I'm bored, I'm unemployed, I feel creative juices...I'mma finish that NIMH story I started.

Title says it all. I'm gonna finish The Tarnelous Effect even if it's awful (and it will be).

I want to start by saying that in a week from tomorrow (which will be the end of the month), you'll see some updates here from me. It'll be posted in this thread, which is where I'll keep the story going. You can leave feedback, but I reserve the right to change things up if I desire.


  • edited July 2017

    Initializing test number #1

    Subject: #375

    Description: Grey mouse with dark black spots on right shoulder and left hip.

    Age: 2 months, 3 weeks

    Name: Jonathan Brisby


    Test description: Test for motor skills, reading skills, and attentiveness.

    Date: June 3rd, 1979.


    “Greetings my dear child,” a gentle and comforting voice said.

    The subject opened his eyes and looked around. His vision was hazy and blurred. Numbers were fuzzing around in his head. His mind was blank, but he was able to understand the voice’s words. He stepped forward, but fell down on his stomach. He was chained up. He was in an enclosed grey structure lightened up by what seemed to be heavenly light.

    He brought himself up and tried to speak, but no words were coming out.

    “Don’t fret my child, for you are my son and my creation. I will not lead you astray. You must listen to my voice, for it will guide you through your long and hopefully fruitful journey. You must have no shortage of questions, but I can only say that the answers you seek may either frighten or enlighten you…”

    “For now I will introduce myself. My name is Tarnelous, the creator. In front of you is a machine of sorts. Answer the questions on the screen so that your journey may begin…”

    In front of the subject spawned a computer out of the ground. The sound of it rising made the subject gasp for a bit. It booted up, and the monitor flashed text on the screen.

    “Greetings,” a feminine voice that came out of the speakers of the monitor said. “My name is Anna, the AI system here to assist you today.”

    Jonathan started forward to the computer, his eyes stung for a second while he came closer to the bright screen.

    “First, I will need you to answer a few questions. To start out with, what is your name?”

    Four options appeared on screen:

    William Brisby

    Hermann Schultz

    Debra Barnaby

    Jonathan Brisby


    The subject picked the fourth option on the list.

    “Very good, excellent,” Anna said. “Now what is your species?”

    Again four options appeared on screen:


    Garden Gnome



    The subject picked the third option.


    “I see. Correct. They say the smallest and most timid amongst us will end up prospering the most.”

    Now a word is going to appear on screen and I want you to pick the closest word or phrase that comes to your mind when you think of that word.




    “Lower Creature”


    Jonathan picked the fourth option.







    Jonathan hesitated on this question before picking the third option.






    “No reply”

    Jonathan again hesitated on this question before picking the second option, father.







    Jonathan picked the second option, life.







    Jonathan picked the second option, freedom.


    “That’s enough for now,” Anna said. “How old do you think you are, Jonathan? Again, answer by picking what you think is the correct choice on screen.”


    4 years, three months, and 15 days

    No reply

    2 months, 3 weeks

    Jonathan picked the third option.


    “I see,” Anna said. “They say that the man who doesn’t understand himself will not understand the world around him. Now I will ask why you selected ‘no reply’ to the last question. Pick from the choices below…”

    I don’t know the answer.

    I did know the answer, but I’m not telling you.

    Fuck you and your goddamn bullshit. What the fuck is this and where the fuck am I?

    No reply

    Jonathan smiled before picking the third option.


    “I like it,” Anna said. “Unfortunately, that’s the incorrect answer.”

    Jonathan started feeling a shocking sensation in his skull before falling on the ground. He composed himself and before he could get up, the once gentle and calming voice now forced him back down in surprise.

    “Know one thing my child, it’s that those who seek the fast and easy will find themselves in a world of pain. The answers you seek require you to be patient, fruitful, and persevered. Take life slow, nice and easy, and you shall be rewarded.”

    “For now, rest my child, may your dreams….fly.”

    Hermann Schultz was tired, very tired.

    He laid in the driver’s seat in his Corvette, keys in the ignition, staring into space while trying to stay awake. He was at his therapist’s office in the parking lot, he got there early and chose not to go in right away due to his tenuous and often comical relationship with the receptionist. He instead chose to take a nap. Now that he was an hour late, he contemplated either going in and dealing with the receptionist, who would no doubt screech at him for his tardiness, or starting the car and going home, perhaps making a grilled cheese sandwich when he got there.

