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.

This is Falling Apart

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN THURSDAY, MARCH 3; 5:55 AM

There are many ways I could start this, so I'll just say it outright.

When I opened my locker on Monday, Vanessa's nude, mangled corpse fell on me. It was bound in straps and long, torn sleeves and it was still warm. Her heart had been removed with something precise and impossibly sharp, just cut out along with a section of her ribcage. Her fingernails were missing and her skin was covered in cuts and scratches, her nose was missing, and her eyes looked as though they had been burned from her head.

I was told most of this afterwards because at the time I was screaming hysterically and trying to kick the corpse off of me. I want to call myself stupid or weak but honestly I agree with Tara, that was a perfectly fucking acceptable reaction to the fucking situation.

So there I was, struggling to throw her body off of me, getting caught in the straps and struggling like a fish in a net when I stopped, because IT was right fucking there.

I don't think anyone else saw it, but the Smiling Man looked down at me and offered its hand. It had torn its sleeves off at the wrist, torn the straps of its jacket off wherever they were. It had a head of messy red hair hanging in its face, partially covering up its impossible fucking eyes.

I didn't take its hand. It kept smiling at me, and then vanished.

In good news, the police don't think I did it anymore. But they do think I'm connected to the killer, so I'm under even tighter fucking observation than before. I'm surprised they're not reading this being typed over my fucking shoulder.

I...I don't know what to do anymore. It's changing, somehow. I think...it's like that Jack of Thorns guy said. It's giving itself its own body. I need to get in contact with him. He knows something.

But then what? It's fucking toying with me. It's FUCKING TOYING WITH ME.

Tara's been quiet. I'd like to think she's just afraid, just in mourning for Vanessa...but no, I think the wheels are turning. I think she's getting in over her head. And I also think that the minute I stop being amusing to this goddamn monster it's going to take her, like it almost did when I sold out Felicia.

That reminds me. The latest bouquet was found in the Junior High, across the street, in the locker of a seventh grader.

I don't know what to do. I feel like I should be doing something. I feel like this is my responsibility. But how can I fight a thing like this? Is it even possible?

Maybe I should look up this Slender Man thing that Tara mentioned. She's talked about it before. Maybe, if they're similar enough, they share a weakness.

NOW addendum

I could post more self-indulgent, inspirational bits about how fucking badass I am, but honestly I'm tired of writing about monsters. I mean, I deal with monsters all the time. Honestly right now I just want to write something else and get my mind off my uterus for a while. Yeah, TMI, deal with it.

Also, I haven't really been feeling well lately, mentally, and, well, talking about music seems to work for other people in similar situations.

I don't think I like Who Killed Amanda (Fucking) Palmer as much as I like her Dresden Dolls stuff. I mean, it's alright, some of the songs are pretty catchy, but her group stuff is so much better.

I dunno, maybe it's too over-produced? I mean, it's not bad, but I'm not sure there's anything on the album quite as good as Gravity or Delilah. Maybe I'm just nit-picking, or maybe I just automatically recoil when I read or hear the name Ben Folds like a vampire recoils from a cross.

Oasis is pretty fun, though. I really like lyrical dissonance.

Part of it is, I think, that I really liked the earlier stuff, which is weird because before Punk Cabaret I mostly listened to stuff my dad liked-- the Stones, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Queen, Van Halen (Between this and taking me hunting, can you tell he really, really wanted a son, yet?). But when Tara introduced me to the music of Amanda (Fucking) Palmer and Brian Viglione, I found myself, kind of against my will, loving it. And WKA(F)P is different. That's part of the point, though. A lot of it is stuff she didn't want to release on a Dresden Dolls album because she didn't think it would fit. And I'm glad she released it here rather than on a Dresden Dolls album.

Also, I miss Brian Viglione. His drumming is fucking amazing, especially if you've seen it done live. I mean, even though I'm not really into this whole 'sex' thing, I would fuck Brian Viglione in a heartbeat. I don't think I'm even attracted to him, personally. I think it's some weird fucking primal thing about those drums.

