GET OUT OF MY HEAD YOU'RE NOT REAL YOU CANT BE REAL YOU'RE JUST A HALLUCINATION OR DELUSION OR SOMETHING JUST LIKE YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN STAY AWAY FROM ME GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUT

JUST

LEAVE

ME

ALONE

YOU'RE

NOT

REAL




















ive seen the body

I Don't Even

A proxy blew up in front of me.

Okay, not EXACTLY that dramatic, sounds like he had a grenade in his chest or popped like a balloon there, which he didn't, but um.
Well.
Where do I begin, exactly?

Okay, a couple days ago I was being pursued and I kinda got...
Wow, you know what, I'm terrible at this. Just gonna be to the point like I'm always being told to and skip to the end-
You know that cliche moment in the movie where the antagonist is gloating over the protagonist dangling over the edge of the rooftop holding on by their fingertips? Let's just say it's really not hard to get into those situations when you can't exactly run away, and I ended up in one. Rather disappointed in myself, but I wasn't exactly armed at the time, which in hindsight I probably should've been. Anywho. The deus ex machina saving me in this case being one of his legs kind of... exploding.

I don't know how else to describe it, okay! It popped! Like a freaking zit! It swelled up for a second about halfway down the lower leg and then there was blood everywhere and he fell over me into the alleyway and he left a foot (because just a shoe might've been just a tad too mundane or clean for this story!) behind but once again NOBODY found anything like, oh I dunno, a BODY or his BLOOD or the FOOT, because somehow I ended up perfectly freaking immaculate despite said "pop" and I've been kinda freaking out just a bit ever since!

... Wow Mr. Run-on Sentence, take a moment to breathe why don't ya.
... Shut up, brain.

I know, someone out there's thinking, "maybe you should've kept the foot if you didn't want everyone to think you were just making this up", well hardy har asshole, I'm not so far-gone that I keep any old disembodied limbs I find lying around. Sort of a catch 22 in getting people to think you aren't completely batshit.
Or you're just going to give me odd looks because of the idea of keeping a random stranger's foot.
I mean, I can't even begin to guess where it's been. Probably nowhere nice.

...

And I'm still alive by the way.

Or maybe not

I honestly don't know if I'm doing this under my own power or not.

I started to notice the whole leg-swaying thing about a week or two after my "encounter" with Our Mutual Tallish Friend. Within a few days I was able to kick, within a month I could stand for a few moments and by the time I last posted on this, I was able to take baby steps for about 5 minutes at a time.

This isn't possible.

First of all, when I'm "walking", I'm only able to do it in short bursts, though the bursts get longer the more often I'm doing it, much akin to working the muscles. I've always fully expected that regaining control of my legs would take time, what with them being a bit atrophied for lack of real exercise, fine. However, in the months that I've been able to do so, I haven't really been able to feel my legs any more than I've been able to for the past three years.
Maybe I'm crazy (... I really need to stop using such an obvious line...) but that seems a bit unusual to me.

Second, when I started to think I might have been on the road to recovery after catching my legs swaying on their own, I arranged a visit to the doc- probably about the only time I've felt anything higher on the scale than absolute dread being carted off towards a hospital. A few hundred bucks worth of tests down the drain, and they still say it's unlikely I'll be able to walk.

Third, no witnesses, which unless you're Harry Potter evidently is typically the first sign that it's all in your head. Regardless of how often I'm trying to do so, I can't seem to move them whenever someone's looking. If I'm standing and someone is within the vicinity, they'll spontaneously give out right before I'm in view like some cliched comedy act. Once again, something my parents believe I should be talking about in therapy.

There are two possibilities here.
I'm having some crazy vivid daydreams on the topic.
Or, in spite of the fact that I can at least choose where I'm going when I can use them, I'm not the one really in control of my legs. Given when these events started, it's not exactly hard to figure out who probably is. Remember what I said before about being just too easy prey? Someone really enjoys playing with their food.

So why am I posting all this now? Because if the latter, who's to say that's all that's being controlled. Even posting could be entirely the influence of the other guy.
Or this is all in my head, and I'm making a fool of myself.

I have a superpower

It's called "walking".

Yeah. What.

Arrival

I really don't want to talk about this.

But.