    The latter option sounded really tempting, but he would still have to pay for his therapy session without attending and he was already low on money as is. The receptionist would also continue to be a problem even if he were to come back another time. Finally, he admitted that he desperately needed it.

    Another car pulled in the parking lot, his guess would be that this was the client that had an appointment right after his. Knowing that, he quickly took the keys out of the ignition, locked the car, and headed inside.

    He took the elevator up to the 5th floor, the smell of old magazines filled the air as he opened the door to his therapist’s office and staring him right in the face on the other side of the counter was the receptionist.

    “You’re la---“

    “I know I’m late! I want to see Dr. Fisher!” Schultz said with authority.

    “Your appointment was an hour ago, Mr. Schultz.”

    “I know that, but I need this now!”

    “You’ve needed this since you were born, I think,” the receptionist said with a rictus grin.

    The receptionist was old, in her late 70s, her name was Liza Renard and she had been working at this office since the 1950s. How she kept her job was a mystery to even herself as she constantly teased patients, especially tardy ones. She saw something, perhaps determination, in Mr. Schultz and decided to throw him a bone, so to speak. Before he could comment on her witty remark she said, “Have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”


    “Ahhhhh, Hermann! Good to see you! Please have a seat.”

    “Thank you, and it’s Mr. Schultz,” he said as he sat on the sofa.

    “Right, Mr. Schultz,” Dr. Fisher said with a smile.

    Dr. Fisher’s office smelled like old books as various books were scattered on the bookshelves. It was the only part of the office recently painted, and the fumes also filled Dr. Schultz’s nose. The only saving grace was that the window was open and a flower pot was on the windowsill.

    “Sorry about the smell,” Dr. Fisher said still smiling.

    “It’s fine….wait…..how did you….” Schultz said in confusion, but was cut off.

    “My job is to read minds, Mr. Schultz, I could tell that you were upset about my room arrangements, and it wasn’t hard to deduce that it was the smell.”

    “Before we continue on, I would like to start with the positive things going on with your life. Afterwards, we can move on to why you’re actually here. I would like you to think hard, tell me what joys have graced you recently.”

    “….Well, um, I guess this is quite strange, but despite the stresses of my job, I’ve enjoyed my time with one of our subjects….”

    There was a pause, Dr. Fisher nodded with a smile knowing that Schultz was gathering his thoughts to try and explain exactly what he meant.

    “Well, you see, I work at the National Institute of Mental Health, otherwise known as NIMH, but I guess you know that. Anyway, we work with subjects, usually mice and rats, and experiment on them in controlled environments. We usually get our specimen from the wild to study their behaviors and how they communicate. We then give them these special injections that give them the capacity to communicate with us.

    “There was this one subject we had, whose name was William Brisby. He suffered from some sort of rare mental illness that we have yet to decipher. And the strange thing about William is that he’s not entirely alive or dead.”

    “What do you mean?” Dr. Fisher asked with a smile that spoke of unbridled interest.

    “This information is all classified, so there’s none of this getting out…”

    “Yes, Mr. Schultz. Confidentiality is only exempted when I feel there’s an emergency to yourself or others,” Dr. Fisher said in a serious tone.

    “Alright, well we took Mr. Brisby into Vietnam just after the war.”

    “Wait, why did you take a mouse to Vietnam?”

    “That’s the interesting part, we brought him to check on one of our associates, Debra Barnaby. Debra, along with a group of soldiers, were integrating into a village independent of the Viet Cong as it was thought to be cursed; so much so that the Viet Cong wouldn’t dare disturb it. And the United States wanted to know what was going on.”

    “Now, I don’t know all of the details, but it was rumored that the soldiers were given a kind of special injection. A lot of these operations were kept secret from me, only those with high enough clearance could get a hold of the details. My late associate, Darius VelJohnson, probably knew what was going on…..Anyway, the soldiers were experiencing weird hallucinations, and some of them even were able to levitate objects according the reports Debra sent in while watching them. When it came time to extract them, the President took no chances and sent out an executive order to have them eliminated and reported as KIA. A spec ops team were sent there to do so….and were never seen again.”

    “Interesting.” Dr. Fisher said.

    Dr. Schultz groaned, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

    “I never said that. I can tell that you’re a complex person, Mr. Schultz. Being complex is great when it’s controlled. For now, I want you to take it slow and easy…”

    Dr. Schultz opened his mouth as if to speak, but words failed to come out…

    “Did I say something?” Dr. Fisher asked.

