Dunwich: A Creepypasta Panfandom Game

Earlier this week, you all received a message that Melina Vostokoff's account was deleted. After searching for her, checking the network that Carol created, and some magical spells, it appear Melina is no longer here. We can only assume that she disappeared the way we all arrive. Until we see that happen with someone, we only have that assumption.

WANDA MAXIMOFF:

You got any plans tonight? I was thinking a girl's night. Some cocktails, some TV, maybe some face masks and doing each other nails. Ordinarily, I'd pay for a spa to do all of that, but sometimes you just wanna have a night in.

You game?

I've put in an offer on a building. By the end of the week, I'll be working on getting this place set up as a local community center for us all who came by way of the mist. I was thinking of calling it Massachusetts Institute of Strange Things so we can just call it MIST for sure. I know, it's dorky, but I kind of like it, and it'll confuse the locals. They don't seem to like strange.

Once all the paperwork's done and signed, I'll need some help getting it ready for us. There's a walk-in freezer, walk-in fridge and storage for canned goods and clothing so we can have items in stock for new people — or just people who need help — and the front will have computers, books, and space for support groups and gathering areas. The kitchen's been cleaned out of ovens and stove tops, so cooking there's not going to be ideal.

Magic users: is there a way to have a permanent glamor on the windows so that locals can't see what's actually going on inside it?

ADAM YOUNG:

Thank you, again, for your help.

BUCKY BARNES + OKOYE + CLINT BARTON + SAM WILSON:

This things got separate rooms in the basement. Looking at building our weapons' cache.

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If I had a nickle for every time I got pulled into a town by a mysterious force, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice, right?

Doctor Darcy Lewis, at your service, but first, I need coffee.

ARRIVAL

The thick, ghastly haze of the mist, once practically opaque to the naked eye, fades and opens up to a nostalgic homegrown New England town. A friendly gazebo, freshly painted white sits on a neatly mown lawn at the center of the town square. Vehicles stop at the redlight while locals cross the street, birds chirp in the trees, and a school bus stops to pick up a few children in oversized backpacks. Pedestrians walk by you without a second glance. Did they not see you suddenly appearing out of nowhere? How could they not have noticed that all encompassing fog? And why doesn’t your obviously otherworldly attire catch their attention? This appears to be a small, close knit community. And it’s clear you’re not from around these parts.

But these are simply the first of many mysteries you’re about to discover.

The further you investigate your new surroundings, the more ominous this seemingly quaint and colloquial town becomes. There’s something dark beneath its pleasant guise. You can’t shake the chill at the back of your neck and the sense that someone—or something—is watching you. Then there’s the odd graffiti on the alleyway walls and the way the locals talk about certain locations. And while the mist is gone, there are places in town that make you reminisce about the mist. Places that feel supernaturally thin. Thin enough to let in whispers from the other side. Or maybe even screams.

And don’t worry if you hear laughter or the jingling chimes of carnival coming from the rain gutters in the street. That’s just your imagination. There’s nothing down there.

Nothing that floats.