I did decide, in my stupor, to write a message to our Mutual Tallish Friend. I suppose if I left it on that note, you'd probably think I'm being tortured to death.
Well... not physically at any rate.

The other day, your "Construct" showed up. Just stood in my yard, staring in through the window at me. Just like the first time.

I honestly don't know why the fella didn't just come in, surprise me in my doorway or whatever. Had to make some grand announcement. Or hey, if the theories are true about certain temporal anomalies, maybe it was all part of some stable time loop that I decided to dose myself up to get a migraine.

Can you guess why? Hard to think that way, mind stops racing because it just slams facefirst into a barrier, over and over, like a three-year old to a glass door.

I've had a while to think about my own death, I wasn't going to let myself be just another victory.
So I drugged myself to screw TPF over. Not like it's hard to find anything of that sort in my area, if you know the right people.

Felt like hours I was just sitting there waiting for the effects to kick in. Staring through the window into that pseudo-existential mass of sentient nightmare.
I blinked first.

Okay, that was a bad pun. Actually I don't know if there would be a staring contest, since the first symptom that took hold was the tunnel vision. It's hard to explain... the bugger was just sort of there in front of me when I tilted my head. The photo-sensitivity took over and the apertures to my soul shut.

So why am I still here?
Well, why would I ever think it would be that simple? That the engine of paranoia and despair would just let me die? Probably even knowing full-well that my death would have done more damage to the fella?

You know in those movies where the protagonist is facing some massive blind beast, and they're backed into a corner with the creature facing them down and smelling them, leading to the suspense of whether or not the beastie even knows our hero is there?
Well it was sort of like that, only nowhere near as epic. I'm no hero, and TPF certainly isn't... well...
...
Well TPF wasn't 3 stories high that day, alright?

Maybe TPF ran away because I wasn't worth the kill. Or maybe migraines are actually some kind of psychic forcefield from eldritch horrors. More likely though, it's probably dawned on him it the SOB that I haven't suffered enough yet. I guess I should look forward to being given a gentle nudge by hithe sick fuck down some stairs one of these days.

I don't even know anymore.

you just couldn't make this easy, could you










no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no nonononononononononompinasldkna;vnld,x

you sonof a bitch
why wont youj ust let me die

Confessions

There's something I've had on my mind a lot recently in the past few weeks. Most of it's a blur, really, but I figure it's about time to bring it up. Now or never, right?

January 22nd, 2010. I know it better as "The Day We Killed Each Other".

Darren and I had been arguing on and off for the past few weeks. I honestly can't remember what it was about anymore, but knowing him it was probably just him trying to shut me out of something stressful in his life despite my attempts to butt in. Between his mother's medical bills, his dad and mother-in-law's pressures, his most recent break-up and the company he kept at school, he had a lot on his plate. I did my best to distract him from it, but I just as often bugged him to find out what was wrong to see if I could help (I don't know why I bothered since I knew I never could).

We usually settled arguments via dueling in his backyard. That had always been my idea- he always had the urge to hit something even when he knew he was wrong, I always felt like I deserved to be hit unless I knew I wasn't, and it was good practice. This day was no different in that respect.

We tired each other out pretty quick, as he put all of his power into his hits and I strained myself dodging blows. The duel ended with the both of us on our asses, laughing at our own bruises and welts. We dragged ourselves to the wall of his house and got to talking. I don't recall how long it went on- maybe a half hour or so- before I said something stupid and he snapped, fueled by rage to fight again.

I didn't have much I could do at that point, since I'd never been as quick to recover as him. I didn't pick up my bokken and tried instead to talk him down, receiving a couple more swipes for my failings. I tried to physically disarm him but I never had the strength to overpower him, even when I wasn't weakened. All I could really do was block the worst of his rage-filled blows and close the gap between us.

I backed him into a corner of the fence with my advances and grappled him. He kicked and scratched trying to free himself, but I locked both of my arms around his back and pressed myself as closely as possible to him to form a restraint. When he was tired of striking me his body remained tense and he breathed heavily, but he gave up on that after a few minutes of standing there stopping himself screaming. He let out a deep breath, dropped his bokken, slid his arms around my back and slowly put his head down near mine. He apologized, having realized how tightly I was holding on. He told me I was a good friend for letting him cut loose, but that I should never let him wail on me like that again because he couldn't bear the thought of doing serious damage. I loosened up and pulled my head out of his chest, reminding him that I'd faced worse at crueler people. He smiled, his eyes glinting with choked-back tears.
He always said his smile was goofy, but I always found it wonderful. Beautiful, even.