Speaking of Dresden Dolls, I kinda wonder if the Orange Man from Slide is another "Fear", or if he's just one of the thousand references to getting molested Amanda (Fucking) Palmer puts in her songs. I mean, just from a little research I'm finding a lot of them labeled the ____ Man. Hell, the...whatever the fuck it is I'm chasing, Mr. Smiles (I've decided not to give it the dignity of the longer version of its name), was originally named the Smiling Man by its originators. They're like anti-super heroes. Invulnerable, unbeatable, and undeniably evil. Sweet dreams!

Anyway, back on topic and away from the depressing one, my favorite part of Who Killed Amanda (Fucking) Palmer is the end of the thing Gaiman wrote on the back of it. (which is a weird thing to be my favorite but I digress) "If you see Amanda (Fucking) Palmer on the street, kill her. That way she'll live forever."

Fuck, if you see Jeanette (Motherfucking) Cotton on the street, give her a sandwich and some fucking ammunition, that way she'll live a few more weeks.

NOW (3)

I ran into someone today who said he was running from a Tall Man. He said the Tall Man killed his friends, and now the Tall Man was coming for him, slowly, chasing him across the country. He said there were others like himself. Called them 'Runners'. They all had their own, different stories, they all had their own, different demons following them, but in the end, they all had that in common--they were running, and the devil followed.

He saw the state of my clothes, the pack on my back, the suitcase at my side, and asked me what I was running from.

I told him I wasn't running from mine.

I told him I was chasing it.

More Weirdness

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN MONDAY, FEBRUARY 28; 7:21 AM

First of all, Tara is here and she asked me something very important that I hadn't thought of.

"How do you know what flowers were in the bouquet?"

I couldn't tell you what heliotrope looks like. But if I saw the Smiling Man's flowers I could point to it. Tara just hmmm'ed when I told her this. She says she's going to look them up in 'the language of flowers', whatever the fuck that means. I think she's really enjoying this.

She shouldn't be.

Second, I got an email today, from someone who calls himself Jack of Thorns.

It read:

"Dear Queen of Blades

We didn't make him. We gave him a body and set him loose, God help us, but we did not make him.

No, he made himself. God help us, he made himself and we gave him a body and we CLAPPED OURSELVES ON THE BACK AND CONGRATULATED OURSELVES. And this is what we have wrought.

And now he's Feeding. Soon he won't need the body we gave him. Soon he'll have one all his own.

God help us. God help us all.

Jack of Thorns."

How the fuck did this guy know to email me? These aren't even fucking online! Come on, I wrote about taking a fucking gun to school, why would I put these online?! I may be trash but I'm not dumb.

And why the hell did he call me "Queen of Blades?" Maybe the haiku in my info box? With the whole 'Jack' thing sounds like he's going for a card motif.

Tara said something about finding our Toothy Ark, whatever that means.

Better get ready for school. Wouldn't want to miss this shitty, shitty day.

Tara is Smarter Than Me

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 27; 9:17 PM

I saw Tara for the first time today. It was good to see her, but I couldn't look her in the eye.

Anyway, she hugged me. She was worried about me. I told her everything except the part about sacrificing someone in her place.

Tara: "So it just...let you go?"

I nodded.

T: "Then..hmm. I've read about this."

J: "What? Has this thing been other places?"

T: "No. Things like him. It's..hard to explain. You know the Slender Man, right?" Even though girls were missing, I could hear excitement at the edge of her voice. I knew this excitement. It usually precedes Tara being brilliant or painfully naive.

J: "Tara what the fuck are you talking about?"

T: "There's this urban legend some people online made up...only, it might not be a legend anymore. Some people think that believing in it made it real. And that giving it backstory and history and a foothold might have made it powerful. What if this...Smiling Man is something like that?"

I blinked at her. "What."

T: "I looked up some stuff. I think this...this thing is someone's attempt to make something new. Make something horrible of their own. I found a couple message boards of people trying but they mostly lose interest. I'm still looking for one for this thing."

J: "But what if it's not a made up monster made real? What if it's a real fucking monster?"

