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A Dead by Daylight short story
I am Robert A. J. Strife, author of "Castle of Calamity: On Death's Door" an adult medieval fantasy. I have almost 4k hours in DBD and out of boredom, I wrote a short story. Attached is an audio format if you want to listen instead, enjoy.
The story is also on my website: https://silverauram.wixsite.com/castleofcalamity/post/my-time-in-the-fog-elodie
Dead by Daylight Short Story
Elodie took a deep breath, waiting until the screams stopped before leaving her sanctuary. Squeaking hinges made her throat close as she stepped out from the locker, breath steaming in the air. Snow blanketed the creaking steps—she shivered, hugging her arms tight for warmth as she crept down. A ski-resort lobby, she observed, inching towards the center fireplace, with a smile creasing her cheeks. It wasn't until Elodie rubbed her hands together about the flames that she frowned, feeling no heat. "Figures," she whispered. Mounds of dirty snow piled against the walls and thick walnut columns. Scraps of unbroken planks lay upon a dingy, waterlogged brown carpet. I smell copper.
"Hey," a woman called. Elodie whirled, spotting a soldier of sorts. Tactical trousers, black combat boots, and odd shoulder pads covered her person. Brunette hair peeked beneath a navy blue beret, which brought more questions to her baffled mind. "Help me with this generator."
Have I seen her before? That question seemed to rear its head whenever she left the campfire, lingering at the edge of her mind on light feet. "I'm having trouble with my memory," Elodie admitted, approaching the strange contraption. A near-endless length of wire extended from the machine to the foggy abyss, connecting to the unknown. She took a knee and rubbed stripped wires together, sparks crackling with every stroke. This feels second nature, yet I don't remember anything about this thing.
The other woman pulled on a few levers before placing a pipe bomb on the cold floor. "From the information I gathered, the more you die, the less you remember."
"Bullshit. Are you saying I died?"
She nodded, grey eyes watching with quiet sympathy. "How else would your memory fade? Honestly, I think I'd rather be in the dank corridors of that mansion."
I remember a dagger and blood streaming through my fingers. Elodie scratched her curly brown hair, curious about this woman. Mansion? "Who are you?" Three cylinder pistons of the machine pumped frantically, with the fourth catching up with its brethren in quick succession.
"My name doesn't matter," the woman whispered through the metallic clanger. "I hope Chris didn't get dragged here—" She paused, shooting to her feet. "Someone died."
Elodie's heart pounded, a frenzied beat punching her chest with a heavy fist. The generator lit up with illumination before she stood, scooping up the item she was gifted. Silently, they stalked towards an abandoned yellow snow machine fixed with large treads. Their boots crunched on shattered wood before the woman peered back. "Use that flash-bang I gave you to get away—"
An immense, imposing figure in dark overalls and a white mask appeared in the doorway, towering over them with a raised kitchen knife. Even with the light casting an eerie glow within the lobby, his eyes hid behind walls of black. Deep shadows played tricks with her assessment, like malleable ink kneading her vision like syrupy dough. A cold, emotionless visage fixed upon the mask, imbuing the maniac with an unfeeling demeanor that chilled her blood.
"Elodie, run!" The soldier made for the bar, dove behind the counter, then vaulted the window. Now alone, she rushed for the stairs, boots crunching on slush and snow, chest heaving.
That psycho is right behind me. Desperate, she shouldered into a side room, slamming the door behind her. Mold and rot assaulted her nose; she gagged and pushed forward. An old dirty mattress, stained with someone else's trauma, leaned against the wall. She had enough time to glance at the busted television facing a broken window before the door shattered at her flank. Steel flashed, knife descending—she leaned inexorably against the TV stand, watching the blade sink into the wall with a dull thunk. Without wasting her chance, Elodie found her feet, dropped the flash-bang, then bounded out the window, landing hard. She heard the blast, following a loud buzzer blaring in the distance; a hand touched her arm. "Come on, we have to go. The exit is that way," the militant woman urged. She assisted Elodie up, pulling at her arm with vehemence. Around mounds of heavy boulders, a lumbering black-bearded man with long hair waved them forward.
"We're almost there," Elodie beamed, arms pumping. "Maybe after we leave, you can tell me your name."
It was the gurgling chokes that made her stop and turn. Her beret fell, exposing a head full of brunette hair. The psychopath clenched her tight about the throat as he thrust the kitchen knife through her abdomen. Frozen in place, Elodie watched as the woman beat at his chest with weakened fists. When the fire left her eyes, he flung her aside like old luggage, like garbage. Startled, she remembered her legs and used them to sprint towards freedom.
Moments after running, it was the campfire again, sitting on a fallen log watching the flames dance. I'm here once more, Elodie thought, sighing. Why did I waste that flash-bang? It could've helped keep that woman alive. She gasped and smiled then. I remember now; her name was Jill. The log she perched on numbed her rump, so she shifted her rear. At her feet, nestled in a patch of grass, was a long branch of petrified wood—Elodie tossed it onto the flames and rose. "I'll see her again," she uttered, stepping through the fog.