Oh god, he's coming for me. No no no no no. I still have so much to say, so much to do! I won't let them take me. I'll run. Not again. Never again. I'll run and hide, but they'll find me. He always finds me. Must be a way death. death is a way out. Death is better than the blankest room. Goodbye. I can't go back there. Didn't want it to end like this. I'm not crazy. I can't go to that place again.

He was right here. He was right fucking here.

I fell asleep at... I don't even know what time it was. It was dark again when it happened, so I had probably been awake for over 40 hours. I just passed right out.

I woke up about three hours ago. He was in my room, standing in the corner. I don't think he knew I was awake at first. He was far more interested in the bone, holding up to where his face would be, seemingly examining it. I just lay there, trying to appear asleep while watching him.

When he continued to ignore me, I started slowly reaching my hand down the side of my bed. I've always slept with an old baseball bat. After what felt like hours, I wrapped my fingers around it. I prepared myself for my imminent demise. I ignored the foolishness of facing an unknown horror with a goddamn metal stick. This was it. Out with a blaze of glory.

But he must've seen me move, or sensed my heartbeat racing, or something. He looked at me. The bone fell to the floor. He took a single, lumbering step forward, and then disappeared right in front of me.

I've spent the hours since then constantly checking my house for any sign of him. The paranoia is killing me. But that isn't all.

Nothing about this thing is consistent. One minute he's passive, the next aggressive. Last night, he flung himself at my house trying to get in. Today, he simply appears inside. The bone warded him off previously. This time, he just casually inspected it. Watching him previously stopped him from pulling his disappearing act. I just saw him vanish before my eyes.

He's constantly changing. It's as though, with every encounter, he's never quite the same being twice. It's like there aren't any rules with him - he simply is.

How the hell do you fight that? How do you resist chaos?

Can't look away. If grammar and typos are bad, it's because I CAN'T LOOK AWAY. He's here. Last night, when I was twittering, I opened my bedroom curtains and he was there. Right fucking there. The menace spilling off him was like nothing I've ever felt before. Lashing at my window were those... tendril. Each strike from them cracked the air, they were moving so fast. He's still trying to get in, right now. He's watching me, and I him. I'm terrified if I lookaway that he'll find a way ainside.

I don't know why he hasn't just shown up in here. I don't know why those tendrils don't just rip my window apart. All I know is, supposedly, watching him keeps him from preappearing somewhere else, and I want him outside where I can see him. I don't know what to do. I said I'd fight, but there's no way I could get anywhere close with him throwing those things around. It's a perfect stalemate, except I'm going to fall asleep eventually... God, there has to be something I can do. If I sleep, I die. If I look away, I die. If I fight, I die. If I run, I die. I've made it this far, and all it's come down to is a staring contest that I cannot win. What the fuck do I do? What the fuck.

I'm so fucking sick of this. I'm sick of people dying. I'm sick of madness. I'm sick of all this stupid, insane shit. Fuck this. Fuck it. Fuck him. This ends. I don't care if I have to club him to death with that dumbass horse bone or whatever the hell it is. I can't take it anymore. Next time he shows up, I'm just... going to do something. I don't know what yet, but something...

I woke up today to my telephone ringing off the hook. The staff at the mental institution where my mother has been held for the past decade or so were trying to get in touch because my mother died this morning. From a heart attack that they believe was caused by the stress of her mental condition growing worse.

She'd spent the previous day screaming constantly about being menaced by a man in black with no face. Pretty fucking clear where he's been now.

I'm honestly not entirely sure how I feel about mother dying. Despite all she did, she was still mom. She still loved me. She still raised me and took care of me. And yet, I hate her. I hate what her and my father did. I hate what they brought into my life. I don't want to be so brash as to say it's a good thing she's dead, but I haven't cried a tear.

I ended up driving out to the institution to take care of things: fill out paperwork, see the body, collect her belongings. That's when I noticed something they hadn't. There were burn marks on random possessions. A book, Milton's Paradise Lost, had an entire corner burnt away. A quarter of the book, just gone in an impossibly controlled manner. The bottom of a pillowcase was... singed, I guess. No real signs of burning, just turned brown.

What disturbed me the most was what fell out when I picked it up. Apparently, my mother still had an old family photo. I almost instantly recognized it from what was left of it. I remember seeing a copy when I searched my personal belongings weeks ago. The original was of a small family get together: myself, my parents, my grandparents, and Uncle Eddie. My mother's copy, safely tucked in her nearly untouched pillow, had been all but reduced to ash. All that was left, was a small piece. It contained only myself, five years old, smiling. Blissfully unaware of what I'd be going through fourteen years later...

I really hope he shows up tonight. I really fucking do.

Made it back, with enough food for a few weeks. I haven't seen him since the store. Going out into the world of the living again actually taught me a few things about what I'm facing. For one thing, he does NOT like it when you stop him from getting possible victims.

See, he stalked me all through the store. Never closer than about twenty feet, but he was always there. When I first saw him, I considered bolting for the door, and actually started to do so, until I realized he wouldn't get close to me. This strange "passive observer" personality he seems to have grown after our previous encounter is almost more chilling than when he's aggressive. At least when he's on the move, you can actively work against him. When all he's doing is watching from a distance, it leads to this constant fear of when the calm breaks.

Despite getting these constant tingles of fear, I decided to just go about my business. If he attacked me in public, maybe someone would at least notice the crazy guy fighting invisible monsters and wonder what the hell was going on. Things went perfectly, until I noticed he was gone. Shrugging it off as just another one of his disappearances, I breathed a sigh of relief and continued on my way.

It was a few minutes later that I saw him again. He was standing at the end of a long aisle, arms wide open. A glance over my shoulder to the other side froze me to the bone. Walking towards him, in a sort of stupefied state, was a young boy.

I don't want to place motives on this monster. I don't know what it's capable of, why it does what it does, how it even exists. Maybe he just found likely prey. Maybe he'd been after this kid awhile. Maybe things just happen, but some part of me saw this as an attempt by him to see how I'd react. And I wasn't going to let anyone else die because of me. If my "revenge" against him was simply giving an innocent child from being ravaged in the clutches of that demon, it'd be enough.

As the boy was about to pass me, I tripped him. Apparently, the faceplant was all he needed to be jolted out of his trance. The kid looked up from where he lay, and I can only presume he saw the horror he'd been walking towards. He got up, and bolted in the other direction, screaming for his mother. Finally, I knew I wasn't crazy. He'd seen him too. Grinning, I looked over at my stalker to see his reaction.

I found myself staring at the bottom half of a suit top that was far too close for my liking. Stumbling back, I tore at my backpack, fumbling with the zipper as the thing stepped slowly towards me, almost staggering as it walked, like it wasn't entirely certain of the motions needed to propel itself.

I got the damn bag open, and pulled out the bone. Totally prepared to die right there, I held it towards him, awaiting the monster's reaction and my fate. As you can tell from this writing, I lived. He did his chilling head tilt, and then vanished.

After that, I ran to the checkout, paid for everything, and drove as fast as I could back home. It's been about two hours since I last saw him. I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Did this old artifact actually ward him off? Did I simply confuse it? Is this thing testing me?

And if he isn't here, where is he?

He's outside. He's been outside for the past day. Just standing there, watching me. Every once in awhile he disappears, but he always comes back within an hour or two. He's been moving closer with every reappearance. I'm not quite sure what to think about that.

I've spent the past day or so just looking back at him, trying to wrap my mind around something so incomprehensible. This thing has destroyed so many lives, could rip me apart if he really wanted to, yet all he's done is observe. Is it this stupid bone that's keeping him away? Does it really have some sort of mystical power over him, or is that just the mad beliefs of a cult leader who thought he was aiding a god? If it's the former, what is it about it that wards him off? If the latter... why am I still breathing?

Interesting thing to note: The neighbors don't seem to take any notice of him at all. They just drive or walk past without a second glance. Considering this whole Arsonist business, could it be that I'm seeing something that isn't real? Maybe he isn't. Maybe it's true, and he's only there because I believe he is. After the incident with my father's death, he didn't have any affect on my life until after I started Watch This City Burn. Does he need that tie to my imagination to connect into my reality? Is that why his primary victims are children? Because they have such a beautiful creativity that he can infect their thoughts and use them?

And, if he's a creature of belief, can I believe this ridiculous caveman bone will actually keep him away, or even destroy him? Would that work? Does that even make sense?

TheArsonist seems to think that there's some way to fight him off. I actually haven't had any encounters with my split personality since that night in the monster's lair. Is he biding his time? Did his encounter with that thing weaken him? I don't know.

God, he's closer now than when I started writing this. He's probably still fifty feet from my bedroom window, but it's still closer. Wonder what would happen if I went outside right now... I'm so tired of this.

Terror

I’m not entirely sure where to begin. I’ve experienced things that defy logic, and only an insane person could accept. I don’t expect anyone to believe what follows. I don’t expect any of it to make any sense at all. I feel I’ve come so far, though, that the story has to be told, no matter the consequences.

On Monday, I went back to the woods behind my family’s old home. I took some pictures and posted them to twitter so anyone reading this blog could remain updated. After thirty minutes of hiking through the overgrown forest, feeling watched, and glancing over my shoulder, I finally found that godforsaken building.

