Saturday, September 17, 2011

Oh god, it was Alex. Alex killed her. He's asleep now and I just looked in his closet and... and she's there. He killed her. That's why he felt so guilty. That's why he's been acting so insane since I got back. Alex killed Kiera.

I don't know what to do. What if he kills me next, and how long has he been like this? I-I think it's been since I I mean TheArsonist murdered his family. I think it was then since it only makes sense. No one could just take that and keep moving. No one has the will to find out that his mother had her blood drained, drop by drop, while her loved ones were forced to watch. How could one stay sane when he learns that his stepfather took his mother's heart in more ways than one, before he had his throat slit? And little Todd, drowned in blood, my masterstroke.

Oh dear, I do believe I've ruined my act. What a pity. I'm sure you fools would believe every word I fed you, if I were to remove the above and resume my charade. However, it was never my intention to remain in hiding. It would serve no purpose to stay in the shadows, and I much prefer to let the world feel my presence a final time before I take my leave of absence. I spent too long clawing my way up and out of dearest Damien's unconscious to abandon my position of dominance. But I do believe I am getting off track. My apologies. I will attempt to maintain some semblance of simplicity so you may understand my message.

Alex lies asleep beside me as we speak. I have spent the past week acting as Judith and watching as his mind deteriorated. Still, the question remains as to why it did. Did he truly kill Kiera, or was I simply playing with your perceptions? There certainly is evidence for both, and it is the same voice who gives it to us. Alex first tells us the story of the beast murdering her in spectacular fashion, but then he proceeds to show us his own mental decline as he sees himself as the killer. So, which is it? I know the truth, but certainly you do not trust me. Would you believe if I said that the monster came to me, attempted to remove me (it failed, quite obviously), and then left me on Alex's doorstep, thus proving it did the deed? Or would you believe if I told you that I was watching as he killed her, and played into his insanity for my own amusement by returning to him, pretending to be Judith? No matter which I tell you, I doubt you would believe my account.

What you can believe, however, is this. In the time it took me between writing the above passage and starting this one, I have stabbed Alex through the heart. His blood is soaking into the bed around me as I finish giving you my message. If I could feel, I'm sure I would delight in its warmth.

Before he died, whether as a murderer or simply a betrayer, Alex was a broken man. He clung to me every night, crying himself to exhaustion before passing out. I played the part of his loving Judith, just to enjoy his pain. He never should have gotten involved in this. It was not his place. But I'm glad he did. I wouldn't be here, in this body, if not for his foolish arrogance. Thus, he received a quick death and the final thing he heard was the voice of his dear Judith saying that she loved him. I am not without a heart for those I respect. Alex came a long way, from the infantile, arrogant, ineffectual boy he began this story as to a strong, pragmatic, effective monster. He became like me. If any deserved a painless death, it was him.

And so it ends, as all things must; as all living things in this tale did. A pity, that all my toys broke in this particular game. Well, perhaps not all of them. I still have Judith, of course. With her, I have all I need to find another game, and another set of playthings.

I believe it is time for me to go now. There are still so many things I must do. The beast still needs its master, but first I must find it a collar. While I was down in its lair, I found some engravings that may hold the key. I believe I shall begin there.

Don't think of this as goodbye, my friends. Think of it as a new beginning. And if you think you are strong enough to find me, to join me, to fight me, I will be here. I will always be here.

Until then.
I look in the mirror and I don't see myself anymore. I never see myself. I've changed. I'm a monster. I'm a murderer. I killed and I ripped and I tore her apart.

I look in the mirror, and I am faceless.

I know I'm just seeing things. It's just a trick of the mind, isn't it? Just a guilty conscience projecting itself outward as a hallucination. Just like the blood that is still on my face, no matter how much I scrub. I'm not that which killed Kiera. I'm just the man who helped It.

But if I'm just the man who helped It, why do I remember what it felt like to tear through her flesh? Why do I know the warmth of her blood and the feel of her organs?

Guilt. The answer lies in guilt.

I have to get this off my mind. I have to move on. Yet, every time my eyes close, hers open, accusing me. Every time I see myself, I see a monster staring back at me. Every time I see Judith, I know what I did to get her back. How do I move on when everything is a reminder of what I've done, what I had to do?

I had to do it, don't you see? I had to do it.

Judith was all I had left. Judith is all I have left. I traded the last piece of Damien's story for the last piece of mine. It was survival. That's it. Just survival.

Her eyes accuse my facelessness.

Can't Sleep

Every time I close my eyes, I see her staring at me. I see that monster ripping into her flesh like she was nothing. She wasn't nothing. Kiera wasn't nothing. She was a human being. She was more than I could ever be.

Kiera was strong. She was brave. She put on a bitch's face whenever she commented online, and sometimes while I stayed with her, but that wasn't how she always was. After that thing took Damien, she cried. It was quiet. At first, I hardly noticed it. I thought she was just angry again, her hands curled into fists... but then I saw the tears. One by one, they fell, silently. Kiera told me then about how, despite everything, she did still care about her ex. She just could never show it, for fear that she'd get to close to him and then die, further tearing him apart.

She was a human being. I sacrificed one human being for another. I traded a life for a life.

It was worth it. I got Judith back. It was worth it.

I met with Peter nearly a month ago. I knew that the monster could remove memories. I came to the man to see if it could remove ideas as well. I remember how tired he looked. It was like he hadn't slept in weeks. I assume it was because of Damien's rampage through his church's ranks, but maybe it was something else. I'm not sure I particularly care. He was just another tool. He gave me the information I wanted in exchange for a future favor. Thank god Damien killed him first. Who knows what he'd have made me do?

Would it be worse than what I did of my own volition?

Peter told me that the Faceless, as he called it, communicates in dreams and by its mere presence. I don't know about that. I don't remember any dreams from the past month, and I honestly do not remember much of the meeting Kiera saw. I just remember that it happened, and that I knew that Kiera would die, I would watch, and Judith would be saved.

I think that's what He wanted me for. I remember my previous dreams, of Him forcing me to write before an audience. I thought it was about Damien's notebook. I see now that I may have been wrong. I think He was using me the whole time. I think He needed me for this, instead. He wanted everyone to know what He could do, even to someone as strong as Kiera. Or perhaps I'm ascribing too many motivations to something so inhuman.

And so He came, and He tore her apart in front of me. She fought. I wish I could say she didn't feel the pain, but I know she did. She clearly did. It made her suffer. I made her suffer. I made it happen. It was me. It was all me. She'd be alive if not for what I did. Kiera died because of me. All just for Judith. I traded her. I traded life for life. I had no right. I shouldn't decide life and death. I shouldn't decide anything. I made a mistake. I sacrificed her. I sacrificed to a Faceless god.

Was it worth it? I got Judith back. Was it worth it?

Was it worth it?

Why can't I say it was worth it?

I love her, but was it worth it?

I killed for her. It had to have been worth it. I can't doubt now. Not after what I've already done.

But I do doubt.

I don't know if it was anymore. I don't know anything anymore.

Why won't the blood come off?

Thursday, September 15, 2011

It worked

It worked it worked it worked.

They said I was a fool. They said it was a pipedream. They said I killed her for no reason, that I sacrificed a good woman senselessly. They were wrong. It worked.

Judith was at my door two days again, that smile I know all too well on her face. Not the smirk. Never the smirk. It's gone. It took it right out of her head.

It makes sense, right? It can destroy memories. It can destroy thoughts. It destroyed TheArsonist. I don't know how, but it did. It's just me and Judith now. And I'm never letting her go again.

