AUGUST 30, 2012

It was one year ago when I first met the Mistress. When I gave myself to her, body and soul, blood red and bone white. I had been lost, so lost, trapped in a city that twisted like a snake, a maze that never ended. I had been lost for so long, that I no longer remembered the real world - and then I found myself in a portion of the city that was different. There were banners streaked crimson and the walls were made of red bricks and terracotta. She showed herself to me and I bled for her then and there. I was lost and then I was found. She brought me out from that city of the lost, through one of her Arteries, where the red was so pure that it was all I could see. She made me free and for that I bound myself to her.

August 20:

Hunting has started to really bore me. I mean, this whole killing-the-others business wasn’t really my idea. So…why should I bother, actually? If something comes for me, I will happily slaughter the fuck out of it. But actively hunting? Eh, I could live without it. Why bother when I can just indulge myself and get my Scarlet-marked to do the hunting, instead?

But I don’t think anything will come for me. Not directly. It’s been years since I took this vessel officially, after all. If they wanted to do something to me, directly, they would have by now.

I think they don’t attack me for the same reason they don’t attack each other.

a) Because Freddy VS. Jason and Alien VS. Predator were both terrible movies and

b) Why the fuck would we? We may compete, but I don’t give a flying fuck if my Scarlet-marked serve anyone else. That’s their prerogative.

Hm. Maybe they’ll just go after someone else, instead. Like my little Priestess.

Oh, that makes so much sense, now. Wonder how she’s doing.

August 21:

Speaking of Marked serving another Fear…

I took a little dip out of the Empty City to scope for Scarlet-marked. You know, just so that I’m not writing these logs for myself. No offence to people who keep diaries, but…seriously? Who takes time out of their day to tell themselves about the things they just experienced?

Oh, right, mortals.

Oh right, and people who think they’re mortal. That’s cute, actually, forget I said anything.

Digressing.

I walked past this alley in the dead of night and happen to hear some good, old-fashioned sex caterwauling. None of that muffled moaning everyone seems to keen on, when they do it in public. I could practically taste the blood flowing as I started getting close, so I know they’re marked.

And wouldn’t you know it, one of them is covered in grey. I guess it only makes sense that the pair of them were that loud…and, a fetish for Greyskins? Yeah, she was hardcore Scarlet-marked, that kinky bitch.

That grey-moss-stuff seemed to just soak up the guy’s nosebleed, as a matter of interest. Anyway. Rather than interrupt, I just kept going to find another Marked. I’d hate to break up a couple with that much in common.

Both of them could screech like wow.

August 24:

Think I heard something passing through here, sometime last night. Back in the day, that would have worried ‘me’.

Strangely, whatever it was chose not to bother getting my attention in any way. I was a little hurt.

August 25:

Razzie’s come back to me, but no Jack. I’m wondering if he was the one who was hanging around, yesterday.

He seems much better disposed towards me, incidentally. Maybe because I don’t have any secrets, anymore. If there are two things I’m all about, it’s sexual depravity, and honesty being the best policy.

August 30:

Time to leave the Empty City, I think.

AUGUST 29, 2012

Log from August 29^th:

I tossed the bag again, only for it to reappear every morning since then. I’m going crazy – every time I pass people, I swear I hear them whispering about me. It’s as if they know.

And I feel that goddamn presence, watching me and following me everywhere and I can’t. I can’t deal. I need help.

If my Mistress sees this, I beg of you; come back to me. I’m not safe, without you. I know they’re all just waiting for the perfect opportunity, even though they have yet to touch me. It’s like their perching at the back of my brain and slowly scraping grey matter away.

I’m crying, now…please. Mistress, please. Don’t leave me alone.

AUGUST 21, 2012

Log from August 21^st:

It’s driving me insane. Russ clearly knows what happened to my Mistress; why won’t he just come out and say so?

All I have is speculation, based on the magnet story.

I think the Red Cap stayed within her for years. Beyond puberty, even, until she became sexually active again. Maybe with another Red Cap; maybe just with another person.