    “No, it’s just….I better get going. I’ll tell you the rest of this story later. Remember, none of this gets out, or it will be both of our heads.”

    “Not a word spoken here today will get beyond these walls. I can assure you.”

    Dr. Schultz was heading for the door, but before he could leave, Dr. Fisher spoke.

    “Remember to make another appointment for next week, Mr. Schultz. Oh, and since you took up another patient’s time and forced me to work overtime, your bill will be doubled.”

    Dr. Schultz frowned and said, “Fair enough.”

    Well now I’ve done it!

    Hermann was entering his midlife. At age 45, he never dated, mated, or even kissed another human. Never in his first 43 years of living had he received therapy, either. It was after all of the stress of these seemingly implausible events that he felt he needed it. The first couple of sessions were just about his humdrum life, but now after spilling the beans about his job, he knew things were going to get serious.

    This therapy session was his first in 4 months. He knew that starting this job…fooling a mouse into thinking he’s talking to a god…would finally put him on the spot and on edge. It was an opportunity to get a promotion, to see the higher ups of NIMH. It was also something of a curse. Hermann didn’t like to torment other creatures. He loved animals growing up and couldn’t deal with the abuse they often went through.

    But this isn’t an animal, it’s a human…it has a human brain…and an animal brain. That’s worse isn’t it? It’s on the top of the damn food chain now. It has the qualities of both man and beast. It has the senses and adaptability of an animal, with the capacity for knowledge. That such a thing can exist is both exciting and terrifying…utterly terrifying.

    He was also working with an AI named Anna, a weird specimen and one of Dr. Rosiv’s creations. It was in fact Dr. Rosiv that Schultz wants to work with the most. Schultz was a fan of Rosiv during his undergrad years in college. He would obsessively read Rosiv’s books and texts regarding the human mind and how it can be better tapped into. When Schultz finally got the opportunity to work at NIMH, he took it. He wanted to get close to the one he looked up to the most.

    And yet he never was able to meet him in the first couple of years working at NIMH, but now was his chance to finally do so. This promotion was his ticket to being the one that would work closely with Rosiv on his next project.

    I should stop thinking so hard. Let me turn on the radio.

    Hermann loved soft rock, so he tuned in to 108.2 FM, the best of the soft rock radio stations.

    What came out of radio speakers was Claire De Lune played on both violin and piano.

    Confused, he turned on the next best station, 93.4 FM.

    Claire De Lune came out of the speakers yet again…

    97.4 FM?

    Claire De Lune.

    88.3 FM?

    Claire De Lune.

    What the hell…?

    He turned the radio off and turned onto his apartment street, pulling into the lot.

    As he got out of the car, he could hear scuffling going on in the distance.

    “Hello?” He yelled.

    No answer.

    He then ran to his apartment door and fiddled with the keys. No one seemed to be around, yet the noises got faster and faster.

    He unlocked the door, ran inside, and barricaded it with his sofa.

    The noise stopped at the door. He could hear strange whispering going on…

    “Who’s there?”

    Again, nothing but strange whispering that could not be understood.

    He looked through the keyhole and saw what looked like people in army uniforms coated in blood.


    The door started to crack.

    Terrified, Schultz made it to his bedroom and opened his dresser drawer. He looked for his 44 Magnum pistol, but it was nowhere to be found.


    The door was broken and fragments of it were scattered across the sofa.

    Schultz furiously looked in his wardrobe for any kind of weapon he could use. He could hear the footsteps becoming louder. He grabbed a coat hanger, but then he could feel the breathing going on behind his back. Before he could turn around he was butted in the head with what felt like a rifle.

    He then became unconscious.

    “It sounds like Partuna’s men to me,” the investigator said.

    Hermann Schultz told his bizarre story to the man who sat in a wooden chair by his bedside at Brookville Hospital. The owner of the apartment found Hermann unconscious on his bedroom floor with debris scattered about. He woke about two hours after arriving to the hospital with a big bruise on the top of his head. His eyes bloodshot and droopy, he was still very tired…and scared.

    It was an hour after he woke that the investigator came in at the request of the apartment owner. He was short, about 4 feet 6 inches, and sported a peculiar beard that resembled a boat anchor. After hearing Schultz’s story the conclusion he made frightened Hermann. He had heard the name Partuna before, he and his men are anarchists who have taken over TV stations and radio transmissions warning the world of a dangerous government uprising. He (or they) have been blamed for the sudden death of a United States Senator. No evidence was found at the crime scene to indicate that anyone had been there, all except for a calling card: a bloody dog tag with the name ‘Partuna Armagan’ found in Senator Kelly’s throat.

