger than my common sense, I guess. I hope it's enough to keep me safe."
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A day late, but that's okay! For the month of October, I'm gonna be doing 1 small, QUICK illustration a day for a very short and spooky story I wrote. 🙃 It's a fanfic, modern day re-imagining of the first part of Dark Shadows, the horror-themed Gothic soap opera that originally aired in the 1960s that I've been low-key obsessed with for a few years. It's Darktober! Hope you enjoy.
Darktober 3
"September 11, 2019
My name is Victoria Winters.
Praise be to the gods, universe, and everything, I have made it to Collinwood (separate from Collinsport, apparently!) intact. Turns out the job offer was legitimate after all and I don't have to worry about kidnapping. Yet.
It's strange. I've never felt so... unsettled, before. Growing up in the foster system, "unsettled" was just my default. I never "settled" anywhere, so how could I feel "unsettled"? But here..."
Darktober 4 (CW: mention of s**cide)
“I met the housekeeper - Bridget - at the train station parking lot. She was a lot nicer and more…well, okay, fine, I’ll say it, *pretty* than I was expecting. Look, I’m a poor college student from Maine raised on Disney movies, what else could I be expecting? Housekeepers aren’t exactly a common sight in the modern American household.
Anyway, she was very very nice - wouldn’t let me touch my lone suitcase after we met in the parking lot and talked the whole way to Collinwood about the family, the town, the weather - absolutely everything about the estate and the land/people around it. And I was happy to listen. It was nice to get a rundown of the place I’ll be living in for the next six months. And she was a really good storyteller to boot. When we finally pulled into the gigantic old driveway of Collinwood, I noticed a particularly prominent hill protruding from the cliffs overlooking the sea - Bridget saw me look, and said, in the most casual way, “That’s Widow’s Hill. Blocked off from the estate long ago, but that doesn’t stop the local daredevils from climbing up there and making a ruckus on Halloween every year.”
“Why’s it called Widow’s Hill?” I asked. Bridget smiled - a small, sad kind of smile. All the humor was suddenly gone.
“Long ago, sailor’s wives would come up to that hill every day to watch for their husbands’ ships. It’s the highest point with a view here. Story goes, some of those poor women threw themselves off the cliff when they found out their husbands had died at sea.” Her expression changed again, as she seemed to shake herself and look at me directly, smile warm and welcoming again. “Lots of people have come and gone here. Doubt I’d like to be remembered that way.”
And with that, she walked towards the house, my suitcase rolling behind her.”
Darktober 5
"Collinwood is nothing like I expected either. I read "estate" and "mansion" and I honestly pictured those giant modern McMansion monstrosities rich people are building all the time.
Collinwood is nothing like that. This place *is* huge, but it's huge in the way ancient castles are huge - like there was an actual purpose for all that space when it was built. There's the servant's quarters, the stables, the carriage house, the BALLROOM, everything a rich old European colonial family needed. Well. "Needed".
"We don't use even half of this place" Bridget said, sighing. "Too much work, not enough people. We only live in this little part over here these days." She nodded towards the sixth of the house we were approaching.
"What about the rest of the house?" I asked.
"Empty. Some places..." she glanced over at the unoccupied sections of the mansion.
It's strange, how welcoming the tiny little part of the house that was lit up looked, and how dark and definitely haunted the rest of the same house looked.
"Some places in this house haven't seen a human in centuries." Bridget said."
Darktober 6
"... Bridget led me away from the big grand entry at the front of the mansion, to a smaller section around the back by the garage, with a very nice but significantly less grandiose entry door. "Guest house, originally," Bridget told me. "Mrs. Elizabeth likes it better here than in the main house. Can't say I blame her." She rang an old-fashioned bell by the doorway. I heard a distant "Come in!" from inside. Bridget obliged, and I followed.
