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THE FOLLOWING FAN NOVELIZATION OF THE RECENTLY RELEASED RESIDENT EVIL 7 MAY BE SPOILER HEAVY TO ANYONE WHO HAS NOT PLAYED AND/OR BEATEN THE GAME. ALSO, ALL VHS TAPES IN THE GAME HAVE BEEN CONVERTED INTO GOPROS FOR THE SAKE OF THE STORY, AND ANYTHING TAKING PLACE IN THE VIDEOS ARE TOLD IN THE THIRD PERSON AS OPPOSED TO THE FIRST PERSON. ENJOY!
LISTEN TO MY STORY. I KNOW IT MAY SOUND CRAZY, I KNOW IT MAY SOUND…ludicrous, but I swear to whatever God is out there that what I'm about to tell you is the genuine, one hundred percent truth. And the truth, as we all know, is sometimes more fantastical, and in my case, more terrifying, than fiction.
My name is Ethan Winters, and by rights, I shouldn't even be alive right now. I should be dead several times over. I know, I know, that sounds like the words of a madman, but – look, here me out.
I guess you could say my story begins three years ago. That was when my wife, Mia, went missing and was declared dead, since no one had heard from her after she took on what she called a "babysitting job" for the company she worked for. I don't know much about that company; Mia never went into a whole lot of detail, and I never bothered questioning her further about it.
When Mia vanished, I had become, well, let's just say a broken mess. After all, you would be too if your wife of five years had just disappeared and was declared dead. I just basically shut down, refusing to talk to anyone or even go out, at least for some few months as I tried to cope with the news.
I began getting out, spending time with friends and looking for new work. Hell, I even considered dating again, but there was still a part of me that refused to let Mia go.
And so, this is where the real meat of my rather unorthodox story begins.
It began one night after getting home from work. My normal nightly routine was to get some dinner, check my email, watch some television, shower, and then go to bed. As I was checking my email, I came across something I hadn't expected to see.
No, it wasn't that email from Mia sent three years ago – the last time I heard anything from her – but I decided to watch that one again. Mia looked like she was on the deck of a boat on the ocean, a serene and quite beautiful scene.
"Hi Ethan! Me again! I just wanted to let you know that I'll be able to come home soon. Thank God, too, because I'm getting real tired of this lame babysitting job. That could be homesickness talking, but I can't help it. I miss you so much, Ethan. Let's just pretend I'm sending you a bunch of kisses, and you'll be getting real kisses when I get home. Bye, Ethan!"
I closed that file, and that was when I noticed another one from Mia, one I hadn't seen until now. Another video file, though I couldn't tell where this one was filmed; the area was dark, save for the light from the computer Mia was recording on. She looked…distraught.
She looked frightened.
"Ethan," she said; she sounded like she had been crying. The tears running down her face confirmed that one for me. "I'm sorry. You were right. There was something fishy about all this. I should have believed you. I'm sorry, Ethan. If you find this, just….Ethan, don't come looking for me! Stay away!"
That was the end of the video, but not the email itself; there was something else. An address for a place in Louisiana, some place called Dulvey.
Yes, Mia's video told me not to go looking for her, but how could I just ignore this? There was a chance that she was still alive, and that was a chance I had to take if I wanted to know the truth.
Of course, there were other things I needed to do first. These things included requesting some days off from work so I could go to Dulvey and see if Mia was there for myself. I also had to cancel plans with my friends and the girl I had been seeing.
One week later, I was on my way from Dallas, Texas, to Dulvey, Louisiana. According to Google Maps, it was at least an eight hour drive, so I figured I should get an early start. I left around seven in the morning, shortly after I had my breakfast, and began my fateful journey.
Of course, I had no idea how fateful – or how dangerous and terrifying – my trip to Louisiana would be.
It was the middle of the afternoon by the time I reached Louisiana, and a few hours later, I was nearing my destination. Dulvey was a small town, not much larger than the small town where I grew up.
My cell phone rang. It was my friend, Josh.
"Hey."
"What's up, man?" Josh asked. "You just took off."
"Sorry about that. Something came up. It's Mia. She's alive."
"What? How? How's that possible? It's been three years."
"I know, Josh. Look, I don't know how, but she's alive somewhere, and I'm going to find her. I'm just outside of a small town in Louisiana called Dulvey. That's where Mia is. I'm going to find her and bring her home."
"Ethan, she's gone, man. You're chasing a dream."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Look, I'm almost at the address I got in my email. I'll call you back if – when – I find Mia." I shut my phone off; I didn't need any distractions. I needed to stay focused.
