#The-Haunted-Office
Note
"you call that a ghost story?"
Doom to Rex
@the-haunted-office
"...Yes, that's a perfectly serviceable ghost story."
Rex was recounting a ghost story he heard from vagrants while traveling as a kid. Something about a railroad inspector returned from beyond the grave to terrorize anyone trying to ride the train without paying, on one of the storage cars.
"What, didn't escalate enough?"
21 notes
·
View notes
Note
A strange sound can be heard coming from somewhere down the hallway. Like the soundtrack of a piano being thrown down the stairs on repeat. It sounds violent and discordant and threatening.
@the-haunted-office
Milo was just leaving the office he shared with Lyle, about to go to the breakroom, or a vending machine, see if maybe one of those had something to eat, when he heard the sound. Normally, he wouldn't have given it another thought. Strange sounds were a common occurrence in a building that housed at least two aliens, a few ghosts, and who knew what else.
And yet, for some reason, this sound stood out. Cautiously, he headed down the hallway, toward the sound. As he got closer, one hand clutched his crystal pendant to his chest, his hand obscuring its light. A nervous habit. The hairs on his neck seemed to stand up as he got closer, and he pulled his jacket tighter around him.
"Doom, I really hope that's you playing a joke or trying to scare someone.....'cause, uh.....it's working. Very well." He said as he stopped just before the place the sound came from. He briefly thought of going to get Lyle for this. But he decided not to. It was probably just some strange recording playing on loop and they forgot to turn it off. Yes, that's probably what it was. Just a.....frighteningly realistic sounding recording. Played loud enough to sound like the real thing.....Well, there was only one way to find out.
"Please let me respawn if I die." He said softly, clutching his pendant with white knuckles.
And then he stepped into the place the sound came from.
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
@the-haunted-office
Piter had requested several of these maintenance shifts, to wake up and ensure the starship is functioning well as the crew slumbers. For one, he finds it relaxing to work on repetitive tasks that are easy to do well. And he doesn't expect he'll find much relaxation once the ship reaches its destination. Being the sort of person who can never quite be persuaded to take an actual vacation, this is the closest thing to it his personality will tolerate. And he needs it.
His other reason is that, if the ship really does need attention? The only thing he dreads more than an engine failure is an engine failure that's being managed by somebody else and not himself. He'd try to convert more people to his gospel of perfectionism, but they'd probably get it wrong.
Yes, he had requested several shifts, and on sound logic. It's only now that he's waking up for his second shift that he's starting to appreciate a considerable downside. Waking up from cryo sucks.
In fact, nearly everything about cryo sucks. If he had opted to sleep through the entire voyage, he could have suffered the prison of the pod, woken up blinking in a new galaxy, and moved on with his life. Before he left for the trip, he had a list of all of the books he was going to read, all of the sheet music he was going to practice on the keyboard, all of the personal projects he was going to work on, during his down time on maintenance duty. The only thought in his mind now, as he convinces stiff muscles to pull a fluffy bathrobe over the thin cryo suit, is I don't want to fucking do this three more times. That, and a wordless inventory of how wretched, cold, and wet he is.
At least he has the bathrobe. Left for him by himself, last shift. He shudders, wraps the bathrobe around him, and sits in the misery for a solid and self-pitying moment.
Well! That's that, then! Maintenance volunteers are scheduled in pairs, and he can already hear the distant sound of machinery as a second awoken pod operates somewhere else within the bay. Better bury the misery and go introduce himself. The sooner they get that out of the way, the sooner one of them can start a pot of coffee. He stands, stretches, and picks up the second gift he had set out before going under: a microfiber blanket, for the other volunteer. He knows her name is Thursday, but her bathrobe size was unknown to him as he was making preparations.
(See? See how thoughtful and practical that was? See how much better he is at running this than even the actual program they are flying to another galaxy through? Now imagine that it's not a blanket for a volunteer. Imagine it's a fucking engine failure. This is why he volunteered for more than one shift.)