As soon as I could see the red brick through the tree line, I felt this vague sense of “wrong”. The only way I can describe it would be like an instinctive fear of being near the lair of a predator. I was able to ignore it at the start, shattering a window and climbing inside. The entirety was empty, except for a trapdoor in the back corner. With every step I took towards the door, the desire to flee increased. Instead, I opened it, turned on my flashlight, and began my descent.

The stairway was surprisingly short, leading into a single, dark corridor. Proceeding deeper, I found myself shivering as the temperature suddenly dropped to the point where I could see my own breath. It was a minute or two later that my light fell upon a body, blood splattered along the walls. I gave into instinct, and ran.

As I said before, the stairs had opened to a long, straight corridor. There weren’t any bends or forks or turns where I could have gotten lost. I ran straight back, and never found that set of stairs again. Instead, I found the floor slanting downwards, leading me further into the abyss. Now, more than ever, I find myself believing The Navidson Record could have actually taken place. Nothing about that dungeon’s geometry, structure, or design made sense. I panicked, and turned around again to run back the way I came. I don’t know why, I just did. I never encountered the body I’d previously seen, and the ground kept sloping down into the dark.

I think I ran straight down that corridor for at least an hour, maybe more. I don’t know. Even time seemed to bend back on itself in that place. At some point, the corridor finally leveled out and I found myself in the orgy room from my parent’s video tape. I took a glance around the room when this noise seemed to shake the very walls of hell. It was like... the sound of reality groaning and creaking to accommodate something that shouldn’t be there.

At this point, I’d accepted my fate. I realized I was likely to die there, underground, alone, if not at the hands of a monster then by dehydration, so I didn’t have to worry any more. All I could do was explore. The room had only one other way in or out, which meant that, logically, the other hallway lead to the sacrificial room. Logic was something that betrayed me long ago.

I walked down that new corridor for what felt like maybe ten minutes before it finally opened up into a room – the same one I was in before, except this time there was a third corridor available to me. Wondering if perhaps this wasn’t a case of repeated design, I attempted to return to the previous room. The walk was distinctly shorter, and I found myself in the three-corridor room again.

All I could do was chuckle futilely at the insanity of it all as I began down the new corridor. The walk was long, forcing me to recharge my flashlight several times along the way. Every so often, I’d hear noises. Some were like voices whispering right in my ear, others were low, almost static or distortion-like sounds from far off in the labyrinth. I honestly can’t explain it other than it makes me wonder how much of the noise in videos about him are distortion on the tape and how much are actual audible sounds being recorded.

After what felt like hours, I could see light ahead. Walking into it, I found myself in the sacrificial chamber, staring at the altar where who knows how many children were given to him by people like my parents. Chains still hung at three of the corners, all in what looked like nearly perfect condition. Looking up, I found myself staring at a full moon and a sky filled with stars. It didn’t make sense for a number of reasons. The first being that I’d been deep underground just moments before; the last being that the night before I’d stayed up looking at a crescent moon.

As I looked around the room, I realized the room smelled of sulfur. I took a few steps towards the altar, only to find myself sweating as the temperature rose drastically. I can only imagine that it was a heat similar to what firefighters feel as they enter an inferno. Sweat began to pour off of me as I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I knew he was behind me, lurking in the archway that lead into the only way in or out of the room I was in. I didn’t want it to be true, but I just knew it was. So I turned and faced the terror that has haunted my life all summer.

I found myself frozen in place as I gazed upon my tormentor. I felt like a mouse cornered by a cat. I stared at death itself – dressed in black, faceless, towering over me. And I found myself speaking words that are burned into my memory.

“Finally, we meet. You’ve certainly taken your time.”

I screamed, but I’d lost control of my body to TheArsonist. All I could do was shout inside my mind and watch as a madman got me killed by that horror.

“Can you speak, I wonder? Do you have a mind or do you act on instinct? Where does one like you even come from? You create so many questions and no one seems to have the answers,” Despite my internal protests, TheArsonist took a step towards the monster that blocked my only escape.

And that thing tilted its head. My cold, cruel laugh echoed through the room.

“Do I confuse you? I would presume so. You’re so used to your prey running, hiding, resisting, worshipping… I do believe I may be the first to meet you as your equal, or even your better.”

A quiet buzz began to fill the room, like the earthly equivalent of static on a video tape. The monster’s posture was changing. Where before it had held itself passively, quietly observing, it now gave off an air of malice. I can’t say for certain if it was a trick of the lighting or not, but I thought I saw it’s arms elongate, thought I saw shadows moving behind it. Sensing the oncoming storm, I wanted nothing more than to run the other way.

“Yes… I think you—“

I saw that thing, that tendril, snap towards me with all the speed of a whip, and TheArsonist’s control shattered as survival instinct took over. I dodged as fast as I could, feeling it rip through the sleeve of my shirt. The terror stepped into the room, seeming to grow even taller in the open room. I did all I could, and ran for corridor behind it. The tentacles struck out at me, but somehow, someway, I avoided them. I ran faster than I ever have before, down that dark hallway.

And he was in front of me. I can’t explain it. Panicking, I turned and found a branch in the path that wasn’t there before. With no alternative, I dived into it before that thing could reach out and grab me. I bolted down that passageway, only to find that thing before me once again, and another turn making itself available to me.
I don’t know how long that cat and mouse game lasted, him appearing and me dodging away using the illogic of that strange place, but, eventually, he stopped chasing me. Slumping against a wall, totally exhausted, I fell asleep.

I woke up to his facelessness filling my vision. I choked down a scream, heart pounding in my chest. He seemed to be doing nothing but studying me, and with my back to a wall, I could only let him. It felt like I was frozen there for hours, but I’m sure it was mere seconds before I felt that tug on my mind.

TheArsonist was taking over. I did all I could to resist, but it wasn’t enough. I felt a smirk cross my lips. I spit in the monster’s “face”. My ears popped from the screech that filled the entire room as tendrils struck out at me again and I fainted…

The next thing I knew, I was bolting through the woods. I can only presume TheArsonist somehow got us out. As I ran, it felt like he was everywhere. No matter which way I turned and pointed my light, he always seemed to fill it. Again, I blacked out as my alternate took control.

I woke up here a few hours ago. I found a note on my table: “Well done, we’re safe”. On top of it was a bone with markings and engravings on it. I can only presume this is what TheArsonist wanted from the dungeon, and that he found it after he spat in the face of death itself.

Yet, despite having this totem that will supposedly protect me, I feel like I’m living on borrowed time. I keep expecting for him to appear before me, and I won’t get lucky again.

My story is going to end soon.

I woke up this afternoon to find a notebook on my chest. In my hand was a purple pen, lying beside me a red. The words "get up" were all that was written in the book at this point. Figuring this was one of TheArsonist's twisted schemes, I replied. With what felt like a blink from my perspective, more red words were written down.

This is my conversation with myself.



I don't know if I believe him. The idea that Ted, Emily, Amelia, all those kids, are all in what amounts to hell seems so unlikely, and yet TheArsonist is right in that I have no idea what just that abomination is capable of. And this MacGuffin item that will save us all... It feels beyond belief.

And yet here I am, revitalized and prepared to do what I must to see this through. Strange as it is, TheArsonist gave me some tiny light to cling to in the mounting darkness. I'm going to the woods tomorrow. I'll twitter as long as I have service and document more when I get back.

Wish me luck. This may be the end of my struggles.

Lethargy

I haven't felt this way in a very long time... Right now, there's nothing more I want than to give up, fall over and die. I've felt the effects of depression before - the tiredness, the hopelessness - but I don't recall it ever being this bad. I feel like my body is decomposing around me, and all I want is to just lay here in this bed and let it.

I know what I need to do. I need to move. I need to find out what TheArsonist is up to. I need to go out to the woods. I need to stop that son of a bitch who killed everyone I ever held dear.

But, I can't. I'm just lying here, staring at the ceiling and wishing he'd come and just kill me so I can rest in oblivion. I'm wanting TheArsonist to just take over and guide me on a path to... destruction? Salvation? Just giving myself over to either one of them would be so easy. Eternal sleep...

It's been this way since I saw the recording of that bastard's face in the window. When I first saw him, I instinctively got angry, but once I fully took in what it meant to gaze upon his face, things changed. Knowing he's real, finally seeing him (even through the distant eyes of another's camera), is just... It did something to my mind. There's something about him that's so huge, so unknowable, that it twists your entire view of reality. Before him, we become nothing but formless clay to be shaped by the harsh hands of madness.

It's my belief that all of us try to find a way to integrate him into our lives. Most disregard him as fiction, a game to play with strangers. Those who experience him first hand either run, try to survive, or break, and descend into insanity. A few decide to fight, to destroy what they can't know. No one's succeeded.

Me... I feel like just shutting down and never waking up again.

News Report

I watched the news I recorded last night for any mention of the Wilcox house fire. There was only basic information, since the police didn't want to say too much about the investigation that early on.