It’s my only theory. I’m wondering if Katie was the very first Vessel to become one through those means.

AUGUST 19, 2012

Log from August 19^th:

She was in that class. I knew she would be.

Her real name was Katie [REDACTED]. She was just a regular little girl in fourth grade. I’ve started looking for absolutely everything and anything related to her – report cards, pictures, anything. So far I haven’t found a single thing to tell me about who she once was. She just wasn’t always Red.

‘Red’ was what her old teacher used to go by. Mr. Red.

The monster, Mr. Red, took her. She wasn’t ready to be a Vessel. The Red Cap made its way inside anyway.

And then…it must have killed him.

But she doesn’t age. The Mistress is eternal. I’m still missing parts of the story.

AUGUST 17, 2012 (PM)

Log from August 17^th:

Is this what Mary felt like when she was visited by Gabriel? Is this what those crazy religious fanatics that claim to have seen God feel?

Just being in her presence makes my blood boil in the best of ways. I feel blessed. I would write poetry about this, if I weren't such a shitty writer.

My Mistress graced me with one of her logs. I have read them for so long. I am truly honored to be given the task to now record them.

August 15:

Being this liberated means I’ve discovered shit about myself that I never have before. I’ve never been able to connect this completely with a Vessel before.

I don’t need to eat. I don’t need to sleep. I don’t need to drink.

That’s right, fuck you, Campers. To think, I used to believe there was a risk of you fuckers getting Her to taint me. Although, you know what? I wouldn’t mind. I think It and I could really hit it off. The only thing I dislike is being part of that hive-mind thing. I already have to share my head with…well, myself. Wouldn’t want anyone else in there.

As long as the Scarlet-marked feed me, I’m just grand. And they always feed me. Every deviant that bleeds, or orgasms – that’s in my name. Unless the entire world takes a vow of celibacy, I’m eternal.

Man, what a pleasant revelation. It feels good to be me.

And it feels good to praise me, too. Go ahead, person-reading-this. Go feel good.

August 16:

Found this page in my bag, and it actually made me a little sad. I miss Jack – at least he was someone to talk to.

Think I’ll go have a night on the town. Got to get some of this hunger out of my system.

EAT BEDTIME STORY

IT and HER but never SHE

My obsession set me free

Ink has spread inside of me

Drowning is my remedy.

Life is better, you’ll agree

Everything else leaves you be

Fixation is heavenly

I’ve been swallowed by the sea.

AUGUST 17, 2012 (AM)

Log from August 17^th:

Thanks to Russ, my suspicions were confirmed that [REDACTED] was a Vessel. After that, I went back over the story Jack sent me. The one about ‘the magnet’.

I think [REDACTED] was the monster.

I’m looking for class records. I want to see who he was teaching, in 1999.

AUGUST 16, 2012

Log from August 16^th:

The teacher’s name was [REDACTED]. Taught at [REDACTED] for a number of years before developing strange habits. He had two daughters and one son – names not disclosed – and an unhappy marriage; they divorced almost a year before he first lost his job at the school. There’s a whole profile on him, online…apparently, he made himself pretty infamous.

He had a bunch of court cases that led to him being fired, all of them concerning inappropriate conduct, sexual violence, and then came the accusations of sexually abusing children. Nothing was proven, so he got off…and that lawyer must have been the same one OJ Simpson used, because two years later, he managed to get himself re-hired at the same school, in 1999.

And then in early December, he turned up dead and drained. It reportedly took a long while to identify the body.

I also thought it was worth noting that in every single picture, the tie he’s wearing is red.

AUGUST 14, 2012

Log from August 14^th:

I march along with my frozen brigade, but beneath the ice hides color of another shade.

On every finger lies a sign of my faith. Devotion like no other, none can replace.

As foreign the idea, I be none other. The first of the Scarlet, and Red is my mother.

For her I shall bleed a mile a day. For her Russ will die, there is no other way.

At last I had seen her, she left me her word. I pass it to you. Through me she is heard.

I leave you with these, with hopes She will see. Unlike no other, this Priestess we need.