"Hellooo? Thursday!" he calls out pleasantly, willing himself to shuffle in her direction, even walking less and less like a zombie as he gets his legs back. "Are you awake? I got you a blanket!"
He may be an angry, brooding sonofabitch, but more importantly, he's a nice fucking person, and he gets things done, and he makes things run smoothly, and he is good at all of this.
#the-haunted-office#how's this for a starter!#my guy is an evil villain who is a nice person#looking forward to meeting Thursday ^^
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
@the-haunted-office || continued from here
Blue Two stilled her hand, fingers light on the metal handle. She didn't retrieve the weapon from its holster upon her back. Instead she lowered her hand.
"It is not a threat. It is a precaution." It had been more like anticipation, really. Past experience had taught the machine that confrontation, more often than not, often ended in violence.
"And do you really not understand? What if the fire spreads?" The problem here wasn't the fire. Pyrotechnics in itself is an artform, and one that the AI could appreciate. As long as it wasn't both a fire hazard and an environmental pollutant to nearby inhabitants.
"You could take this somewhere else? Might I suggest a nice abandoned rock quarry?"
14 notes
·
View notes
Note
Cyrus doesn't know what triggered it, but all he knows is that Stanley seems to be having a fit of some sort. It doesn't look good, not good at all, and in fact, he doesn't like the way he's gasping for air, it reminds him a little bit too much of the way his own Stanley was acting right before he died, the way he was gasping, like he couldn't breathe.
Oh god...
Has the mist come back? Has it gotten into this Stanley too? Is he now suffering the same fate?
Cyrus goes from zero to sixty and launches out of his chair faster than he ever has in his life, calling out to Stanley as he goes.
"Stanley! Breathe, Stanley! Breathe!"
He has no idea that Stanley is having a flashback and doesn't know if he should or shouldn't be touching him. That doesn't even cross his mind. The only thing that crosses his mind is to try to offer him some comfort, help him through this, help him fight whatever is happening, and if it is the mist again, he'll help him. They defeated it once and they can do it again.
An arm goes around Stanley's back in an attempt to comfort and support him, and he keeps telling him to breathe, over and over, until hopefully he does start breathing again.
(For the flashback meme!)
@the-haunted-office
He had been on his own for a little, Doon was up to something, he wasn't sure, same for Thursday, and he didn't want to deal with Arthur and he had only met that Thisday guy once.
And he didn't want to bother Cyrus every time he was feeling a little lonely, that would be a lot to expect out Cyrus, that would be a lot to expect of anyone.
So he was by himself in one of the multi cubical office rooms sitting by a window, he was focused on a note pad, looking at it. It didn't look right, there wasn't a logo, there was a logo of a hand pointing or something-
There was a noise in his ear, a pattern of rain, he knew the sound well, sometimes when he dared to get close to the windows, there would be the sound of rain, hell sometimes Narrator would comment on it, one of the rare times he'd acknowledge the idea of what directly surrounded the office, his office-
There was no logo on the note pad, the pen was a different brand, no was no narration in his ear telling him what to do.
Just quiet rain, and wind, some distant wind and dripping water from some corner.
From a outsider looking at Stanley it would look like Stanley stared off into space near a window, then suddenly got up and started to wander, not randomly no no, it was a very set path straight to the 'choice' room, it was only in there that Stanley was really moving like himself again, his legs nearly tripping over each other instead of the almost automated way they were moving before, he stumbled and was on the ground, this is when the panicked breaths and holding his own throat kicked in.
He had tried to get to the broom closet, that's why he got up, he needed quiet, he needed to not be seen, he needed somewhere 'safe', not a ending room, not somewhere too off from the intended path, somewhere thorugh that was Stanley's choice to be in, the broom closet, Stanley might hate buckets but he would be totally down to marry a broom.
He obviously couldn't make it there, no no, his feet weren't right, they were moving all very wrong, like not him, like how he used to walk around, like someone real-
He hadn't meant to end up on the ground, but it was nice, nice to be kneeling over himself, lungs racing trying to choke him out by not holding in air more than it was forcing out, trying to not throw up stomach acid, holding his own hands tightly around his neck trying to keep air in (that totally was how it worked right? You could physically hold air in and it would help catch your breath.). All of that was nice.