What was of far more use was the noon news today. The chief of police was willing to speak about possible causes of the blaze, and someone had come forward with amateur footage of the fire. Both pieces of information were... disturbing

First, the police found the alleged body of Matthew Wilcox in his bedroom. The only reason this unsettles me is because, if it is his body, that is not where I last saw him. Someone moved the body, either TheArsonist while he was there or someone else entirely.

Second, Matthew Wilcox was burned far beyond recognition, to the point where police can't be certain it was actually him without running DNA tests first. They believe this person was, most likely, at the center of the fire. Their current interpretation of the events is that Matthew Wilcox was the first thing to catch fire in the home, and everything else went after.

Third, and the final revelation from the police, was that they currently have no idea what made the alleged Wilcox go up in flames or why his body was incinerated that fast.


Despite all this, what sent chills down my spine more than anything else, was the amateur footage. It was taken by a neighbor across the street a few minutes after the blaze became apparent. The clip starts simply enough, just the woman commenting worriedly about the fire and the possibility of it spreading as she records.

I smiled the slightest bit when I realized you could see me, phone in hand, talking to the 911 operator. I couldn't help it. I'm still human, and being on the news is always amusing. Until it isn't.

The woman with the camera turned it upwards, fire now pouring out the master bedroom window. The view passed by the window on the opposite side, and I felt myself go pale. I quickly rewound the recording, pausing it as the camera swept by the window. If I remember the layout of that house well enough from when I was a child, that was the old playroom where they let us kids run wild.

And the son of a bitch was standing there.

The thing that turned my life into this nightmare was right across the street from me yesterday, and he was watching me the whole damn time.

Wilcox's Home

Earlier today, I went out on a drive. I didn't have any particular destination in mind, I just wanted to get out of this house for awhile. Somehow, I wandered onto Thomas Street, and parked outside the home of Matthew Wilcox.

I remember going to that old, Victorian house every few weeks and playing with the other kids while the parents did... Back then I always thought they were just doing adult things. Now that I know what happened in those woods, I really don't have any idea what they did while we were locked away in the playroom upstairs.

Us kids, we were all so innocent. We never really cared what was going on around us, as long as we were entertained. Sitting around with toys, playing Tag, acting out Power Rangers episodes... Never once imagining that our parents were involved in a death cult revolving around a goddamn otherdimensional abomination lead by that son of a bitch Wilcox.

Even when I was young, I knew there was something off about that man. Something about the way he moved, the way he talked, the way his eyes darted as he glanced around... Yet, something about him drew you to him. His commanding voice could get anyone to do nearly anything. His beliefs were so absolute, his speeches on them so full of conviction, that you couldn't help but start nodding your head in agreement. As a child, I thought he was terrifying, and I thought he was a leader. Hell, I thought he may as well be a god.

But Wilcox was just a man. Now he's a dead man. And there I was, just sitting outside of his home, considering going inside to "look for answers".

I knew it was a bad decision, but I needed to take a look. I opened my car door. I got out. I took one step forward, then another, then another...

And then I saw the smoke beginning to pour out the windows and the cracks in the doors. The heat started rising as I stood there, watching in shock as the fire slowly grew and consumed that old home, all those memories, before my very eyes. It wasn't until the entire house was aflame that I thought to call 911.

The police asked a few questions before letting me leave. Nothing serious, just what I was doing in the area at the time. I told them a sanitized portion of the truth, that I used to know Mr. Wilcox and was coming for a visit. They let me go without too much trouble.

What gets to me is that everything in that home, any answers there may have been, are nothing but ash now. Who knows what I could have learned about Wilcox's death cult, if only I had wandered by a little sooner...

mynightonthetown.jpg

I cannot, in good conscience, post the image that TheArsonist left on my hard drive and Jonathan found when he decoded the message left for me.

I can tell you this: Matthew Wilcox, the man who lead the cult my parents were involved in, has been murdered via a pair of knife wounds, one stab directly to his heart, another across his neck...

Messaged...

Just got an e-mail from a certain "friend" of mine. Any thoughts?

"Have Fun:

35 30 20 33 61 20 35 63 20 34 61 20 37 36 20 36 31 20 37 31 20 36 32 20 36 61 20 36 36 20 35 63 20 35 39 20 36 32 20 37 34 20 36 36 20 35 63 20 35 30 20 34 66 20 34 36 20 35 63 20 37 61 20 36 63 20 36 31 20 37 36 20 37 34 20 37 35 20 36 37 20 36 32 20 36 31 20 36 37 20 37 35 20 37 32 20 36 37 20 36 32 20 36 61 20 36 31 20 32 65 20 37 37 20 36 33 20 37 34

-TA"

Alright, recovered from that little outburst. I'm sure no one here will hold it against me for getting worked up over the love of my life dying...

Actually, I got a decent idea from that whole episode. I ended up scrolling through Amelia's old twitter because, well... because. It finally occurred to me that an account and the mobile update feature would be very, very useful for when I head into the woods in a few days.

So I started up this account. Follow if you'd like. I'll be working on integrating it into the site soon.

The past four days have been...

It feels like I'm being dominated by TheArsonist, like he's nearly taken complete control. I literally lost all of the past two days to him. All of it. I went to bed Wednesday night, woke up about an hour ago in my backyard wearing different clothes with a note in my pocket.

"Thanks for letting me borrow you yesterday and the day before. I got quite a bit accomplished for both of us. I think you'll be rather thankful for my intervention, in the end. Take care of us, Damien."

This weight that I've been carrying now is killing me. It seems so long ago that Ted died, nearly two months. Emily and Vincent were a month ago, almost to the day. Amelia died oh god, Amelia...

Orestes

Just made it back from my visit with mother. I smuggled a tape recorder into the room with me, so the following is a transcript, word for word, of what occurred.

Attendant: ...have thirty minutes with Mrs. O'Connor. If she appears to be distressed...

Damien: If I upset her, you'll sedate her and put her back in her room. I know. Thank you, ma'am.

A: Of course, Mr. O'Connor. I'll have them bring her in. (Sound of door opening)

My mother is lead in and sat on the other side of the glass barrier. Her face lights up when she sees me. The attendant exits, shutting the door and waiting outside while we speak

Mother: Oh Damien. It's so good to see you come and visit again. But Kiera isn't with you this time...

D: She wasn't with me last time either. We haven't been together for awhile.

M: No, no, no. I do remember her. She'd curled her hair, dyed it red. I really did much prefer it straight and black... Such a pretty gi---

D: I explained this last time: That wasn't Kiera. That was Amelia.

M: Oh... And why isn't she with you? Are you still together? You should get back together with Kiera.

D: Amelia's not here because she's dead, mother.

(Silence)

M: I'm sorry to hear that. I do know how hard it is to lose a loved one.

I chose to ignore for a time. I planned to approached the subject of father and his death later in the conversation. I needed as much information from mother as possible, and I was worried that intense of a subject would provoke a fit.

D: (Sigh) I went back to the old house yesterday.

M: Really? It was such a nice home. The woods were always so beautiful when autumn came and the leaves changed color. I remember you and your friends running around out in the forest, playing your games while I baked cookies and made lemonade for when you'd come back.

D: Yeah... good times... Do you remember any times when Ted and Em and I came back frightened? Like we'd maybe seen an animal out in the woods? The news said a bear may have been spotted recently (Blatant lie on my part)

M: Hmm... I recall some of the stories you came back with about dragons and giant spider people, but those were always just stories.

D: Did we ever mention meeting anyone?

M: (Laughs) Other than the occasional wizard, I don't think so. You always had such a vivid imagination, Damien. You always dreamed the most amazing things. (Sighs) I just wish you'd applied your creativity in better ways.

D: Such as?

M: I always thought you could have changed the world.

D: Into what?

M: A better place. That's what you used to want to do, you know. You wanted to save the world from all the "bad guys". You wanted to be president. But you became so jaded after your father died. You sealed yourself up inside yourself, and the bad men put me in this cage.

D: Do you remember a building out in the woods behind our house? Red brick, green doors, overlooked a river.

M: (Slightly agitated) No... no, I don't. Why?

D: Because...

I pulled out the "Return" drawing of the building out of my pocket and pressed it up against the glass where mother could see it. She lost a bit of color from her face as she looked it over.

D: I found this with a bunch of other old drawings of mine. I remember playing nearby, but I can't quite recall how to get there. I kind of wanted to take a trip down memory lane and visit it, so I was wondering if you knew how to get there.

M: I have no idea what that building is. Maybe you imagined it.

D: No, I've definitely been the--.

M: Maybe you haven't. The mind plays tricks on the soul.

D: Mother, I know this place is real. I'm going to go there.

M: (Shakes her head furiously, growing more and more upset) It's not real. Doesn't exist. You can't go there. Please don't go there. For me? For your mother?

D: Okay.

M: (Settles back down, but still on edge) Good boy.

D: I found another picture while I was looking through my things...

At this point, I was terrified of pushing her into a fit, so I decided to back the pressure off a bit. I figured it'd be best to ask a few insignificant questions, so I pulled out the "Happier Times" drawing of my mother, father, uncle, and dog.