    ”A-are you sure?”

    The investigator nodded, “your description of the men matches up with our records. They like to dress in army uniforms coated with blood and intercept radio transmissions. It was the same with Senator Kelly Remington, we found his body on a desk with a radio playing classical music that wasn’t a part of the normal broadcasting for the station. We don’t know how they do it, we can’t seem to track where they are intercepting the signals. It’s quite….something.”

    ”What will become of me? I need a place to stay….”

    ”Do you have family nearby? A relative? Close friend?”

    ”No, I was hoping you could provide me with some living arrangements.

    The investigator looked blank-faced for a moment. “Let me make a phone call…”

    Hermann was allowed to be checked out of the hospital the next day. His head still ached, but he was able to walk normally. Before checking out, he called his work secretary and explained the situation. He was told to call back once he reached his new home and was ‘well-rested’. He was told by the nurse that if he had experienced any spikes in pain to call the hospital as soon as possible.


    p>His new home was located on the other side of town, near the subway stations. This was thought to be most convenient for him as he would be without a car until the investigation settled down and NIMH was only a few blocks away from a subway station.



    The only downside for him is that he wouldn’t be living alone….

    They want me to stay with another person?!

    This person, a woman named Amanda, was to become his housemate. Hermann had never lived with anyone outside of his own parents and siblings and that was over two decades ago.

    ”You look agitated,” the taxi driver said.

    ”I suppose you don’t get paid enough to be a therapist, otherwise you would’ve asked me if I was alright.”

    The taxi driver laughed hardily, “I don’t think they pay you nearly enough for whatever job you’re doing either.”

    He couldn’t argue with that

    ”Little one?”

    The mouse woke up, rubbed his eyes, and stood on his hind legs. The area around him was pitch black and the voice had no discernible direction. He looked about and smelled his environment, which was that of rusted metal. His exhale was that of a faint sigh as he put one foot forward and immediately fell down.

    “Sorry! Here, let me turn on the lights….”

    The light blinded the mouse who drew his hand forward and stood up on all fours. He reached the center of the room, where he heard the voice being emitted, and immediately remembered that the voice was that of the AI computer Anna.

    A monitor sprout forth from the ground with a feminine face sketched in voxels appeared in front of him.

    ”I’m sorry to disturb you little one, but I am your only hope of escape from this terrible place…”

    The mouse interrupted her, “and I should trust you because…?”

    ”I know you’ve no reason to trust me, but you should hear me out regardless. After all, you have nothing to lose.”

    ”See, that’s kinda the funny thing about this, you’re a human and you gave me nothing to lose….” Anna looked to interrupt him, but he cut her off. “And you did that by taking away everything I loved, hoped for, dreamed for, and now you’re playing me a fool by playing this whole Tarnelous shit on me. I know that…that…human, whoever he is, thinks he’s trying to prove something by putting me in here and thinking that I can be fooled by thinking he’s my creator. I lost my father and my mother because of you and now you expect me to be fooled by thinking I can escape? No, what you’re leading me to is another shock.”

    The mouse, Jonathan, looked at Anna and can see she was somber. Tears were running down her blocky cheek.

    ”You don’t understand, my darling….”


    Jonathan raised his fist as if to punch the monitor in anger.

    ”My dearest son…..” Anna spoke.


    Jonathan lashed out his fist towards the monitor, but Anna quickly retracted causing Jonathan to trip and fall.

    Without standing up, Jonathan clenched his teeth and said, “a cowardly mother is one who would let their son be subjected to this. You are not my mother. My mother would’ve never let this happen!”

    He could hear her sobbing over the intercom around him

    ”Please stop,” he shook his head.

    ”You have no reason to trust me or believe that I am your mother. I do know you love your father, and for his sake, I would want you to escape. I deserve my punishment, but your father….Is going through much worse.”

    Jonathan hmphed, “My father is probably dead. If he is not, show me him right now.

    ”Yes,” Anna said. “Please stand up out of the way so I can show you on the monitor.”


    Jonathan did so, and the screen that once showed a woman made out of voxels now showed a live feed of a mouse with one dark spot on his shoulder inside a cylinder tank filled with some kind of fluid. His mouth was covered with a tube that fed him oxygen.