A real person couldn't do that, he was Stanley.
Then he's hearing something, faintly somewhere 'Stanley!- Stanley-'
"Narrator?" A dazed and confused murmur came out of Stanley, that didn't make any sense did it? Where- When? Did some reset- No his was...
At first Stanley tensed when he was touched, holding his breath for a moment, before he quickly leaned into it, letting go of his throat, for a moment his arms dangled there by his knees as it was starting to reenter his mind, his arm hurt, the floor was different.
There was no logo, no voice in his ear, and he was not trapped in a room with a damned button.
He was somewhere else and... Cyrus, Cyrus was there saying something, 'Stanley- something- Stanley-'
Stanley turned around and was now hugging Cyrus, or more desperately holding onto Cyrus's lower body and trying to not vomit still, it was a very nice grounding thing, for there to be another person, someone to hold onto.
Stanley was making some noises, less words and more false starts, attempts to say something, anything but his throat felt tight, his mouth felt glued together so he just held on while he regathered himself.
Depending on how much attention to detail Cyrus was paying, he might notice that despite everything seeming physically fine with Stanley now, he wasn't breathing, there was no movement in his chest and no breath coming out, but he seemed to be physically fine.
#I Guess That's The Least That I Owe Ya To Be Normal In A Way I Couldn't Be; Stanley & Cyrus ☆The-Haunted-Office☆#Stanley ☆Main Verse☆#Stanley ☆IC☆#The-Haunted-Office#Panic attacks#vomit mention#Ask to tag#Unreality#Death#Choking
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
@the-haunted-office (thursday) said:
“It was the weirdest dream I’ve ever had. I’d like a word with my sub-conscious’s manager.”
Boone liked when other people talked, as long as it wasn't annoying. Unfortunately, he got annoyed around the halfway mark of listening to this woman's dream. Dreams weren't something he ever found himself interested in. He found himself more grounded to reality, or at least would like to consider himself so.
The dreams he had consisted of nightmares, so when others had dreams that weren't so, he got a bit irritated. However, despite not being the nicest guy in the world, Boone didn't consider himself mean either. So, he listened.
And he listened.
"Sounds like you should take it up with the manager." When she finished, he leaned back in his chair and looked at her. "Not me."
#your ask made me giggle thank you#— replies#the haunted office#the-haunted-office#im gonna go w/ modern verse for this one! hope that's ok#— veteran (modern)
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
@the-haunted-office said: A strange sound can be heard coming from somewhere down the hallway. Like the soundtrack of a piano being thrown down the stairs on repeat. It sounds violent and discordant and threatening.
"Sounds like we've got a spook," Joey comments as he glances at the door, looking away from the youtube video Rosa had put on for him.
She scrunches her face for a moment. "I thought they said they don't get ghosts like we do in our world?"
"Doesn't mean they don't get ghosts though," Joey argues with a shrug.
She looks at him for a moment, he feigning casualness even though she knows he's been just waiting to pick up what they usually did. She sighs and pinches her temple and groans. "Alright fine, we'll go check it out,"
So off the pair go towards the source of the strange sound, Joey scouting ahead first in case it's something dangerous.
4 notes
·
View notes
Note
Stanley can't believe that he's found yet another office. This must be like, what, the fourth or fifth one? And they all look pretty much just like his. How strange. But he's also becoming intrigued by the notion of how many identical offices might be out there. Is there also a Narrator in this one?
He decides to seek out his office, #427, to see if he's allowed in there. Back at the Haunted Office, the Narrator doesn't let him into there. In fact, that office door is locked and he was given #247 in place of it. That really ground his gears, but he's gotten used to it by now.
Still, he has to see if this office's #427 is the same as his own.
Pushing up his glasses, the dark-haired office worker makes his way in that direction.
@the-haunted-office
There at the end of the hall, the door to office #427 sat open, a faint glow coming from the computer inside. Office, sweet office.