D: Who's Max in this picture? I don't remember having a dog. (Another lie)

M: You don't? That's strange. You loved Max. (She reached out and "touched" the image through the glass. I realized later that she wasn't touching the dog, but my father's face.) You used to take him out into the woods with you all the time. You were inseparable.

D: What happened to him?

M: One day, while you were at school, I let him outside to go potty. He started barking, but he always did that. The barking stopped, and I went out a bit later to let him back inside. But he was gone. I think he ran out and got lost in the woods.

D: Oh... I was wondering, have you and Uncle Eddie patched things up at all? I haven't heard from him since your big fight when I was six.

M: No, no. I still don't speak with my brother. He said terrible things about your father, and I just couldn't have that. I told your uncle to leave and never speak to any of us again. I loved your dad too much to listen to that.

D: What did dad do for a living? I just remember him coming home from work in his suit and falling asleep right after dinner.

M: He was a stockbroker. Supported us so well, but he worked himself so hard.

D: Did you ever meet any of his coworkers?

M: A few. I never liked any of the women. They were always flirting with him, right in front of me! Always wanted to run them off with a broom, thinking they were better than me just because I chose to be a housewife. He could have had any of them, but he chose plain, common, little me instead. And I loved him for it so much.

D: Were any bald?

M: (Burst of laughter) Bald women? In big business? Oh, no. Never. They were always far too obsessed with their looks and maintaining appearances.

D: I meant the men.

M: Oh... None that I recall.

D: Really? (I decided to take a significant risk here) I could've sworn I remember the two of you always being around a tall, skinny, bald man in a business suit.

M: (Perplexed) I really don't seem to remember anyone like that.

D: No slender men?

M: No. You're acting very strange today, Damien. All these questions...

This is where things get very, very weird for me. I remember this being the end of the interview. I don't know why I'd end it there, but I could've sworn I stood up and said...

D: I'm sorry, mother. It's been nice seeing you, but I have to go.

Apparently, that isn't what happened...

D: What about excilis everto?

(Long, long pause on the tape)

M: What?

D: Excilis everto, mother? I seem to remember you and father being rather close with him.

M: How do you know about that? (Listening to the interview, I'm amazed at how lucid my mother sounds from here on. Normally, she's either very wistful or very shaken. She sounds like a normal, serious human being for most of the remainder of the tape)

D: I stumbled on a video tape of a number of naked men and women engaging in an orgy that was broken up by yourself, father, and three others in purple robes.

M: You found the tape... I thought I destroyed it...

D: You didn't, mother.

M: How much did you see?

D: Everything. What happened to the little girl?

M: He... took her.

D: Did you know that he has been taking others? Three children disappeared just a few days ago.

M: It is his nature.

D: What does he do with them?

M: He takes them to a better place. Reverend Matthew said that every child we gave to him went to Heaven, and if we gave him enough, he'd take us too.

D: If he takes them to a better place, why didn't you let him take me?

M: I... I was selfish. I wanted you to stay with me...

D: But father didn't think that way, did he?

M: (She begins sniffling, clearly starting to cry) Your father loved you more than I did. He wanted to let you go to Heaven, but I wouldn't let him. I wanted you for myself.

D: Is that why you killed him?

M: ...Yes.

D: Perhaps you aren't aware, but Matthew was lying to you and father. Ted, Emily, and I saw what he does deep inside that dungeon beneath the old building in the woods. We saw what happens when he gets his hands on the most innocent of us.

M: (Mother's familiar agitation creeps into her voice) I don't know what you're talking about... He always just lead them do the corridor behind the altar. I never saw... Reverend Matthew never let us---

D: He rips them apart. He pulls their organs out of their body and puts them back in. He mutilate their corpses and sings a song of delight as he does.

M: No...

D: You were condemning innocent children to death, and all because you thought it'd get you into Heaven.

M: (Crying, almost screaming) What's happened to you, Damien? What happened to my little boy?

D: (I... TheArsonist... laughed, cold and cruel) I am the man you always wanted me to be - I'm going to make this world a better place. You thought I could use this mind of mine do great things. I'm going to accomplish what no one else has, what no one else can even imagine accomplishing.

(Door swings opens, footsteps of attendants running in to restrain mother)

M: (Screaming, sounds of her resisting her attendants as she's dragged out of her chair and towards the door) You can't... Damien, please, don't! We didn't know! We were just doing what we thought was right!

D: But you weren't right. You were so selfish and small-minded and now you're going to pay. You're dead to me, and I'm sure he'll be making a visit very, very soon... (Sound of the door shutting, my mothers cries still carrying into the room) I'm sorry, mother. It's been nice seeing you, but I have to go.

exiliseverto

exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto
exilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexilisevertoexiliseverto

Pro you Gress are Ing. Evo you Lv are Ing. But not fast enough.

Prepare yourself.

-TheArsonist

Mother

I've chosen. A lot of you seem to agree that going to the mental institution to visit my mother is the safer of the two choices, and I have to agree with you. Even though I hate that woman, hate that she is literally in my blood, I need firsthand answers about what the hell was happening on that tape.

I just called and made the appointment to visit - 3:00 p.m. on Wednesday. Until then, I need to get my head on straight. I might only get one shot at this, and I don't need my mother getting under my skin. I need to ask the right questions in the right order in the right way so she doesn't shut down and shut me out. Push to hard, she starts screaming and has to be taken away and sedated; Push to lightly, I don't get any of the answers I need before going to that building in my drawing.

Thanks to all of you who have stuck by me through all of this, and thanks to those of you who are just now stumbling upon the twisted wreck my life has become. It's... good to know that I'm not alone after my world was ripped away from me.

I'll let you all know how it goes on Wednesday...

Local news...

Three children, two boys and a girl, all unrelated, were abducted from a playground about fifteen minutes from my house earlier today. The parents each claim that their individual child approached them and told them about the "three new friends" they'd just met. They then each ran off towards the large, wooden castle structure, ducking into one of the lower "paths", to never return.

These disappearances happened nearly simultaneously. Out of everyone at the park, adult or child, only one believes he saw what happened after the missing children crawled beneath the castle. The father of the little girl reportedly tried to follow her into the playground equipment, under the impression that something was odd about what his daughter said and how she said it. Shaking on live television, the man told the reporter his last glimpse of his daughter was through the cracks between the wooden planks.

She was walking away, hand in hand with a tall, thin man. When he ran to the other side of the structure, they had vanished without a trace.



Ted, Emily, and Vincent died first, because I was blind to what was going on around me. TheArsonist claims that this brought "Him" into my life. Amelia was stolen from me when she saw "Him". And now... innocent children are being stolen away. I have to stop this monster.

Tomorrow, I'm choosing. I'm not sure if I'll be going to my mother or my old home, but I've found out where I can find the answers and I'm done delaying. I'll let you know what I've decided tomorrow.

The Tape

I watched the "orgy porn" tape. Mentioned it back when I first started looking through things from my old life and disregarded it almost immediately. Who wants to watch weird porno their dead father and insane mother used to use? However, after finding that weird "robed figures" picture and reading KatieChainsawful's comment, I decided to give it a second look.

It was among the most disturbing things I have seen in my life. And I've seen a lot the past few months.

It starts out like bad, amateur porn. Just a bunch of white guys, from twenty-somethings to a sixty year old, doing a bunch of white women, in about the same age range. The weirdest thing about the first thirty minutes is just the location. A bunch of brick, torches hanging off the walls, archway in the back leading into darkness.

After about a half an hour, there's this really loud shout that instantly breaks up the party. Everyone just stops, gets up, and basically stands at attention. Walking through the dark archway are five people, robed in purple, hoods pulled up; exactly like in my drawing.

The leader of five begins speaking in some language I didn't understand at all. It almost sounded like Latin or Greek. All I'm certain of is that it definitely wasn't English. And then the three turned around and walked back down the corridor, all the naked orgy participants following, one grabbing the camera to continue filming the proceedings.

The walk through the passage takes a good five minutes. There's some idle chatter between people in the dark. Hell, two of the guys are talking about sports teams. Once they get through the black corridor, there's another room lit by torches. And this is where I lost it and threw up.

Chained on an altar almost precisely like the one in my drawing, symbol and all, is a young girl. She's probably no more than eight years old, stripped bare and tied down to the cold stone like some sort of ancient offering. I could hear the sounds of her sobs for the rest of the recording.

What I can only imagine is the leader of this crazed gathering stands tall on a podium just offset from the stone table the girl is chained on. Arms raised high, he begins to preach. I may not know what language they were speaking, but mad, religious preaching sounds the same in any of them. And you could start seeing the tension, this strange mix of fear and excitement flow through the crowd. The leader begins chanting, throwing his hood back to reveal an old, bearded man. His blue eyes are haunting, filled with insanity.

All the naked people started chanting along. It sounds something like "exilliss evearto". The terror and apprehension seems like it's a literal being in the room with them. The four other robed crazies throw their hoods back. Two are pretty unremarkable: one man, one woman, probably in their forties.

The other two are my mother and father. And I threw up again.

And then everything on the tape goes to shit. This shadows passes through the room. Some people begin screaming, some cheering, some just standing in awed silence. They're all looking towards the altar. The man with the camera turns to catch it in shot...