On cold winds I fade, I shall find you soon. Thou life is short, you’ll hum to my tune.

Through Fear I may function, but Red is my eye. Hear me now, the Cold Boy’s cry.

August 8:

I tried stabbing myself, out of curiosity. Don’t worry, I’m not depressed, or anything. Literally, I was just…curious.

Apparently, I can’t die. I don’t have blood anymore. Just the Red Cap, oozing around inside of me. That’s when it occurred to me; I don’t have a heartbeat.

So, what am I? A shell? Like a fucking Dying Man shard?

August 9:

There comes a point where it’s just better to be me all the time. It was starting to feel like some kind of split-personality psycho-state. The kind that makes for great television.

It’s better for everyone if I stop being dormant and just come out and play all the time.

Jack noticed. Poor little guy seems a bit put off by me, now, but we still have fun. I don’t think he ultimately cares, so long as I let the Black Dog hang around and read him the occasional bedtime story. Oh, and give him some say in the murders.

We had a lot of fun with some Nameless. A lot of fun.

August 12:

Jack isn’t on my side anymore.

He threw a bit of a tantrum when we encountered a couple of Children of the Cold – ones I recognized, incidentally. Pretty sure I saw them in a library, once, or something. The brats might have been following me.

Once their heads were a good few feet away from their bodies, he got cranky. He isn’t going to be lending a helping hand anymore, apparently. He scampered off, and now…I’m stuck on my own.

Well, I use ‘on my own’ loosely. Currently lying next to a Scarlet-marked who’s still passed out after round three. I’m writing this particular log on a bedside table in permanent marker. You know, just as a token of my love.

Either way, things can only get more interesting from this point on. I don’t know if this means Jack is now my enemy…but I’m not stupid.

I’ve made an enemy of the Cold Boy.

Eh, fuck it, we were already enemies. I stole this body before he could numb it…just like I stole it before Slender Man could properly get his stalk on. And from Sir-grins-a-lot before he could start doling out the flowers. Before the Mother of All could ‘gift’ her with fangs and scales.

Poor, precious little magnet just never stood a chance, huh? Good thing my last main Vessel was a total pedo.

…Also, maybe I’m using the term ‘enemy’ a little too loosely. Given the situation.

Here comes the crazy laughter again, and man, does it feel good.

P.S. Next orgy is on the last of the 31st. Worry not, my siblings, for I shall gather.

AUGUST 13, 2012

Log from August 13^th:

Lately, I’ve needed to pile on layer upon layer and I’m still freezing. Given the wave of heat, this has earned me no shortage of odd looks, but…I can’t help it. I’m so cold, all the time.

It’s giving me this horrible sinking feeling, and that’s not helping me warm up at all.

Even worse than that, I woke up this morning to the most awful, gut-wrenching stench I’ve ever experienced. It was beyond any kind of description, so foul that the smell seemed to crawl down my throat and gag me.

Someone brought me the bag of flesh and left it right beside me while I slept.

AUGUST 12, 2012

Log from August 12^th:

I’ve crossed the border by bus, and the moment I did, I shredded my passport. I cannot return home, and the less identification I have, the better. I will not say where I am, exactly, but I’ve at least managed to find a motel that will take me in for free, tonight.

The owners of the motel are a middle-aged couple, both marked with red. Their only request for letting me stay was to help me praise the Mistress. It was awkward, and I’m exhausted, but a lot safer than I would be, camping out on the street again.

I feel like there’s a constant presence in the darkness, just watching me. I sometimes think I can feel something breathing down my neck, but it’s in my imagination. I’m sleeping with the lights on, tonight.

AUGUST 11, 2012

Log from August 11^th:

I keep stopping in at train and bus stations, now that I’m off the main road. They have cheap food and Internet – it’s all I really need.

I shoved that bag down to the very bottom of a garbage can. It reeked and I hope to hell I’m far enough away, and that no one asks questions about it. I didn’t know what more to do. If I could have burned it, maybe, I would have.

