APRIL 24, 2012

Log from April 24^th:

As of this morning, the Mistress and Jack have gone.

APRIL 22, 2012

Log from April 22^nd:

She has shown no sign of regaining consciousness, but it appears as though she used my computer.

She left several news stories open on my browser. One dates back to 1999, concerning the identification of a body; his body was nearly destroyed on the surface, but tests confirmed that the body was that of a school teacher who worked at [REDACTED]. Just outside downtown Ottawa, closer to the south end.

Apparently, there were rumours that he was a pedophile. He had been preying on students for years. The murderer was never found…but his body was empty.

His blood had been drained, but no one ever found a drop.

April 22^nd (evening):

Jack and I are reading through his book. He was upset that the Mistress has not awakened yet. I hoped to calm him by bleeding for her even more, but it seems that I am running low. I can hardly move, for the vertigo, and I am extremely weakened. I can no longer tell whether my body is freezing, or my apartment. I am so cold and numb that it feels like I am on fire.

THE SMILING MAN BEDTIME STORY:

His love for me is shallow

And where he goes, there’s aloe

It’s a matter of fir

Before I end up like her

He’s left me a bouquet

I can’t lily him away

I accept the bittersweet

I’ll be strewn across the street

He will rip me apart

If it means he’ll have my heart

Cyclamen, my friend

Begonia his stalking trend.

THE SLENDER MAN BEDTIME STORY:

Excuse me, sir, you’re in this film

It seems you have no face

I feel as though you’re watching me

But that can’t be the case

You are in every corner

Should I bother trying to run?

I fear for my sanity

And you’re just having fun

Are you driving me to suicide

Or trying to make me yours?

I feel as though you’ve tainted me

Your mark is in my pores

Don’t make me your proxy

I can’t bear to be your slave

But you’ve had me since childhood

So drag me to my grave.

APRIL 19, 2012

Log from April 19^th:

Just having computer access again is fucking fantastic.

You’ve heard snippets of her side. Snippets from my Priestess’s side.

I’m sure most of you care the most about my side.

My apparent boost in popularity has given me more strength than I know what to do with, and I adore it. Sincerely, I want to thank all my marked for indulging themselves. Your sex drives… What are you people, rabbits? All that blood you shed in my name, all that energy…it’s intoxicating.

I appreciate it. Sincerely. You’ve pleased me.

Now do it again.

I need the power boost. That monster is still stalking me, which I find hilarious – mostly because he may shadow people extremely well, but ‘stalking’ is Smiley’s art. He’s just angry, that I made this one my vessel before he got a chance to twist her into a proxy. Now, really, doesn’t he have enough of those? He may have marked her, but I got inside first.

I call her my Blood Vessel. Aren’t I clever?

The fact of the matter is – and, why I’m writing this in the dead of night while my little Priestess sleeps – is that there may come a time when I need a new vessel. I know there are several of you out there, already. If I’m already inside you, kindly disregard this letter.

If I’m not, come to me. You know where I am; I’m sure you can all feel me, just as I feel you.

If the Slender Man murders this vessel, I will seep into the most worthy. We can share a body, instead. You would be serving me in ways you can’t even begin to fathom.

I like this vessel, personally. She’s like a magnet – feeding is easier than it has been since Marilyn Monroe.

But I need a back-up plan, and I would rather not use my Priestess. She serves in another capacity.

I’ll be waiting here for you all.

APRIL 18, 2012

Log from April 18^th:

She is here, in my bedroom.

I am endlessly honoured, but she is in poor condition. I will enter her logs, and then explain further when I reach today’s date.

April 13:

I feel high. Starting at about nine o’clock tonight, I felt like I’d gotten some kind of surge, jolted directly into every nerve – it was energy and power and climax and everything good. It was fucking incredible and I had no clue what caused it. I can’t even remember what I was doing at the time…which would worry me, normally, because it was a few hours ago, maybe. I don’t even know what to do with this kind of energy.

Everything is tinted red.

April 17:

I can’t remember the last few days, but I’m buzzing. I mean that literally. My entire body is filled with this vibration, and I can’t figure out whether it feels good or not.

Jack says we’ve been playing. I don’t know if that’s good or not, either.

What I do know is that there’s blood up my arms, a gash across my throat, and I’m stuck in a church overnight. Not to call myself a prophet, but what the actual fuck.

I spent the last hour or so stacking bodies. Every single one has a tattoo, and if you guessed that they’re bearing twin triangles, you win a goddamn prize.

Strangely enough, Jack doesn’t seem bothered even slightly. He isn’t batting an eye. He’s just sitting on a pew, reading from his story book.

THE ARCHANGEL BEDTIME STORY

As a Timberwolf, I swear to play across the board.

We promise to do anything to get us our reward.

For all of a moment, I knew rapturous bliss.

Now we reminisce

And fall to the abyss.

April 18:

The writing is childish and misspelled, but the vocabulary is hers. I imagine she was dictating.