The entire picture falls apart. It's all blur and distortion. Outside of the color of brick lit by torchlight and patches of black shadow, nothing can be made out. My television's speakers let loose this awful, inhuman screeching noise. And it was loud. Despite having the volume set to lower than normal, I'm surprised my speakers were capable of creating that intense of noise.

I tried to mute it and start fast-forwarding to see if it would clear up, but the tape refused to work. All it did was screech and keep playing this twisting, incomprehensible image. The only way to make it stop was to unplug the VCR. I'm afraid to plug it back in, in case the noise starts again.

I've been shaking ever since. As if those events weren't twisted enough, my parents were involved. My parents... I need answers, and only my mother has them. I still haven't decided if I want to "Return" or "Orestes", but I have to understand what was going on in that tape now...

God, that little girl...

Arsonist's Return

I just woke up to find two old, childhood drawings tucked beneath my pillow. One, I had written off as totally unrelated to anything. The other... too personal to post. Apparently, TheArsonist thinks otherwise.

On the back of each drawing were two words, and a signature from my alter ego. Seems like I'm, once again, doing something wrong, and he feels like he needs to step in to get me going...



"Choose: Return"

I recognize this place. It's an old building in the forest/park behind my old house. Emily, Ted, and I always used to play near it, usually something to do with space cops or magic knights. I don't actually remember what was inside, since the front door was always locked. Not a huge building, but it was a landmark back when I was younger.



"Choose: Orestes"

I didn't want to post this... I remember I drew this while in psychological counseling after my father's murder. I guess it's how I viewed my mother then; how I still view her today. "Orestes" isn't quite as straightforward in telling me what I'm supposed to be choosing as "Return". Perhaps this is TheArsonist telling me to go question mother...?

So, I now have a choice: an old building in the woods, or a mad parent in an asylum. I don't particularly like either option, but TheArsonist thinks I should do this. I'd like an outside opinion on this. My gut instinct is to "return" to the building, but that's likely just me wanting to avoid mother. Your thoughts would be appreciated...

Results

Three days since the last update... As far as I'm aware, I spent all of Thursday and Friday asleep. Unless, that is, I'm being hit by Slender Man's infamous memory loss. Or worse, perhaps TheArsonist is taking over again...

Anyways, whatever. I've gone through all five boxes of stuff and have found nearly nothing. No Operator symbols, no allusions to a business man hanging around, no childhood friends disappearing - nothing.

I scoured all the old family photos and, outside of my dad in his suit occasionally making be do a double take, they're clean. The video tapes... well, I'll admit that there was this weird ass "orgy in a dank basement" porn of my parents that I didn't bother to watch through because that would just be sick but, other than that, those were alright to. No distortion, no damage, no Slender.

My old writings up until I turned ten are about as lucid and make as much sense as any child's works. Lots of stories involving myself, Emily, and Ted on adventures around the forest outside my house, running away from giant spiders and masked villains. A few about evil wizards being fought off by Batman and the Power Rangers. Ya know, childhood fantasy.

After ten, a lot of the writing dries up. There's the occasional disturbing page of how I felt after my mother killed my father, like the one explaining she must have had a spider in her brain that took control of her and made her do it... Not much there either.

Finally, the drawings. There's the Spider one I already posted, which was strange but not enough to ring any massive bells. I was about to give up on everything, when I found this drawing. Something about it does NOT feel right to me. I've been trying to explain it away as an illustration from one of my stories, but it... it just feels wrong. I get nauseous just looking at it. It's not Slender Man. It's just... weird.

Old Fear

I found this image clipped to a school assignment where we were supposed to write down our worst fears. Considering the drawings of the legs and a certain part in what I wrote, I thought this was worst posting.



(Edited for spelling)
I'm afraid of spiders. They crawl around and bite you when you're sleeping. You can get poisoned and die! I'm really scared of big spiders coming out from under my bed and eating me when I'm asleep. I have bad dreams about them and the spider-man getting me. In comics spider-man is nice but not in my dreams. He wants to take me away. I'm really really scared of spiders.

Unearthing Memories

I got back from the storage facility a few hours ago. Have several boxes full of old notebooks, video tapes, drawings, photos... Anything that held old memories. Unfortunately, I didn't have access to a VHS player so I called around to work buddies and got a hold of one. Only now getting to go through the tapes... Been a lot of unmarked old Disney movies so far. And a weird porno that must've been my parents. Sick.

I did find this in the box with the tapes. Based on Uncle Eddie and Max being there, I'd say I probably drew it when I was seven.



I'll keep you all posted on anything else I find.

I've spent the past few days at funerals. Eve and Vincent's was last Friday, Amelia's earlier today. It rained both days, like I'm living in a bad movie. It feel as though my heart has been ripped out of my chest, replaced by nothing but boiling, malevolent rage. I nearly throttled a family friend of Amelia's when he walked in the door at his funeral. He looked so much like... like him: Tall, bald, business suit...

When I haven't been burying the people I've loved that have died, I've been trying to get assimilate, or at least get back in touch with, my split psyche. Other than that, I spent time researching Slender Man on the web. In response to this bit in a comment...

Cinderblock said...

Well if we're all you have left, facebook me, haha.
Anyway you REALLY, REALLY, REALLLLYYYYY should go to http://openthedoorandyouwillfindme.blogspot.com/

There is a man who is after Slenderman.
He is on the very, VERY same step as you.

I actually followed Strahm prior to everything that's happened in my life. I thought it was a story. I still kind of see it that way. However, fact or fiction, his July 9th post is full of useful information. I may or may not get in touch. For now, I want to do this alone...

The other site that's been a lot of use is The Tutorial. I'm not sure how much use M's facts are to me since Slender Man seems to be different things for different people (Perhaps, as a being quite likely created by our own minds, he adapts to each individual's psyche? Just as he was thought into existence, he uses our thoughts to evolve into a different hunter for each type of prey?), but it's still good to know there's someone out there looking out for people like me.

M said...

TheArsonist is the part of you that's fighting back from being hollowed out by Slenderman. Slenderman takes people over, makes them do things he can't do, and was probably trying to do this to you. Usually this either works or doesn't, and people become only that hollowed out part of them, or stay basically the same. I've heard you have some mental disorders and were taking pills for them. What were they? Maybe that's the key. Maybe you're reacting differently to Slenderman because of whatever it is you have.

This is actually something I've been considering myself. It certainly ties into what I... he... it said in Death about fighting Slender Man, like it was an internal war, but TheArsonist said he lost and that I would become "like him". I'm not ready to say I'm sure that's what my disassociated personality is, but it's a leading theory I have.

I used to try and hide my mental disorders, but it's kind of too late for that now. I've only been "officially" diagnosed or psych eval'd with depression, moderate paranoia, and some issues with repressed anger and lashing out. My family history, however, is filled with other problems.

My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic, and psychotic. She killed my dad in one of her rages when I was ten. One minute I'm playing outside with Emily and Ted, the next I hear a scream, and then I see Mama stumbling outside, blood down her skirt, knife in her hand, begging me to hug her.

I never want to be like her.

M said...
Either way I have only 2 pieces of advice for you: 1. Get moving. I know you want to stay in your house, but He knows where you are and can get to you easier because of that. And 2. get in touch with TheArsonist. This may be something you can use to defeat him. I've never heard of anybody with mental illness (severe or not) that has fought him, maybe it can help.

I've actually never seen him near my home. In fact, I've never seen him at all. There was one false alarm, the last time I ever saw Em and Vince alive, but it turned out to be a normal guy. It's... strange. I am planning on getting moving soon. Going to live out of my car awhile. See how well the bastard does then...

And, as I've said, I've been working on TheArsonist, but he's a blank slate after that first realization he's me and "seeing" myself doing all he did. Maybe I'm doing something wrong...

Gonna get some rest. Tomorrow's a big day. Zeke Strahm put forward a theory that Slender Man attacks adults who escaped him as kids. Most of my things from childhood are in a storage facility an hour or so away from here. Perhaps there's a picture or... something. I'll let you know what I find.

New Life

Since Sunday, when Amelia died, I've been preparing for what is yet to come.

My life is tattered and ruined. Everything I have ever loved has been taken from me. I'm not going to let this continue. I refuse to let this monster continue his reign of terror. He should never be allowed to do this again. So, I've been planning, studying, preparing. I have nothing left to lose, and I've decided to go down fighting.

I've done research on split personalities. I wanted to make absolutely certain that my theory about being TheArsonist was true. I have begun meditating in an attempt to get in touch with that side of me.

And it has worked. I remember writing those messages, creating that recording, leaving all those clues... We're one, TheArsonist and I. If you need proof, I'll write something on Watch This City Burn. I remember what my alternate set the password as. I remember nearly everything...

But with every answered question come a legion of others that beg to be solved. The following are what I'm focusing on right now, and I believe they may be the key to gaining revenge on the abomination that stole my life from me.

When did I first become TheArsonist, and why?

It seems logical that it was with Ted's death and the hacking of Watch This City Burn. However, logic doesn't have meaning to me anymore. I'm currently attempting to dig deeper into that part of my psyche, but I can't seem to find anything...