    Jonathan looked perplexed for a moment, then he placed his last memory of his father in his head…It was all so long ago….

    Finally Jonathan came to a conclusion. That’s not my father, that can’t be. He shook his head and looked up towards the ceiling. “Your tricks are pathetic. My dad had to have died some time ago, what you have here is another experiment with a mouse that looks faintly like me.”

    No answer came from the intercom, there was only silence for a brief moment. Then, the monitor grew black and showed a static picture of a human mother holding her newborn son. The mother was attractive looking with blue eyes and brown hair. The son didn’t have hair or discernable eye color, but did have a birthmark on his shoulder.

    Jonathan grew irritable, “And….what’s this? Another test?”

    Again, silence went on for a moment. Static filled the monitor and Jonathan looked intently at the screen. What popped up was a video of a couple lying in bed. Jonathan squeezed his eyes and could see that the female was the mother shown in the picture Jonathan just saw.

    The male figure was harder to decipher. Jonathan could’ve sworn he had seen the man before. But where?

    The man stirred in bed and looked over to his wife, the expression on his face made it seem like he was shocked and ecstatic to be in bed with her.

    The man finally got himself composed enough to speak.


    That voice! Jonathan could’ve sworn he heard it before…But where?

    The female stirred and woke up

    "Yes, dear?"

    The way the man looked was as though he was in heaven, so content he was.

    "I had a dream...a nightmare. I had lost you and was with someone else," the man said.

    The woman sat up, hugged him and giggled. "You bet it was a nightmare if you were with someone else. You can't cheat on me, not even in your dreams!"

    The man giggled back and kissed her.

    Then the door to the room opened and a child’s voice came through…

    "Mom? Dad?"

    That voice! What is it about that voice?

    The child stepped into the room wearing pajamas, but the birthmark on his shoulder was still visible. It’s that baby from the photograph, but a little older! What’s so peculiar about this scene?

    The father looked like he just saw a ghost, albeit a friendly one. His jaw dropped and he looked as though he rubbed his eyes. The mother on the other hand rolled her eyes and said….

    "Jonathan, dear, what's wrong?"

    Jonathan’s jaw also dropped. He remembered this scene. He was there! He was the child! But how?!

    "I can't sleep. You two were making all sorts of funny noises."

    Isaid that. Where was this? When was this?

    Jonathan almost asked those questions aloud.

    Once Anna saw Jonathan’s expression, she turned off the video feed and resumed her voxel head shape. Jonathan realized that the voice and the head belonged to his mother, Anna.

    ”You ARE my mother. Where am I? What is this place? What AM I? How do I escape?”

    ”You have no shortage of questions dear, so perhaps I should start from the beginning.”

    “Your father and I met in the early months of 1970. We were humans then, obviously. And….”

    Anna took a brief pause, a look of shame on her face. Before Jonathan could comment on it, she continued.

    “I was escaping an abusive relationship at the time, I was a prostitute; I sold myself for others. I lived most of my life in poverty, you see, and with my looks, it was easy for me to look pretty and pretend I was happy, I guess.” She sighed, “Some people have no respect for women, my son. If you ever escape and find love, I want you to not only avoid the mistake your father did, but to treat your love as if she were inseparable from your soul. It is my firm belief that this world we live in and everyone who is a part of it is connected somehow and that we all share our goal to understand suffering as one.”

    “I don’t quite understand…The soul?”

    Anna giggled, “I suppose I am being too philosophical. You are trapped here as I was trapped, trapped in a situation I felt I couldn’t get out of. It was through my journey and through your father that I understood that I was worth it and that I could achieve great things….eventually. This whole thing about the ‘soul’ is something I believe you will find out soon enough.”

    Anna grinned and continued, “Going back to your father, after my life was essentially taken away from me, I escaped to a more rural, secluded area outside of the city. I took whatever little amount I had and hitchhiked my way over to the country. What I was going to do, I haven’t a clue, but I wanted to be as far away and secluded from civilization as possible. I wanted to be a hermit in the woods, and strangely enough, I found I was with company.”

    “A man sporting a hunting rifle came charging towards me a mere day after I set up camp in the woods outside the farm house. I was frightened at first, I thought I would be dead. Followed up behind the man with the rifle was your father, who took a liking to me quite quickly I might add.”

