In memory of Alison Brent

Hi. I feel weird doing this. My name is Jess. I don't know why Ali wanted me to do this but I guess I'll honor it even if I don't really get it.
She gave me the password to an empty blog. I mean, I remember back when Jill died last year she wanted me to help her write an entry but I don't even see that, and I could've sworn there was some other stuff too. She must have deleted it or something. I don't know why she wanted me to post, though...Anyway I guess I should start at the beginning...

My friend Ali Brent was found dead on the 26th of April, next to a metal cage suspended on a pole in an abandoned amusement park we once explored together. The police had recieved a call from someone at the scene. They said that the caller was male, younger, and that there had been gunshots in the background. They hadn't been able to trace the call, but the guy had given a street name, and when they got there they found Ali. She had been stabbed to death and then cut open, the same way as our friend Jill was found.
Ali was an amazing person. She didn't care that I was some dumbass stoner chick who read too many comics. She loved people for who they were. She was a really great artist and writer, and she was one of the most genuinely nice people I've ever known.
The woman who killed her had also killed two of our other friends, Jill and Kevin. It's hard to imagine these things happening in real life. It sounds like a slasher movie or something like that, but it happened. Even harder to believe is that the woman, whose name was Harriett McCullough, thought she was a servant of god, and when the police found her at the scene of the crime they said she was sitting under the cage talking to no one about how god had abandoned her. She'd been shot in both of her knees. The gun was never found, but the police assume it belonged to the young man. They couldn't match the ballistics or anything. You know what, though? Whoever that guy was that shot her, I like him. I hope he doesn't get caught. Harriet McCullough took three of my friends from me. She deserved worse and she ended up getting it.
She killed herself in her jail cell two weeks ago, stole some scissors from god knows where and jabbed out her eyes. No one knows where the scissors came from. She was going to death row anyway.

Last monday I got a call from Ali's cousin Andrew. This poor kid. He was in a bad car accident before Ali died, and he was in a coma when it happened. He comes out of it to find that his cousin, who was like his sister, was dead, and on top of that his head's still not totally ok. He's got vision problems now- says it's like he sees shadows on the edge of everything.
Since Ali's death we've been talking a lot, trying to help each other deal. There are so many mysteries about the whole thing- why was Ali out there? Who was the caller, and how did he know her? Why did her killer target her and Jill and Kevin? It's like Ali had this whole life that none of us knew about, and I still can't believe she hid it so well. We don't know why any of this happened, or what it means, and the hardest part is that we'll probably never know.
Anyway like I said last week Andrew called and said he'd been going through Ali's stuff and found some books with my name written in them, and he was sending them in the mail to my house in Colorado. I got the package today. She'd borrowed a Matt Ruff book and a collection of short stories by Nicola Barker, way back in January. It hurt to see them. While I was putting the books away a paper fell out of one of them, with Ali's handwriting on it, although it's really weird and kind of strained, like she was forcing herself to write. Here's what it says:

Jess-
Tell them what happened to me.

And then the adress of this blog, and her username and password. So that's what I'm doing now.

I went to the abandoned amusement park with Ali about a month before she died. Her car had died, so I gave her a ride so she could get reference photos for a summer art class. I wish I could find the video she took. I don't really have that many videos of her, and barely any of Jill and Kevin, and I'm scared I'm going to forget the way they sound. I still have this stupid booklet we found while we were looking around, and it's one of the most important things I own now.
I went back a few days ago, after getting Andrew's call.
After they found her, there was a big move to get the place torn down, but I guess nothing ever gets done in Arizona because it's all still standing. Well, I guess not all. When we went there together in March, there were these lightning conducters all around the area, and when I went back they were all smashed. Ceramic all over the place, like they exploded or something. But the cages on the poles were still there, and so were the tires and even the police tape from the end of April. I could even tell which cage was the one where Ali's body was found. It was hanging at a weird angle, like someone had smashed it near the base, and...well, there was still a stain on the metal. I left flowers at the base. I wish there was something more I could do.

I'm still not sure what this blog meant to her, but I hope I did the right thing posting. I'm going to leave this up and probably never look at it again. I hope people find this and know what a great person the world lost.

Ali, I miss you so much. Kevin, Jill, I miss you too. You were some of the best friends I ever had, and I'm never going to forget you. You guys know I don't believe in god, but if there is something out there, I hope you guys are together. I'll catch up with you later. Rest in peace.

love, Jess.

Have no regret, have no pity

God please let me just get through this one post and then You can do whatever You want to me, You can leave me for the monster, just let me finish this one last thing.

If any of my family or friends find this...I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, and please please please don't read any further. If you have any respect for me, if you love me at all you will stop here and turn around and remember me like I was and not look any further at this. I love you. I love you. I love you. Close this window and never look at it again.












I went home. There were no police on duty but there was crime scene tape on the door and around the whole area and my neighbors were gone or something because everything was so still. It was hot, I was sweating and had chills running through my shoulders at the same time...I couldn't open the door for a while. I kept trying to turn the handle but my fingers wouldn't move right but I did it finally, turned the key in the lock and pushed it open looking away. And then I looked and then I looked and then I looked and then
There was blood all over. He must have
not going to think about that now. He wasn't there the police took his body. So. So I didn't see. Thank God. And he's safe somewhere and...if I'd seen him I'd go insane. I probably have. I feel like it. I'm laughing now because oh God oh Jesus who thought this would be a good idea? Who decided to put this on the girl who can't even fucking deal with school without losing it who thought I could live through this and not be crazy? I can't can't can't can't can't deal with this and I'm like a broken record but can't stop

More ativan. more red wine. yes let me get numb and tired and sick just let me type right. where was I. blood. blood blood blood all over the floor making the carpet crunch how will Mr. Martinez get the stains out for the next tenant? My bookcase knocked over and my beautiful books on the floor. didn't go into the kitchen. Couldn't.
My room next. untouched. Messy but that's how I left it. Just no change at all like they hadn't even looked in there for me. When I closed the door..(X) burned in perfect lines like someone took their skinny index finger and dragged it across the wood like it was drawing in the dust. My heart my heart
The other room where he was sleeping. Just an air matress and a suitcase and oh god my heart is breaking now please i can't Ican't

the bathroom mirror opened again. Where I found Jill's notebook and those masks remember? Where she tried to help me oh Jill oh Kevin
Stop
the mirror had a print a small hand print a woman's hand. Her hand smudged in blood and I knew she opened it because of course she knew even though no one else knew not even me
inside the mirror, just this:

me and him I can't stop crying. my sophomore year we took this in his house we were making cookies and forgot to put in any sugar and they were the worst things we'd ever had. he said we were the picture of success and took it and got actual prints of it because he likes real physical things
can't breathe this hurts this hurts
on the back

and I know. it's still a trap and a stupid obvious one and this time even my stupidity won't help because i know exactly where and what the monster wants. this time i'll be there on time.
want to know the funny part of this the really awful stupid funny part? my bat. I took it with me to flagstaff and it's sitting in my room at home where it will do no good ever, just another curiosity for my mom to wonder about when I'm gone. if i forgot it in tucson would he still be alive? So I've killed him another way that's one two three ways
but no more okay no more. Because next it'll be Aunt Caroline or Jess or Ted or Dad or Mom and no, next it'll be me and it'll stop there. It has to.

I am not letting the slender man take anyone else from me. is this enough that i'm walking into a trap that i'll die at this old dead place a mile away from a truck stop and a freeway is this enough for Jill and Grandma Alice and Andrew and Kevin? no never never never enough but it's all I can do. if I can. God forgive me and keep me because I will try to commit a mortal sin today even if I fail I can go to hell for the intent of murder right but I don't care just no more that's allI want and you, you're reading this, you're running or fighting or anything just...live, live, live because I can't anymore.

thank you for listening to me
I love you even if I'll never know you
goodbye

the end this has to end

I'm writing this from a hotel room in Tucson. Last night I threw some clothes in my car and drove down here without sleeping, I didn't tell Mom or Ted I was leaving because they'd have come with me and I can't endanger them...now I understand why Jill ran. I'm poison. I can't have this happen anymore. I have to do everything on my own now.
I am very very medicated right now and I'm still crying.
Yesterday I found out Jekyll died. And then a few hours later I got a call from the police. they said that a tall bald man in a suit and a short woman with greying hair had been seen entering my house, and the woman came out later, alone, with blood on her dress. The police were called but my neighbors, who made the call, said the woman had just vanished. The police found my door locked from the inside and when they knocked it down they found blood all over and Kevin
I can't even look at his name when I type it. My eyes keep sliding away.
They found him in the kitchen. They said he had tried to put up a fight. They didn't know how Harriet had overpowered him.
I can't duck this responsibility. I'm at fault and no one can say any different. she killed him because of me.

the police think I'm in flagstaff but my parents probably know I'm here so I don't have much time. I'm goingback to my house if I can face it, and I have to face it, because I neeed-
there's something there and I dont' know what it is but I know there has to be some kind of message from Kevin or Harriet or the fucking monster itself just something sometthing something I can do so I don't kill myself right now

going home, going home. this has to stop.