Why did my personality split? While I can remember things I did as TheArsonist, I can't recall any meaning to my actions. My motivations are a haze, and I get a concentration-breaking migraine every time I try to break through it. Hopefully, I'll be strong enough to fully reintegrate that side of my mind. For now, I'm struggling to understand why it happened.

Why does TheArsonist speak in Death as though he has fought Slender Man before?

The answer to this appears simple: If TheArsonist has fought him before, that means I have and don't remember it. Is it really that easy? How does that affect what I should do next? Is there a possibility I am missing?

How did TheArsonist know that Emily and Vincent would die?

This is the biggest question of all, and I still have no answer for it.


If you believe you have any theories about the above, let me know. It's clear to me now that my mind isn't in the best state, so having outside help could let me see something I've missed.

For now, I'm going to continue gathering supplies. I have some money saved for emergencies. This is one. I also have money that was supposed to pay for school tuition this fall. I doubt that I'll be attending, so that's more funds I can access. I'm not quite sure what my next move will be. I'll be sure to keep you all informed. Thank you for everything you all have done. As sad as it is, you're all I have left...

My name is Damien O'Connor. Until recently, I thought I had escaped the insanity that stole my family away from me. I was wrong. One month ago, my best friend, Ted, died. I had a psychological breakdown, and never realized it. My mind created an alternate personality that took control of a story blog I created. As TheArsonist, I attempted to awaken my conscious mind to things locked away inside of myself. It didn't work.

Emily, a friend I've known nearly my entire life, and her husband died because I didn't understand my own second personality. I was stopping in to see them one last time before they left again. I saw the police as I pulled up. I spoke with them about what had happened. And I thought I saw... My first response was to run. But I couldn't. Some force kept me from leaving the town I grew up in. Instead, I went back home, sat down, and, finally, I seemed to ask the right question. The question: How did TheArsonist know Emily and Vincent Ellison (EVE) would die next?

The answer: Because I am TheArsonist.

I spent four days locked inside my room, trying to understand. I had somehow knew they would die, but I couldn't figure out how that could be. On the third day, I realized the only logical way was because I was their murderer. I was the one who ripped them apart, leaving parts of their bodies strewn across a hotel room. I was the one who wrote those cryptic letters on the wall in blood. I took the next logical step: I killed Ted. I lured him into the woods. I gutted him. I dragged his body up a ladder and high into a tree, and hung him there.

It was me. All this time it was me. I am the Slender Man I see. I was just projecting my sins onto an outside hallucination. It's why I saw him, acted as him. Disassociated personality. I am three-in-one: Damien, Arsonist, Slender.

My room still smells of vomit from when I came to this realization.

I tried to kill myself after I understood. Put the .22 in my mouth, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger. The click echoed in the hollows of my twisted mind. I'd never loaded my gun. Shaky hands forced a single bullet into the magazine, and then the gun was back in my mouth. Drenched in sweat, my finger slowly squeezed that tiny nub of metal that separated me from the void. My phone rang, breaking my calm. It was a short text. Amelia was about to leave to start her way back home. She was worried about me.

For a moment, I considered sparing myself to spare her the pain of my death. I could turn myself in, and be institutionalized. I thought of my mother. The gun went back into my mouth. And the phone rang again. Another text from Amelia.

"This really tall guy across the street keeps staring at me. Weirdo. Going back in to get stuff, then heading. Luvs you *kisses* :)"

The gun fell to the floor. With shaking hands, I called her. I explained everything to her, even the insane parts. She believed me. I told her I wanted her to stay on the line the entire way home. That she'd get back, and we'd find a way to beat him.

Amelia died in a car accident. I heard her last words. "He's here. I love you. Oh god."

I lost my best friend. I lost my first love. I lost my true love. I have been driven to the edge of despair. I have gazed into the abyss. I have lost everything.

Now it's his turn.

ARSONIST!

How the hell did you know? How did you know that Emily and Vince would die over a week before it happened? This blood isn't just on my hands, you son of a bitch! It's all over you too! Why couldn't you be sane? Why couldn't you make sense? Why couldn't you just... WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE THEM!?

Damn it. GODDAMN IT!

I ran.

My hands are stained red with the blood of those I've loved. It's all my fault. Too stubborn to wake up and see I was falling into a nightmare...

So I ran. And I'm running. And I don't think I'll ever see you again. Goodbye, Amelia. I'm not safe. Not with IT awakened - hunting, destroying. Goodbye, my love. Maybe, someday, we can be together again...

The End?

Just got back from an early dinner with Emily and Vincent. They're heading back home later tonight, so they decided to treat me to Olive Garden. I'm just glad Em's still willing to talk to me after my little freak out on the phone the other day about Amelia... Really going to miss her now that she's leaving again. It was really nice seeing her and her husband. I remember back when I was a kid and thought her last name would end up O'Connor. Instead it's Ellison... Still, he's a nice guy and I can see now that Emily's better of with him, and I'm better with Amelia.

Speaking of, I'd like to thank you all for the kind thoughts in the comments. Amelia's mother is recovering alright. Broke several bones, bad internal bleeding, but she should pull through. Amelia is planning on staying there until the end of the week. All safe and sound.

...I feel I should admit something to you all. I'm considering stopping writing on this blog. No offense, but between TheArsonist and the comments that sum up to "ZOMG your world is ending soon", Dreams In Darkness has not done much for my mental health. Ted's death was bad enough, and I feel like this blog only makes it worse. I'm not blaming anyone. It's just...

I thought I saw him at the Olive Garden, outside a window. It turned out it was just a businessman and woman on their way in to have a lunch meeting. I nearly went running out the front door when I saw them. That isn't right. That isn't sane. Who can you trust when you can't trust yourself?

Fuck, I should probably delete that last paragraph. I'm sure you're all giddy to hear me say I thought I saw him. Next you're going to tell me to videotape myself and start running away from every tree or other tall, thin object...

Amelia's fine, at least physically. Her mother was in a serious car accident yesterday, and was brought into the ER in critical condition. Being the sort of girl she is, Amelia immediately got in her car and sped off to be with her family. They live about six hours away, and my love's phone died less than an hour into her trip. So she's okay. Not sure how well she is emotionally since her mom is in a terrible state, but she's still okay.

So much for getting on with life, though. My reaction to losing touch with her was extreme, to the point where I was screaming at Emily over the phone when she tried to calm me down. Ted's death is still hanging over my head... And TheArsonist's warnings continue to frighten me. Whoever they are, they're clearly insane, yet something about those posts chill me to the bone.

Still, I'll be sleeping with my .22 tonight...

Ohgodohgodogodgodoogod

Not again. Not after Ted. I was starting to live again, and now I've lost my heart...

Amelia didn't come in to work yesterday, and she hasn't replied to any of my texts or phone calls. I drove over to her house. Her car was gone.

This can't happen. I can't... I can't lose her. Oh god...

Return to Life

I'm happy to announce my life appears to be getting back on track. After "delivering" Watch This City Burn's "warning" to "Eve", I feel like that is all behind me. As Jonathan linked to in the comments...

Damien, have you seen your psycho "friend"'s latest blog post regarding this?
Guy seems pretty pissed at you.
http://tonightitallburns.blogspot.com/2010/07/no-nononononononononononononononononono.html

Weirdo has apparently "ceased to exist", which I can only take to mean "My attempts at ruining your life are over because you're too smart so this is my last ditch effort to drag you back in."

That make sense? No? I don't care. My life is returning to normalcy. I'm done with this whole killer nonsense. What happened to my best friend was terrifying and brutal, but I doubt some hacker on the Internet truly knows what is going on better than the police.

Yesterday evening, Emily, one of my oldest friends that I went to elementary school with, came in for a surprise visit with her husband, Vincent. They took Amelia and I out for dinner to catch up, and it was the first time in a month that I truly enjoyed myself. Em and Vince are actually in the area until next Monday, and we've made plans to get together again.

I never thought life would start getting back to normal after Ted's death but... it is. It truly is.

Simon

I finally spoke to Simon yesterday, after my previous failed attempt. On Tuesday, I drove all the way out to his house to speak with him in-person, only to find out that he had company.

Male company. Sexual male company. I could tell from the loud grunting noises coming from an open window.

The bastard had already replaced Ted. I stormed off, deciding that, if he is "Eve", he's not worth saving. Why would I bother helping someone who can just throw aside my best friend? The fucker can rot in a tree for all I care...

But, unfortunately, I seem to have a nice guy hidden somewhere deep inside me. I decided to give Simon a chance, and called him last night. I directed him to my blogs, told him my theories. He immediately called me crazy and told me to never get in touch with him again.

I exploded. I screamed at him about already sleeping around when his boyfriend had died only two weeks ago. He hung up on me.

Let the sonuvabitch die. I don't care anymore. Ted didn't mean a thing to the fucker, so Simon doesn't mean a thing to me.

Eve?

Anonymous said...

If Ted is your 'Adam', as this guy has mentioned, then wouldn't 'Eve' be whoever was Ted's significant other?
June 27, 2010 12:16 PM

Ted's "significant other" would be Simon. That actually makes a lot of sense, but it also feels slightly off...

