Like Family

It's really not much.

One depressed kind of crazy girl, one insecure white-knight-complex girl, one optimistic and kind of naive girl, and one strange and funny girl. At least one of us, at any given point in time, is getting on the nerves of at least one of the other of us.

Soon, we put our dumb plan into action. Hopefully it'll work, but if it doesn't...

Then I'm glad I had these girls with me, if just for a little while.

If nothing else, it was like having a second family.

Merry Christmas everybody. Don't forget to be happy to be with your family, blood related or not, no matter how strange it might be.

God Damnit Penny

Stop fucking talking about Proxiehunter's blog.

Jesus, we get it, you have a crush on him, can we move on?

Oh, now I see why Chelsea reads shit like this aloud. That's actually pretty fucking hilarious.

Theories

So, I've been thinking, while we're coming up with a few plans on what to do next. I think I know what Smiley went after those potential victims/proxies.

I think is was kind of a "Hey assholes, remember me?" thing. Like, it's been locked away so long or whatever the fuck it was doing in Penny's head, it wanted to make sure the rest of the Fears knew it was back.

Just an idea, probably not even fucking accurate. Could have just as easily been, "Oh hey, Jeanette, you're my proxy now. Deal with these assholes, would you?"

Maybe I should start looking up when it was locked up? Might not give me much, but maybe I can find someone to stop it and things like it, or some fucking thing.

Anyway, back to trying to salvage the terrible fucking plan Tara came up with.

Nope

Not talking about the psychos in this post. Not going to do it. Too much else is fucking going on. Besides, we're going to buy alcohol soon so I don't have all that much time.

For one, I guess Hunter was alive and then died again? Fuck. I'll need to get some for him, too. Hope you found some resolution, man. Or at least killed what you meant to kill.

Not focusing on that, though.

Mostly today I'll be talking about my relationship.

Basically, I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. Every once in a while Alice is all "Let's cuddle now!" and I say, "I'm busy." and then she does it anyway.

How does this work? I guess it's alright but I'm fucking lost as hell.

The others are no fucking help, either. Penny mimes vomiting whenever the subject's brought up and Tara just stands there like a fucking idiot, calling us a "cute couple". What the fuck does that even fucking mean?

Fuck, it doesn't even matter. This is just getting me confused and frustrated so I guess I'll talk about the guys who shot at us anyway.

Penny and Tara think at least one of them was from their little message board group? I don't even fucking know. They only talk to each other about it. Way to keep secrets from the one who, you know can fucking protect you better than anyone else around fucking here.

And this business about Smiley being locked in Penny's head? Fuck if I know what that's all about. She posted it without talking to any of us about. Not even fucking Alice, and then, of course, she doesn't talk to anyone about it afterwards either.

Just fucking fantastic.

...I guess there is something else. Always is, right?

Ten of Wands sent me a message.

"This is all your fault.

I hope I'm the one who gets to kill you."

This was so much easier when it was just me, alone, hunting Smiley. Sure, it sucked, but there weren't fucking factions, there weren't people with me I had to fucking protect. Just me and it.

Speaking of the devil (not The Devil, that's something different. Thanks for giving everything a confusing second name, Penny!), it's been hitting a few places pretty hard lately.

I know what happens if we don't save them, but right now....ug, they're probably waiting for us at at least one of the places. We need to find it but we also need to not get fucking shot.

I seriously cannot fucking get that alcohol fast e-fucking-nough.

Urg.

Tomorrow, I will have had this blog for a year.

Woopty fucking do.

As you might've pieced together, I got shot in the leg the other day. See, I got this email. It was from a girl, saying she'd gotten a bouquet, asking for our help.

We didn't want the guys following us to know about it, so we didn't post anything to our blogs about going to help her.

It turns out there was no girl. Never fucking was. Just a trap. They were waiting for us.

I'm not sure how many there are. This blog seems to indicate there's just four of them but maybe those are just the leaders. Maybe there're footsoldiers. Maybe these four are agents of some obscure fucking puppet masters somewhere.

All I know is, whether Penny really doesn't remember or if she does, no one gets that info. No one. Even with a fucking reason. If she really has some big Fear-making or Fear-forming or Fear-freeing secret somewhere in her crazy head, then I'd sooner die than let anyone have it.

Fuck, I don't even think it'd be safe with me. If there was power like that, who would you trust it to? I know like fucking half of you just said "Not Penny". I know I did.

But the thing is, she might be the best fucking choice. I can't get her to talk about it--she outright fucking refuses to let one fucking word escape her lips on the topic except to profess ignorance. Fuck, Alice can't get her to talk about it. She insists she doesn't know but I can tell it's not true. We can all fucking tell it's not true.

Christ, I'm in over my fucking head. These people have stated they're willing to fake Smiley attacks and to frame Smiley. You know the MO of a Fear and it's not hard to fucking copy them, not if you're real fucking good at what you do.

Anyway, happy fucking one-year anniversary of being totally fucked.

Anyway

Some guys with guns came after us. They weren't Sgt. Pepper's. I don't know who the fuck they were.

We were closest to a port, so we ran there, found a houseboat, and Tara stole it.

We're still on the houseboat, though we've landed a few times. Never at a port, though. We'll have to ditch it soon, we've had some close encounters with the coast guard.

I'll be glad when I'm not sharing a tiny fucking bathroom with three other fucking girls.

And...I'll be honest. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing as far as relationships go. I mean fuck I don't even really think about people that way.

But she's kinda cool, I guess.

Jesus Christ what is wrong with me this is public.

Anyway, people trying to kill us.

I don't think they're trying to kill us.

I think they want us alive.

I think they want to know how we gave Smiley form.

Penny/Alison whatever won't talk about it. I know she's the one who was the most responsible, but she won't say. She says she doesn't remember but no one's fucking buying it, Ali.

Anyway I need to find a way to ditch this houseboat.

More later.

SO

I GUESS I'M DATING ANOTHER WOMAN NOW.

Get Boat

Have to make this quick. We're on the move.

After those biographical comments got added a group of people attacked us. Lots of them. Heavily armed. Not very professional, though.

Trying to find a way to scramble our location. Might be tracking us by our computers?

Also, apparently Tara can hotwire more than just cars. Currently traveling by illicit houseboat.

More later.

Just Another Day

Just a snippet of a conversation we had the other day at a diner.

Tara: Hey, Jeanette. You remember when your worst fear was that you'd end up pregnant in high school like your mom?

Me: *snort, laugh* Yeah. Remember when yours was that you wouldn't be accepted by the U of I?

Tara: Totally. What about you, Chels?

Chelsea: My worst fear used to be that my classmates would find out about me and they'd force me to change in the shower during gym or something.

Me: *chuckle* Penny?

Penny: *deadpan* My worst fear is a monster with a wide smile and penchant for flowers. Perhaps you've heard of him.

*awkward silence. Penny slowly grins.*

Chelsea: It's your job to ruin everything, isn't it, ******?

Penny: Well, I am an older sister.

The Fuck Did I Just Watch?

Okay, so. I just saw something really fucked up.

Chelsea and I were hanging out in our hotel room. Chelsea was channel surfing and I was cleaning the revolver and, like, half watching the screen.

Suddenly, she stops on this shitty as fuck looking puppet show, right? The star is this puppet that looks like it's made of other puppets or something? Like, with a doll head? And he's on this cheesy as fuck pirate ship with a face, and there's cheesy fucking calliope music playing the whole time. Chelsea kept it on because it looked, to quote her, "wonderfully godawful".

So, I'm cleaning my gun, and I'm glancing at the screen, and then I start to notice the pirate ship's in strangely familiar waters. The sea's full of cattails, water lilies, lotuses...aquatic plants and flowers as far as the eye can see. It got to the point where I couldn't even see the water anymore. Petals began to drift down from the sky from some unseen source. I think I heard the ship choking on some of the flowers, spitting them out as best it (she, maybe?) could.

I guess they got to shore--not that I could tell, since the flowers never stopped, because the puppet--who looked fucking terrified, by the way--was giving this dismal fucking stare down at the flowers, and then the pirate ship says, "You have. To go. Janice needs us."

The puppet, I swear to God, gulped, nodded, and jumped down, and fucking immediately, the background music cuts out and gets replaced by a constant rustling sound. He sunk to his fucking knees in water and flowers, and started slowly wading through them and this whole time a part of my brain is screaming at me that all of this is real fucking familiar.

"Holy shit. Why would they go to all the effort to make such a shitty looking puppet so amazingly expressive?" Chelsea said. I could tell she was starting to get a little unnerved by the whole thing.

The puppet slogged through the water and to the shore, and the whole time, he's looking around, glancing at everything, like he's afraid something's going to pop out and drag him under at any minute, and from the ripples and rustling all around him? He was probably right.

So he made it to shore and now he's walking through this endless field of flowers, with petals raining constantly from the sky, and he has a hand over his mouth and he's coughing and sneezing and I would've been thinking about how realistic this puppet show was if I hadn't instantly recognized where the puppet was.