I remembered where I read that, though. About a victim being skinned – it was in an article I looked up a while back. A man who was ‘nearly destroyed’ on the surface and drained of blood, back in 1999.  I had it saved on my laptop, so I could find it again, so I looked the article over again.

It’s related to the Mistress; I know that. I’m certain of it.

I’m going to look up more information on this rumoured pedophile teacher.

AUGUST 9, 2012

Log from August 9^th:

I’ve had my first experience with hitchhiking. I thought that if I stuck by Scarlet-marked drivers, I would be safe. My naïveté cost me one of the most traumatizing experiences of my life.

By day, I mostly travel on foot. It’s easier to outmaneuver them that way, I think – I take trails and shortcuts, keep away from the road. I don’t know how to Run; I think that’s the problem. I always felt so safe. How stupid could I have been? As long as I stay away from civilization by day, though, I feel like that might be better. It’s false safety, but it’s there.

Once the sun starts to set – that’s not until something like eight-thirty at night – I make my way back to streets and get on the first mode of transportation I find. Usually busses, but tonight, a car pulled over on the side of the road and asked if I was who he thought I was. I looked him over; red cowboy boots. I found it funny, since the Mistress wears boots of a similar shade, if not the same style. I said yes, and he told me to get in.

We were driving for a while. He was willing to take me down the 401 and pay my toll into the United States, which was a relief. I looked up the route I needed to take, beforehand; 129 hours on foot, 15 hours by bus, or 8 hours by car. Anything to whittle down that trip seemed like a blessing, and with no one else on the road he was going sixty over the speed limit.

Then suddenly he was pulling over – the deceleration almost made me dizzy. He started going on about the Mistress, and being important to her, and then…he just…sprung at me.

By the end of it, I was just…soaked in blood. It’s not like I minded, it wasn’t the first time, but…I was shaking. Killing someone like that is different. It’s not like in tribute.

I just kept telling myself it was the same. I was protecting what belongs to the Mistress.

Unless, would she have wanted me to be-…?

I couldn’t stomach it. I’m feeling sick, right now.

In the end, I had to skin him. I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be recognized. I know I read something about flaying, before. There’s still blood everywhere, but this isn’t CSI; DNA doesn’t solve everything in sixty minutes.

I don’t know what I’ll do with the skin.

For extra measure, I spent hours taking off the license plates. It was grueling, and I was stuck using everything and anything the man had in his glove box. My hands are so badly scratched that I can barely type…I’ll need to have them bandaged.

Now, I’m just…bundled up in a ditch off the side of the road, maybe a mile away, with a bag of stinking flesh, license plates, and my laptop. It’s the only source of heat, and I wanted to write down what happened. The details already feel a hundred miles away.

God, the nausea is too much.

AUGUST 6, 2012 (PM)

Log from August 6^th (PM):

My very soul is marked in scarlet. My flesh is coated in claret. My clothing bears the colour of crimson.

I am Scarlet-marked and yet I have spent this entire time waiting for punishment, a follower lost to his lust and desire for beings that don’t occupy our reality, for fiction and for those who impersonate that fiction. My depravity is, was and always will be a joke.

And yet, The Mistress passed onto me her latest logs, scribbled in her colour over ripped out pages of a graphic novel. In the end...as long as we are lustful, we are hers. I have fulfilled my service by extracting her logs to my best capability.

August 2:

With the shitstorm currently being kicked up, I’ve decided there’s really only one logical course of action: forget Russ and get back into the Game. Before I got sidetracked by my Scarlet-marked and all the various other fuckery, I was trying to make this my year. If the end is to come, I want to make it spectacular, and I want to make it mine.

…Okay, so I’m not forgetting Russ entirely. The first Marked I come across is also being given the order to assemble the cavalry and hunt the fucker down.

I’ve gone to the only place where I know for a fact I can’t be tracked. At least, not so easily. If I encounter Fears, all the better. Less pesky humans in the way, at least.

I know they can’t be killed, but if they pass through…at least I’ve got a better chance of working something out. See how involved they are. Get a who’s-who rundown of the apocalypse. That way, I’ll know for sure which proxies I want to impale on a stick and parade around.

