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.