They focused a really long time on the puppet stumbling through the fields. Like, absurdly fucking long, ten minutes at fucking least, if not longer, and the entire time, it was like there was something under the foliage, just out of sight, following him slowly and methodically.

Eventually, the puppet started coughing so hard he fell to his knees, and he started to bring this surgical mask out of his pocket when suddenly, there was someone in front of him.

I kid you fucking not.

It was the Smiling Man.

And not, like, a Smiley puppet, or a Smiley actor. The fucking Smiling Man and, at this point, Chelsea dropped the pretense of being anything but unsettled by this.

The puppet started freaking out. "Muh muh muh Mister Smiles! The Bird Man told me...."

Smiley handed him a mayflower. Its eyes...they were like black spots, like the TV couldn't process the feed it was getting from them.

"Janice. I need to find Janice. Have you..."

The Smiling Man handed him a blue rose. The puppet stared at with absolutely no comprehension.

"Please, sir! I know the Skin Taker was here! I need to..."

Smiley gave the puppet a handful of impatiens and asparagus blossoms.

"I...I'll go, if you don't know any--"

Smiley gave the puppet a human heart. Chelsea jumped.

The puppet fucking screamed and dropped it, falling into the tangle of flowers beneath him and backing away on his hands. Smiley slowly advanced on the puppet, its grin even wider than before.

"Oh please, Mr. Smiles, I didn't mean any insult! I just wanted to find Janice! P-please, don't..."

The Smiling Man handed the puppet one last flower. It was a rose. It was completely black, save for the flower, which was a solid white bud. The leaves had been stripped of their flesh, leaving only dangling, tendril-like veins hanging from the flower's sides.

"Y-yes sir. Yes, I understand." The puppet said, taking the flower and getting to his feet. The puppet was absolutely covered in this reddish brown mud and pollen and grass stains, and his hands were still covered in blood from the heart. He snatched the rose up and took off as fast as he could and then I guess the episode ended.

Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that? A children's show with the fucking Smiling Man on it? Shit, what the fuck else is on that fucking show?

Chelsea was pretty shaken up. I'm trying to calm her down. More if I can find out anything about that show.

Phone Call

Had a long talk with Gran today. She had some interesting things to say.

My Grandpa was a trucker, so my Grandma spent a lot of her early married life alone at home with the kids. Well, one day while the kids were at school, she was out doing some shopping when she ran into a young man who looked as though he had repeatedly been to hell and back. They got to talking somehow--I'm not sure she remembers exactly how anymore--and, well, he must have been pretty fucking handsome and charming because he went home with her, with all the connotations you'd think that has. I didn't ask for too many details. Brain needs enough bleach as it is.

So, afterwards, enjoying a cigarette or whatever the hell they were doing, the handsome traveler told her his whole goddamn life story. He talked about how the Shadow of Death had taken his whole family, how it had gone into them and slowly worn them out, little by little, its eyes on him the whole time. He said he was running from it, that he had been running from it for years now, and always managed to stay just one step ahead.

She thought he was crazy, at first, but the desperate look in his eyes, the conviction with which he told his story...I think it touched her. So when he ran, she kept in touch, and comforted him whenever he was near. Supposedly, Grandpa never found out, but I think I remember hearing from Mom that he was suspicious that she was cheating on him. I guess Gran never knew about that.

So, anyway, apparently she eventually saw proof of whatever that was chasing him--she refuses to tell me what kind of proof, exactly--and that's why she's helping me so much. Because she knows the sorts of things are out there.

Oh, and there's apparently about a fifty-fifty chance that this Runner was my actual grandfather. So, there's that.

Anyway, we're trying to figure out what to do next. Smiley's...unfocused at the moment. Not striking multiple times in any specific area. Its MO is the same, though--bouquet, stalking, torture, mutilation, blinding, heart-removal, etc. More if we get an idea of what to fucking do next.

I'm Surrounded By Nerds

Goddamnit girls.

Stop fucking talking about Pokemon.

On White Trash

As someone who was conceived when her parents were still in high school, I have some serious fucking qualms with how lower-income white Middle Americans are treated in the media. I mean, here's my background: my dad knocked my mom up when she was sixteen and he was eighteen. Rather than skip out, he manned the fuck up and married her, taking a factory job straight out of high school, and working it until he was laid off, at which point he started doing various jobs before landing a job as a mechanic at a nearby auto shop. My mom's been mostly stay at home her whole time as a mother, but every once in a while she's gotten a part time job at a gas station or a department store to help pay for the bills. Both my parents are decent, hard-working folk. They might not always be the most politically correct, but they raised me.

I know, that seems like a pretty fucking damning mark on their record, but fuck, I mean, I'm still fucking alive after all this supernatural bullshit.

The thing is, if I was in some movie, what do you think I would've been like? What do you think my parents would've been like? Thick, inexplicable Southern accent (mine's pretty standard Midwestern, only a little bit of a drawl)? Tramp stamp and visible thong? Substantially overweight, maybe? Maybe the town slut? Father with a new bottle of booze every night? Abusive parents? Maybe half a dozen kids?

Never'd be the hero. Almost certainly comic fucking relief, jokes about eating possums and fucking cousins. Maybe some abhorrent admirer for the hero to try to resist the wiles of while he seeks out Miss Perfect Cheerleader/Secretly Hot Nerd, depending on whether he's Mister Perfect Jock or Secretly Hot Nerd (Male Version).

My dad drinks, but not a lot. He's yelled a few times, but he's never done it abusively. Only ever took me over his knee when I was little, and even then not that often and only when I was being really fucking bad. He's a good man. Most media, you think my dad would've stuck around and raised me? Of course not, it's the modern motherfucking Midwestern fucking tableau, written by people who've never fucking seen the Midwest except from a fucking plane window. Fuck, in half the fucking shows out there I'd be a convenient fucking miscarriage, just a very special episode teaching little Becky not to put out without having to cross the fucking Abortion Rubicon.

I know some people fit the stereotypes, and yes, I know as a white girl I don't have it as bad as other people do, but still, I'd really like it for people at the gas station to stop fucking smirking at me when they hear that Midwestern twang. It gets really fucking tired to have to hide your accent when on the coasts just to avoid being fucking patronized. Shit, it even happened in Champaign half the time I spoke to one of those fuckwits from Chicago.

Anyway, rant over, for now.

Oh, by the way, the Secretly Hot Nerd was Tara. I guess in the High School Romantic Comedy Equation, that makes me the Jealous Protective Possibly Gay Best Friend.

God, Penny and Chelsea are going to have a fucking field day with this post.

Queens' Run

You know what I miss? When I wasn't on the run from a secret organization.

Those were the days.

Fuck, where do I even start?

So, if you didn't know, me, Pete, and his brother Jimmy were all trying to find a way to get the two of them together. Jimmy and Pete both agreed this was probably the best option. Pete gets out of our hair, and also, maybe some fucking help. I know his organization isn't the most trustworthy but it's better than letting him run around on his fucking own.

So they decide to meet us at the same old amusement park the Manufactured Newborn was unleashed in. Yeah, that was a great fucking idea on everyone's fucking part.

We all got there, and everything was going fine. Better than fine. In fact, it looked like we'd hand off Peter and we'd be on our way and everything'd be fine and fucking dandy.

So of course that's when Peter's other side took over.

The agents weren't there yet, but they would be soon. Pete said he wanted to say goodbye to Tara. I didn't want her to, and I don't think she wanted to, but she stepped forward, and then Pete had his arm around her neck and was using her as a human shield.

My revolver was already pointed at him, but I didn't trust the shot. Not with one eye. Not with my best friend in his grip.

I asked him what he fucking wanted. He said he wanted not to be there when the agents sent to pick him up got there. He said he was sorry he had to grab Tara for this.

I told him to go fuck himself. He replied that he really didn't want to hurt Tara but he would if he had to. He was slowly backing towards an alley.

Penny was telling me to take the shot the entire time. I never did. When he reached the alley, I kid you fucking not, he blew us a kiss, pushed Tara forward, and ducked down it. By the time I reached the alley, he was gone.

So, basically, I fucked up. I should have killed him when I had the chance. But what else is fucking new? I'm basically fucking worthless anyway. A fucking blind girl could do my job--a fucking blind girl HAS done my job.

But enough fucking self pity. Because right after that, almost the exact fucking second after that, the fucking Lonely Hearts Club Band Agents show up, and, oh yeah, they were fucking armed, faster than they looked, and they looked pretty fucking fit. And they were also pretty fucking pissed that we'd lost Peter Rivers.

We lost a few of them by telling them where Peter had started to run, but it was clear that they still weren't that happy, so I distracted them while everyone else absconded the fuck out of there.

And by distracted I mean with bullets.

Yeah, in hindsight I probably shouldn't've shot at them, but it was really just a matter of fucking time before we pissed off Sergeant Pepper's, and I'm pretty sure I didn't shoot anyone fataly.

Pretty sure.

That makes me sound more badass than I was. The reason I'm pretty fucking sure is that I spent a lot of my time shooting over my shoulder and hoping not to get fucking shot. Jesus fucking Christ, it's like everyone in that fucking agency only drinks fucking Powerthirst.