T: "Well, that'll be online too, obviously." She said matter-of-factly. "Now that I know what it looks like maybe we can find something in an internet search."

So there you have it. Tara's going to start searching for this thing.

She's too excited about it, though. I'm worried she'll get in over her head.

Oh well. Parents are making me get off the computer. Big day at school tomorrow. They're finally letting me go.

I wonder who gets the flowers now?

Two-Part

TITLE: Wish Me Luck

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN MONDAY, JANUARY 17; 4:01 AM

Mission is go. Smile at this, you bastard.

TITLE: Ashley's Gone

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN SATURDAY FEBRUARY 26; 5:06 PM

Ashley's gone. So is another girl, Felicia, a Junior. I've been under house arrest since the cops found me before class in school with my rifle. No computer access. Not allowed even to leave my room.

I got there early. I managed to get a second-floor window open after shimmying up the gutters. I practically camped in front of Ashley's locker, and I must have blinked because there he was, there he fucking was, right in fucking front of me.

It isn't...I can't really. He wasn't wearing a hoodie. He never was, I just needed to rationalize not being able to see his fucking eyes, because you fucking can't. Oh, they're there, you just can't look in them, you can't fucking look in them because something won't let you, something won't let you. And those long sleeves are because he's in a fucking straight jacket.

And he smiled at me. He smiled at me and his smile was wider than his face, and he had so many teeth, so many goddamn teeth. And then he showed me the bouquet. Black roses, yellow tulips, yellow carnations, white heliotrope, lavender hydrangea. Then he looked at the lockers and smiled, and I knew what he wanted me to do, somehow I just fucking knew.

He wanted me to pick. He wanted me to fucking pick who got the next bouquet.

I was shaking, shaking all over, and yes, yes I was fucking crying because I was ready for a man not a fucking monster. I rose my rifle anyway.

And he kept smiling and shook his head, his face, his eyes, his unseeable eyes turning slowly to Tara's locker, and then back to me. He...no, not he, it smiled even wider, showing off every goddamn tooth. They looked so sharp. Like goddamn fangs.

I dropped the rifle. I dropped the rifle and pointed at someone random, someone who wasn't my only friend. I'm so sorry, Felicia. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry but she's my best friend.

I think it pulled the fire alarm after it was done. The police didn't find it. But they found me and they didn't...they won't believe me. That it was a monster. They think I'm connected but they can't prove it, of course they can't. It wasn't me. It was Mr. Smiles. It was the Smiling Man.

They're letting me use the computer today. They're letting me see Tara today if I have an escort. Now that Felicia's gone...well, they know I couldn't have done that. But I have to report to them. They have me tagged around the ankle like a fucking animal.

I'm sorry, Tara. I'm so sorry. I know, if you knew, you would hate that someone else got hurt instead of you. But I had to.

This Monday, this Monday the next girl gets her bouquet. And I don't know what to do.

I Am A Retard Sometimes

ORIGINALLY POSTED SUNDAY, JANUARY 16; 4:42 AM

I am so fucking dumb. I'm EIGHTEEN. I can just leave the house and Mom and Dad can't fucking do jack.

So, I had an idea. Flowers always show up on Mondays. Always. I mean, more flowers show up on other days of the week, but every Monday there are flowers.

I'm going to sneak into school this time tomorrow. I'm going to catch the bastard in the act. Then, well...

I haven't thought that far ahead, I mean, I can't just shoot the bastard, can I? Maybe if I find him I should get the cops' attention.

But then again, why shouldn't I shoot him? He might have killed Vanessa. And now he's going after Ashley. Who knows how many girls he'll take before he's finished?

I'd talk to Tara about this...but I don't know. She's...I'll understand if she hates me now. I'll understand. I shouldn't have said those things but she doesn't understand. Life's so easy for her. Her parents are rich. She has all the options in the world. Me...I'm white fucking trash. That's not gonna change. And..and I'm a freak. Every girl I know has been fawning over boys since middle school but...nothing. I don't feel anything for boys, or girls either, before you get any ideas. (whoever you are, since I haven't actually been posting these) Just...nothing where hormonal craziness should be.

