Information

Narcosis
Legacy Name: Narcosis

The

Glacier Ruffie
Owner:

horizon

Age: 13 years, 7 months, 3 weeks

Born: September 3rd, 2010

Adopted: 7 years, 6 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: October 3rd, 2016

Statistics

Level: 4
Strength: 19
Defense: 11
Speed: 10
Health: 9
HP: 9/9
Intelligence: 21
Books Read: 13
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Store Clerk

It was one of those tiny little towns in the middle of nowhere that you drive through and wonder how anyone could ever be happy living there. The only difference with this town was that it was set so far in the tree-lined mountains, hours from the nearest city, that no one ever drove through it. A century ago it was a respectably-sized lumber town. Now all that was left was a couple dozen houses, a small grocery store, a church, and a gas station. As desolate as the town was, it was nothing compared to the house. He had first seen it in a booklet of For Sale houses he'd found by chance. He wasn't what you would necessarily call a lover of small town living, but was a writer by trade and an adventurer at heart, and happiest when the two coalesced. And since it was cheap and in nice enough condition, he figured he'd put an offer down.

Everything seemed normal for the first few days after moving in, if you could ignore the freezing temperatures, even when in direct sunlight. It wasn't until he'd lived there a week or so that the dreams started. In the dream he was in that house, but it was different. Darker. Malicious. Terrifying. In it he awoke in bed, the night still dark outside, and then ran through the house as if chased by something, until he reached the front door, pulled it open, only to be back in his bedroom. At which point he would wake up drenched in sweat. He found it strange because nothing about the house seemed sinister or frightening. The more he had that dream, however, the more he saw pieces of it in his waking hours. The dark moving shadows, even when the lights were on. The creaking floorboards in the living room when no one else was there. The closet in his bedroom that opened by itself at night, revealing deep scratches along the baseboard. He eventually pushed his dresser against the door to keep it from opening, but still refused to look directly at it. Then there was the town itself.

The townspeople always watched him as he went about his business. To him it felt like he was an alien in human skin, but his disguise was so poor that all the real humans could tell who he really was. Why did he always have to think that way? He was an outsider so of course they looked at him strangely. Still, it was unnerving how they always stared at him after he spoke, as if deciding whether or not it was alright for them to respond. Soon he stopped interacting with them entirely. Unfortunately that meant spending most of his time at home, a place he came to refer as "the house." It finally became too much for him to bear, and he hurriedly packed his belongings in his car and left. Surprisingly there was no force field or townspeople there to stop him as he started on the narrow, winding road that would take him, in a few hours time, to the nearest city. He chuckled. Always letting his imagination get the best of him. The house wasn't all that bad in hindsight, he thought, as he cranked up the radio.

He arrived at his destination just as night began to fall. He would sleep in a hotel that night, and then make his way to Portland tomorrow. From there, who knows? His next adventure awaited. That night he dreamt he was back in the bedroom of the house. Terror swept his body. He threw open the door and ran through the house. Through the hallway. Through the living room, to the front door. He turned the knob and opened it, only to find himself back in the bedroom. Beads of sweat blinked into his eyes. He threw open the door and ran through the house. Through the hallway. Through the living room, to the front door. He turned the knob and opened it.

Based on a true story.

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