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?

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

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.

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.