FEBRUARY 16, 2012

Log from January 9^th:

I am Scarlet-marked.

We bear her mark to let her know we are hers.

She embraces our depravity; in turn we embrace the war.

I received her word yesterday. It was written on several sheets of paper. It was stained with blood, but I did my best to interpret.

January 4:

We spent the entire day yesterday driving. I almost crashed us repeatedly. Not because of bad weather or incompetence or anything, just to break the freakin’ monotony.

The cooler started to leak all over the car, which made the night that much colder – Jack’s currently packing it back up with snow. I’m trusting his judgement, but goddamn, if there’s any dirt in there I’m not going to be happy. I haven’t hit that level of desperation, yet.

So not the point I was heading towards – anyway.

My point is that I woke up at roughly five o’clock this morning a good ten kilometers away from my car.

It’s not like this is unusual. Shit like this is why I used to wake up in unfamiliar beds with scars I couldn’t remember getting. …Well, one of the reasons why-… Man, a lot of people don’t like me.

Maybe because I call them people. Is that an insult? I’ve lost track of what is and what isn’t. Digressing again.

Restless Dreaming is a consistent part of my life, but ever since my past was taken from me, I haven’t been able to tell whether I have regular nightmares, or ones induced by the Grotesque. If my dream last night was a part of my past, I’m not sure when it would have fit in.

I was in an unfamiliar car, with unfamiliar people. The only certain thing was that we were all trying to get away from something. Running – or driving, as the case may have been – had this sense of…a last resort. We were fleeing the violence, and the violence was in hot pursuit. It was pressing us towards the sea.

I don’t know whether or not I’ve ever seen a beach in my life, but god, it was dismal. You know those pictures of white sand and blue waves and fluffy clouds? Those are lies. Within the dream, at least, they were lies. The sand was grey. The waves, grey. Everything was this fucking shade of grey, like the world had fallen ill, and there was a single dock leading far out onto the water.

Whoever was driving decided they’d had enough – we stopped the car, and they were stretching their legs…heading towards the water. I think they wanted to pretend it was the kind of beach that Hollywood liked to portray.

At the very end of the dock was…someone I didn’t know. And it was wrong, and I knew it was wrong, but they were half-draped on the dock, hair fanned out…pretending to be a mermaid.

The others were fooled. I probably should have run away, myself. Hijacked the car, or something…but I didn’t. I just stood there and watched, as this so-called mermaid started…pleasuring. Taking them one at a time, and then…

They were devoured. One by one. If I saw what did it, by the time I woke up, I’d blocked it from my memory.

The Camper had fangs.

When I woke up, the sun hadn’t started to rise yet. I followed my own footprints and the blood in the snow, and found the car. Jack was still asleep. Razzie had run off, probably when I got out of the car.

Don’t ask why there was blood in the snow.

January 5:

This was more disjointed, with spelling errors. Written in blue. I have corrected the errors for readability purposes.

We find Razzie

Red reads me stories because she finds books in town

THE GROTESQUE BEDTIME STORY

Sleeper, nestled tight in bed

Can I see what’s in your head?

I will walk in on a thread

And push you into shades of red

“Is this a trick?” the dreamer said

It was not, and so they fled

But the dreamer was misled

Stuck forever now, instead

Ding-dong; the dreamer’s dead.

January 6:

We made it into the outer reaches of the city – welcome to Suburbia, home of the brain dead. At this early in the morning, the morning commuters might as well be zombies.

We trekked into [REDACTED] – lucky for us, it was open 24 hours – and took a look around for any of the Scarlet-marked, but found none. It kind of figured, to be honest. The section of town we were in struck me as…prudish. I wouldn’t expect any here.

Sadly, that meant we had to spend money.

We were forced to ditch the vehicle for the time being, until we stumble on someone willing to give us gas. That also meant we left the cooler behind, the blankets…even if it weren’t suspicious for a young woman and her (what did people guess Jack was to me? The illicit son I’d had in middle-school? My brother? …Nephew?) to be wandering around the city with their homes apparently strapped to their backs, it was just too unwieldy. I needed full mobility.

Especially since Jack seems to still think he’s being stalked. I’m kind of feeling the same way. Every so often, I feel like there’s someone standing just out of my peripheral vision. Whenever I look, there’s no one to be found.

Or, when there is, I’m sure it’s not who I was seeing. It’ll be like…some beet-faced businessman or a stay-at-home mom taking her kids for a walk, despite the fact that it’s well below freezing. Why do these moms think that being outdoors is good for their kids? Don’t they know what kind of shit is out here?

Ugh, and if Jack were a little younger or if I looked a little older, I’d probably appear to be doing the exact same thing.

Walking towards the city, there was only one thing that looked to be…off, to me.

Another one of those stay-at-home moms. At least, I think. Pulling her two kids around in a sled. Leaving footprints and sled-trails in the snow.

Perfectly linear trails, forming an exact square.

I can’t see her kids from here and I’m not getting any closer just yet, but I plan on stalking her later.

Bitch better have been born with OCD.

January 8:

Those children had been dead for days.

Her house had been easy to find, even if I hadn’t been tailing her. I left Jack at the car yesterday, with Razzie guarding, and took off around 21:00.

Every single light in the house was on.

I found her in the childrens’ room, humming like a maniac. Cradling their heads. Or, trying to.

They’d been folded. Every bone snapped, until they could fit in a little perfect square.

When I left the house, Razzie was there. He’d left Jack all alone. I was pissed, but not surprised. Damn dog always seems to just show up, when

The rest of what she has written was ruined.

The paper was soaked by my blood.

In penance, I have given myself fully to the scarlet mark and await my punishment, at [REDACTED].

Please come for me.