Jack hates the Empty City, though. He thinks it’s boring.

August 3:

Did anyone know that I can go like, overseas via Empty City? I mean, this place may be a bitch to get out of, but talk about easy mode of long-distance transportation.

Maybe it just likes me. Little odd, since I’m pretty sure the only things that can cooperate with this Fear are…you know, other Fears. Maybe proxies. Can proxies just go through this place? Man, someone needs to write me a rulebook…before I start thinking on this too hard and worry about the implications.

Too late, actually. I’m wondering.

There’s just so much of myself that I don’t understand. When do my memories start? Are the ones I have really mine? …Who the hell am I, even?

This is turning into some angsty teenager self-discovery shit, but…I’m serious. I can’t really tell where I end and the Red Cap begins.

…I’m not even sure I know what ‘the Red Cap’ is.

Ugh, getting past this crap: I started writing this to tell the world about what I’m doing, not what’s going on in my head. I’ve started dipping out of the Empty City to listen for Fear-related news. Not even sure where I am right now, but there’s something about a rash of suicides.

So, I’m blaming either the Choir or little miss love-me. We’ll just see what comes of it.

THE CHOIR BEDTIME STORY

They’re laughing at me

Behind my back –

Like the blur at the corner of my eye

It’s just too much

The rope is slack

My rhyming is my last goodbye.

Around my neck

I hear a shriek

That piercing sound’s my only friend

The noose is tight

The world is bleak

At least the whispers now will end.

August 5:

It was the Unnamed Child. I know that because I ran into this woman who was just bawling her eyes out and screaming at the cops about her ‘missing daughter’. Said woman was eighteen and a virgin.

How did I know she was a virgin? Sixth sex sense. Also, if you’re bored; try saying that five times fast.

Anyway, when I came back to the realm of consciousness, she was dead, no longer a virgin, and I was blood soaked.

I’m scaring myself. I mean, it’s kind of in a good way because oh god, the power rush, I’m king of the world but…

Didn’t I used to feel guilt?

August 6:

I had a real name, once. It wasn’t always ‘Red’.

When did I stop being…whoever I was, before?

AUGUST 6, 2012 (AM)

Log from August 6^th (AM):

Those who bother to read this know that Russ has begun communicating with me publicly, now. I can only guess it’s because I’ve deleted all but one of my email accounts, which I am guarding like it’s my greatest secret.

However, it means that there’s probably less to explain about why I’m now on the run.

I don’t have a car. In fact, I don’t have much aside from a messenger bag and the clothes on my back. I have a debit card and a bare minimum of cash, and my apartment is up for rent. It’s strange, but I don’t feel like I’ll miss all my possessions. Serving the Mistress is my higher calling. In a way, it’s almost as if she’s become my religion, and I’m as devoted as a nun.

Russ called her the ‘primary Vessel’. If the Red Cap chooses all of its Vessels, what makes her…more so? I swear that I can feel something more about her, but I can confess that I’m not an unbiased judge. If I could have chosen anyone, I would have chosen her, too.

I need to know more. Every moment not spent running, I am going to spend trying to understand. I scraped the surface, before; that’s why I know about ‘the magnet’.

After all…because I’m running away, I don’t know whether or not the Mistress will be able to find me ever again.

Information may be all I have left.

AUGUST 5, 2012

Log from August 5^th:

I have this feeling the Mistress has gone somewhere. Her anger towards Russ was…beyond description, and I have to wonder if she’s gone after him.

There has been no word from her, at all. I still get the sense that I am being stalked, in some way. It’s this sense of…crushing danger. It’s watching me because it wants to hurt me.

It’s been getting worse, since she left.

AUGUST 1, 2012

Log from August 1^st:

THE INTRUSION BEDTIME STORY

There are fleas in my blood

Earwigs in my brain

Maggots in my muscles

The itch is insane

Spiders in my throat

Spinning webs in each lung

Catching flies and the wasps

Leaving welts on my tongue

There are bubbles and blisters

And pus in my skin

I’m begging you, god

Stop letting them in