We wandered around the amusement park for a while. And by 'we', I mean I wandered for a while, looking for the others, trying to stay away from those freaks in Sergeant Pepper's.

It's a creepy fucking place. I bet Penny could say something more fucking poetic about it but, yeah, turns out? Rusted out amusement parks where a dark machinery god was born? Really fucking creepy.

We had a few close calls, but we met up at the parking lot...where they had our shitty car on lockdown. I'm pretty sure weird shit happened to the other girls, but they don't want to fucking talk about it, of course.

Anyway, we needed a way out but couldn't really think of one, until Tara suggested we steal the caretaker's car. To which I sarcastically asked if she knew how to hotwire a car.

So, funny story. Turns out, when Tara insists she's been preparing for this life? Turns out she really has been. Long story short, she actually can hotwire a car. So that's pretty fucking rad.

There was a fucking lackluster car chase (not even one fucking fruit cart got hit!), but now, long story short, we're on the road again, possibly now being chased by a nebulous organization. Oh fucking joy.

Penny doesn't think we'll keep their interest very long. I'm not so sure.

But what I'm curious about is...why didn't Pete do worse to us? He probably could have. I mean, if he really does have fucking fear powers or something, he could have grabbed the gun or knife from me? Fuck, he probably could've done that without powers, considering how fucking glacial my fucking draw was.

Fuck, he could've snapped Tara's neck pretty fucking easily before he escaped. She wasn't even really bruised. Why the fuck not? Not that I'm complaining, since it turns out she's a master fucking thief. Also my best friend, but yeah, that hotwiring thing is really fucking cool.

Anyway, we're on the road and under the radar again. I think I might have found a couple Smiley sightings. For now, the four of us are going to investigate together.

Hopefully, we'll have better luck.

Awkward

God fucking damnit.

We finally get to fucking Hope and when we do, everything's awkward as fuck.

It doesn't help that I kinda really screamed at Tara when I got here. And she...God, she feels terrible, you know? She didn't mean to, but they were talking and she got scared and he was right there and....hormones, nerves and shit, you know? She knows who he is but she fucking couldn't stop herself. They were both vulnerable and he was there and willing.

So she's not talking to me right now. It's not one of those "I'm not talking to you" things either. We just...aren't comfortable around each other right now.

Fuck.

Penny doesn't want to fucking talk to me, either. She's talked to Chelsea a whole bunch, but she's just...cold right now. I guess neither of us know what to say to each other, now that we're finally all together.

And Chelsea...God, where do I even fucking begin?

On the road trip, she tried to put the moves on me.

I really don't know how to react to that. I mean, no one's really hit on me before, let alone another fucking other girl. What do you fucking say to that?

She's probably just desperate. I mean, why the fuck else would someone like that hit on a mangled fucking tomboy dressed like a goth fucking cowboy.

So needless to fucking say she's not saying much to me, either.

And Peter? Christ. I have a hand near my revolver whenever he's fucking around. What do I do about him? I...I'm really not comfortable with shooting someone who hasn't done anything against me and mine. But if he stays, he's gonna almost certainly fucking do so.

And I can practically fucking hear proxiehunter's enraged fucking comment right now, all caps and telling me to fucking kill him now. I know. I fucking know! The longer I fucking agonize about this, the worse it's going to be when he fucking finally snaps, and it really is just a matter of fucking time.

I'm staying close to everyone and keeping an eye on him.

My revolver and my buck knife are never fucking leaving my person.

But, then again...

Maybe I'll talk to him about his brother. He's looking for him, right? I mean, I don't fucking pretend to believe that they're on anything fucking resembling good terms, but maybe we can get him going towards his family and out of our fucking hair.

Maybe that'd be for the best.

I'll keep y'all posted.

I Hate This Car

Penny, why is your car so terrible? I mean, you're blind but that's no fucking excuse.

I mean, what is this fucking car's deal I don't even fucking know.

It's like this car is dying for Detroit's fucking sins. But every time there's a new one it fucking dies again.

We'll be in NJ within the next few days, assuming this car does fall into fucking pieces by then.

Oh. Um. In other news. There's...other news.

I don't really want to get into it right now, though.

It's kind of confusing and awkward.

Anyway, stay safe and don't do anything retarded.

Keep Moving

We're on our way.

This Aries guy had better hope I don't find him when I get there.

Also, good work, Tara. I know, yes, you probably should have shot him. But you stood up for yourself and your friends, which, speaking as the one who stood up for you in school, is pretty fucking amazing. I'm proud of you, girl. Give yourself a pat on the back.

And Penny, don't be so hard on her. She's new to all of this and she's doing great so far.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to lock her in an iron fucking box when we get there to keep her out of trouble. But still, good job on not dying yet.

Christ, I almost sounded like an actual fucking adult there for a second.

And I guess I should probably talk about what Penny said. About being a proxy.

I really don't want to, though. I'm trying not to think about it right now. I don't have the fucking time for a fucking identity crisis.

I'll freak out when Tara and Penny are safe and the Timberpup situation is resolved.

You know, speaking of, it's weird. I was kind of expecting Mister Gas Mask to show up by now and make the same implied threats that Slendy made somehow. He hasn't.

However, something weird did happen, when we checked into this hotel. One of the three missing bullets? You know, from when I was blacked out? It was waiting on my pillow like a fucking mint.

I'm keeping it in my jacket pocket, separate from my other ammo. Just in case.

Anyway, I'm going to go grab breakfast for Chelsea and me. We need to be ready to head out soon.

Hey, Pete

Leave them.

Wander off into the woods or something and don't fucking come back.

If you're there by the time I get there.

If you've hurt them at all.

If you've even fucking looked at them wrong.

I will kill you.

I've killed before.

It just gets easier.

Especially with a gun. And oh yes, I do have my revolver.

So yes. Go and never come back. Because if you stay, well.

Like Penny said.

Better sleep with one eye open.

SHUT UP JEANETTE

I'M DOING THE BEST I CAN YOU'RE JUST A SHIT DRIVER

GODDAMNIT CHELSEA

WHY ARE WE IN COLORADO

GODDAMNIT CHELSEA YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE MY NAVIGATOR

Chelsea Here

Hey guys, this is Chelsea Balisong.

I'm too lazy to start my own blog so I'm using Jeanette's. She probably won't mind.

Anyway, we're at a motel in the middle of the desert. It's...I'm not going to lie. It is dull as fuck.

Also I've been swearing a whole lot more since hanging out with Jeanette. I think she's a bad influence. My poor virgin mind has been sullied!

I've been reading this out loud to Jeanette and she just let out a bark of laughter. I'm not sure why.

Anyway, in the morning we'll continue on our way to save my sister and Jeanette's lesbian lover and she just punched me. I'm not sure why she's so randomly violent all the time.

As always,

Chelsea Balisong

Good/Bad/Frustrating News

Well, it looks like Smiley stopped killing in Champaign entirely after offing Tara's roommate. That's the good news.

The bad news is, it's on the East Coast. Again. And I'm sill on the West, figuring out how to get across the country.

And now the frustrating news.

Penny and Tara--aka the blind girl and the girl who cannot correctly hold a weapon to save her life--are headed there, rather than waiting for me. She's giving up on her fucking school to do this.

I mean, I expected this sort of bullshit from Penny because as far as I can fucking tell she gets off on infuriating me, but Tara? Okay, yes, I expect this sort of bullshit from Tara because she never fucking believes me when I tell her something is too dangerous or too stupid. The safe option is to let me take care of it. Like I always do.

What the fuck are you going to do, Tara? Study the Smiling Man to death?

Also, Penny said something about her "cards shifting" and the "Cups and Pentacles replacing Swords betwixt the Lovers and the Devil", or whatever the fuck that and all of her other seer bullshit is. The last "reading" she did with major arcana? It turned out to be about the fucking Slender Man. And a fucking crazy ass proxy version of someone we used to know. This one has the Devil? I'll let you do the fucking math, people.

But no, don't wait for the one who can fucking fight. Have the scholar and the blind fucking fortune teller go. That'll turn out really fucking well.

Oh? And extra frustrating? When I leave, Chelsea, as the Page is calling herself (Jesus Christ this is a weird family), wants to come with me. The only tempting part about this is I think this would really piss Penny off.

Back to trying to find affordable trains. You know, before Penny and Tara get themselves Fearmurdered.

So

It's my birthday apparently.

Woo-fucking-hoo. Nineteen years old.

I feel so fucking special.

Anyway, Page is pretty cool. We've hung out a bit while I'm weighing my options on how to get back to Illinois.

Apparently Penny and Tara are getting along pretty well, too. Turns out she really is CarrionPrincess, so I guess they know each other.

Tara says she isn't but I'm pretty sure she's trying to find Smiley without me. Penny says she isn't either, but I'm pretty sure she goes with Tara. Also, I'm pretty sure Penny's helping her just to enrage me.

So, anyway, happy fucking birthday to me.

Maybe I'll get a laser for it.

Fucking lasers. Jesus Christ.

I'm Not Sure What Just Happened

Start at the beginning. Right.

