Brid McCordy has a minion!

John Carpenters the Thingy

Brid McCordy

The Custom Graveyard Fester
Owner: Cordyceps_sapiens

Age: 5 years, 8 months, 3 weeks

Born: September 10th, 2014

Adopted: 5 years, 8 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: September 10th, 2014

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!


  • Level: 2,433
  • Strength: 9,925
  • Defense: 6,245
  • Speed: 6,265
  • Health: 10,235
  • HP: 10,235/10,235
  • Intelligence: 3,699
  • Books Read: 2570
  • Food Eaten: 9482
  • Job: Director of SAI

Brid McCordy's eye fell upon the little yellow barn of the house. To everyone else this barn looked empty; to them the barn was packed with all manner of birds, mice, lice, rats, slugs, bugs and other such creatures. At the rear of the barn was a little table covered with straws like leaves, and on it were placed small white wriggling cups. They would not have thought of drinking in such a place, nor had it been consumed that night by them, a single glass. In this little table were the little jars full of dried apples, fruit, beans, strawberries, and berries, while at the rear of this table were small jars filled with dried vegetables which had been dried very slowly. As at the rear of the barn, the apples, fruits, beans, berries, and vegetables looked pretty well preserved.

All the while McCordy sat in this little table, and the little table seemed to look as white as snow; but their eyes were closed and a slight chill fell upon their forehead. Everything they saw in this little place, they were seeing as it ought to have been seen. How this must have occurred, they could have no notion; but they thought that all was as it ought to be.

They therefore turned and looked out of the window in their own face, but could not see anything by the light which shone from their windows; but they did see something which their memory could not help describing as, "the little table that had no window in it at all”. With one skeletal talon, Brid McCordy reached for a wriggling cup, certain that they must move or be trapped. Then, with the same talon, they plunged it into their throat; but instead of the blood pouring out like water, no blood. No bleeding, no death-hurt. They had just been taken from their feet and, by another one of the men they were with, had somehow reached what must have been their home. In the darkness a voice said, "We're very sorry, McCordy. Please let us stay," and they, like some kind of ancient serpent or god, left.

By dawn, it would be dark and lonely and lonely and desolate. They woke with a start, clothes torn and ragged and body cold. Their eyes looked empty – blood staining the cotton swabs on his skin – "there's blood." "There's blood in my eyes," said one of the men who had left, and it was clear that he would have fallen asleep before he could think another thought, "there's blood in my fingers." "There's blood in my toes," they replied. "Just look at me, you nasty bastard. Look at me, baby, look at me with all that blood coming out of me, look at me and tell me you don't want this to happen."

Then, like a bolt of lightning, a hand, a finger came into their view from the shadows just behind. A pale hand, a hand with dark, black eyes. "What are you going to do now?" said it. "We are so sorry to hear that you were killed by our men in this war. The war, McCordy, the war, it hurts to think of that." The hand stopped and made its way over their body to their feet, then it lifted on its bony fingers until it could meet the light.

But it was too late. By this time the hand was gone and the face of Brid McCordy had changed—not the colour but the expression of sadness, which was growing stronger with the more it saw. They felt for any feather upon their bony forehead, tried to pull at their eyes and find a spot of clinging flesh on their cheek, but each time an iron claw clang-tat was pressed through their eyes. They were alone, and tried to breathe again, but had no power to breathe any longer. They looked down on their own little child, who remained frozen as if waiting.

"But that's not quite enough," they said, in the low, distant voice which came from behind, like a distant thunderstorm. "Some-such-thing has been said about my name, and there are many accounts of it, but there's no truth to any of them about who I am nor anything I ever told you." "Tell me," said the girl, still frozen, "as to that; who are you, and why do you keep telling your little friend lies? The more you ask, the more will you grow and grow and grow, even if you keep losing it to yourself, and it is so much the same with you. This is no secret to you; look up my name and listen. Tell me anything and everything you think of regarding me, and you will gain so much knowledge of me that the world can never know."

Profile template by Lea. Art by User not found: thatshamefulhabit. Writing by the neural network Talk To Transformer and by User not found: thatshamefulhabit.

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