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.