Last night I had a really fucking weird dream.

I was in this field of flowers, right? This field of endless flowers, flowers as far as the eye could see, filling the horizon in every fucking direction, and not just one type. Every type, roses, aconite, hydrangea, morning glory, lilacs, lilies, orchids, tulips, poppies, and on and on and on, covering all of the land, every square fucking inch of it. They filled the air, too. Petals floated in the breeze, blocking out the sun, choking out the sky. Every breath was saturated with pollen, almost more pollen than oxygen, choking me, sending me into nigh-fucking-constant sneezing fits. The pollen filled my eyes, too, making them itch and constantly fucking tear up.

And there was another smell, too. Just under the pollen was the potent smell of decay. Of wet rot and putrid flesh, only the overpoweringly sweet smell of flowers keeping that from make me sick too.

But the worst part was the rustling.

All around me was the rustling of leaves, the sounds of something moving through the flowers--every fucking flower--everywhere, all at once, a goddamn motherfucking cacophony of constant, quiet, disorienting noises. Part of me wanted to know what was making the sound...but I never checked.

I stumbled through the field for God knows how fucking long when I found someone else, stumbling in the other direction, her hands oustretched, each step she was taking being exceptionally careful, her eyes glassy and unfocused (and, in retrospect, probably actual glass), and I recognized the slight brunette young woman almost immediately as Miss Punchable, from my other dreams, aka probably Penny Balisong, the Queen of Cups.

I wanted to say something to her, wanted to get her attention, but before I could talk to her/punch her, I felt the sun on the back of my neck, and I turned towards it and saw...

And then I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine.

I'm not entirely sure I was asleep at all, either. My eyes still itch and my nose is stuffed up.

I could dance around the issue, but fuck that:

Penny and I have switched places. Her Page has confirmed this (also, I scared her half to fucking death when I was trying to get my bearings, but she seems...bizarrely cool with all of this). I'm not sure how this happened, but the fact of the matter is I am now in Los Angeles and Penny is in Champaign.

She's asked that I don't use her or her sister's real names. For whatever fucking reason, it doesn't matter. She doesn't know what's going on, either. All she remembers is wandering through somewhere with overpowering sound and smells, and then finding herself in my cot with no idea of how she got there.

Tara and her are going to look into it while I see if I can't find a way to get back to Champaign...or at least see if there's something to do out here while I wait.

Uh Oh

Something really fucking weird's going on.

Tara, when you read this, go to my hideout. I can message you and tell you where it is if you've forgotten. I think there's someone there who needs your help. I'll bet she's even more confused than I am.

I'm going to get my bearings, though I'm pretty sure I have the basic idea of where I am.

More once I get a better handle on this.

Okay.

I'm calmer now.

Tara's roommate is dead. We found her naked and tortured in the street, her mouth full of rose petals. I can't stay with her anymore, so I'm elsewhere in Champaign.

I know I'm seriously screwing up my badass cred by whining all the time, it's just....it doesn't feel like I'm accomplishing anything. I can never find it before it wants me to. I wonder why I even bother trying sometimes.

Fuck it. Tara and I are going to meet at the mall later. She's determined to make me have a good time if she has to. I think she just needs to get her mind off her dead roommate. I don't blame her.

I'm going to re-think my strategy. There has to be something I'm missing. Something else I can do.

I wish I wasn't the fucking first person to post a blog about this asshole. I could use an M. I guess I'm M in this situation, aren't I? Not the best mentor, kids. I haven't saved anyone, not really.

My advice for dealing with the Smiling Man? If it's been a week since it gave you flowers, then it could take you at any time. I'm not sure what Running can accomplish. If someone tries it, let me know. I'm going to advise the next victim-to-be I find to try it. If I can't save them, maybe I can at least buy them some time.

Frustration

Though it's really nothing I shouldn't fucking expect by now.

Of course we can't find the Smiling Man.

Of course bouquets keep fucking coming.

He doesn't want us to find Him. So we won't.

God fucking damnit.

I feel like I'm not actually fucking doing anything. Like I'm just moving from place to place because it's His will, stopping Him because He thinks it's funny.

Maybe Butterfly Knife Girl is right. Maybe I'm just a piece on the board, guided by some other fucking hand. Maybe I don't have any free will.

Maybe you just can't fucking fight fate.

Fuck

This is Jeanette. Arm's feeling a bit better. Had to re-break it a bit.

Not a whole lot of time to talk.

There was a bouquet on Tara's roommate's bed this morning.

We haven't told her what it means but we've managed to convince her that she has a stalker and should probably stay in.

Anyway I'm going to go get some more bullets.

Gah!

Tara here.

Jeanette is the worst patient ever. Of all time.

She's looking at me and being sullen.

Yeah, we'll see how sullen she is when she does something stupid to her arm again and we have a re-break it again.

Now she's talking about how it "wasn't that bad".

Worst. Patient. Ever.

Tara, out.

From Tara, Again

Hey guys, this is Tara, again. Things are looking good on the illicit medical care front. Should be able to have her see someone tomorrow.

One of the comments asked "what the hell" I was thinking when making Smiley. Honestly...I don't think any of us thought it would work. Mostly we were just writing stories and doing terrible jobs doctoring images. Only one of us took it super seriously And I think she was doing...something else.

She was never terribly upfront about what she was doing, though. I don't know her real name, but she went by CarrionPrincess. We called her Cari for short. She kept talking about rituals and secrets. I wasn't too close with her. Will, WTRainbow was, but I can't get a hold of any of the old gang. I guess Jack's dead now, but, as for the others I have no idea where they are.

Cari was also one of the first ones to drop off the map. The last thing she said to anyone was that she had "seen something awful".

As for who Penny Balisong is, I'm not sure. Though I'm pretty sure it's a pseudonym (given that her last name is essentially butterfly knife). My best guess, actually, would be that she's Cari. She always kind of had a trolling streak, after all.

That's all I can really think of for now. I should probably get going because Jeanette is looking super annoyed at me.

Tara, out.

Hey Guys

This is Tara. Jeanette's asleep in my bunk bed at the moment.

As I'm not quite comfortable sleeping in my roommate's bunk while she's out getting plastered, I'm failing to sleep in my computer chair. I don't think Jeanette'll mind me posting on her blog.

Well, scratch that, she'll definitely mind, but forgiveness is easier than permission. Also there are some thing Miss Stoic hasn't told you that I think you should know.

When she got here, she was running a pretty high fever. I think something in her arm is infected. She refuses to go to a hospital, though. I might be able to get her some treatment on the down-low through the student network, but even if that does work, there's a chance she's pretty seriously ill, not to mention injured.

I'd say I'm not sure how she's been walking and stabbing and typing lucidly the past few days, but this is Jeanette I'm talking about. Basically, everything she's told you about herself? She's much more awesome than that.

It really is good seeing her. I was worried. She hasn't really said it, but she didn't even leave a note when she left. She just kind of vanished off the face of the earth a few days after she got out of the hospital.

I think she thinks it's "safer for everyone" that way. Pro tip: when Jeanette says something is "safer for everyone", she means "safer for Tara". She has it in her head that I'm a delicate flower who needs coddled. While I'm not the strongest person I know (I bet you can guess who is), I'm stronger than she gives me credit for. Especially after I almost literally stared death in His face.

And I think she needs me. I've read her posts. I know the stuff she's going through, and I'd be willing to quit school to go with her. Me and my blood sister against the world. But I know she'd outpace me, sneak off without me noticing, Just to keep me safe.

Oh well. I guess she's not the only one who can ramble. Anyway, if responses from her are slow for the next few days, it's because I've managed to get her under-the-table medical care. Possibly against her will.

Tara, out.

I Really Shouldn't Be Doing This

It'll take a while, but my current destination is Champaign, IL.

I shouldn't be doing this.

Every little fucking voice in my fucking useless head says I really fucking shouldn't be doing this.

That's where Tara's going to college. She's been emailing me constantly. I haven't been answering.

I shouldn't. But I need a friend right now.

Also maybe someone who can get me some fucking codeine through her student account. That'd be pretty fucking rad.

More when I get there. If I get there.

The Only Thing That Keeps You Real

So long, Boston.

You won't be missed.

I Am The Kill

It took me a few hours wandering, but somehow I found my way to where the kids were being held. Like before, I just kind of found it.

I guess Smiley was waiting for something. Maybe it wanted Slendy to come after me first.

I'm still not sure why the Slender Man came to me for all this. Shouldn't he have fucking contacted, oh, I don't know, Smiley if he had a fucking problem with what it was doing?

I walked inside, not really being as careful as I should have. I mean, Smiley's never had a problem with me shooting it, not since it fucked up my face. It was just an old storefront, after all. Abandoned for renovations. One of the half-dozen other abandoned buildings I've seen since I started all of this.

So imagine my fucking surprise when someone fucking shoots at me the moment I walk in the fucking door.

And then immediately starts apologizing about it.

The kids were in back. They were barely seven or eight. They'd been stripped down completely and a heart shaped dotted line had been cut into the surface of their skin, around the heart. They were huddling in fear from a very large, very fat man who had a crazed expression and a hunting rifle.