We came into a little entry room (I think they call it a foyer?), paved with old tile covered with a large and covertly weatherproof rug. There was an old stairway on one side, and a large set of wooden double doors in the wall facing the entry. Lining the walls were portraits - portraits of the Collins family, I can only assume. Some were newer, clearly from the last century, and others were far, far older. They all shared the same dark hair and eyes (with only one or two exceptions), and a general air of grave regality - like they were going off to war right after their portrait sitting or something. It was so strange to just casually walk near them like they were just everyday house decorations, and not original historical pieces of art that belonged at the Louvre.
Bridget left my suitcase at the stairway, going to knock on the double doors.
"For heaven's sake, Bridget, why are you being so polite? Come barge in like you always do, you're giving the poor girl strange ideas about us."
Bridget grinned, opening the door.
Behind them lay a disarmingly cozy living-room. It looked nothing like the rest of the house, except for the stonework floors. Plush rugs, old but cushy-looking furniture, modern family photos now occupying wall space instead of regally painted portraits. At the center of it all was a large fireplace with a carved mantle, and before the fireplace...
....stood a woman. A petite, dark-haired woman, wearing plain, comfortable clothes, holding a steaming mug of bergamot tea that filled the room with its bright scent. She looked to be somewhere in her mid-forties, lines creasing her tanned face, eyes a deep, cool green. She was a good foot shorter than me, but there was something in the way she held herself as she turned to look at me with those calm, cool eyes that made me immediately stand up as straight as I could, ready to obey orders, listen to every word she had to say.
She locked eyes with me, and her cool expression immediately cracked into the sweetest, warmest smile I had ever seen. "Welcome to Collinwood, Victoria." she said. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm Elizabeth Collins."
Darktober 7
"... Mz. Collins (she rather coolly corrected me when I called her Mrs. Stoddard-Collins) told me I'd be living up on the third floor, in the "attic room". "I hope that's acceptable," she said, "the name is a bit ominous, I know, but I promise it's comfortable."
"I don't mind! It sounds lovely." I said, very sincerely. After all the shared bedrooms, rundown houses and sketchy, cheap studio apartments I've lived in (and also shared), a spooky attic sounded rather wholesome.
Right then, we all heard the sound of old hinges creaking as the double doors were cracked open.
"Oh, there you are! I was just about to mention you." Mz. Collins said. She was smiling, but there was concern furrowing her brow. "Victoria, this is David. David, this is Victoria Winters, your new tutor. She'll start teaching you on Monday."
I turned, ready to greet the wide-eyed little boy I'd been told I was going to teach (and nanny, but I noticed that Mz. Collins had left that part out). Instead, I met a pair of large, glinting brown eyes that stared at me unblinkingly - not filled with nervousness at meeting a stranger, but genuine, decidedly violent hostility. His wild blonde hair was tangled and full of leaves and twigs, his clothes covered in dust and dirt, torn in a few places. Clearly, he'd been running wild in the woods all day. How appropriate, given how much he reminded me of trickster fairies from European mythology - the ones who are just as likely to stab you as help you.
"Hi, David." I said, pasting a well-trained friendly smile on my face. "It's nice to meet you."
He stayed silent. If anything, his expression became even more hostile.
"David." Mz. Collins spoke quietly behind me. "Say hello, at least."
David's mouth twisted slightly, and he looked down at his shoes. He clearly wasn't happy to meet me, but he wasn't going to say no to his aunt. "Hi." he muttered, word barely perceptible. And with that, he disappeared, running up the stairs in the foyer.
Mz. Collins sighed. "David is a good boy." she said. "I promise."
Darktober 8
"... The attic room is, as Mz. Collins promised, very comfortable. It might just be the most comfortable room I've ever slept in, actually.
Granted, my basis for comparison is negligible, to say the least. But I dare anyone to say a big bed, fresh sheets and blankets, a clean new rug and a view of the ocean isn't cozy.
Of course, I'm writing all this as I'm struggling to fall asleep in this wonderfully comfy, fresh-smelling bed with the window looking out over the ocean beside me.