I know you're going to read this you fucking bitch and why is this happening I love him okay you fucking cunt I love him he's the best thing that happened to me and you you monster you fucking sociopatic monster

oh Kevin please please I love you please don't say she really killed you please don't really be dead

Just to say

...no one's heard from Harriet and although the police are still looking for her in Texas, there's been no sign of her. My mom shouted at them again and I asked her not to do that, and she said the police are idiots if they can't keep a 50 year old woman in jail. I wanted to say it wasn't their fault, that there's nothing they could do, but of course I can't explain it.

But I'm still safe and so is my family, and that's all I can ask.

Thank you Jean for giving a shit about me.

She's gone

Officer Clinton called again. Somehow, and the police can't figure it out, Harriet has gotten out of jail. She's escaped. She's free. She was in an empty cell with no way out and she just vanished.

When he told me I dropped the phone and my mom grabbed it and started screaming at him, asking why the police weren't doing their job, how could they let this happen, and I sat down on the couch and asked her to stop, it wasn't his fault, like a little mouse or something. I don't even think she heard me. But she did stop eventually and said "yes" a few times and hung up the phone and hugged me for a long time. She said that the cops would be watching this house and they were on their way now. I said, "And Andrew" because I thought what if she knows about him, and Mom said "We'll tell the hospital staff, okay?" and she called and we did.

There's at least 2 plain-clothes police officers outside my house right now. I'm being watched again but this time it's for my safety. But I'm scared for them. Because her master got her out of jail and what if it comes with her to Flagstaff? I can't have more of my family hurt, I can't have innocent policemen hurt...god dammit I'm just so scared. I thought this was over. I was so stupid but I did think it was over...

this isn't fair

I thought it was over

Please, please, please, please

I was with Andrew today and I swear to God I saw his foot move. Please, please, please let it be real, let me not have imagined it. I'll do anything, just let him wake up.

*Edit: The doctors said there was never any change. I imagined it after all.

An idyllic holiday

I went hiking on Mount Elden with a friend of mine from high school, and when I got back and checked my phone, I found a message from a Texas police officer named James Caroll. I called him back about an hour ago, and he said he didn't want to scare me, but was there was any way that Harriet could know my current location. I thought, yes, of course, her fucking boss told her, but I said no. He told me she had said something yesterday about Flagstaff, and he'd found it odd enought that he asked for my number from Officer Clinton. He also said don't worry, they'd checked her cell top to bottom and she was very secure. So I thanked him and got off the phone and went back out to take a walk and clear my head, except the trees kept scaring me and that stand of aspens behind out house, I can't really look at it anymore, and I keep having these nightmares that I can't remember.
So I went to visit Andrew in the hospital yet again and cried.

Home, home, home

...and here is where I'm going to stay, at least for the forseeable future. Kevin's going to be keeping an eye on my place in Tucson, until June at least, and the rent runs out in July...we'll see if I decide to go back. I'm almost considering transfering to NAU so I can be near my family, no matter if the art program isn't as good up here.
I noticed that my last post was my 100th post. How lovely, I've done 100 pages on the worst semester of my life. At least the 100th post was sort of happy.

I left Tucson at 5 in the morning, that was how badly I wanted to get up here. I barely even packed, just threw all my clothes into garbage bags and grabbed my laptop and sketchbook and whatever books I had lying around. And my bat. I dropped the key off at Kevin's place (woke him up, sorry Kevin) and was gone by 5:30.

Traffic was light and I managed to get to Flagstaff by early afternoon, before Mom and Ted were off work, so I went straight to the hospital. Aunt Caroline was there, of course. She has to go back to work next week, because she's almost out of paid vacation. She had a lot of vacation days. She was planning on going on a trip to New York with Andrew this summer.

When I saw him on that bed, I started sobbing. He looked so little. Andrew's this tall, gangly kid with a huge mop of curly black hair and they cut all his hair off, shaved it down to stubble, and he's so pale under that California tan...he doesn't look like himself anymore. He looks sick. And that's scary, to see my cousin look so sick, with those big purple bruises around his eyes...he's always been healthy, strong, active. He dances to shitty ska music all the time. He can't be lying in this white room with all these beeping machines around him, looking like...well, he looked like Daniel did, in the end. And that scares me most of all.

Aunt Caroline hugged me and we sat there and cried and held his hands and talked to him. He didn't wake up, of course. That's not how it works in real life. The doctors say if he doesn't come out of it within a month, his chances are slim. And Aunt Caroline doesn't know if she can pay for him to stay on life support. Which is...God, I don't even want to think about it.

Ted made french toast for dinner tonight, which he always does to cheer me up. He has a special way of making it that no one can come close to. Ted is wasted as a principal, he should have been a cook. We sat around the dinner table and it felt so empty, and outside was so cloudy and cold. Usually when I'm home it's all jokes and plans and hanging out on the couch watching basketball, but even though there's a Suns game on tonight and Ted always wants to watch them play the Spurs, the tv stayed off and we just sat around talking for hours.
But even if it's weird at home, I'd still rather be here than anywhere else. I feel safe here, and I'm close to Andrew. And that's all I can be.

One more thing- I'm retiring the (X) as a tag. Jill said it marked the Slender Man's territory, and I don't want it on anything of mine.

Saved

Kevin is...God, there are no words. If I ever doubted it I think I know now, I think I'm willing to admit it. I'm in love with him. I'll probably never tell him but I think I have been ever since we met in freshman year, at a party at Christian's house (and where is Christian now?) and someone introduced us and he made a really awful pun about beer and I was the only one who laughed. He makes all these Dad jokes all the time, so bad they're funny, and if you don't laugh he just looks at you and crosses his eyes or does something stupid until you start laughing after all. He's always been there for me, whether he knows it or not, and I love him, I love him, I've never been in love before but I know this like I know my own name.

Kevin paid for my car to be fixed, so that I can go to Flagstaff and hold my cousin's hand.

He didn't tell me what he was doing until he'd scheduled it at the dealership. He said I could repay him by letting him stay in my house for a month, because his lease will be up soon and he hasn't found another place yet. I told him I'd have let him stay for free, and he waved me off and said if it mattered that much, I could pay him back when I got a job, but for now I should just get to Flagstaff and be with Andrew and the rest of my family. He spent over $200 on my stupid shitty car and then he gave me a book of funny short stories he'd gotten at Bookman's, just to cheer me up. He's the kindest person alive.



I'm getting the car back tomorrow. I'm going to be in Flagstaff by this time Wednesday. I am 21 years old, of sound body and heart if not sound mind, and I do hereby declare that I, Alison Laura Brent, am in love with Kevin Vaughn and if this ends, if this fucked up stupid thing somehow miraculously blows over, I will tell him so.

This is such a sappy fucking post but you have to believe me, every single word is true.

Just this

Andrew is still stable, still not responding. There is nothing new. Nothing. No tentacles, no monster, no nightmares of Andrew lying alone and the monster comes back to finish what it started, no waking up cold and scared because it's dark and something's thrashing outside the window. No ghosts of my grandma asking why. No phone calls from my mom where I have to try to be brave. There's no lying awake thinking about what if Kevin or Jess or Mom or Ted or Aunt Caroline or Dad and Laurie and Hannah catch its eye. No circles under my eyes, no empty bottles, nothing. Just empty space between the phone calls.

did some digging

In Jill's notebook, she mentions a teacher who saved her from the Slender Man. Miss Mary, she said was her name. She says elsewhere in the book that she went to Kyrene Del Norte elementary school, and that she was six when she was attacked. So I looked the school up online and called them to ask who was teaching first grade in 1996-98, because I couldn't remember when Jill was born exactly. They told me that they'd had three teachers during that time: Ellen Shapiro, Don Murphy, and Mary Gomez. I asked if I could get in contact with Ms. Gomez, pretended I was writing a paper about early education, and the secretary at the school told me that Mary Gomez had died, tragically, in an accidental house fire in 1999.

I hung up the phone.

Miss Mary saved Jill and she died.

Grandma Alice saved me and she died.

Kevin saved me and Andrew got in a car crash, and he's been in a coma for a week.

I can't do this much longer. I'm taking ativans faster than my perscription will allow, and drinking every day. And I haven't really been eating much because if I don't eat I can get drunk off less and I can save to get my car fixed and visit Andrew, and besides I'm not that hungry anyway. It's easier to deal with things if you sleep through most of the day. It's easier to live when you're not concious. Something has to change. Something has to be...I'd almost prefer when Harriett was still out because she was sharp, real, something I could fight. This is like being buried slowly by a machine. Nothing I do will have any effect. I can't solve any puzzles because there are no puzzles, just Andrew's coma and the tentacles thrashing outside my window if they're really there at all.

Am I crazy? It's not the first time I've asked this. If you look through these entries I look crazy. I'd say the pictures I drew when I was little are proof but they're not. What if this is me bringing up memories of my imaginary friend to deal with my real freind's death? What if this monster shit is just my mind finally breaking, right, some ghost called up and me believing it because my brain chemistry just happens to be that tiny bit off, and shifting? I know you can call up fake memories. I wrote about it. I wrote all of this. I could be lying though, I could be telling myself lies. Maybe even the comments aren't real. I never looked up mental illnesses, never went to therapy after I got diagnosed. I hate it. I want to say it's not who I am but it keeps coming back and back and back...I used to cut my legs up when I was sixteen and now I keep looking at knives like they'll fix things for me. I used to get drunk and cry wildly like a little kid haaving a temper tantrum and now I just get drunk and stare at the wall. Like I'm catatonic which is not a sane thing to do.

drunk again, now. Started sober. It's taken me hours to write this. Another thing I used to do when I was drunk was use capital letters and shout at the screen and again now I just stare and stare and star e and stare and stare and stare and

I just can't do this much longer.