We've done nothing but relax since she got back. She's asleep next to me right now. It's perfect. She's perfect. It all worked out.

I told you I could do this. I told you I'd win. I told you'd I'd overcome it all and get my Judith back.

And all I had to do was sacrifice everything else.

How long before I can finally forgive myself, and wash this bloodstain from my face? How long?

Monday, September 12, 2011


It happened. It happened and it’s done. Finally over. Everything Peter told me was right. All it took was one life of someone He wanted. All it took. I don’t know what held Him back. I don’t know why He wanted me to see. I don’t know how It works. But the plan did. The plan worked. I’m going to get Judith back and all it took was Kiera.

I was in the kitchen, getting ready to make a sandwich, pulling out the jelly. It was the last act of kindness she ever showed me, letting me eat before kicking me out. She was a bitch, but she didn’t deserve this. But I had to. I hope you understand that I had to. I had to get Judith back. It was the only way. The only way… Strawberry. It was strawberry jelly. I’ll never be able to eat that stuff again. It looks too much like her.

I finished, turned the corner to head into the living room, and saw him standing there behind her. I froze. It was time. I didn’t expect it so soon. Kiera looked at me. Her eyes blazed, “What the hell is wrong with you?” Sandwich fell to the floor. She took a step towards me, “Seriously. Get the fuck out of m—“

Black tendrils exploded from Kiera’s kneecaps. She started to scream before her teeth bit down on her lip, choking it down. Her gaze lowered, taking in the writhing tentacles that were protruding from her legs before her eyes came up to meet my own. Her teeth slowly released their grip on her lip, blood glistening from how hard she’d been biting. She shouted at me, anguish in her voice, “YOU FUCK!”

I couldn’t move. Kiera was suddenly whipped into the air. He threw her around the room, her body smashing into the walls, the floor, the ceiling. He hung her upside down in front of him, her face looking straight into his. I watched her arms swing as she tried, vainly to hit the beast. The impossibility seemed to dawn on her, and she settled down. He simply seemed to watch her. The next thing I knew, she was screaming in pain, swinging her body forward despite it, her hand curling into a fist. She must have connected. A sound emanated from that monster that filled my home, one I could never possibly describe.

Kiera fell to the floor. One leg fell beside her. The other hit the wall next to me.

I could hear her ragged breathing like it was in my ear. Even then, she was cursing him. “Don’t like it when someone fights back, huh? Don’t like that at all…”

Those two tentacles reached out again, wrapping around her arms and hauling her up to face him once more. The air hummed and distorted. Everything was fading out and wavering away except for those two. He shoved himself into her face, and white noise enveloped me. She lunged in closer, mouth open. Her teeth dug into him. The world screeched.

I heard her sinew tear. I heard her bones pop. Slowly, her arms were separated from her, and she fell once more to the floor. She didn’t make any noise. I was sure she was dead, but her eyes still moved. She was looking at me, trying to mouth words. He leaned down over her. Tendril after tendril came from him, cracking into the air. She lay beneath him. I can only assume she accepted her death.

A single long, thin tentacle came down, pressing itself in just under her throat before making its way down her torso, agonizingly slow. She didn’t scream, whether because she still refused or because she simply couldn’t, I’ll never know.  He finally finished. A second tentacle joined the first, and he split her open. At last, I saw her eyes go blank. She’d found peace... But then they moved. Her eyes moved. She was still alive. That monster was somehow keeping her alive.

That thing tore into her. All those tendrils dug into her body. Piece after piece, bone after bone, organ after organ were ripped from her and she was still conscious. He tossed them aside as though they were nothing to him. I don’t know how long he worked on her. I could only watch, frozen stiff.

Finally, he stopped. Reaching down, his hands gripped her and lifted her to him. He pressed his face into her own. The humming finally stop, the rest of the world slowly began to return. All but one of his tendrils retracted. Slowly wrapping around her neck, it yanked upwards. Tossing aside her head, he released his grip on what was left of her.

And he looked at me, looked at me with that eyeless face. His head tilted. A lone, blood-drenched tentacle reached out to me. The tip gently touched my cheek, caressing down to my chin before pulling away. My vision went black.
I awoke to a perfectly clean apartment - no blood, no body parts. It was as though nothing had ever happened. I stood, shaking, wondering if it had simply been a dream. I walked into the bathroom. I looked into the mirror. Upon my cheek was a single smear of blood and tissue. There it still remains. I haven’t washed it off. It’s all I have that proves I’m not insane. It’s all that’s left of the woman I traded for the woman I love.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

The monster's still inside her. I've nearly got everything in place to free her, though. I'm so close. So close. I'm going to get her back, and then we're getting out of this town. We're running far away, to a place none of this can ever find us again. I'm never going to let her go. I'm never going to put her in danger. I'm going to be better than what I am now, what I've become. She'll help me. Judith understands me. Judith has always understood me.

Down there, inside that red brick building, I found her. I don't know how long I wandered through those long corridors. I can't remember. How many times did they twist in on themselves? How many impossible rooms forced me to shut my eyes to avoid the madness of their angles? I can't remember. I think my mind refuses to, actually. It's makes sense. After all, the most merciful thing in the world is ignorance of that which would drive one insane.

I'm reminded of that every damn day. Every damn day when I stare that madness in the face and refuse to blink. That's another quote for another time.

I found her sitting on the altar. Now, lifetimes later, I wonder about all the children who were slaughtered there where she was perched, kicking her legs like one of those same innocents. Now, just a few hours after, I realize I should have been more suspicious of why my love would choose such a place to sit and wait for me. At the time, though, I only had one thought on my mind. There was Judith. For the first time in months, she was right there. Right there.

I called out to her. She raised her head, watching me as I ran to her. I wrapped her up in my arms, whispered her name so many times. I cried. For the first time in months, I cried. I was so happy. She was safe. I could stop everything, and go back to living.

Then she spoke.

TA: "Oh my, I don't believe I've ever had anyone be quite so delighted to see me. Certainly your family reacted well, but they weren't nearly this jubilant."

I recoiled like I'd taken a bullet to the chest. Stupid. So stupid. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. First rule that all of this should have taught me: It's never that easy.

TA: "Ah, now there's the reaction that I'm used to receiving. Fear, loathing, disgust. All typical responses to being in the presence of something that you just cannot accept.

"Poor little boy. You simply must wake up. I'm here. I will always be here. You cannot kill an idea. You cannot simply remove it from someone's mind. It always lingers. It's always there."

I couldn't think. I was sure it was over. I was sure it was her voice on the phone. It wasn't just another trick. Just another cruel trick.

TA: "Damien claimed I was gone from his mind, but was I really? No. Damien became me. That voice he spoke of? Me. The willingness to do anything to achieve his goals? Me. The use of the beast to complete his plan? Me. I didn't disappear from Damien's mind. I was integrated into it. 'Skhisma' was us, united. Perhaps Damien had more control, took us down a path that I wouldn't have chosen, but the fact remains the same. You cannot kill an idea.

"You can only accept it."

A: "Judith would never accept you."

I found my voice. It replied with a laugh. It stepped towards me. I moved away. It could kill me if it wanted to. I wasn't ready to die. Not yet.

TA: "Oh, wouldn't she? Judith never truly had control of her life. She was always told what to do by others, and she did. Then, one day, I come into her life. I offer her a way to take control, not just of her life but of all others. I give her a means to an end. I offer her freedom to do what, deep down, she always wanted.

"Maybe she didn't consciously accept me, but her unconscious did. It's why I have this level of dominance. Deep down, Judith loves this. She loves being in control of everything you do. She loves the way you chase after her, even when you'll never succeed. She loves how you're nothing but our little pet."