The attic doesn't scare me. Old rooms, new places, living with strangers, none of that has scared me since... I don't actually remember a time when I was ever scared of those things.
No, there's something else. I can't say what it is, exactly. It feels like... There's something waiting. A person, an event, I don't know. But there's a sense of hiding, waiting, in the air. And if I blink, much less fall asleep, I'm going to miss it.
Or it's going to get me."
Darktober 9
"September 12, 2019
My name is Victoria Winters.
I don't usually remember any of my dreams. But I can't forget this one."
Darktober 10
"... I was running. It was dark. So dark. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds. It was cold - SO cold.
I was running through a forest, branches and leaves tearing at my hair and clothes, my feet slipping on rough, rocky earth.
I was running from some...thing? One? I don't know. I was absolutely terrified. I was running for my life.
Suddenly, I was out of the woods. I was running up a hill -
No, a cliff.
Wait. No.
Widow's Hill.
I was on top of Widow's Hill.
I stopped at the edge, looking down at the ocean below, beating mercilessly against the craggy cliffside.
I was trapped.
A voice screamed behind me - a male voice, enraged, desperate, utterly raw. I turned to look -
And slipped.
I could still hear the screaming as I fell, plunging into the ice-cold ocean.
And then I woke up."
Darktober 11-12
"September 13, 2019
My name is Victoria Winters.
I have no idea how to start this entry.
Everything that has happened... Did it really happen? It seems as real as that dream from last night. But I look at my hand, see the bruises on my wrist and scrapes all over my hand, and... Well, it did happen, didn't it? I have the aches to prove it.
Okay. First.
I've been trying to meet David properly all weekend, right? Get to know him at least a little bit, before we start homeschooling on Monday. But he's gotten very good at avoiding me. He didn't even respond to me at meals, which the household all eats together in the dining room. He disappears the second the plates are cleared. Can't say I'm surprised, but I was dreading the awkward lessons on Monday.
Then, today, Sunday, a big storm blew in, and the power went out.
"Don't worry," Mz. Collins said. "This happens every so often in the winter. We'll turn on the generator if the power doesn't come back by tonight." She looked out the window, and her eyebrows furrowed slightly - an expression I've come to recognize as deep concern on her usually stoic face.
"Victoria..." She stopped, hesitating. Then, she sighed, and said, "I'm so sorry, but would you be able to go out and find David?""
"... She told me that David likes to go play around "The Old House" - an ominous name if ever I heard one. She also told me that the roads to the Old House had washed out long ago, and the safest way to reach it was through the woods on the east side of the manor.
Left out of this description was the mud, the giant rocks, the oddly thorny trees, and the spectacular lightning storm with 20 mph winds that kicked up the moment I set foot outside the house."
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Heya, I still have a few pages left of this story, so I'll be continuing into November! Yay!
"... When Mz. Collins said "The Old House", I thought it would be just another extension of the manor, or maybe another, smaller manor someone had built on the estate.
Instead, after my little adventure with the thorns and the mud, I stumbled into a clearing. In the middle of this clearing, covered in vines and moss and mold, was a cottage.
Even in the middle of what felt like a hurricane, I stopped for a second. Just to stare.
I could tell it had been a beautiful place, once upon a time. A comfortable, warm place. Lots of happy memories had been made there.
Even though it was in ruins, I could still feel that."
".... It became significantly less charming when I walked inside."
"... It was so dark in there, I wondered if it would even be worth it to go in. I didn't want to risk breaking my neck tripping on some antique doorstop or falling through the floor or something. But even as I started strategizing my recon mission into the old house, I caught sight of a painting above the fireplace.
It looked familiar.... Or rather, the person in it looked familiar. Somehow."
((CW: BLOOD)
Very rough work in progress! it's from a prompt i came across and liked a lot: blood bath. I have a couple more ideas to draw that will work for spooktober season instead of inktober since I can't join in on it until I graduate :")
waaw he a very handsome man 😻