What I know now

...is not much more than I knew before.

Let's start at the beginning. Today I woke up at noon and put on jeans and a T-shirt, and biked to the store to buy a bottle of wine. I figured that if nothing happened, I'd get drunk and try again. It ended up being windy and cloudy, but it doesn't really matter that much. Not like bright weather would do a lot to help my fears.
I got home and turned on the air conditioning, and locked all my doors. Then I taped newspaper over all of the windows, and shut all the blinds for good measure. I'm sure my neighbors think I'm insane. I honestly don't give a shit.
My house was sort of dark, like it was twilight inside, so I turned on all my lights. A huge waste of electricity, but again, I don't care. None of it really matters at the moment. It's not like I've got to worry a lot about the long term.

So I sat down with my laptop near me, and put on a ticking metronome thing I got online (here, if anyone cares), and I closed my eyes and listened to the ticking and thought about the Slender Man.

It wasn't hard. It's never far from my thoughts, really. I pictured it in its entirety- the height, the suit, the facelessness. The shiny shoes and long fingers and how it's so pale. I thought about how I used to call it Mr. Moon when I was little. I tried to remember being in the forest by my house and seeing that faceless face peer out from behind a tree.
I thought about it in my silent house with the doors flying open behind it.
I thought of it appearing in front of Andrew's car.
I thought about it standing in front of Jill, tentacles reaching out to cut her open.

I started shaking.
In the end, I did have a flashback, although it's not like I'd imagined it would be. I thought it would be like in the movies, where a person feels like they're in the moment again, and they can see and hear and taste that moment again. It's not like that. I never thought I was six again, I never lost the sensation of being in my living room with this ticking next to me. But I saw it, like one of those dreams where you know you're asleep.

I saw myself -- well, no, that's not right, I was myself as a little kid. Maybe 8, I'd guess. And it was summer, and I was coming out of a pine forest, on the side of the hill covered in brown needles, and I was walking home by myself. It was the middle of the afternoon and the sun was in my eyes, and then suddenly it wasn't, because Mr. Moon was blocking it out. And he had all of his arms reaching, reaching. I could see my house behind him. And Mr. Moon wasn't friendly anymore, he didn't feel safe anymore and he hadn't in a long time, and I had to get home so I'd be safe from him, so I could hid under my blankets and make him go away. I dodged his arms and ran.
I remember now that I tripped. My foot caught in a gopher hole or something and I landed on my outstretched hands, dirt and pine needles all down my front. I'd scraped my palms in the fall but the blood that would've sent me screaming for my mom didn't even register because Mr. Moon was turning around. He was leaning, reaching for me.
And I saw my Grandma Alice come out of the house, carrying a bottle of water, and in my adult, grown-up Ali mind in Tucson in 2011, I was screaming no, no, go back inside, please don't do this I know what you're going to do and I can't bear it if you see, but 1997 Ali was screaming the opposite, Grandma, Grandma, help me. And she turned around and ran to me and picked me up and comforted me. She never saw the monster at all, never saw it set one hand gently, gently on her forehead and then vanish. I did. I saw it and cried, but with relief, because when I was 8 I thought it was over. The faceless face outside my window went away, the forest felt safe again.
And then 2 years later Grandma Alice died. Of a stroke.

And then I open my eyes and let all the tears out.

I've known, intellectually, that when I was little, the Slender Man came after me. I've known it since February. Probably even before then, in some corner of my mind. I can look at the proof and figure out that for a period of 3 or 4 years (years! I can barely believe it) the monster hung around my house. And I know, obviously, that I escaped somehow. But it was like something I read about in the news, or heard second-hand. And now, suddenly, it's not. It's something that happened to me. And the reason I'm not...whatever happens to those kids, is because of Grandma Alice. She saved me, just like Kevin saved me last week, and God, oh please God let her stroke have been a coincidence because I couldn't bear it if her death was my fault...

I remember that Jill talked in her notebook about being saved too, when she was little. Her teacher saved her. I'm going to try and look that teacher up.

Remember

I realized that there is something I can do. It's probably not going to help, probably just going to make things worse but I don't care. If there's even the slightest chance of helping Andrew, of shifting the monster's focus back to me so it stops hurting the people I love, if I can remember anything that will help...so I'm going to do it. I'm going to try and remember.

I posted about this before, a while ago, and then abandoned the idea when Daniel attacked me. I said, and I quote, "it's off the table unless things get desperate." And I think this qualifies.

Tomorrow is going to be hot and sunny and utterly average in every way. A Wednesday. I'm going to lock all my doors and tape over my windows and play something rhythmic in the background, and try to remember. And pray that it works, and that it's worth it.

Bad bad things

I don't...I don't have the money to visit Andrew. My car is very old and doesn't work well, and last night I thought the battery died, but it was really some kind of complicated electrical issue that the honda dealership says will take over 200 dollars to fix, and my parents can't give me money because they have to help with Andrew and we don't have that much money anyway so...god dammit I just don't know what to do. I've been calling every few hours hoping for something to change but he's still in a coma...I'm useless. What would I do if I were there? Apologize? Have the Slender Man follow me back? Sit there all pointless at the edge of his bed, tell Aunt Caroline that everything's going to be okay?

Jess and Kevin were over last night offering support. I appreciate it but I sent them home because what if they get hurt too? Kevin was the one who saved me on friday. If something happened...

so I've been sleeping a lot. I sleep and then I wake up and call Mom and ask about Andrew, and then fall asleep again. I wouldn't mind as much if the monster came for me in my sleep. At least I wouldn't see it coming.

It's 1:30 in the afternoon, roughly, and I'm going back to sleep. Maybe when I wake up everything will be okay.

Andrew is my brother, almost. Andrew is this sweet funny kid who likes hockey and crappy movies and skateboarding. Is, is, is, is. And will always be.

Andrew got into a car crash while he was driving down to see me last night. The guy who saw it happen said he swerved to avoid a guy in a black suit in the middle of the road. The car flipped. Andrew's in ICU and Mom's saying he's in a coma but he's stable now but he might not wake up.

This is my fault. This is my fault. This is my fault.

And...

Toniight...wait I can't type still shaking



Okay. Okay. I came home tonight and put my backpack down and the house was silent. Everything silent and unnatural, like God turned the volume down except it wasn't God of course.
Silence though. Utter. Complete. I've never not heard anything at all. It was like I was deaf, but even more- I could almost feel the lack of sound. It was unreal. April fools right? Ha ha fucking ha.
And then the doors started swinging open one by one by one by one, bang bang bang bang bang hitting the walls so loud in that silence that absence like gunshots like breaking bones BANG BANG

and it was there


those waving tentacles oh God more absence, just space between real and unreal and if they touch me I'll die I'll go crazy I'll go crazy anyway because they're

reaching for me

and then and then

someone knocks on the door. Like a blessing. I can hear him knock. And the monster vanishes swirling tendrils black suit blank face all just gone, like a bad dream...like it was imaginary. And I can barely get up off the floor to answer the door but I do and it's Kevin and he's smiling and he hugs me while I cry and I can't breathe. He's sleeping on the couch in the next room over. He's real. He's saved me. I told him it was pent-up from the Harriet thing and he believed me And he can never, never, never know otherwise.

More later. I'm alive but just...still here. Still sane. That's it.

And good things come in threes

Andrew is coming to visit me. He's gotten a job so he can afford the gas money to drive from Santa Cruz, and it's his spring break next week so he should be here by about the 2nd of April. I haven't seen him in almost a month and I can't wait to talk to him again. We might head up to Flagstaff together too, which would be lovely. I'd get to see Mom and Ted and Aunt Caroline and for once, the circumastances will be good.

And Jess got an internship she's been excited about forever. She's going to Portland to work for a publishing company over the summer, and she's so thrilled, and I'm so happy for her.

The trial is going to happen in May. I have to talk to the police next week but I don't mind. Things are finally, finally working.

Thanks again for all the comments, guys. I know it's foolish or premature or...well, I don't really care. I feel like this might be the end of this whole thing. I mean, I hope it is, obviously, but...it's too soon to say, and I keep telling myself not to get complacent, but with all this beautiful spring weather and her in jail...it's easy to believe that everything will be alright.

She's in custody

The Texas police have her, I want to dance around my house and scream. I feel free. Like a weight was taken off my shoulders. I guess that's a cliche because it's true.

Officer Clinton called a few minutes ago and said that for the moment, she's being held in Texas, although they'll be bringing her to Tucson for the trial. He says she's lawyered up but she's got no case. No case. She's going to jail. He says the insanity defense probably won't work for her, because of the way she hid the murder for so long, and so carefully. But even if she's declared insane, she'll be put in an institution. I don't care where she goes, as long as she goes away.

I'll have to testify against her, and I won't like it - I'll probably be terrified - but I can do it. I have to, or she walks. Which I will not have.

Thanks for your comments, guys. Jekyll, I don't know what to tell you, I've never been off the radar in my life. I wouldn't know how to go about being untraceable. But thank God Harriet doesn't know either.

I'm going to sleep now. Safely. God bless.

Two can play

You know a lot about me now, Harriet. But you don't know me. And you're not the only one who can get information.