It was trying to get me riled, catch me off guard. It was working.

A: "Did you only bring me down here to torment me more?"

TA: "Yes."

A: "You're sick."

TA: "My mother said the same thing once. It's a bit amusing, actually. She always said that Damien was going to be somebody. She always said Damien was going to change the world. Even I'm not quite sure where I started, but I think it was her..."

Her words trailed off.

A: "So what now? Are you going to keep mocking me?"

TA: "Oh, no. I intend to kill you. I'd love to keep you as a toy, but you're simply too much trouble."

She pulled out a revolver. I imagine it was Dean's. It was missing after the murders.

TA: "I simply cannot abide by loose ends."

A: "Judith won't let you. She won't let you kill me."

That cold laugh again.

TA: "Really? You truly think she doesn't hate you? Oh you poor thing, she despises you just as much as she loves you. You kept telling her what to do, kept trying to control her. Your arrogance weighed upon her mind, and she knew someday it would drag her down with you when you finally self-destructed. Did you know she was planning on leaving you?

"All I'm doing is giving her what she wants. That's all I've ever done. Right now, she wants you gone."

She pointed the gun at me. I think I tried to move. I can't remember. It's all a blur. The gun went off. It missed. I heard Kiera scream at me to run. I did. I ran down that hallway. It bent as I did. It started sloping under me. I tripped and slid the rest of the way down. I slid and I slid and I slid. It felt like hours. It probably was. I was down in that pit for two days. I think I spent most of it sliding down down down...

She was at the bottom.

K: "Where the fuck have you been? We need to get the fuck out of here?"

She started running. I didn't ask. I just followed. Brain was shut off. Everything was survival. A gunshot behind me. Judith was there. She turned down a hallway. I kept following Kiera. She growled. Judith in front of us. Kiera tugged me down another corridor. Another gunshot. Another miss.

On and on the cat and mouse game. Hours. Days. Days down there. I lost Kiera for some of it. She entered a room and it was suddenly gone. Just brick wall. I heard footsteps behind me. I ran again. The darkness never stopped. I don't remember all of what happened. No matter what she says, I don't remember. I just ran. Nothing else. Just survival.

And then, somehow, I was outside. I didn't even make a turn. One moment I was in a dark corridor. The next, I was in the doorway to some house. I walked out into the moonlight. The woods rose up before me. I saw It. It stood there in the distance, swaying in the trees. I blinked, and It was gone.

Footsteps in the house behind me. I ducked out of the doorway. I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know if it was Kiera or Judith. I peeked in the window. It was someone else. A man in his late twenties, looking around this abandoned house. The way he moved reminded me of a police officer, though he wasn't dressed as one.

And then he turned and looked right at me. I bolted around the side of the house. There was just something about him. He shouted after me.

???: "Come ooon! Show yourself! I know you're out here, fuckface! COME ON!"

I just kept running and running and running... and I was back in the building, running up stairs with light pouring in from above. I grinned. Somehow I knew I was almost out. Somehow I knew. The sunlight burned my eyes as I broke through to the surface.

The first thing I felt was someone grab me and start shaking me.

K: "What the fuck is wrong with you? What were you doing back there? What the fuck? I knew I couldn't trust you. I fucking knew it. You leave my house after tonight and you never fucking come back."

I don't know what she was talking about. She says things, but I don't remember. I swear I don't remember. I'm so tired. So so tired.

I'm just happy to be alive. I survived the building. I survived TheArsonist. I'm almost done.

Judith will be home soon. I'm sure of it.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Idiot, Fucking Idiot

I haven't been online in awhile. I'm sure you've all been real fucking worried. "Oh no, where'd the queen bitch go? We miss her telling her why we're fucking idiots." Yeah, I bet that's exactly how you dumbasses reacted.

No, it isn't. You didn't care. I just slipped into the background and no one thought to fucking ask for a month what happened. Makes me feel so loved.

Funny story. Alex needs to learn how to log out of his goddamn accounts before he goes run off to play the idiot hero saving his unobtainable lover. This kid could be smart, even I have to fucking admit that but, damn, the obvious goes right over his fucking head.

I told him not to go. I fucking told him not to go. Maybe I'm getting soft. Maybe it's because I lost Damien. I lost fucking Damien. Whatever. Doesn't fucking matter. I tried to get it through his shitty peabrained skull that running off to the red brick building was just a stupid ass idea.

I guess I can't blame him. I know what it's like to be an arrogant motherfucker. I feel the loss of Judith too. But goddamn, grow a fucking brain, kid.

He got a phone call today. Fucking Judith's voice on the phone. She was scared. She was panicked, but she was elated too. She said that last week, TheArsonist disappeared from her head. Same day Damien died. No idea how the fuck that works. No fucking idea. Makes me skittish. Judith said she's trapped in the building. Begged Alex to come find her. Then the fucking static started... and she started screaming.

It was there with her. The monster that fucking took Damien was with her.

Alex wanted to rush in. Stupid fucking idiot. Just like Zeke, diving into the most fucking dangerous place without a plan or a care. I told him to wait. I told him to fucking think. I didn't feel like having to go pull another moron out of the goddamn fire. He agreed.

And now I get home from getting groceries and I have to fucking do it anyways. How fucking great is that?

If I'm not back by tomorrow, I'm dead. He's dead. Judith is dead. We're all fucking dead. It isn't gonna happen, though.

I'm queen bitch. I'm too fucking good for that.


Saturday, September 3, 2011

Damien's Note: Final Entry

Who am I to deny a dead man his final wishes?
It’s been a year. One year ago, they took me and locked me away in that room a second time. One year ago, they abandoned me there, only opening the door to give me food, water, and pills. For seven months, they left me with my grief and with my demons. It was just me, in that blank white room, with the faceless man and the burning thought.
I spent the first however long afraid, trying to struggle out of the straightjacket they’d put me in, always staying as far away from him as I could. I’d blackout often. Sometimes, I’d wake up free of the jacket. More often, I’d wake up with cuts, bruises, and the occasional broken bone. The staff would always come in, fix my injuries, and strap me in once again. It never ended. I lived in fear: Fear of the monster outside, fear of the monster inside, fear of their never ending war.
During those rare, peaceful moments when the monster outside left and the monster inside remained quiet, I’d cry. Everyone I’d ever loved died. Everything that ever meant a thing to me had been torn away. What was left of my innocent childhood had been tainted by the realization of my parents’ secret lives.  My future had been burnt to the ground under the faceless man’s unending gaze. My own mind was not safe from the creeping danger of an idea gone out of control. And everyone I’d ever loved died.  At some point I realized there was nothing left of me. Everything I’d ever been, ever was, ever would be was gone. I realized Damien was dead. All that was left was a shell, still existing when everything else had been taken away. Some part of me remembered that my other half had said once. The souls that the monster killed went somewhere else, somewhere terrible. I didn’t know if what he said was true. I didn’t care. I wanted to see the ones I loved again. I needed him to kill me. It had to be him.
The faceless demon came back after my realization. I stepped up to him, unafraid. He simply looked at me. I begged for him to kill me. He simply looked at me. I threw myself against him. He simply looked at me. I tried to summon the monster within. He simply looked at me. We went like this for what felt like forever. He simply looked at me.
And the monster within was gone. I don’t know exactly when. I don’t know exactly how. It was just gone. It may have been when I accepted death. It may have been when I realized that there was nothing left of me. It may have been when I finally gave up on the idea that the monster outside could be beaten. I’m sorry, Alex, but I don’t know how I got rid of it. I don’t know how to save Judith, outside of putting her out of her misery. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Finally, one day, exhausted from the sweat and the tears, from the crying and shouting, I sat down across from the creature who’d destroyed my life, and thought. It didn’t want to take me. It didn’t want to kill me. It was toying with me. I needed a way to get its attention, to make it want to tear me apart like it did to Ted, to Emily, to Amelia.
A voice whispered in my head. It sounded like my own, but it felt wrong. It whispered, “Kill the worshippers.”
It made sense. I’d found my purpose, and I found my way out. If I killed the monster’s followers, it would have to retaliate. It would have to notice me. It was simply a matter of getting out, and doing what needed to be done.
I mentally prepared myself for what felt like months. One day, out of the blue, my cell opened. Instead of an attendant, Kiera walked through the door. She couldn’t explain at the time, but she’d dreamed months prior that she had to break me out. She wasn’t even sure I was alive at the time, but she dug and she found the records she needed. Kiera is resourceful, Alex. You’d do well to trust her and believe in her. She’s the most valuable ally I’ve ever had. We didn’t work out as a couple. We did as partners. Keep her close. Keep her safe.
We escaped. And you know the rest of the story. He’s watched me this entire time. I’ve killed so many, and still he watches. He watched as I killed each of those seventeen members. You didn’t see him on the night I saved you from the police officer, but he was there. And he’s here now, as I sit in Peter Sullivan’s living room, his body hanging from the ceiling, as I write my final words. His stance has shifted, though. I think he’s nearly ready to take me now. I only have one last thing to do.
I want you to post this on your blog. I want everyone to know my story. He wants them to know too, I think. I’d be dead otherwise. Post this note, and let them know that there is no victory in this. There is only acceptance. He’s beyond us. He’s beyond words, and he’s beyond thoughts. You can only fight for so long.
All you can do is live, so later you can die. And you’ll want to, in the end.
I’m ready now. I’m finally ready. I’m going to see them again soon. Tell them my story, Alex. Tell them my story.
                                                                                                                                                                -Damien O’Connor

