The Return of Vampyre Robin: A Ghoulish Conspiracy

Round Robins are an ancient and profoundly dubious tradition at Scribal Terror.

They are collaborative fictions, written on the fly in the comments section. ST Round Robins usually involve a character named Robin. They usually happen around Halloween. And they usually flirt with THE DARK SIDE.

We missed Robin last year, but the old bird has not died. Not strictly speaking, anyway. He is back, and he doesn't drink . . . wine.

For the remainder of the week, we will continue the story in the Comments section. Each person can add as many comments as they want, but keep them relatively short (no more than three sentences or so). Be sure you refresh the page before you contribute because we want the story to flow. Like BLAAAAHDDDD!

Thanks to Edgar Allen Dorkafork, we have an opening:

It was an overcast and clammy night, with a low chance of precipitation, as the darkness moved in like a cold front from the north that may result in temperatures in the low 50s. My restiveness continued, the ghastly glow of the Weather Channel flickering in my poorly-lit abode increased my disquiet. The grim countenance of the weather girl stared back at me. I pondered how I had arrived at my despicable state. The memories were patchy, like the clouds that are likely moving in on Thursday...

Now, do your worst, cheeldren of the night . . .

UPDATE: The story is proceeding with all due awesomeness. We need to move toward an ending by midnight on Halloween. Then I'll put the story together from the comments section and publish it as a post. So let's have some fiendly competition. In the battle for the conclusion, will your ending be a new beginning or a last gasp?

Comments

[mojo]

A sudden deep chill precipitated my dread. Turning instinctively, I saw, out the front window, a pair of beady red eyes staring hatefully at me. A bird was perched on the branch of the Hollyhock...

[prairie biker]

It took me a minute to focus through my chemically induced haze and I realized those sick red eyes were my own. I couldn't decide if they were blistered from too much rubbing, too much whiskey or too much of her. I suppose it didn't really matter. She wasn't coming back for round two of bitter matrimony unless it was as a zombie. Although I don't know how I'd tell the difference.

[Scott P]

I struggled to get up from the couch of my hastily rented furnished apartment. I swear, the couch was bowed like it had been custom made for a camel who like to lay on his back.

The robin was still there, staring at me. Watching intently. A creepy metaphor for my bird, who had recently flown the coop, I guess.

I needed a cigarette, so I stumbled into what the landlord described as a 'kitchenette'.

[gail]

I was startled out of my funk when the phone began to ring.

[Rob B]

"Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl
With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there
She would merengue and do the cha-cha...."
Why did I ever pick that ring tone?

As I reached for the infernal device I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye.

[Scott P]

It was the robin, which had made its way to the mailbox sized kitchen window above the sink, and it had what picked up what appeared through my bleary eyes to be a hair ribbon.

There was something odd about the ribbon.

[Chrees]

While the recorded voice on the line encouraged me to vote for Prop 7...or was it against?...I realized that wasn't a ribbon but my lottery ticket. The robin put the ticket on the window sill and seemed to look at me and the numbers at the same time, all the time making a guttural noise. The combination of the whiskey, droning phone voice, and the robin's growling sounded like "Never win, never win"

[Rob B]

"Great," I muttered,"Like I need a bird to tell me that." As I reached up to take the paper from the robin, the bird lurched, almost drunkenly, away from my outsteached hard. It hopped and fluttered towards the open kitchenette window. While closing the distance between myself and the bird, I noticed a lumber shape outside.

[Jake]

... and when I say "lumber" I mean the hulking form of a huge stack of two by fours and a couple pallets of drywall that The Home Depot had apparently delivered to the my house in error, now sitting in my driveway enticing me to yet another unfinished home improvement project.. "..but how? when?.." I thought to myself.. then suddenly it all became clear.. The boards.. The bird.. The Cha-Cha... "Freakin Bob Villa..." was all I could think to say..

Just then....

[michael]

there was a loud knocking on my door that
made me hop and flutter myself; i looked at
the robin, the ribbony ticket; RAP! RAP! RAP! my eyes grew wide as i moved toward
the door.