Your name's Harriet McCullough. You live in Marietta, Texas, on the edge of the woods outside of town. You're a short white woman with brown eyes and brown hair, although it's mostly grey now.You're a retired secretary, never married, in your late 50's. No children. You've lived in Texas most of your life. You're active in your church. That's interesting. Do you pretend to pray to God when you're really praying to the monster?
You probably think you're special, chosen, like a disciple. Maybe even a messiah. You want me to know it too. But you're not just taunting me. I think you honestly believe that I'm going to somehow get over the fact that you tortured Jill and then murdered her, that we're going to become friends. You're insane but you're very good at hiding it. None of your neighbors even suspected what you did to Jill.

And how do I know this about you? You never gave me your name. I've never been to your town, never seen you. You've told me nothing.
But I'm not stupid. The moment I sobered up on Wednesday, I called Officer Clinton. I turned over the notebook, told the police I'd found it by my front door. They traced your IP adress from your posts on twitter. How does it feel to be caught by fucking twitter? And they put a trace on my phone, you stupid bitch. Why do you think I listened to you on Thursday? Why do you think I didn't hang up as soon as I recognized your voice? They know you called from a pay phone in Marietta. I guess it was smart of you to not use your home phone, but you live in a small town. How hard do you think it was for the police to talk to local law enforcement, ask about Harriets in the area? Did you really think the Slender Man would protect you?

But as much as I'd love to say these things to you, I know you'll probably never read this. Because Officer Clinton just called and told me that the police in Marietta have just broken down your door. So fuck you, you evil bitch. You're done.

Harriet again

I'm sorry about the last entry. I keep telling myself I won't pull this drunk, self-pitying shit anymore and I do it over and over again...anyway.

After I posted last night I cried for an hour and then took a long shower and sobered up and went to sleep. And stayed asleep for most of today. And then I got a phone call from Harriet.
She asked how I was doing, chatting like an old friend. She knows so much about me. It's awful. She told me she was worried about me, that I was destroying myself before I could be saved by her fucking fake god. I didn't even bother arguing. I just sat there and listened while she talked to me as if she were my friend. At some point she realized I wasn't listening very hard, and said she'd call back later and hung up. And I did the whole crying panic attack ativan sleep thing again. Rinse and repeat.

The upshot of this is that I'm really, really disconnected right now, and I think I'm not as over my sickness as I thought I was, because my throat still hurts and now I can't sleep because my sleep schedule's all fucked up...More sedatives, more depressants. I'm being careful, though. Don't want to give Harriet the satisfaction of seeing me die. Or something. I feel like theres something I'm missing. Something I've forgotten or forgotten to do.




I don't know what to do.

What the FUCK

Jekyll told me to look at my twitter, which I made last month and then sort of forgot about. And so...H. - Harriet - is posting there. And I saw it, and my heart went sort of funny, and now I'm daytime drunk and I just took an ativan too so that's a great idea, isn't it.
She knows my name. Well it's right there int he damn title, isn't it, and she must read thsi blog now, because I linked to here and she read the latest entry and what the fuck, I almost want toj ust delete everything but I don't want to be alone. I don't want her to see me but I want to be seen. Shit. This isn't making any sence. I can't get into the account to delete her tweets and you know what's realy stupid? I keep getting mad about having to say the word "tweet" because it makes me feel like an asshole. The woman who killed my firned is on my accounts and she knows me and I'm scared to death but I still don't want to fucking use a weord because it sounds stupid so what the fuck is wrong with me.

Fuck. I don't even know. I'm not even sure how to react. Can the  police do something because I need...fuck, I need something to happen to move forward or change or jsut///dasFUCK FUCK FUCK. Can't even type right? God I'm useless. I hate this. She has no fucking right to act like she cares about me, like she knows me like she didn't fucking kill my friend for christ's sake

fuck

just forget it. you awful bitch, you win ok? I'm crying so hard I fcant see so you fucking win.leave me alone.

Better

I'm over that cold. It was really bad, and really poorly timed...I've got the notebook up, by the way. I did it two days ago but forgot to make a post. It's on another page, the link's above this entry in the title bar.

When I wrote the last post...I was kind of delirious, miserable, guilty. I'm not in the same frame of mind now- more just tired and...I don't know, blank. Like nothing is happening- nothing good, nothing bad. And nothing has happened. I didn't even remember what I was trying to remember last time I posted.

I do have some things to say about the notebook. I still haven't given it to the police because I don't know what to say, but they'll want it. And somehow I don't want to give it up. I feel like I have to keep it near me, like it's my last link to my friend. I can trace the marks her pen made, I can turn the surprisingly well preserved pages and feel like she's still talking to me, gossiping about a hipster boy she kissed, playing tic-tac-toe with a little kid.
Calling for help.

I don't know if I'll ever get over the fact that I didn't believe her. I keep wondering, if I'd listened, if I'd gone on the run with her, would she still be alive? Would Harriet (which has to be H's real name) have taken her? Could we have looked out for each other or would we both be dead with nothing to show for it, not even someone to remember us and know the truth?

She was trying to protect me. Even at the very end, she was trying to save me, and I fucking jumped right in after her, making all these mistakes...and the symbol's useless. All this time I thought it was...I don't know, like showing the sign of the cross to a vampire. It made the monster go away. But what do you do if there's no way to defeat the monster? What if the monster always gets you in the end?
And you know what? Fuck this. Names, symbols, codes, notebooks..it doesn't matter. We die. We die and we keep dying and we turn into monsters ourselves and none of these safety measures are working, nothing is stopping the Slender Man so fuck it, I'm going to call it by its name. It's not as if not saying those two words has kept it away.

I'm sorry, I'm just...I'll be more cheerful tomorrow. I'll keep my head up and start working on solving codes or something, some way forward. I'll be a ray of fucking sunshine. But not today. I just can't.

sick

I have the notebook scanned and the transcript written, now I'm just putting it all together. I can't think...I can't think. I have this awful headache, I feel dizzy when I move, I feel nauseous and tired and my heart feels like it's beating too hard.
Charlotte said on her blog that we might be being attacked because we threaten the monster. And I would so, so love to believe that. But I'm curled up under my covers and shivering and I could never be a threat to anyone. Maybe some of the others, but not me. I'm just an art student.
Jean says it migh be group hallucinations and God help me I think she could be right. I know I've got a fucked up mind. Other people have said the same, if the other people exist and I'm not making it up in my own head. Maybe Jill dying made me go crazy. Maybe I'm one of those people whose friends say "oh she seemed fine I don't know what hapened" on the news when I go crazy and end up walking down the middle of Speedway road in my pyjamas and a scuba mask or something. I don't know how else to explain some of thsi stuff. Because I can accept the giant looming monster but I can't accept that some people have magic powers or something, I can't accept people coming back from the dead. There's some smoke and mirrors going on but I don't know what or where and really that probably means it's in my mind and other people's minds.

There was something else. I can't think of it now. Something with my computer, or a dream...I think I have a fever. I think I should sleep.

I'm sorry Daniel. I never really wanted you dead.s

Officer Clinton just called and told me that Daniel's dead.

Where I'm going from here

I've been scanning the notebook and typing up a transcript because I know Jill's handwriting is hard to read...
I have it all scanned and worked on the transcript all last night, and most of today. I'm going to take it to the police soon, but I want my own copies. I'm not sure how I'll explain finding it to the police.

It's...I'm going to level with you guys, it's really hard to read. I have to keep taking breaks, I have to keep putting it aside to cry...but I'm close to finishing, and then it'll be behind me, and I might know more about what's going on. If nothing else I'll know what Jill's last few months...
Anyway.

I don't know why I wasn't attacked or threatened or anything at the exit...I didn't have any means of defense. I felt horrible for endangering Jess like that, but...I couldn't think of going out there alone, and bringing the bat would've made her suspicious.
But we weren't attacked. There was nothing there, other than the symbol and the notebook and a bunch of junk. The only thing that was weird was the broken lightning arrestor thing, and even that wasn't very strange. Could have happened in a storm, or someone with a bat could've gotten destructive. The only thing I can think of is that I didn't get the message when I was supposed to, and whatever was trying to trap me got tired of waiting.
I got the picture of the exit on January 27th. It's been almost two months since then, a really long time for anyone or anything to devote to waiting for me to show up. For once, my stupidity might be on my side.

In any case...that's what I've concluded, and I'll have the notebook up for you guys soon. I'm doing it as a page rather than a post, to save space.

Stay safe.

I'm still here

I'm still safe. I would have had this up earlier but I've been busy. First editing this video, and then...well, you'll see.

I went out to Exit 208 with my friend Jess. I told her it was so I could get reference pictures for a summer class. That's her in the purple shirt.
I don't think she suspected anything. I think I'm a good enough actress that I pulled it off. She didn't say anything weird on the drive back.
And...sorry about the camera work. I'm an art major, not media arts. I tried to cut out all the stuff that wasn't relevant. That's why some of the clips have better image quality- they're the ones I didn't cut.

Daniel in the hospital

Firstly, and most important at least for me, Scott's okay. Thank God. You can't even imagine the relief I felt when I saw him post...well, maybe some of you can. In any case...Jesus, so glad he's alright.

Now to the hospital visit.