So there's nothing for me. Nothing for me to lose.

That's it. I'll shoot the bastard. Doesn't matter if I go to jail for it. I don't matter anyway.

NOW (2)

You have no idea how long it took me, back then in January, to remember that I was eight-fucking-teen and didn't need to listen to my parents about curfews and house arrests and bullshit like that. I mostly just sat in my room and listened to Delilah on repeat. I think I'll cut out those posts, the weepy ones about responsibility and Tara being mad at me blah blah blah etc.

It's empowering, isn't it? Being an adult. A year ago I could never have done what I've done.

Done. It's a final word, like Over. As long as we remember something, is it ever really over? I twitch every time I see someone -smile- . How can I say it's over?

I think I'm just melodramatic and rambling right now. I think I need to be melodramatic and rambling, though, you know?

I suppose as someone in the 'future' I should leave some sort of cryptic but poignant clue as to what happened but I'm too tired. I don't sleep much anymore. Always on the move.

I'd say I'm being badass but I just want to put as much distance between me and my old life as possible. It's safer for everyone else.

I know you're worried about me. You know who you are. Please, just forget about me. You have a future. You have other friends. Right now I have nothing.

It's safer for everyone that way.

Seen Him

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN THURSDAY, JANUARY 13TH; 7:00 PM

I saw him today--Mr. Smiles, that is. Looks like he's dressed in a hoodie or something. Whatever he's wearing has crazy long sleeves, too. I couldn't make out his face very well, but I'm positive he was smiling. He was outside Ashley Grant's house.

I started walking up to him when a cop stopped me. In hindsight, I don't know what the fuck I was going to do: strangle him with my bare hands? Yeah right--like I'm going to let him chloroform me or whatever again.

Anyway, the cop said, "What are you doing here?"

Me-- "Came to check on Ashley."

Cop-- "Ashley is fine at the moment. Please go home, or I'll call someone to take you there."

Me-- "Bullshit she's fine! That smiling bastard is right over there!"

I pointed and he whirled around. Just my luck, he was nowhere to be seen.

So, long story short, I got escorted home by a cop. My parents freaked the fuck out--I think they're going to start keeping a closer eye on me--might have to do my blogging before the ass crack of dawn.

Tara's telling me to let it go. She thinks the police can handle it and that I'll just get in trouble if I keep at this. I...I said some pretty harsh things to her. She started crying and left.

Shit. Now my best fucking friend is pissed at me. She doesn't understand, though. Vanessa was in my house. Under my protection. And now she's gone and this smiling fucker's going to do it again. I have to stop him. Even if it means killing him in cold blood, I have to stop him.

Success

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN MONDAY, JANUARY 10TH; 4:12 PM

a door left unlocked

an open invitation

her name is revealed

It's a sophomore named Ashley Grant. I think I know her. I think Tara's little sister is friends with her.

I don't know how long I have before Mr. Smiles comes after her, but he's probably started tapping on her window by now.

I'll stop him this time.

Oh, and the police in this town really do need better security.

I Got Punched Today

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN FRIDAY, JANUARY 7, 5:00 AM

Carol Anne hit me in the face at school today.

I knew she was going to do it. I saw her about to do it. I let her. I didn't even hit back.

The funny thing is, I think Tara was a few seconds away from doing it for me. I've never seen her that angry. She should be angry at me, though.

I'm tough. I'm tougher than even the boys at this school. Everybody knows it. I should have done something.

Why did I just fall over? What did that bastard do to me that made me fall over. And fuck it, he doesn't get special treatment in his pronouns. No capital letter bullshit.

I have to find out who got the flowers. I have to save them this time. I know I can do it.

It's so fucked up that the cops aren't even telling the girl who got the flowers it was her. She has a right to know, damnit.

You know, I almost hope it's me. I hope the bastard comes after me. I'll be ready.

Yeah, I'll be fucking ready this time. Shoot first, questions later.

