Paranormal Games
Paranormal Games

The Paranormal Games Chapter 1: The Lendowsky Islands

If you ever pay a visit to the famous Appleton Coronet apartments in the densely-forested highlands of Lendowsky Islands, you might bump into one of those local dwellers who would fill your ears with horrid tales you may strongly disregard and even laugh at.

However, as you spend a few days in one of those drab and rusty apartments with tarnished walls, corroded floors, and cracked furniture all around, you will begin to sense some eerie vibes surrounding the entirety of ambience around you. There are chances you may encounter unexplainable climatic changes, uncanny shadow movements, spine-freezing sounds, horrid sightings, and even a possible extermination of your existence. According to a claim by legend, an outsider can’t stay here for more than five days.

I cashed in on the vacation opportunity to brainstorm on unexplored destinations few weeks ago in order to craft a travel plan and escape the scorching summer heat in my county. I inherited all the traveler genes from my progenitors. It’s quite figurable from the fact that it only takes one catchy tour/travel advertisement in a local journal for me to draft a travel itinerary. Now by no means one can regard me noble-class, but a greater chunk of my savings goes in quenching my thirst for vacation trips.

As I scrolled through the pages of ‘Lisbon’s Classic’ journal one bright Sunday morn, my eyes halted at a bizarre and spooky travel advertisement. Although the visuals in that banner reflected the essence of nature, my mind was netting unholy vibes out of them.

For a moment, I sensed some indistinctive force invading territory of my brain and seizing control of my body. Suddenly, I felt my head being held by a rigid force. I tried desperately in vain to turn my head around but it was jammed at its position completely. After a minute of pulling out all the stops to move my head, the barbaric force slammed my skull with brute impact against the sharp edge of wooden furniture where I held the newspaper.

I screeched in extreme agony and felt blood-streams trickling down my forehead. My mother attended to me and exclaimed with absolute terror in her eyes, “What happened son? How did this happen?”

Even though it was a minor concussion, her impulsive reaction portrayed it as a life-threatening hemorrhage. It was a classic display of my mother being a “mother”.

She leant to proceed with her professional diagnosis (sarcastic) of my forehead, but quite shockingly, she took a glance at the right side of my forehead before putting a Band-Aid there. I was downright perplexed since it was actually the left side of my forehead that incurred the toll of that impact. The right half was unfazed.

I directed her to apply the Band-Aid on the left side at the point where I gently poked with my finger, but she frowned at me instead and lashed out at my careless regard.

“Mr. Jenkins, your casual perspective towards things is really getting under my skin these days. Pay attention or you will find yourself handling domestic chores instead of savouring a vacation trip”, my mother reprimanded me with a scowling expression. I didn’t even get the chance to express my points.

My mother slammed the door with sheer exasperation as she left. I was still reeling under the thought of that hostile seizure of my body. I began questioning my rational mind for answers. Unfortunately for me, there weren’t any. I peeped outside through the hazy windows for solace but the whole atmosphere was leaden with dark, tenebrous clouds pacing back and forth. Now this was a pretty aberrant and puzzling turn of events since our county has reportedly not seen anything apart from the scorching face of wicked sun for decades during blistering summers.

Nonetheless, I illuminated the room by turning on the table-lamp, which typically appeases me more than the conventional LEDs. I swept the newspaper off of the table in a rush but was paralyzed with blood-curdling fright at the sight of what my eyes witnessed.

All of the blood droplets that emitted out of my concussion formed the sanguine borders of that travel advertisement; the visuals showcased a ghastly graveyard with tombstones all around and the entirety of the description was spelled with creepy fonts. I stammered through the words as I reached the bottom of that advert, which read, “Lendowsky awaits you”.

All of a sudden, the table-lamp luminosity started fading into oblivion, and within a few ticks, the whole room was cloaked under absolute darkness. A howling thunder wrapped the whole sky under its terrifying influence, which did nothing but aggravated my perturbed mental state of affairs for the entirety of that afternoon.

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Failure is not your final destination

Failure is not your final destination