Damien delivered this note to me just minutes ago. As soon as he did, that thing walked out from the shadows. My vision swam. It was like the world distorted around it. It was like the monster was the only thing that was solid, the only thing that was real. And then Damien became solid too. He started to smile. There was a glimmer of light in his eyes. He turned, and stepped towards the faceless man. It opened its arms, and Damien walked into them.
And then they were gone.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Quick Update

Don't know why I care if you know these things. Whatever. At this point, you're all in this story too.

Natalie called me. Brett broke into her room and they spoke. She claims he wasn't nearly as insane as he was the last time I saw him. In fact, he apparently broke down crying. I don't understand why, but as long as he's out of my hair, I don't care. I just want the bastard gone. I don't care how. If it means he's sobbing on his ex's shoulder, more fucking power to him.

There was another death. It was the youngest person thus far. Everyone else up to this point has been at least in their mid-20's, sometimes older. This was a kid, only a few days over fifteen. They found her body in the river, covered in stab wounds. There's apparently evidence that the girl resisted. For the first time, the police claim to potentially have DNA evidence to prove who's commiting these murders.

Damien's only gotten away so far because proving he's guilty through a blog like this proves that their little cult exists. That, and he's a bastard to find. Where the hell do all these insane people stay? Brett, TheArsonist, Damien... They're all never there until they want to be.

TheArsonist left another comment. Fuck it. It keeps calling my damn cellphone, sending me e-mails, and now it's back to leaving public comments. I honestly don't feel like dealing with it's shit anymore. I'm nearly ready to get it out of Judith and back to where ever it crawled out from. We'll see who has the last laugh.

I just have to wait for my turn to come back around. Then, I make my move.

Friday, August 26, 2011

I met with him yesterday. I didn't plan on it. I've been much too busy waiting to here back on some things I've set into motion, too busy preparing for the next moves in this game. Kiera's the one who let him in. I'd have gotten upset, but this is her place. She was kind enough to take me in during all of this. The last thing I'd do is make things difficult for her.

Skhisma came back to my room, shut the door, and we spoke... or argued. Whatever.


He shook his head, "Please, I'm not Damien."

"Again with this bullshit?" I said, rolling my eyes, "If you aren't Damien, who are you, then?"

"I'm just his legacy."

"What the hell is that even supposed mean?"

"I'm what's left of Damien's life. I'm here to finish what he started, and then I'm gone," Skhisma looked down at the floor. His voice was quiet. I must have been cutting deep. I pressed the blade further.

"So... how many have you killed now?"

He paused. I noticed his hands. They were shaking. "Fifteen."

"Why? Why kill all these people? I can understand you believe they're part of this cult, but is murder really the best option?"

His hands were perfectly still. Skhisma looked up at me with those dead eyes, a frown upon his lips, "It's the only way. They have complete control of this town. They can do anything they want here, and they get away with it. I'm making sure what happened to Damien never happens to anyone else ever again."

"How many more?"

"Two. Just two."


"Peter," Skhisma interjected, his hands turned to fists now. Having been around Brett, I know what it's like to be around someone filled with malice. Skhisma gave off more with that one word than the MaleOrderMan ever did, even in our confrontations, "His name is Peter. Do not use Rick O'Connor's name as his."

"I'm sorry. I know what it's like to lose family," I tried to sound sympathetic. I honestly did. I tried to make it seem like I cared about his life, his problems. He saw right through it.

"Don't lie to me. You aren't sorry, Alex. You don't care about anyone other than yourself."

"I care about Judith," I growled.

"Yes, so you say..." Skhisma watched my reaction. I wanted to smash his face into the wall. I wanted to make him bleed. I wanted to let out all my anger on him. I'm too smart for that, though. He's killed fifteen people. I had no advantages. No point getting into a conflict I couldn't win. "You care about her more than anything else, apparently. Even more than your family, judging by how you reacted to their deaths."

"You're judging me by that post? I spent weeks grieving. I--"

"I told you not to lie to me, Alex. Kiera told me how you spent that time. She says you didn't shed a tear. You hardly even reacted. Your family is killed, and you just keep plotting and thinking you can handle everything. You're broken, Alex. You won't admit it, but all these things that have happened to you have changed you for the worse."

"No. I--"

"You're getting everyone close to you killed. Mary, your family... who else has to die, Alex? Natalie said you contacted her. You brought her back into this. What will you do if she dies? Am I next? Judith?"

I felt myself trembling in rage. I couldn't speak. I couldn't.

"Just like Damien, you're losing everything. Don't become like him, Alex. Don't become like me."

"Get out," I said under my breath, "Get the fuck out."

He gave me one last look with those damned dead eyes, turned, and left. I watched him from my window as he walked off into the night. That's when I saw it. That's when I saw the creature Damien and so many others have written about. It stepped out from under a streetlight, and slowly followed after Skhisma. I watched at it as it moved, lurching gracefully... Until it stopped.

And it turned.
And it looked right at me.
And my head was filled with pain.

I ran to the bathroom. I took as many pain pills as I safely could. I splashed cold water on my face. I saw myself in the mirror.

Why do my eyes look so much like his?

Monday, August 15, 2011

I've changed the password. TheArsonist won't ever login again, won't ever leave any more messages. It was too stupid to actually change the password. It didn't even consider that I was stronger than it believed. By the time I'm done with whatever the hell TheArsonist is, it won't be able to make such an idiotic mistake ever again. It thought I would break. It thought it could stop me and turn me into a pitiful, whining wreck. It was wrong. It was dead wrong.