NOW (1)

There's these spiders, Zodaraiidae. They feed by looking like ants, walking right into a colony and just chowing down. Except, they don't look like ants, not really. Not if you look real close. But in some ways, they mimic ant behavior, to avoid detection. Ants assume they're seeing another ant. Like they can't not see the ant, like they refuse to see what the spider truly is.

It's over. I keep telling myself that. But I found one spider. How do I know there aren't more in the nest?

School Report

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 5TH, 12:01 AM

They aren't saying who got the flowers. I don't think even the fucking girl knows. It's pretty damn clear someone did, though, because Tara found a fresh petal while we were walking to lunch. Given how many people could have kicked it around during the school day, it could've come from anywhere.

Everyone's nervous. The curfew's gotten more extreme--everyone is to go straight home after school, preferably in groups or with teachers. There was a big lecture today--telling us common sense bullshit like 'don't talk to strangers and avoid strange cars'.

I think some people blame me. I don't like the way they're looking at me, especially Carol Anne. Honestly given my fail at the slumber party I don't really blame them.

I feel like I should be fucking doing something, you know? I feel weak and defenseless. What if Tara's the one who got the flowers. What the fuck do I do then? What can I do?

Bad to Worse

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN TUESDAY, JANUARY 4TH, 2011; 3:21 AM

I can't sleep.

Vanessa is missing and I should have done something. I could have done something.

She was jumpy the whole of Friday night. The other girls kept trying to keep her mind off of it, tried to keep her interested in other things. And it worked for a little while. But then she got up to go to the bathroom and she just started screaming at the top of her lungs and pointing out the window.

The cops were in the house in a flash, like they'd been sitting outside with their fucking ears to the door. She said she saw 'HIM' standing outside, looking in. Saw 'HIM' smiling at her.

They didn't find anything, of course. Told her to calm down and that they'd keep her safe. Yeah, that fucking worked out great, didn't it?

Nothing really happened again until Saturday night. I'd passed out on the floor and woke up when Vanessa started shaking me. Said she saw 'HIM' again, standing a bit away from the house. I told her to tell the cops, but she said 'HE'd leave if they started coming. I asked her what she wanted me to do about 'HIM'.

She told me she wanted me to shoot 'HIM'.

I should have. I should have but I didn't fucking know! How could I have fucking known?!

I grabbed my rifle, loaded a few rounds, and walked out of the house. I saw...it was the guy, the one making the lewd gestures. I didn't get a good look at 'HIM'. I should have shot 'HIM' but I didn't. I started walking towards him, gun aimed.

"Get off my property." I ordered, probably sounding magnitudes less tough than I was trying to sound.

I got close to...to whoever it was. I tried to look them in the face. I don't remember much, but something happened, something happened I don't know what.

When I woke up, I was in the emergency room. Vanessa and Tara were there and Vanessa was a wreck. Devastated.

According to her and Tara, I just fell over. I don't remember falling over. I don't remember anyfuckingthing except that I tried to look 'HIM' in the eyes. Tried to tell him to get off my fucking property again.

I don't know why I'm writing it like that. 'HIM'. It's just, that's her tone. The tone Vanessa used.

I don't know what's going on. The slumber party was a bust after that. They took Vanessa into direct police custody. They kept me under observation for a while but there wasn't anything wrong with me besides a bump on my head from when I fell.

She disappeared. From police custody. Just vanished. They still haven't found her. School was canceled, supposedly because of that, but I heard something different. I heard the janitor found some more flowers in another girl's locker.

I don't know what's going on. I don't remember anything about the guy.

Except one thing. I know 'HE' was smiling. I can't remember what the guy was wearing. I can't remember what 'HIS' face looks like. But I remember he was smiling.

I'll be ready for the smug bastard. Next time I'm shooting first.

I. I Don't Even Know.

It's been...well, it's been months.

I tried to update this, I did. But instead, the posts sat on my computer. Who would believe me?

But it's over, now. It's over and I want to start posting my previous entries. Please, keep an open mind.

But, Jesus Fucking Christ. How can I tell others about this? How can I give someone else the burden of this knowledge?

You'll have to see for yourself, I guess.

--Jeanette Angeline Cotton