Daniel is being treated at University Medical Center. They've determined that whatever he has isn't contagious, and is similar to what would happen if he were exposed to a very high level of radiation, although the doctors can't find any trace of radioactivity in his body. They don't know what's going on, but they're treating it like radiation sickness.

When I arrived at UMC yesterday, Officer Clinton and another police officer, a woman named Officer Moreno, met me in front of the Urgent Care center. They took me to the room where Daniel was being treated, telling me along the way that the police were still unable to identify him, and he didn't seem to remember his last name. They warned me that he might not be responsive or even concious, or he might be awake and violent. They said that at any sign of trouble, I'd be out- no arguments, no returning. Which was fine with me.
They were keeping him in a clean room- not because he was being quarantined, but because he's so succeptible to infections. We had to wear suits over our clothes, and face masks.
He looked...bad. Most of his hair's fallen out by now, and he looks like he's been starving...his whole body was a mass of tubes, and he had a breathing mask on his face. The room had  this sneaking sour smell, like something was rotting far away...and I knew the smell was coming from him, that he was rotting from the inside out. I was scared to death but I wanted to fucking kill myself for wishing this on him.

I didn't muster up the guts to go very near him. His eyes were open. They looked like a calm ocean. All I could hear was the machines beeping and his breath- harsh, painful. He spoke first.
"You're not dead." His voice was very weak, and he spoke slowly, as if he were dreaming. The police officers behind me stood up straighter.
"No." I said, and there was a pause that was kind of akward in hindsight. Anything I'd wanted to ask him went out of my head, and I realized that I'm an idiot- I couldn't ask him for information about the monster with the police in the room.
"He's coming for you. He knows your name now." He looked slowly between the two police officers on either side of me, and then down. "I'm sorry."
I flinched. He continued.
"I didn't want...he made me. He hurt me...spiders in my head. Nails and stones. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to."
And he started crying, but breathless, just gasping while tears ran down his face and into his oxygen mask. I started to choke up too.
"It's okay." I managed to say, trying to stay calm even though all I wanted to do was run away and never face this poor man who had tried to kill me.
"He's not gone..." he said. He started to tremble very slightly, which got more violent as he spoke. His voice, too, got stronger. "He's in my head now. He wants me to stand up and strangle you but I'm too weak now." 
Daniel made this awful choking sound that I realized was laughter. And then he looked me dead in the eyes and said "I'm sorry" again. And he started convulsing, bucking on his bed like he was having a seizure.

A nurse ran past us and went to hold him down, another told us to leave, polite but firm. I couldn't think. We were out in the hallway before I knew it. The smell of decay was stronger and I felt sick. Officer Clinton led me down the hall and took my face mask when I pulled it off. He asked if I was alright and, when I nodded, he told me that Daniel had been talking about his master since they'd taken him in. He said that Daniel was probably schizophrenic, with delusions of being controlled by an outside force. I didn't argue. I left the hospital and drove home. I was in that room for less than ten minutes and I can't stop thinking about it.

I'm going to exit 208 tomorrow. It's time I did something.

Codes and the visit

The police have decided to allow me to visit Daniel in the hospital, although there will be two armed officers with me just in case. They did say it probably won't be needed, as he can't stand, but...I certainly won't complain. I am now starting to regret pushing so hard for this, but since I'm supposed to visit tomorrow, I can't back out now. I won't let myself back out.

And as for the other part of my title...since I'm withdrawn from school now, I've been spending a lot of time working on the code in this entry of Vivere Disce. I'm not making any progress, though. I've never been good with puzzles. But I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened and I didn't at least try. I already might have missed Scott...I really, really don't want to think about that. He was - is - a good kid, and if he's not...fuck, I don't even want to think about it. It hurts too much.

Finally, Andrewakoerner and Charlotte...thank you so much. I started crying when I read your comments. I know I say this a lot, but I'd probably be even worse off if I didn't know there were people out there who cared about me. The reassurance of strangers is worth so much to me right now.

Police reactions

I went to the police today, as I said I would...I didn't tell them about Exit 208. To be honest, I forgot about it until I got home today. Whatever's there will have to wait a little longer, if it is still there.

Back to the police station.
Officer Clinton called me back to give an account of what happened with Daniel. I don't know if I mentioned this in the post, but I didn't give an account afterwards because they took me to the hospital first, and didn't need me to testify right away since they caught him in the act of battery. Look at all these legal terms I'm learning.
Anyway, I told him as much about what happened with Daniel as I could, and then went into the phone call from H. And one mystery has been solved- Marietta. It's the name of the town where Jill's body was found. In hindsight, I should've figured that out.

I was right, by the way. They can't trace the call on my cell phone, but they have told me to record any further calls from H., and that if she threatens me in any concrete way, to let them know. If she calls again, they can put a trace on my phone for the next time. I tried not to get angry, even though it's such a stupid and circuitous way of doing things. The police have all these guidelines that they have to follow even though they don't exactly make sense. They don't seem to know what to do with my case. I don't blame them, really. In all honesty, I'm not giving them all the information they need, and even if they had all the information...well, what? They'd try to handcuff the monster? It's ridiculous.

Officer Clinton did tell me something about Daniel. They can't find any form of identification, and he's refusing to tell them anything other than his first name, when he's concious. His fingerprints aren't on record (not surprising, if he's never been arrested before) and they're currently looking through the missing persons archives for someone to match his description.
He's getting worse.
I asked Officer Clinton to let me see him. I know it's stupid, I know it's dangerous, I know. But I have to. He had no choice in what he did. Whoever he is, whatever he might have done, he deserves to know that someone will remember him. I owe it to him, even though he tried to kill me.
When I asked to see Daniel, Officer Clinton was pretty reluctant. Which makes sense, really. He said he'd check with the hospital and with his superiors, but he wasn't sure it would be a good idea...I couldn't explain to him why I need to do it.

With all of this going on, I've somehow managed to get a withdrawal for this semester. It won't affect my GPA, and I can go back in the fall.
God, I hope I can go back in the fall.

I'll hear back from Officer Clinton about Daniel in a few days. Tonight Kevin's staying over, which he offered to do on his own. Usually when he comes over we watch scary movies, but I've lost my taste for them recently.

I'll let you guys know what happens with Daniel, of course. Until then, please, please stay safe.

Sorry about the wait for this.

Ativan. Ativan is amazing.
I tried to start writing the last entry and then...well, you saw. I called Kevin and hit post while I was on the phone, sorry.
I've been at Kevin's since then. It was safe to tell him about H. He said he'd come with me to the police station tomorrow. They need to take down my account of what happened with Daniel anyway, so I might as well tell them about the call then. I'm glad Kevin's with me now.

...I'm avoiding this, aren't I.
I was doing dishes and heard my phone ring, noticed that it was an unlisted number, and picked it up. I'll do my best to provide a transcript, but after a certain point I was freaking out too much to pay attention, so it'll be only an approximation.

Me: Hello?
Woman with a light Southern accent, she sounds middle-aged: Hello darling, how are you doing today?
Me: Um, who is this?
H. (because this is her, of course): Oh, of course, you wouldn't have recognized me. I'm your dear friend in Marietta.
Me: I think you've got the wrong number...
H: Well how about that. I could've sworn you were Jill's little friend Shining-
I almost drop the phone
H: Ah, yes, it is you, isn't it dear? I was worried for a minute that you wouldn't pick up.
Me (breathless, almost crying): What do you want?
H: I just wanted to pass along my condolences to Daniel. The Lord has abandoned him to his failure.
Me (babbling, and I'm not sure if I actually said this): Okay I'll pass it along.
H: Oh, you are just too sweet. I wish I could tell him in person, but...well, these old bones just don't handle travel like they used to. Did you get my letter, sweetie?
Me: (some noise or other- I'm now crouching on the floor, hyperventilating)
H: I'll take that as a yes. Well, that's good to know. The Lord is coming to you, dear. You'd better get your affairs in order, and quickly, because He is coming to take you into His arms.
Me (shouting): It's not God!
H (angry): Don't you dare take that tone when you speak of Him! (and then she starts talking about how the monster actually is God or something, I started crying at this point and stopped listening. About a minute in, I realize she's not talking anymore, waiting for me to stop crying.) Are you finished, sweetie?
Me: Just leave me alone...
H (sounding genuinely hurt): Now why would you say such a hurtful thing? I know we've never met, but from what Jill told me about you, you're a very sweet girl. There's no need to act so rude.
Me (whispering): You don't get to talk about Jill.
H: What was that, dear? You'll have to speak up.
Me (crying again): You don't get to talk about her, you evil bitch.
H: Well! If we're going to be calling names, then I'm going to get off the phone. You let me know when you're ready to talk like civilized people. I'll be around.
(she hangs up)

I was curled up in a ball for half an hour, and then tried to post the previous entry, which...well, you see what happened.
I'll tell you tomorrow what happens at the police station. Maybe Officer Clinton can get a trace on my phone somehow, or something. Maybe he can figure out how H. got my number but still doesn't seem to know my name. Maybe he can figure out some way to keep me safe.

She didn't even threaten me, and I was collapsed on the floor. What the hell can I do if things get worse?

No, no, no no no

can't believe thsi I got a call today from a blocked number and it was her it was H and she


Fuck I can't see I'm crying too hard oh god doammit

Of course.

