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.