I continued to drive down the small dirt road into the swamp. Even through my closed windows, I could smell the musk of the swamp – though that was probably because it was coming in through the vents, since I had the air conditioner on. I could also hear the mud get flung up onto my car.
A downed tree blocked my path, forcing me to bring the car to a stop. It was clear that I was on foot from this point, so I put the car in park, shut it off, and climbed out.
The mud squished beneath my shoes as I walked down the small path. The humidity – which was much worse than what I had ever felt in Texas – was making my shirt stick to my skin as I walked. I could already feel the sweat running down my forehead, but at the moment, I was more worried about the mosquitoes buzzing around me, hoping that none of them carried malaria or Zika Virus.
Off in the distance, I could see the roof of a large house. As I got closer, I could see just how large the house was. It was a sprawling mansion, the largest I had ever seen. The impressive size of the house was so mesmerizing that I almost ran into the iron gate blocking the path. I pulled at the gate, but it was locked thanks to the chain tied around it.
Wonderful, I thought. I looked up to the top of the gate; it was lined with barbed wire, so climbing the gate was out of the question. There had to be another way around. Mia was in that house, but unless I found a way around, there was no way I would know for sure.
There was a way around, another path that was just out of sight. I started walking, hoping it would lead me to the house. The house had looked abandoned, but for all I knew, maybe someone lived there. All I would do when I got up there was knock on the door, let the owners know why I was there, and if Mia was there, we would go home together. If she wasn't there, then I would be going home by myself, feeling like a fool and being just as heartbroken as I had been three years ago.
The mosquitoes were much worse here, as was the mud. I could feel the muddy water starting to soak through my shoes and into my socks, but I was too busy swatting at the annoying insects to worry about that.
A short distance down the path, there was a white van. On the ground was a blue tarp, which looked like it had been exposed to the elements for some time. Leaned against the engine block of the van was the tripod of a video camera. Maybe it belonged to a film crew?
The door to the van was ajar, enticing me to investigate. I slid the door open. There was no sign of anyone in the van, no sign it had been in use, save for the empty beer cans on the floor and the pamphlet on the seat. It was a pamphlet for that YouTube series Sewer Gators. I had never bothered watching it, but from what I had been told, it was pretty much an amateur version of Ghost Adventures. Josh was a fan, and he kept complaining about how they had just stopped uploading about a month or so ago, with no warning or anything.
It was pretty obvious that this was going to be their next investigation, but from the look of things, they had just left most of their gear – the tripod, the tarp, the empty coolers – and left, leaving no trace that they had ever been here.
I turned the pamphlet around, getting ready to open it, to see if there was a clue, when I spotted something written on the back of the pamphlet. Something written in what I hoped was red ink.
"Join us". That was what was written.
Nailed to a nearby tree was a plank, with a message written in the same red ink. "Accept her gift". Just what the hell was that supposed to mean?
Someone walked past. I ducked down into the weeds, watching as the man – I think it was a man, I couldn't tell from this distance – walked around the corner and out of sight. I couldn't explain it, but there was something about that man; something terrifying.
Something evil.
Maybe I was just being overly paranoid, but I decided to sit and wait a minute to see if the man came back this way. He didn't. I let out that breath I had been holding and slowly stepped out of the weeds, continuing my trek.
Maybe that man was the owner of the mansion. Maybe he knew where Mia was. But I wouldn't know for sure unless I asked him. In hindsight, I could have called out to him, but I couldn't shake this feeling. You know that feeling you get when you know that something's off about someone but you can't quite put your finger on it? That was how I was feeling right now, thinking about that man.
The path I was following came to a dead end, a drop off leading to a small clearing. In the clearing was a dead tree with a pile of burned trash at the base, just in front of another house, much smaller than the mansion I had seen earlier. Maybe it was a guest house. The only way to be sure was to go down there and investigate.
I hopped down from the ledge and made my way over to the house, past the old swinging bench and onto the porch. The door was wide open, almost inviting me in.
But I couldn't just walk right in. I knocked on the door frame. "Hello!" I called into the house. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I think my wife may be here. Is it okay if I look around?" There was no answer, save for the wind blowing through the old boards.
My stomach tightened into a knot as I stood at the door, looking into the darkness of the old house. I had no idea who, or what, could have been waiting for me in there.
But something was telling me that Mia was in here, somewhere, just waiting for me to find her. So I slowly, hesitantly, with my stomach tightened into a knot, stepped through the threshold. Until I found Mia, that was the point of no return.