I'm a fucking idiot. Why didn't I get this sooner?
I was driving home from Flagstaff this morning, drove down I-10 and about halfway between Phoenix and Tucson, near a small town called Eloy...God, I must have driven past the sign a hundred times. All that back and forth between Flagstaff and Tucson. What a moron.

Exit 208 on the I-10 is a street called Sunshine Boulevard.

So there's something down there. This has to be what Jill meant by the photo. This post has the details from the picture, for reference.
I googled "AZ sunshine blvd miligan" because of the last word on the photo, and there's a street called Milligan that branches off of Sunshine Boulevard. I didn't go down there today, because I didn't know what I'd find...look, let's be honest, it's pretty obvious that it's a trap. Or something that won't end well for me. Why would I get a photo delivered almost to my doorstep otherwise? It's not like anyone involved in this thing is on my side. Certainly not the monster, certainly not H, and if I ever had my doubts about Daniel being dangerous, well...my voice is still harsh every time I try to talk.

Frankly, I'm not really sure how to proceed. I have to find out what's at that exit, but I know I'd probably be walking into some kind of trap. I know I have to keep my friends and family safe but I'm so worn out from being alone. I think I have to remember what happened when I was little, because if I escaped the monster then, I might be able to do it again, at least for a little while, but I'm so fucking scared.

What in the hell am I going to do?

What's happening with Daniel

I realize I hadn't posted in a few days- sorry if anyone was worried. I've been keeping up on things, but since monday, nothing's happened that's warranted a post. Just hanging out with my mom and Ted and Aunt Caroline. Mom's teaching me to knit (Grandma Alice tried to teach me when I was little, but it didn't stick). It's a nice distraction, and I'm picking it up faster than I thought I would.

Anyway, as fascinated as you all surely are by my knitting prowess, that's not the reason I posted. I got a call from Officer Clinton today, telling me that I might not need to testify after all. Daniel is getting worse. And this somehow makes me feel like absolute shit.
When he broke into my house I thought he was going to kill me or worse. I can barely think about it still. And I wanted him to die. As much as I turn away from that, as much as I try to deny it and say it was exaggeration in the heat of the moment, when I look down into myself I see that cold hard truth.

I know of quite a few bloggers who have killed, in self defense or otherwise. Some are haunted by it, some take it in stride...some glory in it, and those ones scare me, no matter what else they're like. I'm afraid of that murderous impulse- in others, and in myself. I thought it wasn't there, but it is, buried under a load of bullshit, cowardice masquerading as pacifism or...I don't know. I hate that part of myself. I'm 21 years old and this is honestly the first time I've ever thought someone deserved to die...and he's dying. And every time I try to convince myself that I'm right, that he has it coming, that this is what he deserves, I think of that moment when he grabbed my arm and told me to remember his name. His eyes were desparate. I think even then he knew he was dying, and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.
I don't know how much he resisted the monster, or if he did at all. I don't know if he hurt me against his will. I don't even know who he is. But I wanted him dead...

...

Back again

I slept all day. Mom and Ted were at work, and didn't know. And then I get back on the blogs tonight and just...everything is going to hell for everyone, still, and I kind of started crying when I read Alora's post because...well, what else can I say?

I'm scared to go back to Tucson on Sunday. I got a call from Officer Clinton today, asking if I can come in when I get back to give an account of what happened with Daniel, who is apparently still in the hospital and not improving. They want to know if I'll testify against him when he gets better. I told them I will, but honestly I'm not sure what'll have happened by the time he goes to court...I could be dead by then, or worse...

I'm sorry, I'll stop being so fatalistic. It's not helping at all, is it?

I know this is so small, but..stay safe, and good luck.

Ugh

The monster is back...it was outside my window all night. My bedroom at my parents' house is on the second floor. I think it's taller for me than for most people. It was bending down to look at me.
I should be scared but...well, no, I am scared. Fucking terrified. But it's buried under a thick layer of sleep deprivation. And I took an ativan around midnight and another one a few minutes ago so that's probably dampening it a bit too.
I'm exhausted from trying not to make noise. I can't let my mom and Ted know what;s going on. I can't live with that happening.
It finally went away, and as soon as it did I started writing this...it was like a vampire, gone with the morning light. If I hand't seen it in daylight I'd say that's what it was. But I don't know why it went away. I don't really caer either way.
Things are bad for people right now. I'm not sure why, what's changing...but things are bad. Awful. And I don't know how to help when I'm thousands, millions of miles away and I have to keep watch on my window.

Stared at the screen for 5 minutes trying to think of something else to say...I can't. I'm exhausted. I've been awake for 24 hours and I've been running on adrenaline, in a state of terror, for at least 9...I literally had to count on my fingers to figure out how long it's been since the monster first showed up.
Look, just...just don't die, any more of you, if you can possibly help it don't die because it hurts and I can't do this and I just really, really want you all to be saffe...there was something else but I'm forgetting. I'll tell you later. I'm going to shut my blinds and sleep.

Home

I'm sitting in my room right now while Mom and Ted watch tv downstairs. Mom started crying when I walked in the door- I've never been so happy to see her in my whole life- it was horrible to see her cry though. Aunt Caroline came over too, she distracted me with all this funny gossip about her co-workers. I'm so fucking grateful for my family. I spent three hours on the phone with Andrew last night, and he says he'll come visit me the next chance he gets. So I'm sort of happy right now- I feel safe, I feel loved. But there's always going to be that extra thing now, that worm at the core of the apple...


I'm going to be in Flagstaff for the next week. At this point school is the least of my worries. I've got a leave of absence and I might be able to get a medical withdrawal or something...it'll mean pushing back my graduation date yet again, but honestly there's no way I can concentrate on school with all of this happening, and if I can get a withdrawal I'm going to take it.

I'll keep you posted if anything happens. I'm really hoping nothing does.

The bruises are already fading

...but I still can't talk properly. I told my mom what was going on yesterday and started crying on the phone...I'm going up to Flagstaff on friday, and I'll probably be staying there for a few days.

Here are the scans, though:

Nothing unexpected, I suppose. Not sure why I bother posting them at all. My mom says that the first two are from when I was about seven, the last from when I was eight. They were in boxes with some of my school stuff. She sent me a little note with the pictures, this is what it says:

(after some general how-are-you stuff) Knowing you, you'll want to know the whole story behind all of these pictures. I can't promise I remember it right, but I think Mr. Moon was a tall man in a suit, and his face was the moon. You said that was why he was so tall, so he could keep his head in the sky at night. Apparently he had a lot of arms so he could hold up the stars. Very creative, Al. I should have known you'd be a writer. I seem to remember you playing a lot of hide and seek with Mr. Moon, especially in the forest. You used to scare Caroline and I half to death playing back there- you'd disappear for hours on end, and we'd have to go out there and bring you home almost every night. That was why we started having Grandma Alice give you painting lessons, remember? We wanted to keep you in sight. Thank God Andrew never went wandering around in the woods, or we would've lost one of you.

I'm relieved at least that Andrew never saw it...I'm sure Mom or Aunt Caroline would say something if we'd had the same "imaginary friend".

And, the last part of this: Officer Clinton (the officer I've been talking to most about what happened with Jill, remember?) called last night. He asked if I was okay, which was nice of him, and told me I won't have to testify against Daniel for a while. Apparently Daniel's very ill, no one's sure what from, but it's similar to what would happen if he were exposed to high doses of radiation, only much faster acting. He's in ICU or whatever the secure version of that is...I don't know how to feel about it right now. Mostly I'm just glad he can't come get me.

Trying to remember what happened when I was a kid is off the table for now. It'll stay off the table unless things get desperate. And that's all I've got to say for now.

still here

Sorry about the ending of the last post...I was, um, obviously very upset. Still am. But I'm calmer now. It's amazing what some good sleep and an ativan will do for my peace of mind (not much, as it turns out, but enough).

Scott, thanks. You're a sweetheart...your comment made me tear up a little, but in a good way if that makes any sense. It's weird how much I'm depending on these comments to keep going...

I forgot to tag the last post, I've fixed it now. And I'm not going to school today, obviously. I don't know what I'm going to do about my GPA this semester, and then I look at the bruises on my arms and legs and wonder why the hell I'm worried about my GPA anyway.

Caught up on the blogs though, and what the hell is happening at White Elephants, I don't understand any of it. Maybe I'm not important enough for redlight or redlights or whatever the hell. Look I'm glad. I think I'm a terrible person for this but sometimes I feel like half these blogs that I follow like they're reeal are just stories...it's impossible to know, isn't it? I wish I could be like some of them though. So sure that what they're doing is right. I'm so lost all the time, I can't figure out these puzzles, and I'm so fucking fucked up that I feel guilty for wishing Daniel ill even though he tried to kill me. But for God's sake, I'm a pacifist, I don't want anyone to die, not really, but the thought of him makes me so angry and afraid...I always thought that I'd be one of those people who forgives. Jess gets angry and gets even, she's tough, if someone tried to hurt her she'd hurt them right back. Kevin would get revenge, but not for himself- only if someone he loved were hurt. Jill would have protected me. She spent all that time trying to protect me and I ran full speed ahead past her barricades...I never said I'd be good at this.

This entry is useless. I'll scan the pictures later, tell you what happens with Daniel and the police later, do everything else later too I suppose. For now I'm just going to go back to sleep.