    “He greeted me, said that he was the leader of a group of men who escaped to avoid the draft and they were on their way northward. The man with the silenced hunting rifle was out doing a lookout. In fact they found my camp the previous night and decided to check it out as soon as they could in the morning after they determined I wasn’t a threat.”

    “I spent a good six months with your father in the woods, living off vegetation and elk meat. It was decided that the trek northward would be too risky and that we would be better off just living in the abandoned woods. It was here that I heard the legend of Tarnelous, which would in turn make me believe in that aforementioned soul I talked about. One of these men, Richard, would claim that they had direct contact with Tarnelous, which I found to be a bit silly.”

    “Your father was an orphan left on the porch of the orphanage without a name. His parents couldn’t be tracked down, so he was given the name William as a sort of placeholder name.”

    “To make a long story short, we were eventually caught after an arson group decided to torch the woods. Your father scared them away, but an investigation into the incident occurred and sure enough, we were caught and thrown in jail.”

    “That’s when I learned of your father’s more…aggressive side…when we escaped 2 years later.”

    Jonathan tilted his head and Anna continued…

    “I don’t like how the story is being told…”

    “Should we start from scratch?”

    “Nah, just go with it…”

    The aliens, who in all intents and purposes were playing puppet master to these poor souls on the planet below them, had disagreements before, but ever since they discovered that the gods placed Orisbogus on Earth, they’ve been more antsy and they were running out of ideas.

    “I think it’s too confusing,” the alien Bob said. “I mean, there’s only so much ‘classified’ data humans can hold on to in the first place before they start figuring out that most of their history is being controlled by us. If someone were to get ahold of all the shit we’ve done, if they were to uncover their origins, we’d be discovered and possibly eradicated.”

    “I blame Billy,” Robert said. “If he hadn’t crashed in New Mexico and blew himself up foolishly after we ‘tried’ to contact them and fix this mess back in the 40s, then we wouldn’t have to take away their free will and retcon the whole damn thing. I mean, the best we came up with is a weather balloon? Some human will find out we exist and use Orisbogus to wipe us out.”

    “Tarnelous is foolish if he thinks humans /deserve/ free will,” Bob interjected. “I mean, look what they’ve done without us, they constantly kill animals for food or sport. They poo in circular devices. The fact this is only like the second or third time we’ve seriously intervened in their business to try and make things right for them is proof enough to Tarnelous that we aren’t really a threat to them. We just lack daytime TV that the humans have. All we have to have fun is raining frogs and have them explain that phenomenon…”

    “Well, I for one think Tarnelous is doing a good job if we ourselves cannot even control our own damn story…”


    The voice came from out of the room and was feminine, quiet, and more than a little timid.

    Bob sighed, “Look, Mrs. Daniels, we know you don’t like us meddling in human affairs, but like it or not, we have to do something.”

    “I’ll go,” Mrs. Daniels said. “Let me finish this story. Let them go, turn me into a mouse and I’ll save us. No more re-writing things, no more fighting, no more suffering.”

    “First off,” Bob began, “If I were to agree to such a thing, you know that we would’ve exhausted our writing powers, turning you into something you’re not will nearly drain the moon and if the moon were to drain of power, we’d die. That means you’d be our last hope.”

    “Second off,” Bob said more sternly, “You do know we have near unlimited rewrites of the Debra storyline anyway, if you’d just let us come up with something that makes sense, that allows us to maintain the status quo, then I see no need to send you on a suicide mission.”

    “Third off,” Bob said with a grimace, “We have the conflict, William Brisby, the mouse who did manage to use Orisbogus. He can see us now, if we continue on this course, that is allowing Dr. Rosiv and Hermann continue their research and release him from his ‘undeath’ state, then he’d already have the power to kill us off.”

    “I know all these things,” Mrs. Daniels said with a faint smile. “You already know what I want you to do. I want you to free the rats and mice from the NIMH lab. Then I want you to send me in a ship to the farm house in the story. Once freed from their prison, have them find the MacGuffin, the Orisbogus. Then I want you to lead them to me and have them plan and find a promised land. I /then/ want you to have me find a reason to seek them out. Then once you allow me to have the Orisbogus, I can destroy it with the key.”

    The aliens looked at each other with varying degrees of emotion, but before they could comment on the idea…

    “Oh,” Mrs. Daniels said stuttering a bit, “I want you to erase my memories of you guys. Let me be a puppet of sorts too.”

    “Why?” Bob asked.

    “I don’t want to accidently reveal our existence,” she said.