On our way to safety. Spent the night inexplicably clawing at my own throat. It was like a trance. I kept pulling at the old scar until my neck was so mangled that there were strips of flesh hanging from my nails. Jack had to snap me out of it. He had grabbed my head and was shaking me, almost violently, trying to get me to stop.

I’m still not fully aware of what the fuck I was doing.

And then, out of fucking nowhere…Razzie had found us. We’d left him by the car – I figure, even if he runs off, he always finds us again. And he sure as hell had found us. Growling, snarling. He lunged at my face. Was trying to rip at it with his claws and teeth. Opened two gashes under my eyes – he nearly managed to shred my corneas.

We’re going the only place I can call relatively ‘safe’ for the moment. Jack is upset. He thinks I may have hurt Razzie when I split him in half.

That damn dog will be fine. He always is.

The log ends there. Now, she and the child are asleep on my bed.

The gashes on her neck and face are hollow. She is not bleeding. I watched what looked to be blood sometimes peek out the surface of the wounds, and retreat into her. Like a sentient liquid in a human shell.

Naturally, I slit my wrist over her wounds. I will bleed for the Mistress.

My blood entered her body, and I think I heard something in her chest laugh.

APRIL 15, 2012

Log from April 15^th:

I was in no condition to type anything, yesterday.

The tribute was larger than I ever would have expected. I wouldn’t have expected so many of us, in such a small area, but I think there were travellers. People had come from outside the area, just to participate. I’m not even sure everyone started off marked.

What was weird, though, was the amount of respect the other marked gave me. It was like being a celebrity. My offer to sacrifice myself was rejected, and instead I was bathed in red. Blood from a priest, no less. I found it hilariously hypocritical, but completely expected. Religion seems to be founded on sexual shame.

Without it, we Scarlet-marked wouldn’t even exist.

APRIL 13, 2012

Log from April 13^th:

The rise in crime rate has the Mistress lying low, I think. The logs passed on to me this week are inconsistent, as though she doesn’t have the time to write anything down. I have news of my own, however.

There’s going to be a congregation tonight. I was invited by a fellow marked – that means the other Scarlet-marked have found me, and I’m not sure how to feel about that. I know I’m depraved, but I just don’t know how ready I am for a mass tribute. While part of me is proud that something so great came from such shame, I’ve never done anything like what I’ll be expected to do.

But would a true Scarlet-marked care?

I am her Priestess…I should be the truest there is.

April 11:

I’ve been plagued by more nightmares, and I genuinely feel like the next one might blast a hole in my skull.

They’ve been more consistent, though. If I believed in that whole ‘dreams are your subconscious trying to tell you something’ shit, I’d be interpreting like fucking mad. Truthfully, I’m so desperate for them to stop that I’ll interpret the fuck out of them, anyway.

They all involve red ooze. Like blood, but thicker. What the hell would that symbolise, aside from…exactly what it looks like?

In a lot of them, I’m wandering around the Empty City. Lot of twists and turns, static-y silence, being completely closed off and cut off from power. In the dreams I just…walk. Sometimes in circles, and then I lose hours. It’s hard to tell, but somehow, I know. One second the sun will be high up in the sky…the next, it will be setting, at a regular speed, no indication that I’ve spent my time doing anything but pacing. Except for the ooze. Thick bright red fluid, all over the ground, slithering after me.

And then there was another one that played out like a game. I had entered a church – which, right off the bat, you know that’s weird because I’m pretty sure that if I set foot on religious ground I’d implode, or something – and made my way past the pews, ducking behind these giant wall hangings. There was a crack in the stone that was big enough for me to slip through, and I left Jack and Razzie and went through on my own. It led to this gigantic room, more cavernous than the rest of the building and bigger than it had any reason to be…a few stone pillars, and a hole in the wall across from me. Again, that viscous red was coming through…only this time it was pouring down the walls. Not just dripping. Pouring. It was pooling on the floor, and there only ever seemed to be more of it. Distantly, I could hear screams and groans – I couldn’t tell if they were of pleasure, or of pain, but something tells me it was both. After that…it’s like I blacked out. Blacking out within a dream – how redundant can you get?

All I know is, I fought. I know it was terrifying, that I escaped the encounter shaken up and with my throat cut, but alive. And then it started over again.

It was as if I’d loaded my game from the last checkpoint. I was going through the crack in the church wall, about to face that giant room with all the red and I knew, this time. I knew exactly what was waiting for me, and I knew how the encounter would go. I knew I would escape with my life.

But I also knew it would be fucking terrifying.

So I ran.

The rest of the dream played out like a movie. I was stuck in a seat, watching with all the influence of an audience member. I had to watch all this…gut-twisting stuff, like…disturbing, violent sex. The sex was worse to watch than the death. I saw Jack beheaded, his head impaled right through and dangled from the church ceiling.

And that red ooze, without a mouth or any way of laughing, just wouldn’t stop. I felt it, rather than heard it.

When I woke up, Jack told me I’d been laughing like a fucking maniac all night.