That's when I did the most stupid thing I will ever profess to.
I kissed him.
It hit me within seconds after doing so that I had literally forced my first kiss on a guy who had always professed to be straight, who I came to in a moment of weakness after a recent break-up. I was horrified by the implications and pulled away.
He looked me in the eye a moment as I stuttered, trying to apologize without knowing how. That's when he did worse: he shook his head with a grin and leaned in, returning the favor.

It was like I had a moment of perfect clarity when we were together; I could see a future for us that I wouldn't have imagined beforehand. Just the two of us on the road, leaving our misery behind. Working off bills, coming home to a lousy apartment to watch bad movies on the couch or play Halo, having impromptu picnics on weekends to talk about the mythos I'd been working on for D&D or the motorcycle he'd been dreaming of owning... For the first time in years I could see a future I wanted. I could see myself happy.
I was happy.

The next part I remember clearly. Pain.
It originated in my lower chest and erupted all over my body. I stumbled back away from Darren, and caught the glimpse of horror in his eyes. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't scream. My legs gave way. Darren ran to my side, screaming to deafened ears in a panic.
Darkness.

I woke up in a hospital bed a couple days later. There were my parents at my bedside, praising their God for my health, crying over me like a stage mom who vicariously won the beauty pageant through her 8-year-old daughter. The only things I understood in my confusion were the bruises on my arms and the numb feeling in my legs.

The doctors were completely stumped. Somehow, I received a very large and nasty chest-wound. Punctured diaphragm, irreparable damage to my spine. I had some serious blood loss, and between the head injury from the fall and the lack of oxygen, I'd suffered from some brain damage. They glossed over the fact that I had died on the operating table, which my parents certainly didn't take well. That didn't bother me nearly as much as their doubt that I would ever be able to walk again. What stumped them was that they didn't know WHAT could have made the injury- there was no exit wound, no bullet, the hole was too circular for a blade and too big for a typical bullet anyway.

My parents were convinced that Darren was responsible somehow. I was dazed, and couldn't defend him because I didn't understand what was going on at the time. The ensuing investigations only revealed my blood all over Darren and his bokken- which had similar dimensions to the hole- and since he was the only other person there, it seemed an open and shut case to anyone else.
But... he dropped his weapon, right? We were too close to each other for him to gain any sort of velocity for a gouge that deep. Nothing added up after my mind began to clear.

I spent months in the hospital. Some nights I dreamed the incident again from Darren's perspective, crying over my own body and staring at the blood on his hands. I spent every waking hour wondering where he was, facing only grim looks and topic-changes whenever I requested his presence. I couldn't understand why he was staying away, but angered myself harboring the idea that he'd been turned away at the door by my overprotective parents. I refused to believe he was away intentionally.

It was a week before I would be released when Darren finally arrived in my room. He was panting from riding all the way over on his skateboard, bleeding from scraped limbs. The two of us were speechless at the sight of each other. After a minute or so of silence, he broke down in tears in the doorway. I beckoned him over and cried at the sight of him as well. He kneeled by my bedside, apologizing with broken words for the state I was in. I told him to get up and shuffled to the other side of the bed, motioning for him to join me. We lay in the bed together for a few hours reminiscing, avoiding the subject, my head on his shoulder, our fingers wrapped around each other's... He tried to leave after a while but I made him swear to stay with me. He chuckled teasingly as he agreed.

Eventually I fell asleep. When I awoke he was gone.
I found out a couple days later that he had washed ashore, evidently having jumped off a bridge to his death. My parents finally confessed that during the course of hiring an investigator to find evidence proving that Darren was responsible for my condition and suing his family to pay my hospital bills, they stumbled upon the necessary evidence to bring Darren up on attempted murder charges (their only regret was that the judge to disavowed actual murder charges in spite of my temporary death). After he somehow escaped custody, he "must have realized it was hopeless and killed himself to clear his guilty conscience."

Yes, I drowned in disbelief too. This cemented my assumptions that I live with people who are batshit insane.