The change in the atmosphere was almost instantaneous. While it was warm and humid outside, the inside of the house was cold and damp. I felt a chill run up and down my spine.
I jumped and let out a small yell as the door slammed shut behind me. I grabbed the handle; it barely turned. The door was locked.
It really was the point of no return.
You know that feeling you get when you feel like you've just walked into something you may not be able to walk out of? Well, that didn't matter; I had made up my mind that, one way or another, I wasn't leaving here without my wife.
This small entry room – I guess you could call it a mud room – was filled with bags, several bags. Trash bags, perhaps? There was also a wardrobe, its doors falling off its hinges.
Passing through the only other door I could, I found myself in a narrow hallway leading into a kitchen. A pot was on the table, and there were more trash bags on the floor, some piled next to the two cupboards in the room. Water dripped from the broken faucet, and the microwave door was hanging limply open, showing me the dead, roasted crow on the inside.
It was sick, yes, but not enough to make me feel like I was going to purge my insides.
The contents in the pot, on the other hand, looked like vomit itself, a broth filled with what looked like roasted…I couldn't even tell what half of that stuff was. Some of the contents looked like intestines, which - combined with the smell of old, moldy pork - made the bile in my throat rise up.
I backed away, putting a hand over my mouth and swallowed, trying to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged, and walked around the table, trying to forget about what I had just seen.
My eyes caught sight of the newspaper on the table. It was dated just a few months ago. On the front page was a picture of the mansion I had seen earlier, and written above it was a headline from the paper, titled The Dulvey Times.
"Over 20 Missing in Two Years. Police Baffled. Foul Play Suspected".
Foul play? Twenty missing? What could this all mean?
And just what the hell was this place?
I left the room, stepping over some more trash bags and around the corner. I was in yet another hallway, this one leading to a door at the very end. The one door on the right was shut, but the cubby hole under the stairs leading to the attic was open, and it was empty.
I climbed the stairs to the attic. There was a button on one of the pillars, labeled "STAIRS". I pressed the button, curious.
Nothing happened; there probably wasn't any power.
On the table next to the pillar was a small video camera, like a GoPro. I picked it up and examined it. There had to be a way to see its contents; maybe it belonged to that film crew. I looked it over, trying to find a playback function.
Thank God that the camera still had some power. I turned it over, finding the playback function after a moment of fiddling with it. By holding the record button, I found the video archive.
There was only one video archived. It was dated one month ago.
Part of me didn't want to see what was on that video. But another part of me was far too curious. Mia always told me that I could be too curious for my own good. Maybe she was right. But I had to see what had happened to these guys. Maybe there was some kind of clue about where Mia was.
I pressed the Play button.
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Clancy fiddled with the GoPro Andre had given him, trying to turn on the night vision setting. He had recently been brought on as a camera man for the YouTube ghost hunting series Sewer Gators, after the last guy quit because he had gotten unnerved after going to so many supposedly haunted locations.
Andre was just one of the other two guys in the crew, the other being a guy named Pete, who already gave Clancy a bad first impression. The man seemed to have this sort of stick-in-the-mud personality, thinking himself on a higher level than everyone else. Then again, he himself chose Clancy for this job, and took them out for pizza after they filmed the previous episode – where they investigated the infamous Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania – so maybe he couldn't have been so bad.
"Alright, Andre, what do we got here?" Pete asked as the three of them walked up to the porch of the small guest house. "Spooky house? Weird sounds?"
"Abandoned farm house, foul play suspected," Andre answered. "Usual shtick."
"Just like that bullshit fiasco in Amarillo that turned out to be an old haunted attraction," Pete grumbled. "Please tell me this won't end up like that. Tell you what, we'll do an initial walkthrough before we start filming. Maybe parts of that walkthrough can get edited into the episode itself."
"Start by saying the name of the show and maybe it'll be better than before," Andre snarked.
Pete turned to face the two of them. "Yeah, I'll say the name of the show," he said. He put his flashlight under his face, like Clancy did when he was a kid around the campfire. "Tonight on Sewer Gators, another worthless fucking shithole. And this place certainly smells like shit. Happy?"
"Ecstatic."
"I've got to agree with Pete on one thing, though," Clancy said, finally speaking up. "This place does stink."
"It's a god damn swamp, Clancy," Pete said. "What the hell were you expecting? The place to smell like roses?"
