Guild Double D’s

Day 2: “The Object That Shouldn’t Be”

Back at it again, because apparently one day of basement bingo wasn’t enough. We gathered our courage (and snacks) and descended once more, with John leading the charge like he was conquering Everest. “This time, we’re finding treasure!” he boasted, but Tara shushed him, claiming the house “didn’t like loudmouths.” Julie snorted, “The house doesn’t like us period.” As we poked around the dim rooms, Laura tripped over something massive and out of place—a gigantic, carved wooden statue that looked straight out of Lewis Carroll’s nightmares. “The Jabberwocky!” I yelped, staring at its snarling face, twisted horns, and eyes that seemed to follow you. It was painted in garish colors, totally clashing with the basement’s dusty vibe, like a clown at a funeral.

How did this beast end up here? We spun wild theories over flashlight beams. “Maybe the original owner was a mad poet who wrestled it from Wonderland,” Tara suggested with a wink. John flexed dramatically: “Or I time-traveled and brought it back—you’re welcome.” Laura, wide-eyed, whispered, “What if it’s cursed? Like, it eats souls?” Julie, ever the rational one, quipped, “Nah, probably just a reject from a failed theme park. ‘Jabberwocky Land: Where Fun Goes to Die.’” We all cracked up, but as we circled it, the statue’s shadow stretched unnaturally long, like it was reaching for us. I swear I heard a low growl, but blamed it on John’s stomach. Still, that Jabberwocky didn’t belong, and neither did we—yet here we were, turning a holiday into a snarky standoff with the absurd. Spooky twist? When we left, the basement door slammed shut behind us, as if the thing was laughing at our escape.

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LaLa a3d26b

Guild: Double D’s

DAY 2 — "The Object That Shouldn't Be"
Julie was the first to take Tara's challenge seriously. The next morning, while the others made breakfast, she descended into the basement alone.
The Shah—that strange silver device—sat on a workbench like someone had just set it down mid-repair. It looked almost like a communicator, something from a different time or world entirely.
When Julie touched it, static crackled, and then—impossibly—she heard voices. Her friends' laughter from college. Her own voice from freshman year saying: "I don't know who I am without them."
The realization struck her: she'd been so afraid of losing her friends as they all grew up, took different jobs, lived in different cities. Their annual reunions felt more precious and more fragile each year.
But the Shah showed her something else—all five of them, older, grayer, still gathering, still laughing, still finishing each other's sentences.
Some objects don't belong because they're meant to show you what will stay.
At breakfast, Julie hugged everyone a little tighter. "Twenty more years of this," she said fiercely. "At least."
The others raised their coffee mugs in agreement.

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Guild: Double D’s
DAY 3 — "The Whispering Wall"

John didn't want to go to the basement. But the walls in his room had started bleeding, and the only place the blood didn't seep was the door leading down.
The Sundrop didn't pulse with light. It pulsed with something darker—a heartbeat that was too slow, too labored, like something dying.
When he touched the wall, it was warm. Fever-warm. The Manor was sick with something.
Words formed, not in condensation, but carved into the plaster by invisible fingers:
"THEY KNEW HER BEFORE YOU. THEY'LL KNOW HER AFTER. AFTER. AFTER. AFTER."
The words repeated, carved deeper and deeper until the wall cracked open, and John saw what was inside.
Bodies. Dozens of them. Hundreds maybe. All the previous guests of the Manor, stacked like cordwood in the walls, their mouths open in silent screams.
And they were all reaching for him.
John stumbled back, but the Sundrop had fused to his palm. He could feel the Manor now, feel its hunger, its ancient patience. It had been feeding for centuries. It would feed for centuries more.
The bodies began to whisper his name.
When his friends found him the next morning, he was standing facing the wall in the basement, perfectly still. They shook him, screamed at him, but John didn't respond.
He couldn't. He was listening to the Manor now. And the Manor had so much to tell him

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LBB 

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Guild: Double D’s

Day 3: “The Whispering Wall”

By day three, our “holiday” felt more like a voluntary haunting. We geared up with coffee and sarcasm, descending into the basement where the air felt thicker, like breathing through a wet towel. Tara was in full mystic mode, chanting about “whispering walls,” while Julie mocked her with finger-quotes. John posed heroically against a cracked wall, and Laura stuck close to me, muttering prayers under her breath. That’s when we spotted it: a bizarre, damp patch on the wall shaped like a pirate’s face, complete with an eyepatch stain and a heart carved crudely below. “Pirate Jack of Hearts!” I declared, and we all lost it—laughing at how it pulsed faintly, like it was breathing or plotting our demise.

What could he say if he could speak? Oh, we’d have a field day. “Arrr, ye landlubbers, hand over yer snacks or walk the plank!” John imitated in a terrible pirate voice, making Laura giggle-snort. Tara added dramatically, “Beware the treasures of the heart, for they be guarded by fog and chocolate—wait, that doesn’t rhyme.” Julie poked the wall, “Probably just mold complaining about the humidity: ‘Oi, fix the plumbing, ye cheapskates!’” But as we joked, the “face” seemed to shift, the cracks widening like a smirk. I felt a whisper of cold air brush my ear, murmuring nonsense—or was it “get out”? We brushed it off as group hysteria, but the spooky undercurrent hit when Laura swore she saw the heart beat once.

Snarky as we were, Pirate Jack left us uneasy, his silent stare following us up the stairs like a bad blind date that wouldn’t end.

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LaLa a3d26b