Still, I'll go ahead and get in touch with Simon later tonight. The only time I've spoken to him since Ted's death was at the funeral, where he seemed completely out of it.

Now, how to put this? "Hey, Simon, someone on the Internet hacked a creative writing blog of mine, claimed Ted was Adam and Eve would die next, and I think that means you're done for." Yeah...

"Eve will die next"

Okay, so... here's the score. A lunatic that's basically claiming to be the purest essence of truth has come out of the woodwork, hacking my account, to tell me my best friend in the world is the first person of many to die unless I stop it.

I can't decide whether to laugh it off from how cliche and seemingly fake it is, or be totally terrified because it could be true.

Who is Eve? A comment seems to imply she's not Amelia (thank god, if I lose her...), but you never know with madmen. Who's the one killing all these people? Is it the hacker? Is it someone else? Is it unrelated and this is just some guy on the Internet playing with me?

I'm already seriously stressed out. Ted's funeral was attended by all of four people (Simon, Amelia, myself, and one of his work friends). I've actually heard whispers about how it's "good someone is killing the fags". I came so close to beating the skull in of whoever said it, but it was someone in a group of teens. I didn't know who it was, and I likely would have been the one going to a hospital in the end.

My work has suffered. The store manager is being lenient with me because of the death, but I'm not sure how long the free ride will last. It's just... I'll be doing my work, helping customers and putting stuff away, when I'll suddenly flashback to finding Ted. The way he hung from that tree, the massive pool of dried blood on the ground beneath him, that terrible creaking sound as he swayed in the wind.... And I'll have to run to the bathroom and my productivity goes into the shitter.

I haven't been able to sleep at all, for pretty much the same reason. I keep having nightmares that I'm next. I'll be walking through the forest, and suddenly be beneath that goddamn tree. Someone strikes me from behind. Next time I wake up, I'm hanging next to Ted. I look down, and my guts are spilling out of me. I turn to look at Ted's body, and his head turns back to me and he smiles. Spiders crawl from his mouth and nose as he whispers, "At least I'm not alone anymore."

The only thing I have left is Amelia. I'm even probably going to lose the house I'm renting since I can't hold up both halves of the payment by myself. But I still have her. She's the best thing that has ever happened to me. She even offered to let me stay with her, if it comes to that. I have no idea what I'd do without her.

My life's become a miniature hell, and just as I'm recovering (I actually slept well a few nights ago), this shit happens with Watch This City Burn. I'm sick of this. I just want my life back. I'll take it by force, if I must...

I'm here

I was just informed that Watch This City Burn has been hacked. I just got done writing a massive, raging post calling him out as an impotent hacker looking for laughs, only to realize that this could be the guy who killed Ted.

And now I'm actually scared.

What do you want? You clearly want to talk, so talk.

I'm Done

This is the last time I'll be posting, both here and on my other blog. My best friend was killed in one of the most gruesome manners imaginable. I don't see a point in writing here anymore after this. However, I feel I owe those of you who took interest in my blogs an explanation.

Ted was found in full Slender Man suit deep in the woods near the field where his car was found. He was hanging about halfway up a tree. His intestines had been cut out of his body and tied around his neck, leaving him to sway in the wind when we found him. There was blood all over the ground and base of the tree. An officer later found a small bag that contained several of my best friend's organs laying a bit deeper into the woods.

Someone murdered my best friend. In an inexplicably grotesque way, eerily similar to a Slender Man story. I'm sure you now understand why I no longer feel comfortable posting on any sites dedicated to that story. This site will now stand in memory of the good times I shared with Theodore Lee Stevenson.

If you wish to contact me with any details on the events that could lead to the capture of my best friend's killer, my e-mail address is in my profile.

R.I.P.
Theodore Lee Stevenson
1990 - 2010

Ted's dead. HeIcan't do this right now. Hands are so shaky and i cant think s traight.

Just got a phone call...

Police found Ted's car in the middle of a field on a dirt road between my place and Simon's. The inside was apparently totally trashed, like someone had rummaged it looking for valuables. No sign of Ted, but there are two pairs of footprints in the mud: one back to the road, one heading into the woods nearby.

The police are planning on sending out a search party tomorrow morning. They agreed to let me come along.

Amelia's staying over tonight. I can't be alone with all this going on. I'm terrified. Something's happened to Ted. I'm sure of it... And I'm so scared.

Still no sign of Ted. I reported him missing to the police first thing this morning. I have a terrible feeling about all this.

Admission

Ted's still unaccounted for. It's been over a day now, and absolutely no one knows where he is. I've gotten in touch with everyone I know he might stay with, and not a single friend has heard from him since yesterday morning when Simon watched him leave. While it's perfectly normal for Ted to wander off, it's normally to be with someone he knows and he tends to stay in contact with someone.

If I don't hear from him by tomorrow morning, I'm getting the police involved. This isn't like Ted. He's usually quite reliable, in an unreliable sort of way. I'm truly worried about this. Where I live... Let's just say our region isn't well known for its tolerance of people with Ted's orientation.

So, with all these events going on, I feel like should clear the air for just a moment on the whole stalker business.

It was fake.

It technically didn't start out that way, but that's what it ended up being. Ted decided to pull a very elaborate prank on me, getting Simon to both write up the "For when you face the faceless" note, and paint the ToTheArk mask. Not only that, but the pair were working on a Slender Man costume for the coup de grace.

However, when Ted saw my reaction to the phone call, he fessed up to it. To say I was relieved is an understatement. I still made sure to give him a few bruises for messing with me that much, but it was better than the alternative.

But, the thing is, the prank was getting me Slender Man fan traffic - far more than what Watch This City Burn has had so far. So we decided to roll with it, building the whole thing up as a sort of trailer and proof of concept for what I wanted to do over on WTCB. I figured if I could get fans interested here, show them I had resources and some level of ability at storytelling, I could then redirect them to Watch This City Burn to write the tale I wanted to and then return this blog to its "personal" format.

And now Ted's gone and disappeared on me, in the middle of Bigot Town, USA. I'm going to kill him when he gets home...

MIA

Ted's disappeared.

And not as part as the little game I'd decided to play here on this blog. He's honestly, truly gone. I just got a phone call from Simon. Ted left his house with the freshly made Slender Man costume for our photo shoot at 7:00 this morning. My house is about twenty minutes from Simon's. This means Ted has been "in transit" for over twelve hours. I'm thinking about seriously calling the police now, though Ted has been known to disappear like this every once in awhile. I really hope he turns up soon...

Happenings

I'm currently writing this from Amelia's house. I don't have a timeline of events, I don't know precisely what's going on here. What I do know is this...

At some point, while I was at work, Ted left. Just... gone. He did leave a note behind, on the table, though. Simple stuff: "Staying at Simon's tonight. Can have my leftover pizza." I found the note as soon as I got home, read it, and immediately got on edge. First, Ted never tells me what he's doing. Ever. Still, that isn't what freaked me out (he could've just wanted to let me know because of the Three Days thing). What made me grab a nearby kitchen knife is the fact that someone drew a massive Operator's symbol over the note. I know it wasn't Ted, because he knows how much this prank has gotten to me.

Someone had broken into my home.

I systematically checked every room in the house, and only one was disturbed. No, not mine. Ted's. The place was totally thrashed. I mean, it's normally looks like a natural disaster, but this was different. This was "unknown entity going through shit" trashed. And to make matters worse, I found a fucking SlenderDoll resting on his pillow.

I called the cops, and reported an intrusion. However, since nothing was stolen and the time of the event was unknown, there wasn't a ton they could do. I was livid. Some maniac breaks into my house, messes with my friend's shit, and then gets away with it. Fucker. All the police can do for now is add my subdivision to their patrols, and alert my neighbors to keep an eye out for suspicious activity.

For now, I'm staying at Amelia's for the night. I went ahead and told her what's been going on, and she's willing to let me stay for as long as I need to. It'll probably only be for tonight. I'm not letting some creep run me out of my home. I'm also not letting them come for Amelia by staying with her. I called Ted, made sure he was okay, and he said he'd be back tomorrow so I'll be able to stay at my house with backup.

I just want this shit to end. I don't need this right now. I'm going to catch this asshole, and they're going to pay dearly. Even if it is someone I know. Even if it's Slender Man himself. I'm done playing. Fuck 'em.

Quiet Morning

It's right around 10:00 a.m. here, and nothing has happened so far in regards to Slender-Stalker. It's actually a really nice day out, and I'm in a pretty stellar mood. Definitely feels like this whole thing will blow over after today. I mean, it doesn't take much to send a package or make a phone call, but someone would have to have some serious balls to show up at my front door...

I want to thank everyone for the support in the comments. I mean, I know most of you are here because this looks like a Slender Blog, but it still means quite a bit to me.

On the idea of keeping the mask nearby, I actually tried putting it on for the first time a little bit ago. It was weird to think of doing it before, but figured it'd be a shame to let such a well-done mask go to waste. I look like an idiot in it, considering I have a big head and it's a small mask. Still, whoever painted the thing did a damn fine job of it. And I've decided it'd be ironic (or something) if Mr. Creep showed up and I ran out there in the mask to confront him, so I'm definitely keeping it nearby.