The three of them walked up to the door. Pete grabbed the handle and tried to turn it; no luck. "Fuck. It's locked."
"Step aside," Andre said, stepping up to the door. He raised his leg and kicked the door at the handle, breaking the lock and making the door swing open. "You learn a few skills as an urban explorer." Pete brushed past him and stepped into the house. "After you, then."
Clancy followed Andre into the house. "Christ," Clancy hissed. "It's cold in here. I thought Louisiana was supposed to be hot!"
"Just be glad we don't have mosquitoes biting at our necks," Pete said from up ahead. "Mosquitoes, prisons, old houses, swamps….Fuck me, I was an anchor, you know."
"A weekend sub isn't the same thing as a news anchor," Andre corrected him.
"Say that again and you'll be shitting out your own teeth," Pete growled. "I actually ended up subbing a few times, so it counts." They stepped into a kitchen. "Now, Andre, you did the research. What's the story this time? Hillbilly Joe and his family go missing?"
"The Bakers," Andre corrected Pete. "Jack and Marguritte Baker. And they were quiet, not backward hillbillies. A lot of bad rumors about their son, Lucas. Bad seed, they say."
"Maybe Mommy and Daddy didn't raise him right," Pete jeered.
"Or maybe he just went nuts," Clancy guessed.
"Living in this backwater shithole, I'd go nuts too," Pete said. He stepped up to a small framed picture on the wall. "Hey, this might make a good backdrop." He turned to face Clancy. "What do you think?"
"That actually looks pretty good," Clancy admitted. He was just going off of his own line of sight; the GoPro was strapped to his head, so he couldn't look through the viewfinder.
"Hey Andre, what do you think?" Pete asked. Andre gave no answer; he wasn't in the room. "Andre! Clancy, you see where Andre went?"
"No I didn't," Clancy said, though that wasn't the first thing that he had thought of saying. Do I look like his fucking babysitter?
"Christ, man, we have rules," Pete said as the two of them stepped out of the kitchen and into the small hallway. "And the first rule is to never go anywhere alone."
"Maybe he had to go to the bathroom?" Clancy guessed.
"Then he still should have said something," Pete replied. "You know, say 'Hey guys, I'm gonna go take a shit' or something like that. Instead, bastard just up and vanishes on us. I mean, seriously, what the hell?"
They came to a stop next to the door at the far end of the hall. It was locked, probably from the other side. The only other door – which was thankfully unlocked – led into a small living room, filled with two chairs, a television, and a fireplace.
"Andre!" Clancy called. "You in here, man?"
"This isn't fucking funny, you dickhead," Pete growled.
The two of them searched the room, finding no sign of Andre. All they found were some old newspapers, broken VHS tapes, photographs of a rather good looking woman, and the damper lever in the fireplace.
Pete felt compelled t pull the lever; maybe the sound of the dampener opening would bring Andre out to investigate.
Neither Pete nor Clancy had expected a panel in the wall to open up, leading to another small hallway. "The hell is that?" Pete asked.
"This is some Scooby-Doo shit right here," Clancy said. "Andre!" He crawled through the panel and into the hall. "Andre! Are you in here?"
Pete followed Clancy into the hallway. There was still no sign of Andre, just some old bricks and a hole in the floor, with a ladder leading down into the basement.
"You think he's down there?" Clancy asked.
"Maybe he's just fooling around down there," Pete guessed. Clancy could hear the fear in his voice, the same fear he knew he was also feeling. "Hey, uh, you go down first. Get a shot of me coming down the ladder. Might make a good shot for the video, you know?"
"I can't believe you're still thinking about this damn show," Clancy said as he started to descend the ladder.
"I'm just trying to think about anything else right now, okay? Look, we find Andre and we get out. I mean, fuck this show!"
Clancy descended the ladder, his feet soon touching the soft, wet floor. It was so dark down here, darker than the rest of the house. He had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and even then, he could still just barely see more than a foot in front of him.
He walked slowly, stepping around a brick pillar –
And coming across Andre, standing in the corner.
"Andre!" Clancy sighed. "Thank God, man, you gave us a scare for a minute." Andre said nothing; he just stood there, facing the wall. "Andre? Are you okay, buddy?"
Clancy put a hand on Andre's shoulder and turned him around.
There was a sick squishing sound as the metal pipe that had been jammed through Andre's face came loose. Clancy fell back, screaming, Andre's dead body collapsing on top of him, blood oozing from his eyes and nose and mouth and the hole made from the pipe.
Someone was approaching. The only thing Clancy could do was scream.