I didn't realize who it was until he started mumbling "God help me."

Jack of Thorns. The proxy was the Jack of Thorns.

I ducked behind a counter and he took another few shots at me. Started rambling about this being necessary, that he was so sorry, Queen of Swords, but this is the only way. The only way that the Smiling Man would "take back" what it had "shown" him.

He said that maybe Smiley would let him keep the kids. To make up for the daughter he had butchered. He could have a family again. He asked why I couldn't see that.

I tried to shoot him, but I'm not used to shooting with just my right arm.

So I ambushed him with the knife, up close where the rifle would be a liability. You'd think it would be hard to kill someone with a knife, but it's so easy. You just pick a spot where they'll bleed out from and slash it. Then you go on the defensive, wait for them to weaken, and then slash again. It's so easy. Especially if you're smaller and faster than they are. Especially if you're athletic and they're out of shape and have no idea what they're doing.

Why does it have to be so easy?

And he thanked me. He thanked me, and apologized the entire time. Said it was necessary even as he bled out. Asked for God to help me. To help us all.

I knew him. Well, I kind of did. Was he trying to warn me about this? I wonder if I should have listened to him. But it's too late now. He's dead and I killed him and that's all there is.

I gave the kids a card. It has addresses, like for the Tutorial and Brighter Than A Spoon and other people who have been somewhat fucking successful in Running. It also has my email address. I told them, when their special tall friend comes back in ten years, this stuff'll help.

I hope it will, anyway. I called the police from Thorn's cell phone and I got out of there.

I leave Boston tomorrow. I'm not sure where to after that. No trail from Smiley at the moment. Maybe STAB or Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band or the SCP Foundation or whoever the fuck is out there is suppressing the info. I really don't fucking know.

At any rate, I'm headed west. Might as well get a head start.

Say What You Will

I've never understood the point of proxies.

They come around mwahaha-ing and talking all about their beloved fucking masters, blah blah blah, but they don't really have a point, do they? I mean, all the "power" their boss gives them...why? What can a fucking self-important human do that a fucking god of fear can't?

The answer is nothing. Proxies are just more fucking pawns on the board and Christ I sound like fucking Penny, but it's true. They're not special. They're just another pawn of the Fears, to be destroyed or discarded when they get boring. They're not valuable. They don't serve a purpose. They're just toys. They're victims like the rest of us, even if they volunteer. They don't realize they're just as fucked as the people they torment.

I mean Christ, look at what happened to Steward. I don't think Slendy even thought twice about turning him over to the Rake. I don't think he thought about it at all.

Why am I talking about proxies all of a sudden?

I just killed one.

I just killed a human being. I did it with my buck knife.

He was a proxy, yes. I did it to save the kids, yes.

But he was still a fucking person.

And I know, I just fucking know he was there, the only reason that fucking proxy of Smiley's was there, was so I would kill him. So I'd have a "pleasure" of taking a human life. The rules are fucking subject to change without fucking notice, right?

I don't know how I feel. I don't even know how to fucking feel.

And there's no one I can turn to. I'm alone with this. Who would I talk to? Tara? She needs to stay as far away from me as possible for her own sake. Fucking Penny? She'll probably fucking congratulate me. The people reading? You people have your own fucking problems. You don't need mine.

And I can't take a break because if I do people die.

And I need a break. I so desperately need a break.

I'm not sure how much longer I can fucking take this.

I'll get into the specifics of everything later. Right now...I just need to...I don't know.

I need to do something.

No fuck killing the kids, you guys were right. I'm not a fucking baby-killer. I was raised fucking better than this.

I'll give them some choice blogs and my email address. Or something, fuck, I don't know. Something that'll help when their imaginary friend comes back in six to ten years.

I really shouldn't go looking for them today. I really shouldn't. My arm's still fucked up.

Shit, I wish I was Dean Winchester, and not for the first time, either. Well, I mean, without the whiny little brother and celestial conspiracy bullshit and the whole dying all the fucking time thing. I could just use an awesome car, a trunk full of weapons, and, more importantly, a bunch of fake fucking ids and a fake insurance card. That would be fucking rad.

Instead I have a revolver, three fucking bullets (and three more bullets MIA), a buck knife, and the fucking public transportation system.

Shit, maybe I should look into credit card fraud. TV makes it look pretty fucking easy.

Sorry. I'm still kind of enraged and on a fucking whining streak. I don't get a fucking rest period. I don't get a week or two to have my arm heal. I don't even get any fucking codeine.

I mean, fuck. If I'm not Made of Fucking Adamantium by the time all this Smiling Man bullshit kills me, I'll be really fucking surprised. Also, dead.

I'm going to go find those kids. I'm leaving as soon as this gets posted. Then, after I find them, I am going to shove my revolver so far up the ass of the first Eldritch Abomination or its fucking servant I fucking meet that when I pull the hammer back, its teeth are going to rattle.

Even if it doesn't have fucking teeth.

So much fucking rage.

Crisis of Morality

The agony has subsided. Slightly. I should probably go to a doctor. I'm not sure I want to trust one, though. I mean, I know I'm wanted for questioning in Illinois...and New Mexico...and Indiana....but I really don't know if this thing is set right.

Oh well. Rationing the vodka a bit, but it's helping.

Speaking of things I need to drink to do, I went to church today. Spoke to a priest with a...veery edited version of the truth. I didn't get much help.

God, it all happened so fucking fast. I was typing and then bam, there was the fucking Slender Man, and he's so, sooo much worse in person than I ever could have imagined. Before I could even really react he had me up in the air practically fucking encased in tentacles. I managed to get my arm free and I shot him about fix times in the "face" area. It didn't do anything, but I thought I was dead at the time. Might as well die fighting.

There was a sickening crunch, and I black out after that. I'm assuming the crunch was my arm. I wish it had been my neck.

See, I know what I'm supposed to do now. I know why the Slender Man thrashed me. When I came too after losing half a fucking day, I left myself a clue--or Slendy did, or some muhahaha-ing idiot in a mask did, whatever.

My browser was open to the Everyman Hybrid wiki. One line in particular was highlighted, on the page for the Second Corenthal Report:

"Father, I would make sure it was okay with Man before we did that. He is very, very greedy. Apparently, the Reverend didn't know that Man doesn't share."'

Smiley has taken children marked by Slendy. You know, future victims like so many other fucking kids. The next generation of Prisms and Zeke Straums and Milos. He wants me to bring them back to him, and I'm pretty sure I can imagine what he'd do if I won't.

What do I do? If I save the kids, they're doomed to a Runner's life, at best. If I don't, Smiley will torture them to death, at best, and then Slendy will make me wish I was dead long before he ends it for me.

I almost wonder if I shouldn't just, and this is going to sound really fucking sick, kill them myself. Quickly and painlessly. Bullet to the brain or a snap of their tiny fragile necks. They won't have to worry about the Slender Man or the Smiling Man or whatever else is fucking out there. Then maybe I could shoot myself and save Slendy the fucking satisfaction.

But if I die, then there's no one to keep Smiley at bay. There's no one to keep it away from Tara.

I know this sounds, like, really fucking crazy, but I'm not sure I can make a good choice in this situation. Can I really give two kids to the fucking Slender Man? Do I even have a fucking choice?

Owowowowowowowow

oh god i'm so glad i didnt throw that vodka out yet

my arm's been set ow ow ow

son of a bitch i dont know if i can use the colt with one hand and one eye i dont even have a matching set

jesus im going to black out for a bit

SO

IT TURNS OUT THE SLENDER MAN IS KIND OF A DICK

I'M SHAKING WITH FEAR AND RAGE RIGHT NOW SO I'LL BE BRIEF

I WOKE UP MISSING NINE BULLETS I CAN ACCOUNT FOR SIX OF THOSE

I HAVE NO MEMORY OF THE LAST TWELVE HOURS

OW FUCK SHIT I THINK HE BROKE MY LEFT ARM

GOD FUCKING DAMNIT I'M A LEFTY

DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN

I'M GOING TO GO SEE IF I'VE WRITTEN DOWN ANYTHING CRAZY OR IF THERE ARE HIDDEN FILES ON MY COMPUTER AND OH YEAH MAYBE PUT MY ARM IN A SPLINT BECAUSE JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IF I WASN'T SO ENRAGED AND FREAKED THE FUCK OUT THIS WOULD PROBABLY HURT MORE

FML

Another Day in Boston

This is driving me crazy.

I need to find those kids. I keep thinking about what they must be going through. Why isn't Smiley letting me find it? It always does. It always has before.

I have to keep the game going. I'm not going to oh shit is that the slend

Stupid Hangover

So, as you might have guessed, I got drunk last night. I stole Hunter's forty and thought, hey, vodka, I could use a drink, and as long as I'm doing illegal things I might as well try some.

That was a fucking mistake. It turns out? I'm a lightweight. Yeah, I'm such a badass. Two shots and I'm fucking gone.

