>>6146726>Speaking ghouls? Acceptable.
>pumpkins as heads? Tis the season for pleasin'
>A black youth with a clean pistol? Something stinks in Denmark
Impossible, a pistol, a cleaned and maintained pistol. Catagorically uncharacteristic that, in checking the pistol over, you find no hint rust, and no smell of ass. Where is that ripe sweat and ammonia stink that let you know the brutha's were nearby even when they didn't hoot like simians, tipping you off?
[If my 5th+4th <=10, the thug downstairs has killed a ghoul. If more he has been cornered.]
This once almost famous R&B star was clearly a cut above. You ponder for a moment if he might not have been wearing black face, blending in with the crowd, and finally succumbing to the group impulse to pointlessly terrorize a stranger, a homeless trashman technically, over actual grocery carts filled with recyclables . . .
[If my 4th+3rd <=10, the downstairs thug is in a study near the front of the house. If more he is inside the garage with your grocery carts.]
In this light, and with Royal's head no longer intact, you cannot be sure. You also feel light headed from the blood loss. The bullet didn't cut meat, but rather grazed you, deeply. It cut a channel in the fleshy part of your flesh, the part on the outside.
[If my 3rd+2nd <=10, the gun really was the kid's. If more, it was stolen. But either eay the gun's ownership will start a retribution quest later on.]
The young, and former future brainsurgeon's name is clearly printed on the pistol slide.
>RoyalYou gather up another length of curtain and wrap your arm. It seems to help (4) stop the bleeding. You rest a minute (+1 to calamity), a minute longer than you're comfortable with, before returning to check over Royal's possessions (7, 5, 9) finding, in order, a handful of 357 Magnum shells, cigarettes, and a small can of butaine, the sort used for recharging lighters.
Moving the pumpkin head around you wonder if it might be a sort of costume, but as you open the coat, (2) a live owl climbs out and flies over to the open window before turning it's head and naming that his favorite 60's british invasion rock band
>The Dave Clark FiveThe scarecrow that was saying words, but not communicating, had never took a public speaking course. It also never read "getting to yes", and so it's sales in the cornfield were abyssmal, it barely kept it's job, and was in constant terror of it's scare wife taking the scare children to her scare mothers, before inevitably shacking up with a black guy, the scariest possibility of all.
So when it started eating ghoul brains and breifly regained his ability to speak, he utilized the opportunity as a cry for help. The scarecrow just wanted you, anyone really, to lend an Ear, and a Hand.
The two of you could have been friends . . . BUT NOOOO!!!
Instead, he died as he lived, a stuffed shirt.
[If my 2nd+1st <=10, you'll have made a scientific discovery. If more you're being paranoid]
[Continued]