Daniel

Daniel, my stalker, broke into my house today.
I'd left the back door unlocked through sheer idiocy, and thank God it squeals loudly when you open it because I was asleep, and if I hadn't heard...I don't want to think about it.
I rolled out of bed, my nerves were all jangling and my heart was beating so fast- my baseball bat was in the living room by the front door, and I had to look around my room for a weapon- I grabbed my phone and called the police, and all the time I could hear something crashing around in the kitchen. I had my back to the door, trying to brace myself in case he tried to get into my room, and I was trying to be quiet but I was also trying to tell the police where I was while hyperventilating and it was so, so hard not to scream...and then the door started moving because he was trying to get in and I did scream. A lot.

I felt like I held that door for an eternity, and then all of a sudden my leg gave out and he was in my fucking room, and you know how I make fun of him sometimes? How I call him a bad stalker and say it's sometimes hard to remember he's supposed to be scary? Not anymore. He came in like a storm or something- threw me back against my bed and knocked the wind out of me. My phone was knocked out of my hand, I remember being able to hear the operator asking if I was still there but all I could do was watch while he took that one extra step he needed to get in, and reached out and grabbed my throat.
He grabbed me and pushed me up onto my bed and I was trying to scream, trying to fight...I thought he was weak but I was so wrong. He was snarling and spitting like a wild animal, his face was riddled with sores and boils and his teeth were bared. His eyes were so blue. He had one hand pushing down on my throat and the other held down my arm and I kept kicking and kicking and his grip didn't loosen atall, just kept pushing me down onto myu bed and me fighting for air and seeing something dark, dark, dark and tall and slender rising up behind him as I blacked out...
The police pulled him off of me. They told me later that they'd arrived about 7 minutes after I'd called, and that if they'd been much later I'd probably be dead. I don't remember them pulling him away, or clubbing him in the back of the head, or making sure that I was alright. I couldn't see- everything was vague and fuzzy and full of pain, and I kept thinking that I wanted to go to sleep but my eyes kept returning to my doorway where I saw the monster rising behind him, ready to finish me off. I had to struggle to breathe. Then finally my breath came back and I could see and hear again and there was no monster, just three police officers and my open door and Daniel lying face-down on my carpet, with his fucking fedora next to him.
You know why he was wearing that fedora? His hair was missing. In clumps. Like he had radiation sickness. And when the police picked him up and dragged him away, he was still unconcious but he vomited all over his shirt without waking up. There was blood in it.

I got back from the hospital an hour ago. I haven't told anyone except Jess, who gave me a ride home. She wanted to stay but I told her that Daniel's in jail, so I'm safe. Ha.
I've got bruises all over my body- there's an ugly ring around my throat where he tried to choke me, and I can barely talk. I ache all over. I can't eat because every time I do, I throw up. I'm sitting on my bed, the same place where he tried to kill me this morning, the same

No, no, no, no, we're not doing this again. This entry...shit. I ve been trying to write it isnce I got home and I've started crying twice and had to run to the bathroom to puke again and I'm fucking done.  I'm getting this down on paper. He's in jail now and he's not fucking getting out. I'm safe from him at least, and I've got my bat and my phone and I've tripple-checked all the doors and windows. I should count myself lucky. I survived, I'm going to be okay. It'll take some time to heal but I'm alive and...oh god I can't beleive it I thought he was going to rape me and he didn't and just knowing that didn't happen thank god thank god thank god I'm fucking crying jesus christ why is this happening I wish he were dead god forgive me I wish he were dead

Pictures

Kevin came over yesterday and we made dinner together. He didn't apologize for not talking to me. Neither of us brought it up. I kind of hate myself for letting this go so easily, but...anyway, it was nice to have a night where I didn't worry about anything, normal or paranormal. My headache even went away for a few hours. It was nice. We made pasta. Well, Kevin made pasta, because I can probably find a way to burn salad. I'm a pretty terrible cook.

On a more relevant note, I got the pictures. And they're basically exactly what I thought they'd be. I'll post scans later, all the electronics in my house have been on the fritz...I can't tell wether it's due to the monster or the fact that it's been raining for the past two days. Which, according to some sites/blogs/etc. is also connected to the monster...I don't know. I still haven't seen it, thank God.

Back to the pictures...yeah. It's definately the monster, and I definately drew them. I hate looking at them.

I'm still going to try and remember. I'm going to do it on the next sunny day. When it's nice out, not rainy and creepy, in the middle of the afternoon. Away from any windows, while clutching my baseball bat. Probably in my closet, actually.

I'm also probably going to live-blog it. Just edit the post every few minutes, as much as I can...I guess that's the closest I can get to not doing it alone.

Stupid

I can't believe I still care about stuff like this when I'm being stalked by a goddamn unbelieveable monster, but I do.
...this keeps dancing around the edges of my posts, so let's just get it all out now. I'm not over Kevin, I don't think I ever was, and he finally texted me yesterday. Just one word. "Hey".
And like a fucking idiot I pretend he never stopped talking to me. I send a happy text back to him with exclamation points galore, and he responds, and I respond, and for ten minutes it's like none of this ever happened. It all goes away.
And then it's right back again because after I finished inviting him over on saturday, my mom called and said she'd mailed the pictures.

I think...I think if the pictures are what I know they will be (and I am praying that I'm wrong), I'm going to try to remember. I googled "triggering repressed memories" and got a method called EMDR as a possibility...I think I'm going to try it with tapping in the background or something, and just sit in my house and think about the forests behind my old house in Flagstaff. I might try it drunk. I don't know.
This is a bad idea, and I know it. I should be doing this (if I do it at all) with a psychiatrist and a support system and by working up to it, rather than alone and in a bad frame of mind and with no safety net, but...I can't have a safety net. That would mean I'm infecting someone else (if they don't think I'm already crazy). I can't do that.

I don't know, guys. I think instead of getting used to the fear I just get more and more tired, my headaches just get worse and worse, I find it harder to get out of bed and check the internet to find out if anyone else is hurt, or dead, or worse.

I'll let you know when the drawings get here.

Memory games

I've been staring at this blinking cursor for almost 20 minutes. I have to actually do this now or I'll never get the courage to post.

I saw it again. Worse (and I thought there could be nothing worse), I heard...shit. I'll get into that later. Work up to it.
Let's start with what I never thought would be the easier thing to write- I saw the monster again yesterday. I was asleep on my couch and I woke up and saw it rising over the top of the duplex across from mine. This is what the view from my window looks like:

except imagine that instead of a poorly-captured sunset (I took this photo early last semester), it's a clear, mid-afternoon sky and there is a thin, faceless monster leaning over that roof. Its legs must have been almost as tall as the building. And it was LOOKING AT ME.

I screamed and stared...I couldn't look away for several minutes. I don't think I even blinked. And it stared back. I was sobbing so hard I could barely breathe but I couldn't look away. I kept whispering, "no, no, no, no" over and over, trying to remember the words to a prayer, a satori, a song, but there was nothing, just...just that thing. It was so goddamn tall. It could have almost been ridiculous. Like a god walking across the world, like a bone-thin colossus. It looked over the roof of the duplex across the courtyard at me for five minutes and it seemed like an eternity. Broad fucking daylight, this monster, this impossible thing just looking over an entire house to peer into a window...
Finally it disappeared- just vanished. No theatrical effects, no jump scares, not even a noise or a weird feeling in the air. It was there and then it was gone. I had a panic attack, which was suddenly made immensely worse when I finally looked down and saw blood on my shirt- I screamed again, thought...I don't even know what I thought. As it turns out my nose had started bleeding sometime while I was staring at the monster, but I was so scared that I didn't notice. This is what my shirt looks like now:

Stupidly, I was relieved that it was just some junky shirt left over from when I was an RA rather than one I like. Weird what we focus on, isn't it?

I've kept to my room since then. I tried to go to class today but I can't...I can't keep my life together and focus on this thing too. It just doesn't work. Even now, my head is aching so bad I can barely look at the screen, but I have to get this down.

OK now the other thing...this is hard. I'm so scared to write it down, because as long as it's still in my head and no one knows about it but me, I can deny it. But the moment I hit the right keys and those black words appear on the white screen, I'm not going to be able to hide from this anymore.

This morning I got a call from my mom. We were just talking, me pretending to be normal and not paying much attention until she said something about finding a bunch of old drawings in the garage that I did when I was a little kid. They were drawings of my imaginary friend.

I don't remember having an imaginary friend.

I asked what the drawings looked like, and she told me that mostly it was me in the open, and my friend hiding behind things. She said I used to tell her he was shy. I apparently used to call him Mr. Moon. When she told me those little details...look, I'm not an idiot. I'm genre savvy enough to know what those pictures will show.
I was afraid to ask any more, but I asked her to mail me the pictures. I told her I thought they might be cute. And now I'm sitting here on my couch terrified not only of what happened yesterday but what happened when I was a kid...that fucking thing might have been near me before, might have tried...and I still don't remember at all. That's the worst of it. I have these blanks in my mind from when I was a kid, and I know something bad is in there. I don't know whether I should try and find out what happened, or to just let it stay buried...when Jill and I talked about repressed memories so many months ago, we talked about how difficult it is for people with repressed memories to access them. No, that's not quite the right word- not difficult to do, but difficult to deal with. We don't repress happy memories. Our minds cover things up for our own protection, and once we open that box, we have to deal with what comes out of it.
The question is, do I try and remember what I lost as a little kid playing behind her mom's house in the woods, or do I keep myself in the dark?