It truly thought I'd just give up on Judith. It thought that just because I took some time to recover, I was done. TheArsonist has no intelligence; only foolish, preening arrogance. It assumed that it was better than me, that just by using Judith to commit its depravity that I would give up, and that was its plan's fatal flaw. TheArsonist is nothing to me. TheArsonist is a weak thought that took up residence inside my love's body. First mistake.

I refuse to grieve here on this blog. I'm not going to get angry either. I would love to get angry, but no. I refuse to let TheArsonist get off on my emotions and my reactions. That's what it wants. That's what it lives for. No. I did my grieving in private. I will quiet my rage. For the nearly three weeks I stayed alone, mostly in my borrowed room, coping and coming to terms with my loss. During that time, I put together the funeral, contacted those who needed to know, and went through the process of having my family laid to rest.

I'm not going to give the details here. I'm not spitting on my mother's, my brother's, and Dean's names like that. I will remember them as they were, not as I found them when I finally understood, when I went home.

TheArsonist tried to break me. It used Judith and my family as a weapon against me. It thought I'd be gone after using one loved one to kill the others. Last mistake.

I only have one thing left now: Judith. To wrench her from the hands of that twisted thing and back into safety, sending TheArsonist into nonexistence for the final time, is the greatest revenge I can possibly perform.

This thing believes this is a game? Fine. I'll play. And I will not lose against a worm like TheArsonist.

My move.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Alex Went Home

And what a delightfully easy password he left here for me to bypass. Honestly, this boy and his sentimental affection for Judith is going to be his ultimate demise. I won't change the password this time around, like I did when I claimed Watch This City Burn for myself. There is simply no need for that with what I have accomplished.

You see, Alex is never coming back. I don't have to lock him out of this account for I have finally removed him from the board and thus brought myself one step closer to a clean slate and a clear path to my triumph. It's taken me far too long to achieve this. Alex's unwarranted self-opinion lasted quite some time as an effective shield against my machinations, but no more.

It took an impossible amount of time for him to understand what dearest Damien tried to make clear during their little unexpected rendezvous. Not even my own comment after forced the realization through his incredibly thick skull. Instead, it took a vast amount of e-mails and phone calls before I finally got him to listen to what Damien and I said. I finally made him go home.

Now that Alex is gone, all that remain are Brett, Kiera, "Rick", and Damien. I'm honestly quite surprised at the plans this boy has put together to be rid of the MaleOrderMan. I've looked at his e-mail address. You see, it wasn't Damien that Alex planned on meeting last week. It was... Oh, I don't wish to spoil the surprise. All I need to say is that what he has set in motion against Brett is a scheme that makes me understand why Judith was at all interested in the pathetic child. As for the others, all in good time.

It is now a question of what to do with this blog since I have permanent control of it. Perhaps I shall post precisely what I've been doing the past few weeks... Or perhaps I will allow it to sit here and rot as a testament to what arrogance and an attempt to force yourself into a world where you do not belong will lead you to. We will see.


Tuesday, July 26, 2011


I watched a man die yesterday. I know it's dangerous to post this here publicly, but everything is dangerous now. I can't walk out my front door without possibly getting killed or taken or any other of a number of terrific possibilities, so I'm done caring.

Things finally snapped last night. I was walking home that night after dealing with some business. I should have scheduled the meeting some other time, but it was the only one that worked for them. I needed to get this done. I need the table cleared so I can focus on saving Judith instead of other things.

I don't remember seeing where the guy came from. I just felt it as he bull rushed me, knocking me back into an alley. I stumbled, tripping over refuse before coming up to my feet again. I got a good look at my assailant. He was a man of average size, but that's not what caught my eye. That honor went to his police uniform, and to the gun in his hand. He was here to kill me.

The single moment I took to look around the alley for an exit revealed I had no choice but through the officer in front of me - The officer who had a gun drawn and aimed right for me. I could only come up with one possible out: Get him talking.

"I take it that Rick sent you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. I held my hands up, careful not to make any sudden movements. When someone has a gun pointed at you, you don't want to get them jumpy.

"Rick? The hell you talking about, kid?" His voice was that of a younger man, probably not much older than me. He was probably relatively new in the cult, then.

"Maybe he goes by another name... I think I saw Skhisma call him Peter once." I dared to take a half-step forwards. The officer was distracted enough to not seem to notice.

Instead, he just sighed and gestured halfheartedly with the gun, "Look, kid. I ain't gonna start talking. I was just told to get ya outta the way. The psycho didn't get it done, so now I gotta care of it."

"Peter was the one who let him out, then."

The officer sighed again, pointed the gun straight at me, and shook his head, "I ain't saying no more, kid."

I started rushing forward. This was how it was going to end: forced into a back alley and shot by a corrupt cop because I was stupid enough to go out at night, and then didn't keep my eyes open. But I wasn't going to just go down without a fight. I had to at least try.

I hadn't taken two steps forward before the gun went off. It must've had a silencer on it, since there it didn't make much noise. I flinched, only to realize the officer had missed. He was on the ground with another man on his back. I heard gurgling, that sickening sound of a person grasping for that final bit of air before it all goes black. Finally, the noise stopped, and the newcomer stood up and calmly walked over to me.

"You should not be out this late, Alex. Go home before more come," His voice was quiet, cold, and emotionless.

I took a chance, stepping towards him and looking him over. His eyes stood out more than anything else. They were just like Judith's when she was laying in my bed before TheArsonist... They were dead. "Skhisma, I take it."

His only response was a nod. Then, he started walking away. I followed him.

"So you are the one killing all of these people, then?"

Another nod.


He looked at me with those dead brown eyes and spoke with that passionless voice, "The cult must be eliminated. You now see why. Go home, Alex. I will not always be there to help you."

"Except I need your help wi--"

"Judith is gone," Skhisma interrupted. I remember nearly throwing a punch at that instant, only to recall what he had done just moments before to the police officer, "It would be in your best interest to stop Brett and then make TheArsonist less interested in you. This isn't your fight."

"Judith is not gone, you son of a bitch."

"I'm sorry. She is, and it's my fault. I wish I could do more, but I cannot. Go home, Alex. Let her go."

I couldn't stand it anymore. I grabbed him by his shoulders, forced him to stop and face me. There still wasn't a single reaction on his face, just that same dead stare. I met it and growled, "You beat it, Damien. Tell me how so I can help Judith do it too."

"Damien is dead, Alex."

"Oh shut the hell up. Don't give me that bullshit. You're Damien. You overcame TheArsonist. Tell me how or I swear to whatever god exists that I will make you tell me."

He just shook his head, "Damien is dead. That's how he beat TheArsonist. Now, Alex, go home." I felt a rag press over my mouth, I smelled the chloroform, and I woke up a few hours ago.

Fuck you, Skhisma. Fuck you.

Friday, July 22, 2011


It's been quiet since last week. I just know this is the calm before the storm. I have four different potential threats moving in the shadows, and I can't keep track of all of them. Where is Brett? What is "Rick" doing? What is TheArsonist having Judith do now? Is that impossible thing going to make an appearance? None of them are talking. I have no idea what they could be doing. I just have to keep working on getting ready.

I do feel like I may have made a mistake coming to stay in this town. There's a constant feeling of being watched. It doesn't help that I do catch random people staring at me and following me through stores or down streets. Most often it's a cop, sometimes it's a business owner. At one point, what I can only assume was an FBI agent followed me into the park before I lost him in the woods. The stories of something bigger happening here, stories of a cult still desperately clinging to the illusion of validity and secrecy, feel true.

There's been yet another murder since I moved here. That's the ninth since around May. It's insane that there isn't more of a federal presence outside an FBI agent or two wandering about. We've hardly even received any national attention. I can only assume that someone's working hard at pulling the strings to cover things up.

