Monday, August 30, 2010

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?

Sunday, August 29, 2010

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.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

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.

Monday, August 23, 2010

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?

Sunday, August 22, 2010

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.

Thursday, August 19, 2010


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.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

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.

Thursday, August 12, 2010


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.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

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.

Monday, August 9, 2010

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...

Sunday, August 8, 2010


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...


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


Saturday, August 7, 2010

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...

Wednesday, August 4, 2010


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.


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.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010



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

Prepare yourself.


Monday, August 2, 2010


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...

Sunday, August 1, 2010

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.