I'm scared of being in the dark. But I'm even more scared of what happens if I turn on the light. And I have the feeling that if I don't flip that switch, someone else will.

Fishing

Still no sign of the thing.

I re-read Icthyological again this evening. I think the last time I read it I only skimmed it...my heart broke. I think I would have liked Elizabeth a lot if I'd met her. She was a lot like me. Jill would have liked her too. We might have been friends.
Elizabeth died on August 10th of last year. I started this blog only 9 days later. More nines. That used to be my favorite number, did you know? I used to count things out into groups of nine and it would give me this warm, safe feeling. And now I can't look at it without feeling sick.
What does it mean that I missed someone like Elizabeth? That we passed each other like cars on the freeway, not even looking over as we sped away? What does it mean that she was from the same place as Jill and she had OCD like me and she was funny and smart and brave? Why am I so upset about her death, when I never knew her?

This is narcissistic, isn't it. I'm so affected by this because she shares attributes with me, and with my dead freind. She makes it immediate, present, possible...and then there's the fact that she's so brave and she just...gives up. She's surviving and then all of a sudden she isn't. And that scares me, because I don't even see myself lasting as long as she did...

Fuck. I hate this. I've got this helplessness burning in my heart and I have to sit here while you all fight and get hurt and die, and die, and die. And it doesn't stop hurting. Even the people who died before I knew this was real. Especially those people. I just...I'm being repetitive, and it's late, and my anxiety meds have not been enough lately (golly gee I wonder why) and Kevin...fuck. I saw him on campus and he said hi but his voice was flat and he barely even looked at me. I can't believe how much this hurts. It's so fucking stupid that I care, right? Just so incredibly dumb. I didn't have the heart to get angry at him.

Elizabeth died nine days before my first blog. She didn't deserve it- none of us deserve it- but that thing killed her and Jill and Darby and so, so many others and...

I'm just hoping that this story doesn't go the way it usually goes.

Everything's ok at the moment (ha)

Jesus Christ, bloggers.
I wish...fuck. I wish Darby was still alive, let's start with that. He commented a few times here and he was...well, I'm not going to say I liked his methods, but he was a human and he was good to people, and now he's dead.
I'm glad Robert and Reach are alive though. Thank God. I only checked this once everything was over so I missed most of the anxiety.
As for the rest of you...I say this so often. I wish I could come up with something better than telling you to stay safe, be careful, keep up hope- it's all so impotent. I'd come riding in on a white horse to save every one of you if I could, but obviously I'm just one more scared kid in the woods. I don't even have a clue.

About the title of the blog- even though everything's fucked up for you guys, nothing's happened to me recently. No sign of the monster today, or yesterday. I slept a few hours at most both nights, and actually on Thursday night I had to sleep in my closet with the door closed because there are windows in every room of the house.

...that makes me sound like a crazy person. Great.

I've been forcing myself to get out of the house and go to class, which...well, frankly, I didn't think I had it in me. I was certain that if I ever saw it I'd be so traumatized I'd never leave the house- in fact, I kept having this vision of myself seeing it and just dying of fear on the spot. But I'm still here, somewhat sane (although I'm sure if any of my friends saw this they'd disagree) and I've left my house and gone to class and acted like nothing's wrong. It helps. It's not denial, just...avoiding unproductive paths of thinking. At least, I hope that's what it is, rather than me being in denial about being in denial...
Okay, enough of that. What else is there to say?

I saw Daniel yesterday, or at least I thought I did. Just someone with a fedora ducking around the side of the video rental place by my house...did I mention how stupid his fedora looks? It's almost enough to make me forget he's working for a thing that shouldn't exist, and probably wants to kill me...

I've sort of given up on the police making any progress on Jill's case. The handwriting analysis revealed only that H. wrote the "CLAIM HER" note as well. They have no idea who H. is. And I've been having these terrible headaches, and feeling like shit in general...I don't know. This is a worthless post. But I'm still writing it.

I'm scared all the time now. Writing (X) on my windows again, sleeping with my bat next to me, keeping the blinds in my bedroom closed at all costs. I keep having dreams that I can't remember, but I wake up shaking, certain that when I open my eyes that fucking thing will be staring right back. Stupid to say that something without eyes can stare, stupid to say something without a face can look at me. And then there's the headaches...there's nothing I can do to distract myself. I'm flailing around like an idiot, missing my friends and locking myself in my room and staring out the windows...it's all so confusing and I just want to sleep through the night.

I don't know how you guys deal with this. Literally every noise makes my heart stop, every movement is the monster, everything...God. How do you live like this? Does it ever get better? Do you get used to this fucking thing or does it just subside and then spring up again like it's doing now?
I am hoping against hope that it's the former. Because right now, I'm so scared that this is all there is, forever.

Never thought...

I saw it. Fuck, fuck, fucking hell I can't deny this anymore, there's not even that slight amount of hope that I'm just paranoid or I spend too much time on these blogs or that there's a real explanation for...I saw it. I was at the fucking grocery store this morning buying a bunch of shitty microwave food because I can't cook for shit and I was in the parking lot I picked up a jug of apple juice to put in my trunk and I saw it, I saw it, I saw it, I saw it oh my god and it was so so real. i feel dizzy. Something like that shouldn't be allowed to exist. I couldn't breathe, everything went white behind my eyes. It's real. Fucking real. It was across the parking lot by the entrance to the store. How the hell didn't people see it, a woman walked by close enough to touch its hand and I could see from across the asphalt that those fingers were so long, so long and grasping. Those strong twig fingers killed my friend.
I dropped the juice on my feet and the bottle broke. My pants smell like apples still and it makes me want to puke. It shouldn't be real, I shouldn't have seen it. Jesus Christ, God, oh God, where are You right now? How can You let these things exist?


This is later, not much though. I'm trying to keep it together but I'm shaiking so my typing might suck, sorry. Um. I saw it. Thats' where I get stuck. Come on, get past this. I saw it and then. And then. And then I dropped the juice and the bottle broke and I slammed the trunk and got into the car and locked the doors. It didn't move. It just tstared at me and I felt so so cold. I drove home faster than I've ever driven before and it's amazing I didn't crash and now I'm at home with all the doors locked and my stupid useless bat across my lap and every single light on even though it's broad daylight. I redrew the (X)s on the windows. Remember when I scrubbed them down? Ha, and now I'm jumping at every sound. Did it follow me home? Did it appear

No, no, no. We are not going down that fucking paranoid road. This is just like when I watch horror movies and get freaked out because I somehow convince myself that Michael Meyers is in my closet or something. With the obvious difference that Michael Meyers isn't real and this thing, God, this thing is real and solid and casting shadows in the albertsons parking lot. Just don't think about it for now ok? I'm okay. I'm okay. There's nothing behind me because I drew the symbols, I've got my bat, I've taken every precaution I can. I can't get up high because my house is only one story tall but I'm covering all my bases.

My heart feels like it's going to explode.

Isn't this nice.

I come on to post about finally making some headway on the picture translations, and find out someone's posted coded nonsense on my blog. Actually, not just mine- I checked, and s/he's posted the same coded nonsense on every single solstice story indexed on Scott's blog here.
I'm not going to repost it because it's on every solstice story, and frankly I don't care to waste the space.
I don't understand codes. It's taken me the better part of a week to translate a few words of Russian, so obviously I'm not the one to help work this thing out. Some of it looks a bit like an IP adress but I don't know...just thought I'd let you know, scarce, if you're reading this: You're sort of wasting your time with me. I'm not going to put any effort into understanding this. It probably doesn't pertain to me or to Jill, and I'm busy trying to live my life and figure out actually relevant information, so...

I probably already gave this person too much attention. Let us never speak of this again, unless by some astounding coincidence it becomes relevant.

I meant to talk about the picture. I've been doing trial and error tests to get a decent typed version of the text so that I can put it into google translator. This means I go to a website with a Russian alphabet, and then copy/paste letters from that into word, and hope that I'm getting the right letters. Of course once I get the right letters (maybe) I have to hope that Google gives me an accurate translation, so...let's just say this took me a while. For the most part it makes sense, though, so I think I got the translation right.
Here's the picture again, for reference:



 
Starting at the top, it (probably) says "HE wants to erase me" (can't tell what the crossed out thing says)
Next line: "Remember me"
then 208, and the three words apparently translate to "sunshine sunshine" (that seems wrong to me, though, because it's clearly three words turning into two)
The last word which is partially burned is "Miligan" which doesn't mean anything to me. I think part of it might have been burnt off, or I've messed up the translation somehow.
 
The first two sentences are easy to understand. Jill's even said them before. But the rest makes no sense to me...I googled "sunshine sunshine miligan" and got a bunch of random crap that doesn't have the slightest bearing on what's going on. Google also suggested "sunshine sunshine milligan" with two "L"s and that gave me a Florida HR manager named Sunshine Milligan. Somehow I doubt she's connected. I don't know. I wish I had some way to move forward on this, but everything I do seems to lead to a dead end. The police don't have any leads, and of course I don't know what I'm doing.

I tried to call Kevin on monday but he never picked up. And ever since then I've had this terrible headache and no amount of excedrin is helping. It hasn't been helping with the translation, but I've been working on the translation far too much so I can distract myself from worrying about all this shit with the monster, and if Kevin will ever talk to me again.

What a stupid little girl.