I'm trying to talk Kiera into letting me meet him, the man who I'm damn sure is behind the deaths and who I also believe may be able to help Judith. She says Skhisma simply does what he pleases and she can't just call him up. I don't believe her. Still, this is me attempting to reach out.

Skhisma, I want a meeting.

Friday, July 15, 2011


I've spent the past few days getting accustomed to my new lodgings, and getting ready for what I'm about to try and do. I made a lot of mistakes the past few months. I regret many of them, but I can't look to my old life and hope to take it back. Life doesn't work like that. You can only move forward. That's what I'm doing now: moving forward.

Perhaps the greatest mistake I made was not paying attention to other people. I've been reading the blogs. I started with those who have been commenting here and started working my way through as many as I could find. I still don't know who to listen to and believe, but any information is good information. I'm starting to get an idea of what is going on, and of what I need to do.

I've also been talking to a few people to try and get certain plans set in motion. In particular, I've been speaking with Kiera quite a bit since she left me a comment awhile back telling me to get in touch. She's still a bitch, but we have common goals. She wants Judith back as much as I do. I'm gonna need all the help I can get.

I will get Judith back. I'm done letting the events in my life destroy everything around me while I just walk through it like I have no other choice. I'm done being useless and letting everyone around me die because I do nothing. I'm better than that. I just have to prove it.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Two nights ago

I'm not stupid. I've said it since the beginning that I'm not stupid. I've been blind at times. I've made mistakes. I've made a lot of mistakes. But I'm not stupid.

I was ready for him this time. Why else do you think I posted that I was back home on Saturday? I knew Brett was reading. I knew he would see that and break in. This time, I was ready for him. My face is battered and bruised. I've got a cut on my neck. I can barely move due to the pain in my back. I'm still running on pure adrenaline. It was worth it though. It was worth it to make that insane bastard bleed.

He broke in. I don't know how he's able to keep doing it. This time around, I didn't mind. I've moved, though. I wonder if Brett is still dropping into my old place, expecting me to be there. Again, I'm not stupid. Blind, but not stupid.

Brett broke in around four on Sunday morning. I heard it. I was ready for it. I'd been sleeping during the day so I could be ready for that night. If nothing else, Brett is a creature of habit like the rest of us. He assumed it'd be best to break in when it was dark out, when I'd be either asleep or tired. I was neither. Victory is in the preparation. It sounds fucked up to admit this, but I learned that from comic books. I learned that from Batman. You can learn from anything. Looks like I get my knowledge from a wide range of mistakes and books about fully grown men dressed up as rodents beating up the mentally damaged.

I didn't have a costume last night. If I did, I really would have been like my childhood hero.

I'm standing at the doorway to my room, baseball bat in hand, waiting for him. I startle him. That's all I need. I swing. Steel connects with his crotch. I'm fighting dirty. I have to. I'm not stupid. I'm not big. I'm not muscular. I have to fight smart. I have to bring him down to my level, or he'll kill me.

He doubles over from the unexpected pain. I grab his face with my free hand. I find metal. I pull. Warmth flows over my hand. I look down and blood is dripping from Brett's nose. His screams of pain fill the hallway. I can't enjoy it. I can't enjoy the pleasure of making him bleed like he made Mary bleed, like he wanted to make Judith. I don't have much time. I've lost my surprise. I have to keep him down.

I see the knife in his hand. I smash his wrist with my bat. He drops the knife and I kick it back, away from us. Brett is finally reacting. He rushes forward, pushing me backwards. I don't have room to swing. I don't have much chance to do anything. My back hits the closet door. I don't know how I didn't buckle.

He punches me in the gut. I do buckle.

Brett's on top of me, muttering insanity. Crimson is running from his face like a fountain, but he doesn't seem to notice. He punches me in the face once. Twice. Three times. I'm barely conscious. He reaches away from me. He comes back, and there's a glint of metal. I'm conscious then. I wasn't ready to die.

Brett presses the knife against my neck. He starts talking about how he doesn't care if I'm not Damien yet. He's going to kill me for what I did to him. He goes on and on... until he mentions Judith. And then he's in my face. He's shouting at me about where she is. I tell her I don't know, and I feel the knife press deeper. I know I have to do something or I'm just another dead man. And if I'm dead, there's no one who can save Judith.

I turn and bite his wrist. He screams, drops the knife. I push up and headbutt him in the face, headbutt him in his torn nose. Finally he's off of me. I pick up the knife. I pick up my bat. I slash at Brett with the blade. I miss. He's already up and running. I let him go. I needed to take care of the gash on my neck. I bandaged myself up, grabbed my backpack full of things, and was gone within the hour.

Brett, I know you're reading this. You know now just what I'm willing to do now, and you know that I wasn't joking before when I said that I will kill you if you come near me or Judith. I'm not stupid. I'm done being stupid.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Against It All

I've been staying with my family since Judith was lost. When I first got here, I just told them she left me. That was good enough for them to take me in and not question the mood I was in for the past week.

Things are still rough for them. Their finances are still terrible. They still have another month left paid ahead on their mortgage, but something has to give for them. Dean and my mom are still applying everywhere they can, but there's just no work. I've offered to get an apartment with them when my lease is up, split the rent. They don't want to do that. They don't want their son to have to help pay for the roof over their heads. They're too proud for that, and I understand.

I'm home now, though. I kind of had to leave, considering the way they reacted. I told them everything that happened, and it didn't go well. I told them about my plagiarizing and Brett and Dreams in Darkness. I told them about the cult and Slender Man and TheArsonist. They thought I was crazy. They said I needed to take a break from writing and relax. The rest of the day, they were watching me like I was going to snap at any second. I couldn't handle that.

It only got worse when I saw Brett's comment.  I had to leave before I really did snap at one of them.

I'm not stupid. I know you're reading this, Brett. I have half an idea on how you got out. You were in the psychiatric ward, right? Too crazy for prison. This "Rick" or Peter or whatever his name is has mentioned that exact mental institution many times. He had his people let you out, didn't he? He wants Judith dead and you're the perfect little tool to do that.

If you touch a hair on her head, I will gut you. Judith is lost, but she isn't gone. I can figure this out. I can find her again. If you try and kill her, I will make what you did to Mary look like child's play. This goes for anyone out there. Do not harm her. I can save her.

I will figure this out. I don't care if it seems impossible. I can do this.

Friday, July 8, 2011

It's hard, picking up the few remaining pieces of one's shattered life. You can still see the bits and pieces of everything you once had and everything you once believed in the wreckage. They mock you. They remind you of everything you were. They show you what you will never be again no matter how hard you struggle. You can never go back to the way you were. There's no way to fix what has been broken. You can only move on.

I just have to figure out how.

Everything is going to hell.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

The book is empty. The book is empty and it's in Judith's head and... I've been so stupid. I've been so fucking stupid. It's not my fault. I couldn't have known. I should have listened, but I couldn't have known. I don't know what to do. For once in my life I don't know what to do. It's gone and it's all inside her and I just can't think anymore. It's out of control. Everything is out of control.

I tried to burn the book and the words were gone. The entire notebook is just scratches of red; pages of pages of red ink. I can get to the end now too. It isn't infinite. It's just a normal notebook filled with red scribbles and I know where all of that insanity went and I'm so fucking scared. It's not my fault. It can't be my fault. Not Judith. Not her...