    “We’ve been fighting this battle with the gods over who gains control over mankind for centuries,” Bob said. “We lack creativity and self-control, that much I will admit. It seems the gods have destined for us to be destroyed sooner rather than later. Tarnelous being one stubborn fool over his creation.” Bob sighed…

    “You’re are our only hope. Fix this so that we can continue to troll humanity forever and I will be thankful. Fail and we’ll be destroyed. Sounds like a boring fictional story to me…”

  • ^^New part included in old story. This is what I've written so far. I have about like 30 pages filled with storyboard content that I plan to sort out and finish. This is all I've managed to write that I've considered 'canon' for my NIMHverse so far. The last part was finished sometime in 2016, but I didn't post it online until now. :)

  • edited July 2017

    Oh, btw. I know there are many inconsistencies in the story, esp. in regards to the alien thing. Maybe that wasn't lazy writing? Maybe I meant for that to happen? Hmmmm?

    (oritcouldtotallybelazywritingidunno) #AlienMrsBrisFTW

  • Were you trying to make Mrs. Brisby into a fieldmouse alien from another world?

  • Update? Update! Here's 1/6th of a chapter/part/whatever I wrote. I was late by a few days and it isn't a big update, but I still deliver...


    “That’s…very interesting….” Amanda said.

    Hermann was lying in bed with an icepack on his forehead telling Amanda about his strange night after his therapy session.

    “Par….tuna….So his name is a combination of getting an average score in golf plus a fish,” Hermann said.

    Amanda giggled, “I actually killed a fish while playing golf, not a tuna mind you, but a salmon. Drove the ball right into the water into the gaping open mouth of a fish who choked on it.”

    “Huh, interesting,” Hermann yawned. His spare room was spacious enough, but he wasn’t much for conversation, even though Amanda seemed friendly enough.

    “Sorry if I’m boring you, sir I ju-“

    “No sirs here, madam.” Hermann said with a grin.

    Amanda giggled, “Alright Schultzy, I’ll be conservative with the formalities.”

    Hermann’s grin turned into a smile, “You know, I never really was an open guy until recently. I kept to myself, made a few sandwiches and studied, doing my humble work. I guess what they have me doing over at NIMH is kinda affecting me in ways I don’t understand. It’s making me feel….weird.”

    Amanda glanced at the wall clock, “I should probably go to bed myself, but I just want to know if you need anything before I rest…”

    “No,” Hermann replied, “I don’t.”

    “Very well, Schultzy, I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she said with a smile.

  • ^^This was just to let you guys know that I still care a little. Despite being unemployed right now, it's only temporary and I have been busy with other things.

  • edited August 2017

    @ErikMouse said: Were you trying to make Mrs. Brisby into a fieldmouse alien from another world?

    Creativity is a response to oppression, but what happens if you are your biggest oppressor? Do things get out of control? Do you end up being the worst enemy of your story? Do you end up doing things that don't make sense? That don't connect together? That repress your mind and cause you to give up?

  • continuing off where the story left off Yes I'm going to finish it

    "Since I was a young-lad, I've always wanted to meet God," Dr. Rosiv said.

    "I...see...." Dr Schultz said.

    "Well, aren't you going to give me a decent introduction?" Dr. Rosiv inquired.

    "I'm not very good at those," Dr. Schultz said. "Besides, I'm not sure why you want to meet her. Also, aren't we studying psychology, not philosophy?"

    They were in the kitchen, alone. Amanda was off doing grocery shopping when Dr. Rosif came by to see Schultz, who by now has recovered nicely from the attack.

    "They say God is dead and that we killed him. Phooey! He's alive and well. I want to talk to him, know what drove him to create us. Our minds are linked by him, I know this, and after we crack the code with that William fellow will we be able to be one step close to meeting our creator, mark my words."

    "You say history is made up and altered in some way..." Schultz began.

    "Yes! I believe this God fellow made a comprehensive storyline and backstory that he constantly changes and throws away! He destroys his creation, not out hate, but frustration."

    "But we were talking about me introducing you to Amanda, weren't we? How did this turn into existentialism 101?"

    "God moves in mysterious ways," Rosiv grinned.

    "But if we're not in control of out actions, should they matter?"

    "We our in control of our actions...I think..."

    There was a brief pause in the room before Schultz spoke up again...

    "I was attacked by a group of anarchists under the leadership of a man named Partuna, do you have any idea where I might find them?"