From the quiet ambience of the office’s electrical hum, a voice filled the vast landscape of forsaken cubicles. There was a narrator here after all.
“Oh! Stanley, there you are. I’ve been thinking, perhaps we could use a few new endings. I’ve been workshopping some ideas. So if you got a few hours, I’d like to run through a few stories with you. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course yoooouuuu- are not my Stanley, are you? Where did you come from?”
Curious about this new Stanley, Alexander paused; letting his question linger. He wondered if this Stanley spoke.
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
@the-haunted-office from here
"I did request that, curmudgeon that I am. But that doesn't change the fact you're clever. And there's bound to be people out there who take to your jokes a lot faster than I do."
She did score a chuckle from him last time. And Thursday has done the Wishbone crew a good turn, here and there. Kept tabs on Doomsday (who was also very well-mannered, past the initial meeting-- and if her appearances were simply marked off as intrusions, then so would Thursday's, and that hardly seemed fair. Flexibility had to be exercised in places).
"Look, this isn't exactly the most upbeat, grateful ship and crew in the cosmos, but our mission statement isn't just practicing strict non-interference-- to an extent, we do also encourage people to try and find their own way. Some of us here on the Wishbone look miserable, but at one time we had dreams of exploring and learning whatever we could out here before we realized we were up shit creek with half a paddle, thanks to our superiors."
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
What is he doing here? At this amusement park? He doesn't find it to be very amusing. For one, there are people. Lots of people. Running around everywhere. Some of the little ones are screaming or crying or carrying on in one way or another.
...This is not his preferred atmosphere...
But his cohort recommended he go here to get out and have some fun for a bit, so he supposes he may as well walk around and see what all the fuss is about.
It's too much fuss.
Frustrated and overwhelmed, Cyrus leaves the park and goes off into the woods nearby, where he hunkers down in his Nightcrawler form until it's late at night, at which point he emerges and tries the park again. It's closed this time. Dark. A lot quieter. Much more to his tastes.
Still as a Nightcrawler, he strides around, poking his head into booths and staring around with his huge, black hole eyes. The rest of him resembles a pair of billowy white pants stuck over a pair of stilts, making him look rather like a kid in a Halloween costume. Like this, he explores the park in peace.
@the-haunted-office
The park was full of life! Crowds moved from each way, laughing and carrying on. The sounds of screams of joy or fear came from the people boarded on the surrounding rides. Families were in line, ready for meet and greets, or to watch their favorite live show. It really was a fun place to be.
Although, as Cyrus disappeared for the night, the park became dead silent. The crowds dispersed, leaving only one or two night security guards, and most importantly the railizens themselves. Some of them were exhausted, so they stayed inside their stations to rest for the night. Others took the opportunity for free time.
Trevor stayed up in his garage to work on something. Britney was out to explore, and lastly Layla was up listening to some of her tunes. We move to the back of the park, where Terry is trying to get some rest.
He growled in an irritated manner, and covered his head with a pillow. "Damnit Layla!". He had explained to her in the past to turn it down. Since he is the park favorite, he usually gets groups of people lined up past the park hours. It was exhausting to say the least.
#You may choose to interact with any of these guys first! May it be Trevor. Britney. Layla. or Terry!#rp#Dead Coast#my oc's#the-haunted-office
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
@the-haunted-office from here
"Yeah, knock yourself out."
Rex was practically already going over the corpse with an x-ray glance to look for any unusual signs or clues on an internal level, as well as for any hints of paranormal phenomena surrounding the victim. Rex could fill in for ghost hunting gear like EMF meters, or the scanners on a sophisticated starship.
"Got any preliminary guesses as to what caused this?"
16 notes
·
View notes
Note
What scares you the most? And if it really happened... how would you deal with it?
@the-haunted-office
"What I fear...errghh.....must I answer this?"
"...."
"Fine. I fear preservation, that after I die some outside force will deny me the right and honour to decompose or to be consumed."
"The worst thing is that I won't be able to do anything about it or even know of it. Because I would be dead."