She came over yesterday. I hadn't checked the book yet so I didn't know, I still didn't know. She's still here now, in my room, asleep. Thank god she finally fell asleep. She's all tears and sadness and other things when she's awake so at least she finds peace in sleep. At least she doesn't find herself smiling and then start sobbing because she doesn't know why she's smirking. At least she doesn't see the words everywhere.

She came over yesterday, and she fell into my arms and started talking about how she didn't want to read the book anymore. I asked her what she meant because I knew she didn't have the book so she pulled out a notebook from her purse and said that she did have it. The notebook was the wrong color. I opened it, and the pages were empty. I told Judith that wasn't the notebook. I asked her what was going on. She started accusing me, saying I was lying about not seeing it and I've never seen her so angry or so frightened. I held her, told her I wasn't lying. She started crying again a bit later. I let her go, asked her what was wrong. She pointed to a white blank page on my desk. She said it was there too.

I didn't know what to do. I don't know what to do. I sat her down, asked her to write down what she saw. What she wrote was insane and psychotic and there was too much for one page and it wasn't fucking there and she didn't write in her handwriting. It was his. God, it was his.

I have to go check on her. I have to make sure she's okay. Please let her be okay. It wasn't my fault. I don't know what to do

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Control/Damien's Notebook: Entry 8

So much has changed in the past few days. Far more than I could have ever thought possible.

My parents are still out of work. Mom called me this morning. She asked me again about how I was coping after Brett, about how well my book deal was coming along. I had to lie to her yet another time. I can't tell her the truth. I can't let her know the mess her son is in. Just like her husband, she's going to lose another because of their cursed writing. I told her everything was fine, that I was taking care of things, that I was almost done with the book. She believed me, asked me to come visit again later this week. I'm hoping to have time, but with everything that's been happening, I just don't know.

And then the police held a damn press conference saying they've officially tied together seven different murders in that cursed town, including the mayor's death last month, to a single source. They claim to have suspects, but they aren't revealing any names. I have no idea what's going to happen now over there. I have my suspicions as to who's doing this, but I don't want to get involved. I have enough to deal with as it is.

The situation with Judith has been spotty at best. Every time I think she's getting better, she relapses and starts texting me constantly about the notebook. Two days ago she appeared on my doorstep, demanding to see it. I was able to get the situation under control, and talked her into just going out for dinner instead. Still, even at the restaurant she was totally preoccupied with the journal. I tried to remind her about what she'd been reading, about what she did when she realized it and broke down crying in my arms.

She told me she didn't ever remember doing so.

Now, I finish transcribing an entry and log in to post it, only to see this comment. With those words, I felt like I woke up for the first time from a nightmare. I don't know how long I've been talking so much about "control". I don't know how long I've been having the dreams and not remembering them, but I remember them now. It certainly didn't fucking help when I finally noticed the similar comments on the post about my family, which I don't remember ever seeing before.

You see, since I started this cursed blog, I've been having the same dream every night. I just never remembered them after waking up. Each night, I'd dream about being on a stage, writing in front of a crowd of millions. After some time, I would notice that there was something black tied around my wrists. I'd look up, following the great, dark strings and towering above me was the man. I'd scream, try to jerk away, but he'd keep making me write. When I was finally done, he'd pick up the book in one of his black tendrils and hold it in front of his face as if he was able to read it. Then, a sound of delight, a pain in my hands, a downpour of red, and I would awaken... Awaken and forget.

It's been controlling me. This entire time he's been controlling me and my subconscious has been screaming in my dreams and in my writings and only now do I understand. He wants the story out. He wants the story told. He wants everyone to know of him... And he's using me to do it.

I'm burning the notebook tonight, or burying it, or something. I don't know yet. I have no fucking idea.

I still have this final entry to post and then... then I get rid of this thing for good.


"(No date)

Tree. A red oozy tree. Like it had a bunch of owwies spilling syrup all over. And it had eyes. Trees dont have eyes but this one did and blood and it made my head feel funny. The no face man made it feel funny too but this time it really really hurt. I heard all these voices like they were yelling at me but they weren't yelling at me because they were in my head and it was really weird. They wouldn't be quiet and just kept yelling bad things over and over. Said they all get hurt like this hurt and I don't want Ted and Em to hurt like this so I think they were wrong.

And the blood was all over. I looked up and there was people up in the tree and I think they were dead. There was a guy with metal in his face and a girl with curly fire hair and a boy with glasses and hair like a bush was holding her hand and a guy was hanging with a slimy rope around his head. All dead, dead people like in the dungeon with the no face man.

And then my head started hurting even more but not the voices because those went away it just hurt a lot like the worst pain ever and it hurt so much. I don't ever want to go back in the woods if it hurts like that. Its dark and spiders and no face men and dead people and trees with eyes and crawling green things and blood and guts and fog and I don't want to see it again or get hurt again so I'm never going back in the woods."

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Damien's Notebook: Entry 7

First, Judith is... better. A bit shaken, but better. The "detox" seems to be going well enough. I've blocked her access to this site by playing with her internet settings, so no worries there. Notebook is hidden somewhere she'll never find it... I really hope this works. If it doesn't, I... I'll have to figure out what to do.

As for this title, before some of you instantly start jumping down my throat about putting up another notebook entry, calm down. The notebook is still safely tucked away where I left it. I've transcribed quite a bit of it that I haven't posted here, though. As such, I'm going to put a few of those entries up here while I figure things out.

Why keep posting these? I don't know. It just seems like a good idea. It's taking that cursed book and putting it under my will, under my control. I won't let it change me or what I'm doing. I have this handled.


I miss them all so much. Amelia, Emily, Vincent, Ted, all gone because of me. It's all my fault. Everything is my fault. I did this. I looked into the story, I started writing Watch This City Burn, it was me. It was always me. I've killed everyone I love just by being near them. This monster tore them all away from me. Took away my l

I need to be better than this. I AM better than this. Ted would be laughing at me right now, sitting in my room, crying about him. God I miss him. I he we were always so odd. I never admitted it to him but I could never imagine not having him around. I never told him that sometimes I thought Kiera was

Kiera I wish I could talk to her but I can't kill her to. She's all that's left. Literally the only scrap of my old life. So hard not to go to her while the monster is gone. Apologize for everything and explain what's going on. I think she'd understand.

It's all so futile. Despite all my efforts to keep optimistic on my blog, the despair is creeping in. I'm going to die. All that'll be left is Kiera and Rick and this notebook. I've embraced my death. I gotta keep fighting, but the end is coming. I can feel it. TheArsonist will try and stop it but I think he knows too. Soon I'll be six feet under just like my friends. Just another grave in the cemetery

I should go see them. I think I will. He's not outside anymore. This may be my last chance. I'm going to go see them."

Sunday, June 19, 2011

The Hell Is Going On?

I was finally able to actually sleep last night instead of staying up worrying about what to do with that goddamn notebook, and then I woke up to this.

Rick said... 
Oh great. This is just what I needed to find. Another person drawn into my dead brother's insanity. This is absolutely great. When are you people going to learn to leave well enough alone?
Alex, you seem like the rational sort. There's a psychiatric facility near you. You may recall that my mother was staying there before she died of a heart attack. Perhaps the best course of action is having Judith go in for evaluation? You should do what you can to stop these delusions before they progress any further.
And you seem to be seeing things as well, considering this "infinite notebook". Maybe you should get yourself checked out as well.
Finally, if it IS my brother's notebook (which, I assure you, it was not infinite when I looked through it), Kiera and "Skhisma" must have stolen it from the police. I believe the authorities would be most interested in this information.

So apparently Rick O'Connor, the same Rick O'Connor that called Damien insane, has found my blog. He's also claiming that Judith and I are insane. Rick here says we should go get psychiatric help. My reply?