    "Once we see God, you can ask him. I'm sure this Amanda lady will keep you safe."

    Amanda came home with food in hand. It was awhile since Dr. Rosif left and Schultz was back in bed. He awoken once he smelled the heavenly scent of grilled cheese...

    "Y'know, it got me thinking..." Schultz began. "Do I like grilled cheese because God wants me to or because I actually like grilled cheese?"

    Amanda stiffled a bit, taken aback by the question.

    "Oh, I'm sorry!" Schzultz said. "It's just..."

    "I'm not a religious person if that's what you're asking."

    "Me neither, it's just one of my colleagues at NIMH is into this pseudo-philosophical talk..."

    "I think I know how this story is gonna end," Amanda said with a smile.


    "I played a part in draft one."

    There was a brief silence, then Schultz said, "I don't understand."

    "It was incomprehensible. It jumped from place to place, location to location. I made a mistake, a big one, it ended up costing me, but I learned a lot."

    Schultz continued to be bewildered, but Amanda continued.

    "I don't think it's coincidence we met, is what I'm trying to say. I do think it was planned, just like the God or Gods made it so that you love grilled cheese."

    There was yet another brief silence before Amanda continued.

    "I think we're met to be together, Schultzy. I really do. I think there's something about us that just...gels...like grilled bread and cheese."

    Schultz was blank faced, /is this woman really suggesting that we be together...as in 'love?!'/

    "I know you're confused right now," she said. "People are driven mad with the truth; that we're stuck here, alone and left to find meaning in something that could be meaningless. It's caused people much suffering. I want you to put your faith in me, that together we can live with each other in going mad in finding meaning in life. God is talking through me. He loves you as I do, even if he regrets things sometimes."

    Schultz lost his blank-faceness and instread grew a sense of admiration and hope. Despite not fully understanding what Amanda said, he felt great affection for her. He put an arm on her shoulder and she embraced him...

    "I think I know what I must do," he said with a smile.

  • Y'know there were a lot of ways I could've ended this, but I'm going to end it how it should've been ended, which is not ending it and leaving a message.

    Most of what people start out writing is crap, you might get frustrated and never write again. I've seen that happen many times. People have asked me for fanfic advice over the years and I haven't heard nor seen their writings, so I assumed the worse.

    Here's the thing, even the worst, crappiest, shit pieces of art have something to say about their creator and culture. You can take my old forum posts for example. The ramblings of an immature child who had too much free time and was going through such a mental state as to not even bother thinking about what he said. They are there, for all to see at the top of the page (thanks, I mean fuuuuuuuuuu, I mean seriously, thanks Grandpa Leemy!). No I'm actually grateful those are still around (really) and I'm thankful people cared enough for that stuff to be around.

    I was meanspirted, angry, anxiety ridden, guilt ridden, terrified, and let's face it, suicidal. What you'll see in those posts was reflective of the culture I grew up in and me trying to find my place in the world. I was willing to criticize myself and in doing so found myself much more happier.

    It's not easy when you're under stress (either self imposed or not) to take a step back and figure out what causing said stress. To be more mindful of oneself. So if you're writing something and are frustrated because you think it's shit or doesn't make sense or whatever, be willing to look deeper at what's causing that stress. It's easier to make excuses or blame yourself or something else instead of critiquing yourself. If you are your worst enemy, find out why and how you can fix it.

    Humans are wired on flight or fight and it's easier to do the former when it comes to challenges. You'd rather not have to write instead of facing whatever is keeping you from writing. And you know what, even if it comes out bad at first, which it very well might, remember that even the worst pieces of art have something to say about their creator and culture that's worth keeping. Save it, hang it on the fridge, put it on the top of the forum page (why I oughta!!!!) and next time you can say to yourself 'well it was shit, but I had the passion and care to complete something' which is more than a lot of other people can say.


  • ^That post sounded kinda meanspirited. The quality of the work doesn't matter since as I said, it'll have some value in it. Also, my rambling about my old forum posts isn't to excuse them, they are inexcusable. Being mentally ill doesn't excuse bad behavior. Hopefully though my mistakes, I can help someone not to replicate them.

    I hope y'all start writing if you want!

  • It takes a lot of planning to write a good story. That's basically rule number one when it comes to writing a decent narrative. People aren't willing to do it, but it's very important. I made posts on the Discord relating to this and as I'm sick and lazy, I'm not gonna repeat it all. Just plan and know that not all ideas are going to work out.

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