Of course, while fucking plastered, I drank half of the fucking bottle. I'm still fucking feeling it. Maybe I'll donate the rest of the bottle to a local wino or something.

Boston still sucks and I still can't find the kids. Also, something is definitely following me. I'm fucking positive. I'm not sure who/what it is, but I have my suspicions.

In better news, though, I found a trench coat at a store here. I bought it, because I've been stealing a lot lately and I felt I should probably at least buy something at some point.

I should be good on money, though. My Gran's been supplying me with a small but steady allowance. I'm not sure why, but she seems to have some idea of what's happening. Maybe she had a run in with something when she was my age?

When I ask her about it, she just says that it doesn't look like I'll live to see my inheritance anyway.

Gee Gran, thanks for that.

Blaaaaah

I fucking hate vodka.

vvodka is fffffffunnnnnn

hneter already got ihs. this si nice.

wouda sotlen booze a long time goa if i knew it would be tihs fun

back to vodka

Memorial

God, I see why Amanda Fucking Palmer has so many depressing songs about this place.

Anyway, haven't found the kids yet, which is pretty fucking weird. Normally, when I get to the same place as Smiley, I walk right to his base of operations. Not this time.

I think it really is trying something new. That worries me. A lot. I like Smiley better when it's predictable. Either this is just a phase, it's doing this for a reason, or, worst of all, it's changing again. I hope its not the last part.

Also, pretty sure I'm being followed. Not sure by who, though. Oh well. When/if they show themselves, me, the Colt, and them can have a chat.

So, if you've looked at the comments, you've seen that it looks like the Queen of Cups has made a blog and has decided to be creepy and weird in my comments. So long as she doesn't do anything beyond that, she can be as creepy and weird as she wants.

I have a feeling I'm going to regret saying that.

In other news, staying in that house gave me a chance to catch up on some of the blogs I've been missing. I didn't realize I'd missed so much. Fuck, I didn't even know Hunter was gone.

He was kind of a kindred spirit, in a way. Both hunting. I know it wasn't that simple for him, but still. It was good to see I wasn't the only one on a doomed quest to kill the unkillable.

I'll miss you, you crazy brainwashed bastard.

And Jordan, aka like the most fucking doomed person I've ever fucking seen...I made that big speech about letting us help him, and then dropped off the face of the fucking earth. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry, Jordan. I'll try to make it up to you.

Fuck, I should make it up to everyone out there. To everyone running, everyone trying to solve a mystery, every monster-hunter, scholar, and innocent involved in all this Fear business: Good fucking luck, guys and girls, and stay safe. If you need help, drop me a line, and if I'm in the area, I'd be happy to watch your back.

But if it's a trick I will probably shoot you. Dia's made me fucking paranoid. Thanks a fucking lot, Dia.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go steal a forty. I have a promise to keep.

Plans

I need more bullets.

I don't go through many, but I have a feeling I'm gonna need them.

Not that Smiley cares what I "kill" him with, anyway. But I like the Colt. Revolvers are pretty fucking awesome. Also, pretty easy to hide. Well. I mean. It's not that easy to hide...but it's easier to hide than the shotgun, anyway.

I just wish it wasn't called the 'Anaconda.' You can tell what the marketing team was thinking.

"Hey, boys, come get your surrogate penis!"

You might think I'm joking. You should see how some boys get when a girl talks about liking guns or hunting around them. It's....not pretty. Trust me. You'd think they'd be less dumb around a girl who they know has recreationaly taken life before, but for some reason teenage boys seem to believe they're more deserving of life than deer. It's a crazy fucking world we live in, isn't it?

All joking aside, that's one of the advantages of monster hunting. I don't have to deal with teenage boys who think that "I want to have a conversation about a shared interest" means "I want to have sex with you."

Anyway, I'm gonna be in Boston tomorrow. It looks like Smiley is taking them young, there. A little boy and a little girl have been taken. It's breaking its pattern a bit, though. Both kids were taken at once (I think they're brother and sister), and the bouquet was delivered at the same time, if what I'm reading is right. It's hard to get info on him, since one of the vast shadowy anti-monster conspiracies seems to be censoring the news on Smiley.

This is new territory for Smiley. That bothers me. I liked it more when he was a creature of habit. It's also...similar to someone else's MO. I think you know who I mean, too. It could be that instead of Smiley, I'm about to pull a Strahm and try to shoot Tall Dark And Faceless. That is not something I want to try. I'm not that suicidal. Yet.

And if it is Smiley, an experimental phase can't be good. For anyone.

The Past Catching Up To The Present

I never wrote the rest of this stuff down. There wasn't really any time.

I spent two weeks searching for the Smiling Man's hangout. I stopped going to school. I didn't even come home very often.

My parents thought it was just because Tara was a target but, to tell the truth, that wasn't it. Not all of it, anyway. The way I saw it, I'd had so many chances, so many opportunities to kill the bastard, to stop it somehow, that all of this was my fault.

They didn't do much to stop me, though. They weren't happy, but they understood what I was going through. Or they thought they did, anyway. I miss them. I hope they're alright. I can't really go back.

I still didn't understand just what I was in. I didn't believe in the Slender Man, or "Fears", or anything like that, not really. The Smiling Man was here. I'd seen it. I'd looked into its impossible eyes. And even if I had believed, it wouldn't have done me any good. No two monsters are the same, after all.

Two weeks passed and I just kept getting more and more desperate. Oh, and yeah, it turns out my Dad really did notice his revolver was missing. What a shock. He grounded me but it didn't really do much to stop me. Especially when I learned that Tara had disappeared.

No one told me--of course no one told me, because they knew I would do exactly what I did. But I heard Mrs. Tilllinghast talk to Mom. After my Mom hung up the phone, I overpowered her and tied her up. I bet she's regretting paying for those Karate lessons now.

I loaded myself for bear. Shotgun, rifle, and Dad's revolver went into a duffel bag. Yeah, unfortunately Dad's extra security options for the Colt Anaconda were a padlock on metal lockbox. The latch was not hammer-proof.

You know how I said I'd never been able to find Smiley? That its hideout eluded me for two weeks?

On the day Tara went missing, I walked right to it. An old, abandoned warehouse from the 1800s. One I'd checked at least twice.

The front doors were open. None of this caused any warning bells to ring. Have I mentioned how fucking stupid I used to be?

I'll paint the scene as best I can.

I walk through the doors and there it is, its back to me. Long, unkempt red hair. Torn, bloodstained shirt, sleeves covering what probably weren't hands. Mostly featureless black 'pants' that covered what probably weren't feet. A Smile I could see from here.

In front of it was Tara, battered and covered in cuts, tears running down her horrified face.

I pulled the rifle from my bag and started to line up a shot. The Smiling Man turned slightly to me, and I caught sight of one of its eyes.

Imagine the Sun. Something so bright it's almost impossible to look at, even if you physically try to force yourself to. Reflex keeps you from directly looking at it for your own good.

Now, imagine that instead of being too bright, that the eyes are too wrong.

It saw me.

And then I was bleeding.

It happened so fast. I don't know what happened. I don't know how Smiley did it.

My rifle's pieces fell to the floor, and then a whole lot of my blood, scraps of my clothing, and several pieces of my right eye.

He can cut, you see. I don't know how to explain it better.

Things just get cut. And so, I was cut. My face was sliced almost every which way and my arms were covered in gashes.

I should have died. The eye loss should have killed me from shock all its own. I should have bled out on the floor of that old warehouse. I didn't, though, and I didn't think another thing about it at the time.

Again, I was really dumb back then.

Though, to be fair, at the time I was powered by pain, shock, and determination. I pulled the shotgun from my bag and staggered towards the Smiling Man.

It wasn't looking at me anymore. It was looking down at Tara. She was looking at me, though. Pleading. Shocked. She wanted me to leave.

I put the shotgun to Smiley's head.

I pulled the trigger.

And here's the most important part. The reason I am what I am today.

It worked. Oh God it actually worked.

The Smiling Man's head exploded, as did the rest of its body, into a flash of wrong.

I smiled at Tara, Tara who was fine. Tara who I had saved. And then I passed out from blood loss.

I woke up in a hospital three days later.

The doctors told me that I had just barely survived. They couldn't save my eye. I could tell from their tone that they didn't really understand how I had lived after losing so much blood.

One of the local police came in next. I'm not really sure how much time passed, though. I was still on pretty heavy medication. They told me they didn't really know what had been going on, but they knew I'd helped Tara, somehow. I'd saved her. I'd put an end to all of it. It was over.

Yeah, spoiler alert, it wasn't.

My parents came in and I honestly wasn't sure if I was being praised or punished. Well, except for punching my mom. I was definitely getting punished for that.

And then they left and Tara came in. I'll be honest here. There was a lot of crying. From both of us. Also a lot of squeaky saying "you're my best friend". It..it was kind of embarrassing. But it's also what I look back on and smile at. It was so simple when I thought everything was fine.

I'm going to say this now. Because I know you're reading this, Tara. I love you. I'm not exaggerating when I say I think of you as my sister. I wish we could go to college together. I wish we could just chill like we used to. But it can't happen. It won't ever happen.