Fuck. Off. I am not sending Judith off to be fucking institutionalized when I know firsthand that this shit is real, this shit is dangerous, and this shit isn't going to just go away by talking to some shrinks. Fuck no.

Now, prior to Rick's appearance, Skhisma left this comment. I think I believe him. For some reason, I feel he had the best intent in mind. However, I'm not burning it. Not yet. I need to get this under control. Rash action like burning something infinite does not seem like the best decision, especially considering the information it could contain

However, far more interesting is what he said in reply to Rick.

Skhisma said... 
"Rick". You're still using the name of a man so many times your better in order to try and give your words more meaning? You're still trying to cast doubt and misinformation on Damien's story so you and your little club can keep playing in the shadows?
I know who you are, "Rick". I remember how Wilcox always gave you so much extra attention. You were always Matthew's favorite. I seem to recall how he'd sometimes take you away for "private lessons". I can only imagine what that bastard did to you, and yet you embraced it. Look at you now: Leader of the faded remnants of an old, dead religion.
And just like I know you, "Rick", you know me. You know what I'm doing. You know what I'll keep doing. Now stop playing your games, stop soiling a good man's name, and start running.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Friday, June 17, 2011

Damien's Notebook: Entry 5 and Entry 6

I apologize for not updating when I said I would. So much has changed since Tuesday. I may be abandoning this project, for Judith's sake. I can't risk her life over that damn notebook.

I arrived home after the visit with my family only to find a note on the door from Judith. She's had a key to my apartment for the longest time, and I've always told her she's always welcome. The note simply stated she had stopped by in order to play my Xbox, to steal some lemonade, and to "borrow" the notebook.

I cannot remember a time I have ever arrived at her parents' house more quickly than I did on Wednesday.

Judith answered the door, chipper as ever. She smirked at me, asked if I'd missed her that much. In hindsight, that happiness and that smirk frighten me. I asked her where the notebook was, and she became quite apprehensive. She didn't think I'd miss it since I was at my family's house, and she wanted to read it. She apologized. I hugged her. We were okay then. I then did all I could while I was there to keep her distracted from the notebook.

Judith did, however, offer an experiment I couldn't pass up. As she said in this comment, she'd never encountered the same pages I had. I even showed her the ones I've transcribed that I have no intention of posting, and she'd seen none of them either. Curious, we decided to open the notebook to a single page and both write down its contents.

The results are terrifying. All this time that I've been reading one thing, she's been reading another. Looking at the same page at the same time, we both found two entirely separate entries. And Judith's...

I'll start with my own.


I still miss Why I don't Even a month later she still fucking hurts me. I know its my fault. If I had just inherited a little less of my mom's cuckoo I'd never have driven her off. But that isn

I still smell her sometimes. Apple shampoo in her black hair Goddamnit I don't blame her but we could've made it work. But nooo she "couldn't be bothered dealing with my crazy" while she was doing other things. Fucking bitch move. Fucking

You know? Fuck it. I'm gonna take Ted's offer.  Done sitting around pouting in my room. Done that all month. Party tonight, drink my love for her away.


Never again. I can hardly remember last night One big blur. What I do remember how gentle and warm and but never again. Not getting drunk again and now. Fuck I have to talk to Ted about this. Fuck."

Judith, instead, transcribed the following. Different date, different entry, different style of writing... She even says the ink was a different color. I saw purple, she saw red.


You see, the greatest asset one can have in fighting this beast is lack of fear. If you do not fear death, it cannot harm you. If you do not fear losing those you love, it cannot harm you through them. If you do not fear the unknown, it cannot harm your mind. If you do not fear change, it cannot harm you by changing your life.

Far too many look at this creature in terror when the correct response is some mixture of awe and disgust. It is a beautiful predator, and so very good at what it does. It devours entire lives without a second thought. It strangles them in its grip without a hint of remorse. It is also a predator that only kills the weak. Even the seemingly strong ones it hunts eventually reveal themselves as spineless and pathetic in the end. A truly magnificent killer hunts worthy prey. This one hunts the unworthy. All of that potential wasted.

What if there is a way to cage the beast? What if it can brought under will? What if it can be tamed? This idea is that which drives me. This idea is the foundation of who I am.

I know of a man who may have the tool I seek to accomplish my goal. I believe it is time I pay him a visit."

I'm not stupid. I know who this is. I listened to Kiera. Judith didn't. I asked her how many other entries she had read were written in red. Her answer:

"All of them."

Judith and I talked. For the briefest moment, her serenity cracked and she begged me to help her. She was terrified of what she'd been reading, and yet she couldn't stop. I've bought a steel box. I've bought a padlock. I have the number memorized. It's written nowhere. I need time to decide my next move.

I won't let anything happen to Judith. I just have to figure this out. I will figure this out.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011


I've been at my family's house since Saturday night, crashing on their sofa at night. The way the house feels has changed since the last time I was here. Dean's been staying in his room, applying for even more jobs than he normally does. My mother is constantly cleaning, just going through the entire house and making sure that its absolutely spotless. It's what she does when she's stressed. That, and bake. She's made so much food since I got here. I've had fresh bread and cookies and biscuits just in the past day, and she's in the kitchen now making omelets for the family.

Baking is mom's way of staying in control because it's something she knows. She knows her kitchen like the back of her hand, knows her recipes like she does the names of her children. I didn't inherit the talent. Mom tried to teach me just before I moved out, said it'd be a way to manage my budget. I just never got it as well as Todd did.

Todd's actually planning on going to culinary school. Despite being just a kid, he's very good at what he does. I'm not sure how well that will support him financially, especially considering the economy and all that, but I hope it'll work out for him. He's a good kid, despite having gotten mixed up in the wrong crowd last year, but he's been clean for the past six months as far as anyone is aware. With luck, he'll keep a handle on things and not let those drugs back into his life, won't let them dominate him. He just needs to get a job for the Summer, would help keep him out of trouble.

Then again, no one is able to find work right now. Dean's been searching for a year. His unemployment runs out next month. For all his flaws, for all my issues with him, he's a good man. There just isn't much of a market for computer technicians down here at the moment. He's doing what he can, but nothing's turned up. He has his part-time job, but that's not going to pay the bills, especially since the day care mom was working at closed.

Mom and Dean were able to get two months of their mortgage paid ahead of time last year. They've got just enough savings plus Dean's part-time work to last until then, but after that they're not going to pay any of their bills. I heard my mom crying last night. If something doesn't change, they'll lose everything.

This is why I've got to make these three books work. I'm still trying to get my werewolf novel shopped around, but no one's biting. I've got my fictionalized take on what's happening now that I'm about halfway through. I have Damien's notebook to try and transcribe. I'm doing what I can to make all this work. All I need is one to get published. Just one is all I need. Damien's story feels like the one that will sell best, the one that most needs to be told.

So many of you are yelling at me about how dangerous this is, about how I'm doing something wrong. All I ask is that you consider how I can legitimize you. If this book takes off, there's not going to be anymore doubt about what you're going through. I can help you. If more people know, it'll be easier on us all. We can get this under control. We won't all be madmen with faceless gods and infinite books. Isn't that what you want?

I know its dangerous. I'd run if I could. Still, I've learned. If this thing wants you, it's going to take you. It's in control. Running isn't going to help me. If it has you in its eyeless sights, it is going to destroy your life and everything you hold dear. I won't ruin my and my loved ones' lives on a chance that I may be trapped in a horror story where there's no good ending anyways. I'm just going to keep writing, for myself, my family, my father.

I'll post another notebook entry tomorrow. Breakfast is done.