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
@the-haunted-office continued from here
If Zim’s disguise was bare minimum, Hal’s was somewhere between halfway convincing and just inhuman enough to look bizarre by most standards, with razor sharp teeth and pointed, three-fingered hands. Most of Zim’s little human rival’s ire was saved for the man himself, however he wasn’t around, leaving his tiny pink minion to deal with some unwarranted resentment.
...in her opinion, anyway.
She managed to hide the resulting laughter behind her hand as he came tumbling to the ground. Dib with his persistence, an admirable trait, she’d give him that, even still, she had the feeling she wasn’t exactly the correct alien to be dealing with it. With a snorting giggle, she curiously approached him, wondering if this was part of the plan or not.
“Mmm, I would but... it’s dirty there.” she complained, “How about I stay upright and not scream instead?”
Hal liked that suggestion much better. She leaned against the nearby tree, eyeing him with slight interest as he attempted to get up. Sure she could help but where was the fun in that? He had tried to scare her, fair was fair.
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
@the-haunted-office || continued from here
"Yeah..I can see that," he replied with the air of someone who has been here the whole day and not just an hour at most. No shit, they were in a hallway. He's been here long enough as it is
But still..judging from the stranger's reaction, she didn't seem lost. Good. That's good. That means she probably knew the way out. Or at least around.
And then she lost him.
Now Antares didn't know the first thing about architecture but he was pretty sure thay hallways don't just stretch. They don't get fussy or dramatic either.
Maybe it was a figure of speech? Fuck if he knew.
"Right...riiight...so what is this building?"
Either this stranger was just messing with him or he really is stumbling into something beyond his understanding. There was, of course, the third possibility that the person he was talking to right now was just a flat out weirdo.
"The exit- no, wait." Right his job here wasn't done yet. "Have you seen a flying machine about this high-" He held his hands up roughly 10 cm away from one another. "-and this wide come through here?" He gestured a width of around half a foot.
He wasn't inclined to introduce himself to someone he was just asking directions from but he at least mentally noted down the name.
8 notes
·
View notes
Note
"Do you just like to watch, or would you like to join me?"
Doom to Stanley (She's probably destroying something in the office :p)
@the-haunted-office
Stanley was watching her try some knife throwing, targeting paintings and signs on the walls, each time she hit something he clapped.
"I cannot say I have done that before, are you sure? I might hit something I should not and the last few, periods of time have been a little physically rough, I do not want to push my luck."
#The-Haunted-Office#Sometimes The Only Way Out Is As A Carcass: Stanley & Doomsday ☆The-Haunted-Office☆#Stanley ☆ic☆#Stanley ☆main verse☆
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
@the-haunted-office / X
oh, the age-old question. over a decade of existence, and he still hadn't managed to get it answered. cas was almost beginning to wish people started conversations by asking the others date of birth or favourite kind of chocolate cake- things, at least, that he knew about himself.
'cas' seemed like a safe enough bet, but it was a bit too genuine on its own, and he had long since run out of things to lengthen it with.
'432' might mean something immediately to this guy (that was the benefit of stanleys), but again, it was far too close to the truth, and far too vulnerable for comfort. and also at the same time extremely far away from the truth, and it was hard enough trying to get people to stop referring to him as that at the best of times.
DONT WORRY ABOUT THAT.
he writes back instead, aware he's stalled for an uncomfortably long time over that one.
NOT THE NARRATOR, THATS WHO I AM. GEEZ, THAT GUY. WHAT A
cas pauses- realising he's no way to parse quite how this particular stanley feels about the narrator in question.
WELL, YOU KNOW.
he illustrates this idea with a little slider- labeling one end 'asshole', and the other 'wonderful person', and leaving the vast expanse between them up to stanleys own judgment.
#:CONTINUE:#the-haunted-office#apologies for the delay!!! still getting myself back in the groove here
5 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
monx224
Monx224
iuuua
i uuuuu a !
bettyragex87
BettyRagex87
hummingbee-o0o
the Duchess of Whales
screamshiranui
::JUDGEMENT::