Because when I got home at the end of the week, adjusting to my Significant Peripheral Vision Downgrade, smiling at the near hero's welcome I received, resting on my bed was a bouquet.

Agrimony. Ambrosia. Angrec. Arborvitae. Bellflower. Primrose. Thistle. Viscaria.

It was tacky and busy. And it filled my heart with cold dread.

The Smiling Man was in my room then. It smiled at me and then disappeared.

The bouquet had a card. It said one word.

"Chicago."

And now here comes the horrible truth.

I was lying to myself when I said it was over. It will never be over.

The Smiling Man has never stopped screwing with me. I am alive because it did not want me dead. Why would it? After all, I am its mother.

It didn't have red hair when it showed up, did it? And that straitjacket? Changed into that long sleeved bloodsplattered thing.

What did it do when I threatened it? Basically nothing except knock me out. You read what happened. It could have cut me literally in half.

But it didn't. Instead, it grew from me. It took a part of me, I think. Or used it to make its camouflage better.

Tara and her internet friends may be its father, but I am its mother. They delivered the concept and, through me, it came to term.

And this is my shame. This is what I feared saying. I am as responsible for this as Tara was.

What does this have to do with anything?

The Smiling Man is playing with me. It's a game, you see.

It starts its little game somewhere. I go find it. I stop it. Smiley starts somewhere else. I go stop it. It starts somewhere else.

If I stop, then Smiley will keep murdering and murdering and torturing and torturing. No breaks. Person after person will die in pain.

At first I thought I was making a difference. That I had the whole Smiley situation under control. That I could worry about other monsters. That maybe, maybe I could be normal again.

But now I see the truth.

I am going to keep going after this monster over and over and over again.

As long as I am alive.

No Luck

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN THURSDAY, MARCH 23, 5:13, 45, 6:12, AND 6:30 AM

PART THE FIRST

I can't get ahold of Tara.

She's in police protection. Heavy protection. It won't work. They won't let me see her. My only friend. My doomed friend.

I need to talk to her.

I can forgive her, for helping make the Smiling Man. She couldn't have known it would work.

But I need to protect her. Maybe...I can have it come after me instead. Distract it. Piss it off somehow.

I'd do anything to save her. She's the sister I never had. She's the only person who's ever given a damn about me.

PART THE SECOND

Maybe I should try to find Him.

Go looking for it. Go looking for trouble.

He has to take his victims somewhere. While they're being tortured. For whatever reason He tortures them.

I don't think even He knows. He just does it. I don't think He even cares that He doesn't know. I don't think He can care.

I don't know what He does with the hearts. I don't think I want to know.

Sometimes I tell myself He eats them. It's a nice, clean, simple answer.

But I know that's not the truth. I'm pretty sure the truth is a Whole Lot Worse.

PART THE THIRD

I found my Dad's Colt Anaconda.

I don't think he'll miss it.

PART THE FOURTH

Assuming He has to be somewhere in town...there aren't too many places Smiley can hide.

Town isn't too big.

I still have time before Tara is taken.

I still have time to stop the Smiling Man.

If He can be stopped.

I Will Stop Him.

And He Will Fear Me.

So long as I Am Alive.

Trespassing, Sleeping, and Other Things I Shouldn't Be Doing

I fucking hate sleep.

Mostly my dreams are just me and Miss Punchable, but sometimes there's a nice change of pace. Like meadows and unicorns and rifles and shit. Every night I go to sleep I hope for another occurrence of the Jeanette Cotton: Unicorn Hunter dream.

Last night was a change of pace, but not the nice kind. Stupid fucking nightmare.

Anyway, I broke into someone's house last night and used it to get some rest. I think they're on vacation, which is why I picked the place--the house had all the signs of dog ownership but not a mutt in sight. Guess I'm lucky it hadn't just died recently.

No idea how long they'll be gone, though. I shouldn't linger here too long but I just wanted to be under a roof for a while. Also, it's good to be somewhere with decent fucking toiletries for fucking once.

Oh hey, clothes my size, too. Oh. My. God.

Is that a fucking Stetson?

Hell yes it's a fucking Stetson, bitch.

It fits.

Fuck. Yes.

Our Protagonist, ladies and gentlemen: Breaking into people's fucking homes, taking a shower, and stealing their fucking accessories.

It's a tortured existence I lead.

Stuff

uncountable scars

red hair buzzed three months ago

only one green eye

I thought that'd be the best way to describe myself. It occurred to me I haven't yet.

Anyway, I'm finally out of the midwest. Trail picks up on the east coast--I'm glad that Smiley was considerate enough to wait until the hurricane was over. Downright fucking decent of it.

Bit of a rant: One of the worst things about this is that it ruins things I would have thought were awesome a year ago.

Examples: One year ago, if I knew I was going to drop out of school right before graduation and wander around the country hunting a monster, I would've been all "Fuck Yes."

A year ago, if you told me I was destined to punch out a cop (it was to save his life, long story), I would have told you that that was fucking awesome and then probably said something like "Fuck the System".

At age seventeen, if I had known that, some day, I would find a ton of people online who had a lot in common with me and all went through stuff kind of like what I was going to, I probably would have tearfully said, "Really?" and then immediately deny crying and say "Cool, whatever."

Okay, maybe that last one not so much.

Fuck, past me is so dumb.

Some Thing from Earlier

This is from back in the crazy days, between my rant on Slendy and birthofamonster.txt

---

Smiles

A smile can mean many things. At its base, though, a smile is a sign of amusement or mirth or happiness. But a smile can to cruel, or sad, or simple, or huge, a grin or a smirk or a baring of fangs.

In the animal kingdom, "smiling" is very often that last one. A threat. A display of teeth. A threat. A warning.

Some believe that smiling evolved as a behavioral mechanism to non-verbally display subservience.

The color Red

Red for humans is a sign of passion, a sign of heat, a sign of embarrassment, a sign of royalty. It is also a sign of injury, of pain, of blood, of infection.

In the animal kingdom red is a Warning of Venom and a Beacon for Lovers and a Sign of Food.

In the plant kingdom red is a Lure for Pollination or Prey.

Eyes

Eyes are windows to the Soul. Eyes have mystic connotations to nearly every culture with mysticism. They are Expressive. Sight is perhaps our most used and relied on sense.

We use Eye Contact on people we trust, and people we wish to size up, and people we wish to intimidate

Animals use Eye Contact to provoke a challenge. Many animals, especially birds, will try to attack the Eyes during a conflict.

Flowers

Flowers are used by humans as a symbol of affection, and to show sympathy, and to ask for forgiveness, and to mourn. The Language of Flowers gives each flower a Symbolic Meaning.

Animals devour flowers, and also help them Mate, and help them Grow when they Die.

----

Fuck it is so embarrassing to see this shit now. But I literally have fucking pages of this. Who the fuck did Past Me think she was, fucking Ishmael?

I swear to fucking God, the only person dumber than Past Me, it is fucking Present Me.

birthofamonster.txt

Okay so this is the thing that Jack of Crazy sent me back when I was still a high school student trying to find a way to kill Smiley. You know, before I became a high school dropout trying to kill Smiley.

There's not a whole lot of context. It just kind of starts.

Anyway, here it is--

JackThorn has entered the Chatroom

PerilousFool: But I'm looking forward to the next one, if it ever comes out.

PerilousFool: Oh, hey Jack.

yournightmare: yo jack wassup?

JackThorn: Its happening.

SephysWife: Is it vague warning thursday already?

yournightmare: lol

JackThorn: Im staring at a bouquet.

WTRainbow: congratulations, you have some flowers

JackThorn: It worked.

SephysWife: What are you talking about?

JackThorn: It was in my daughter's locker. She got to school and there was a bouquet.

yournightmare: lol, stop fukcing with us jack

SephysWife: Yeah, really bad taste.

JackThorn: Whens the last time you saw Cari? Or Jackie? Or Steve? Or Dom?

SephysWife: People leave randomly all the time online. It's a hazard of knowing people on the internet. That doesn't mean we invented a supernatural serial killer.

yournightmare: dude r u serious?

WTRainbow: you believe him, craig?

yournightmare: u cant tell me u werent thinkin this 2

SephysWife: Jack, I think you're getting a little worked up. There's nothing going on.

WTRainbow: i wasn't, because i have half a brain.

yournightmare: fuck you man im not goin 2 just turn my back on jack hes always been there 4 us

JackThorn: We are all doomed. Its going to come after us first. Like it did Cari and Jackie and Dom.

SephysWife: Stop it, Jack. It's not funny.

yournightmare: maybe we can stop it?

PerilousFool: It doesn't have a weakness. We never gave it one.

WTRainbow: ****, seriously?

SephysWife: Don't encourage him, ****. You're better than this.

SephysWife: The Smiling Man is not real. The Slender Man is not real. You can't just make up a monster and have it exist. The world does not work that way.

SephysWife: When the rest of you have grown up, let me know.

SephysWife: Bye.

SephysWife has left the chatroom.

yournightmare: you leavin' 2 will?

WTRainbow: not yet.

