Don't Turn Off The Lights
PG or PG-13: you decide
~*scene change*~
It was a dark and dreary morning when everyone woke up. Chills moved up and down along the air accompanied with cold mist. You couldn't get up without falling back down, because the chilling atmosphere would push you back. But still, the same routine followed with them. Wake up. Shower. Brush teeth. Dress. Eat. In Joey's case, it'd be: Wake up, shower, brush teeth, dress, eat, eat, eat, eat, etc. And, the trip to the mailbox.
"Geez, it's freakin' cold out here. I wonder why it's so freezing. You can make popsicles out here! Hey, I can use a popsicle."
He walked in his black slippers and bathrobe to the mailbox. After he sloshed through puddles and mud, the metal hunk of junk was finally with him. When he opened it, he shuffled through the letters that was in it.
"Let's see, anything interesting? Hmm, bills, IRS letter, more bills... huh?"
He stared at it. A letter with parchment like paper for an envelope was staring right back at him. The lettering on it was delicate and fancy and hand-written on with navy blue ink. With foil accents on the edges, he thought it was from someone rich. But there was no return address.
"What the heck? This is like from someone with a lota dough!"
Joey ran into his house and threw the other stuff on the floor. Of course, he wanted to see what the letter said. He closed the door and sat down on his sofa and opened it. "Whoever this guy is, he sure has nice stationery." It read:
Dear Mr. Joseph Tyler Wheeler, It is my pleasure to inform you about this ongoing contest. No, it doesn't involve cards or duel monsters. You and your friends will spend a week in the old manor on the side of the hill. You will know which hill soon enough in this riddle:
When black wood is transposed And life rhymes with hope You get terrible things That with you cannot cope.
Come there with everyone or else, at 9:00 o'clock PM, sharp. Good luck, and remember to bring supplies. And a strong sense of courage and survival. For this will not be pretty. Consider that a warning.
Signed, U.N. Owen II
"What the freak!!? I gotta go call Yugi." He hysterically ran to the phone and dialed his number. With shaking hands, he clutched onto the phone. "Hello?" His heart was jumping in his throat. "YUGI! THANK GOD!"
"Excuse me? This is Roselyn of the lingerie department of Lakeside Shopping Center. How may I help you?"
"Oops." Before he hung up, he could hear the saleswoman mutter, "Damn teens and their prank calls." Joey calmed down and dialed the correct number. "Yugi, did you get a letter sayin' somethin bout a contest?"
~*Somewhere, anywhere*~
"Did you send the letters?"
"Yes, as you said, master."
"Heh, this plan will work perfectly. And no one suspects."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
R/R, please. No flames. I know, the riddle sucks. -_-;; BTW, I made up Joey's last name.
PG or PG-13: you decide
~*scene change*~
It was a dark and dreary morning when everyone woke up. Chills moved up and down along the air accompanied with cold mist. You couldn't get up without falling back down, because the chilling atmosphere would push you back. But still, the same routine followed with them. Wake up. Shower. Brush teeth. Dress. Eat. In Joey's case, it'd be: Wake up, shower, brush teeth, dress, eat, eat, eat, eat, etc. And, the trip to the mailbox.
"Geez, it's freakin' cold out here. I wonder why it's so freezing. You can make popsicles out here! Hey, I can use a popsicle."
He walked in his black slippers and bathrobe to the mailbox. After he sloshed through puddles and mud, the metal hunk of junk was finally with him. When he opened it, he shuffled through the letters that was in it.
"Let's see, anything interesting? Hmm, bills, IRS letter, more bills... huh?"
He stared at it. A letter with parchment like paper for an envelope was staring right back at him. The lettering on it was delicate and fancy and hand-written on with navy blue ink. With foil accents on the edges, he thought it was from someone rich. But there was no return address.
"What the heck? This is like from someone with a lota dough!"
Joey ran into his house and threw the other stuff on the floor. Of course, he wanted to see what the letter said. He closed the door and sat down on his sofa and opened it. "Whoever this guy is, he sure has nice stationery." It read:
Dear Mr. Joseph Tyler Wheeler, It is my pleasure to inform you about this ongoing contest. No, it doesn't involve cards or duel monsters. You and your friends will spend a week in the old manor on the side of the hill. You will know which hill soon enough in this riddle:
When black wood is transposed And life rhymes with hope You get terrible things That with you cannot cope.
Come there with everyone or else, at 9:00 o'clock PM, sharp. Good luck, and remember to bring supplies. And a strong sense of courage and survival. For this will not be pretty. Consider that a warning.
Signed, U.N. Owen II
"What the freak!!? I gotta go call Yugi." He hysterically ran to the phone and dialed his number. With shaking hands, he clutched onto the phone. "Hello?" His heart was jumping in his throat. "YUGI! THANK GOD!"
"Excuse me? This is Roselyn of the lingerie department of Lakeside Shopping Center. How may I help you?"
"Oops." Before he hung up, he could hear the saleswoman mutter, "Damn teens and their prank calls." Joey calmed down and dialed the correct number. "Yugi, did you get a letter sayin' somethin bout a contest?"
~*Somewhere, anywhere*~
"Did you send the letters?"
"Yes, as you said, master."
"Heh, this plan will work perfectly. And no one suspects."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
R/R, please. No flames. I know, the riddle sucks. -_-;; BTW, I made up Joey's last name.