As for keeping my phone on me, that's something I do most of the time anyways. I actually went ahead and put 911 on speed dial. I may have decided to not worry, but I'm not going to be stupid. I've also decided it's worth risking keeping my phone on me during work this evening (there's a "no phones while on the clock" rule). I don't think anything will happen at work (again, think Stalker only knows where I live/keeping things out of public view), but I'm not leaving that up to chance. Ted's home all day as well, so he's sworn to get in touch with me if anything goes weird while I'm gone.

And now I've gotta go get ready for work. I'll post again later tonight if anything happens, or if nothing happens. Thanks again for the support, everyone. I'm just ready for all of this to end...

Clarity

I've made up my mind about all of this Slender-Stalker crap. A fantastic night's rest at Amelia's place helped clear out the cobwebs and paranoia like nobody's business.

It's day two of "Three days. Sweet dreams." Whatever happens, happens tomorrow. I presume it'll happen at my home, since that's the only place Mr. Creepy has decided to send any of his/her harassing little games to. Nothing happened while I was with Amelia (thank non-existent-god, since I'm keeping her in the dark about this, not wanting to worry her and all), and nothing has happened at work. This leads me to believe that Slender-Stalker only knows where I live, or, at least, wants to keep it between the two of us.

So, I've decided to not let this shit effect me anymore. I'm done keeping Watch This City Burn on hiatus. I'm done hiding at my girlfriend's house. I'm even done trying to figure out who's behind this. I'm going to stay at my house tonight, go to work, and then wait and see what (if anything) happens tomorrow. It's probably nothing, anyways.

I'm done worrying. If Slender Man himself shows up at my doorstep, I'll let him in, give him a hug, and bake him a nice key lime pie. If it's an Anon prankster, well, he gets to meet Mr. Bat and Mr. Cop. If it's someone I know... gotta give 'em credit, they're putting Ted to shame as far as massive pranks. But whatever happens, happens. That's all there is to it.

Stalker...

Okay, not much time to post here. I'm actually staying the night at Amelia's place after that weird ass answering machine message. If you haven't listened to it, it's in my last post. If you can't, it's a lot of white noise with a distorted voice saying "Three days. Sweet dreams."

To say I'm freaking out is an understatement. I didn't get any sleep last night, had a terrible day at work today, and spent the rest here. If this is a prank, even one by someone I know, it isn't funny anymore.

Thing is, it isn't Ted. The answering machine said the call came in around 3:00 yesterday afternoon. We were out doing grocery shopping during that time. Which leaves either my younger brother (who, if it is him, is going to get his ass ground into dust, mixed with battery acid, and then poured down his throat for pulling this sort of shit) or it's actually a creepy stalking fuck.

So, here's the deal, to whoever this is. Stop this. Now. If you go any further, I will get the police involved. No pulling shit on Thursday, no more weird messages. Just stop, or I will MAKE you stop, and you don't want that to happen...

God, I need some sleep...

Found this on the answering machine after I got home from my date with Amelia earlier tonight...


http://www.4shared.com/embed/309289247/81ccf88f

Just glad I don't live alone and have easy access to my bat. Will write more tomorrow...

Work and Words

I... had an incident yesterday at work. Kinda yelled at an older woman for trying to evangelize at me. I mean, between the weird ass "mask in a box" and not having my antidepressants and the incident with mother, I was stressed out really bad all day (and no Amelia to help cool me down), but I shouldn't have taken it out on an elderly lady. Yes, people forcing their religious bullshit on me pisses me off, but she didn't deserve that.

I got severely reprimanded for the incident. Was told I'd be under watch for the next week, and if it happened again I would be terminated immediately. I have rent to pay. I have to buy food. I've got dates to go on. I may have had the test money for staying off my meds, but I'm probably going to go back on my old stuff since I got the last check for the trial. It isn't worth ruining my life for some extra cash.

Ted still isn't home, so I can't confront him about the whole "mask" thing. I'm pretty sure it's him. If not, maybe my younger brother and his girlfriend have gotten in on the act (made the mistake of introducing them to Marble Hornets a week or so back). I know all of them well enough that I should be able to spot a lie if they try to say it isn't them. I hope it's them. I don't need some weirdo trying to make my life an ARG...

Anyways, a nice fella went ahead and decoded the word scramble for me in the comments, and got this result...

self case the face when you for

I went ahead and took a look at this compared to the original scramble, and I'm starting to think the spacing was deliberate to make words into more recognizable chunks, as well as to show one little thing I have a theory on: the scramble is a sentence backwards.

In that case, we have something like "For when you face the..." self case? case self? Something seems significantly off here, so I checked if there were any other words that "selfseac" could make...

Faceless

"For when you face the faceless"

Great. Just great.

WTF

What. The. Fuck. Is. This?



I wake up this morning, Ted’s gone (presumably to see Simon), and this is waiting for me in a box on the front porch. Yeah, that’s right. It’s another ToTheArk mask. But this one’s different from Ted’s first one. Trust me, I went and checked to make sure it wasn’t mister gay best friend using the same mask to pull another prank. This one is much, much better designed. There is no way in hell Ted made this. It’s far too well-crafted.

And that isn’t all that was in the box. There was a piece of paper, just a scrap thrown into the box without any apparent thought. The front contained the classic Marble Hornets operator symbol (ya know, O with an X through it…). On the back was a jumble of letters. Yes, like a Slender Blog. If I wasn’t living it, I wouldn’t believe it. Here’s what I’ve got...

selfseac fheteac eywohnu orf

I’m not sure if the spacing is deliberate or a red herring. That’s definitely a “for” and the end, but there’s a “self” as well, so that all seems much too easy. Don't have the time to solve it right now, since I've got work in ten. Definitely going to puzzle over it then. That wasn't all that was in the box, though. On another slip of paper was a small, childish drawing… of a burning city with a tall, skinny man looming over it…

I can only presume this is a prank, and hopefully one by Ted (guessing he got someone ELSE to make the mask. Maybe Simon's good with a brush...). If it's not him, well, bastard better get ready for a showdown because I do NOT take kindly to pranks that aren’t from someone I know. Especially ones involving knowing where I live and what I’m doing on the Internet. So, if you’re reading this, back the hell off. Or I will find you, and what happens won't be pretty.

Finally... relaxed :) (Also, some notes on Watch This City Burn)

Finally had a good day after the meds and mother incidents. I mean, yes, I had to spend 7 hours at work today. Normally, that's a massive bummer. Today, though, I got to spend it with Amelia and with my manager having the day off. That basically meant I wasted the entire day away helping the most wonderful girl in the world with her tasks instead of getting shouted at by an asshat. To say it was nice is an understatement.

I got home around 7:00 to find Ted in his room watching television (meaning I didn't have to listen to him and Simon getting their freak on), and leftover burgers out on the table. Slapped the meat between some buns, shouted a thanks to Ted, and went here in my room.

Did my daily wanders throughout the Internet. The big news is that someone on Unfiction's Marble Hornets forum found Watch This City Burn the other day. This brought three realizations to the table which I feel like mentioning and discussing here (particularly considering this person has also found THIS blog and posted it there as well, so this may actually reach my audience).

1. The quality of Watch This City Burn

It appears as though several readers find the writing "meh" or "boring" and the story "shallow". Another mentioned the lack of build-up before going full on Slender Blog. I will admit to these being issues. My single excuse is admitting that I rushed into the whole business. I got very excited by the idea of writing my own "Marble Hornets" or "Seeking Truth" that I pulled the trigger at the first chance I took. I got a basic concept, a few puzzle ideas, and went for it.

As for the quality of the writing... Part of that comes from the knee-jerk creation, the other lack of time. With work and Amelia and a general lack of planning, posts are written quickly whenever I get hints of inspiration. It's something I'll be working on as the series progresses.

2. Dreams Of Darkness - Slender Blog?

This one honestly cracked me up, bringing a much needed smile to my face after the past two days. As I mentioned above, the user that discovered my blog posted this one along with it, so now some people think this blog could become a side-story. While I see how this could be presumed (obsessive mentions of Slender Man, dark imagery, weird events), I swear it isn't the case. This is my personal blog. It will always be Damien O'Connor's personal blog. And that's final.

3. Troll

This ties slightly into #1. I've gotten two comments on Watch This City Burns. The first was an in-character post, presumably from whoever first posted WTCB on Unfiction. That guy I'm cool with. In fact, it'd be great if he came along again and worked on solving the puzzle I have up there so I can move the story forwards.

The problem is "." No, seriously, that's the username this person used. On my latest post, they posted a comment saying "6d 6f 63 6b 65 72 79". I'm a nerd. I know Hexidecimal when I see it. A quick run through a translator tells me this guy (or girl, fair to both sexes here) thinks my blog is a "mockery", presumably of good Slender Blogs. That's great. Really, it is. I even applaud the use of silly codes like most SB's use. However, it'd be great if you actually added something useful to all this.

So, with that MASSIVE wall of text out of the way (SORRY!), I've got some Torchwood to watch. Hopefully tomorrow is as good as today, and I can work on turning Watch This City Burn around to hook some of those potential followers out there. Until then... :)