WTRainbow: don't get me wrong, i don't believe in any of this.

WTRainbow: but i miss cari. i thought we had something, you know?

WTRainbow: and if someone really did put a bouquet in your kid's locker then maybe one of the missing guys is playing a trick on you.

WTRainbow: dom was always kind of a jerk.

JackThorn: Theres nothing we can do.

JackThorn: The Smiling Man has come to life.

JackThorn: God help us all.

---

Back to modern day Jeanette again. This is where the file cuts to a completely different block. I think it's an email that Jack got. I'm not sure about the timing. I'll comment on the whole thing after.

Oh, by the way? No response from any of these screen names. At least, not the right response. Sometimes I get false positives, but none of them are the right person.

---

Dear Jack

You fucking moron.

Did you think you actually made anything? That you and your social reject friends actually created Him?

He's been here forever. Looking for a way in. And you gave it to Him and now He's loose.

"God help you." What a loser.

Though it makes sense that you'd be looking for a divine figure to help you.

After all, you just gave one a body.

This is the last time we're going to talk. He's going to show you what He showed me.

I don't think you'll do nearly as well as I have, though.

Yours Truly

The Queen of Cups

ps. You'd better show this to Jeanette. Some day me and her are going to have a friendly chat. Royals should be well acquainted with each other, after all.

pps. Hey Jeanette. How's your eye? Oh, that's right. Silly me.

----

Okay, a few things here. This is Jeanette here. One, I'm pretty sure some pretty hefty editing was done to the letter and the chatlog. I'm not sure why.

Two. This was sent to me two weeks before I had my Significant Peripheral Vision Downgrade. If I had been updating this in real time, I'm sure you reading this would have seen this as foreshadowing or something, but, no, I spoiled my lost eye weeks ago. I'd be sympathetic, but I'm still the one with only one fucking eye, so I'm not, really.

Three, I still haven't met this bitch, but I've seen...things. I'm not sure how to describe them. It's all been pretty innocuous, but...

Okay, remember way back when I started this whole blog? You know, in real time, before Smiley showed up? And I talked about having weird dreams?

I never mentioned what was in them because it wasn't important. None of it had anything to do with anything, including Smiley. I've read about people in the Slender Man stories all dreaming about trees and bags and evil shit like that. My dreams were not like that.

Most of them were me somewhere, I don't know. Some sort of public building every time, never the same one. And in them, I'm just talking to someone. I don't remember what she looks like or sounds like, but I do remember she has the Most Punchable Face I've ever seen. Just this self-satisfied smug expression that you just want to smack right in the mouth and make her spit out those pearly white goddamn teeth. I never remember the conversation.

But those are my dreams. You see why I never brought them up. I mean, I never even hit Miss Punchable in them.

But I think she's the Queen of Cups.

I mean, just read what she wrote. Tell me you don't want to just punch her in the goddamn mouth.

I'm not sure what they are. Maybe it's the future. Maybe we're having dream conversations. All I know is they've been happening to me pretty much all my life.

Also, I'm pretty sure she's working for Mr. Smiles. Somehow.

..which means she's my nemesis. Great. Next time I need to make sure to dream punch her.

But, all that exposition aside....there's something else. I censored PerilousFool's name. Because I knew who she was and....I'll just explain it in the journal entry I wrote afterward:

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN TUESDAY, MARCH 21, 5:02 AM

I am such an idiot.

She was so quick to come up with the idea, that maybe smiley is like the slender man, wasn't she? Such a big leap of logic to make. Why didn't I realize this then?

Because I'm a fucking moron.

Why hasn't she told me? Why hasn't she said a goddamn thing!?

People have died! They've fucking died! Fuck, one of them fucking fell on me! I thought she was my best fucking friend but it turns out no, she doesn't fucking care enough to tell me that she was on of the ones who fucking made this fucking bastard in the first fucking place god fucking damn it why am I crying

I still can't stop it. I don't know where to begin.

And if I can't stop it now...if Tara's the reason it's here...

I only have a couple weeks before it takes her.

Heliotrope, Lavender, Celandine, Cypress, Larkspur.

Christ I don't even know what half of those are. But that's what Tara's bouquet was.

It's going to come for her, my best friend, my only friend, and one of its creators.

And I can't stop it.

Conversations With Jack of Thorns

A list of a few of the more pertinent IM conversations I had with Jack during the period I spent researching and running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

1#

Jack: Queen of Blades?

Me: oh christ you're the crazy guy, aren't you?

Jack: I'm sorry. This is my fault

Jack: We wanted to make our own myth.

Jack: And we succeeded, God Help Us

Me: Please, no more madness mantra. What did you fucking do? How the fuck did you make this thing? How can I stop it from taking ****?

---Jack signs out.

2#

Jack: I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do.

Me: So stop talking to me if you're not going to fucking help me.

Jack: I didn't realize it would come to life. I'd read about the Fears, about the Slender Man and the Wooden Girl and the Archangel, but I didn't think they were real. It was just a game. Just a game. But it's not a game. It's not a game. Not a game.

Me: Tell me something I can use or don't tell me anything at all. I get it, you're repentant. Let's move on.

---Jack signs out.

3#

Jack: How many victims, Queen?

Me: Can you even understand me? Are you seeing anything I'm typing?

Jack: How many more until we can stop this monster?

Me: For the love of god, please stop harassing me. I'm trying to find a solution.

(right here he gives me the file birthofamonster.txt)

Jack: this is all the help i have. god help us all.

--Jack signs out. Again.

That's the last thing the Jack of Thorns sent me over IM. The last I saw of that screen name on IM, in fact.

But I still get emails, every once in a while. They're all pretty much the same, though. All something like this:

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

godhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpusgodhelpus

god help us all

Jesus, talk about melodrama. I mean, all he did was unleash a psychpathic stalker monster on the earth. I mean, get a fucking grip, guy. It's not the end of the world.

...Probably not, anyway.

Excuses

There're many reasons I could name that have postponed thenext few parts of my past story from getting updated....but they're all excuses. Even "my face is bleeding."

The real reason is....all the people in my school going missing, the bodies, the fucking memetic thoughtform entity,those aren't the low points of the story. But the low point is coming, and I'm so fucking ashamed of it, it's hard to post. Yeah, I sold someone out to Smiley to save Tara, and that is not the part I am ashamed of.

That being said....it's been long enough. Time to stop hiding from the truth.

Expect real updates to start again. Soon.

Re: My Face

My face is like a roadmap of scars. A lot of them meet at Right Eye Memorial Junction.

owie

you'd think i'd be used to facial trauma by now

Busy

I've in transit the past few days, so that's why you haven't heard from me. Seems Smilley's not even IN Santa Fe, it just killed a few people to lure me here so it had more time in Lafayette.

I'm close, though, but I'm not there yet. I'm tempted to stop by home while I'm so close, but... I also feel like I've burned that bridge already. No use in trying to cross again.

So Much Teenageness

I'm going to skip some of the next stuff. There's a lot of wangsting about not being able to stop it, not finding any good clues, wondering when the next body was going to show up, fretting about who the next victim would be, trying to get a solid lead on Smiley's characteristics and MO, and philosophical ranting about the nature of smiling. I might post some of the highlights, though.

I mean it, there's like fifty pages of this bullshit. I am so not fucking kidding.

It's weird to think this all happened less than half a fucking year ago. I look back at the old me and see someone completely fucking different. Maybe, in some ways, I was.

In recent news, I saw a cop get peeled like a clementine the other day. So there's, um, that.

Shit, I hate the southwest.

Man

Fuck Santa Fe.

URGGGG!!!

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN SUNDAY, MARCH 6; 6:46 AM

Do you know how much information there is on the Slender Man?! Jesus Fucking Christ!

And it's all contradictory! One site says the (X) repels him, the other says it empowers him! One site says he has no weaknesses, one site says he's too stupid to understand heights, one site says he can be repelled by fucking lasers. I'm not even fucking kidding, people. Fucking lasers. Jesus Christ. Hell, one site says he's a fallen god or a faerie or some shit, I don't even know. And maybe he has telekinesis?

Sometimes he's inscrutable, sometimes he has human minions, sometimes he has twitter fights, sometimes he authors blog posts and hangs out with confused teens, and sometimes he just wants twenty dollars. What. The. Hell. Sometimes he does things because he can, sometimes he's part of some huge and vague game with every other fucking boogeyman in the world. Sometimes he just disappears people, sometimes he leaves their insides out in big trashbags. Sometimes he has tentacles, sometimes he's a tree, sometimes he has a face but it's different depending on who looks, sometimes it's blank.

With all this stuff out there, how can someone know what's true and what isn't? How do you separate the wheat from the chaff?

God, I'm getting poetic again. I should take a fucking pill for that.

You know, maybe I should just try shooting Smiley. I mean, it worked so well the first couple of times I went after it with a gun, but maybe now's different.

Too bad I don't have a fucking laser.

Jesus Christ. I still cannot believe the fucking lasers.

Well, should get ready for Church. My guess is we'll be praying for the still-missing girls, like every church in town has been doing, every Sunday since this began.