In hindsight, it can't have been anything but fate that the funeral was two days after I left the hospital, unless Darren had planned for me to attend it before his jump. My parents refused to drive me there, but after what they'd pulled, they deserved to be spited by me. I rode 3 buses in a wheelchair to the service.
I arrived fully expecting scorn from his family for what mine had done. Instead, we mourned his loss together, and they drove me home after the burial ceremony.

So here I am. My best friend is dead. My body is my prison. I lost the will to survive a long time ago, but can't just kill myself because of him. For every ounce of me that adored him, there's a part of me that hates him for his hypocrisy in death, and that hatred assures I can't do anything he did.
Now a being is coming who will solve this... problem... of mine. I know there are better ways to go out, but what am I supposed to do? Run? Think I need to walk first.

A final note.
The second time I saw Our Mutual Tallish Friend... it was the anniversary of Darren's death. When I looked into his HHIZ face, I didn't see anything per se, but part of my memory returned. The memory of the final moments of dread before I collapsed. The pain in my chest. The image of fear across Darren's face.

Do you understand now?

They've Stopped

I think I know what that means.









Our mutual Tallish Friend must be coming soon.

No Test This Month

...because nothing's changed since last month.

For Clarification

To Dia: The test is to make sure I'm aware when I start going off the deep end, or that someone else can catch it early, without me fudging the details. That was always the intent, although I suppose I've had difficulty keeping people updated outside of it; the test is the priority though, and I cannot be allowed to slip up.

That said, sorry about not having many posts as I've basically been under siege on and off by (I assume) Proxies. It happens often enough anyone I tell probably thinks I'm undergoing some form of PTSD after the first couple of break-ins, and I guess the series of random contraptions and gimmicks I've left lying around don't hurt their case of paranoid delusions. Sly devils are usually waiting till I'm isolated, naturally, and disappear before help can arrive. Admittedly, I'm a bit impressed with their parkour...

I know what you're probably thinking. I'm not crazy, they were here. The vaguely head-shaped dent in my broom has confirmed at least once more than before.

BUT I'm getting off topic, because we're all here for the recurring nightmare. Except it's not exactly recurring, cause it's always different. I'm explaining this wrong, lemme try again.

Darren... oi vey. It's about him.
I think it's about the day he killed himself. I don't know if any of it's true though. It's confusing.
See, I'm basically following him throughout his day, although it jumps around, never linear. I'm not sure if he knows I'm there for most of it, though I feel like he's at least conscious of the whole time. I'm not following up close like I'm looking over his shoulder either, just kinda... there.

Before you ask, it makes about as much sense to me.
Here goes...



It's getting dark outside, though the streets are well-illuminated with lamps and the brights of cars. Darren is coming down the hill towards me on his longboard. The board rolls into something moving in the street, halting the board and sending him flying. He skids down the street on his side, bloodying up his arm and leg. He picks himself up, kicks the board up, and proceeds walking as if nothing happened, despite the blood dripping down his sleeve.
The lights disappear from the scene. It's pitch black, but then a white light comes out of the sky, bringing me to a new destination.

Darren is returning home, wearing a suit- uncharacteristic attire for him. He takes a key out from under the doormat, unlocks the door, enters, and returns minutes later with more casual wear and his longboard.
Fade to black. Bright light.

I guess it's a few hours later when it picks back up. I'm in an alleyway, the sun's shining, the courthouse is a ways away. Darren's walking away from the courthouse wearing that suit still. He gets into the back of a van and comes back out a couple minutes later. He looks both ways down the street, not looking at me, and walks down the plaza.
Fade to black. I can hear some rustling in the darkness. Bright light.

Darren is walking backwards out the door of a hospital room, the windows obscured. He pauses before completely exiting the door, as if savoring the view. Tears begin to roll down his face, but he doesn't make a sound. He dries his eyes and turns to look down the hallway.
Fade to black. Bright light.

I'm just watching him through a window for what feels like hours. He's eating lunch in a cafe I recognize, wearing his normal clothes again. Some guys I didn't recognize sit down in front of him and start chatting him up. I don't understand what they're saying but I feel like it's nothing good. There's an obnoxiously loud siren as a police car drives by. Darren shudders and turns away from the window as it passes.
Fade to black. The noises in the darkness sound familiar, though I can't quite place them. Bright light.

It's dark outside again, even darker than before. There's a chirping of crickets despite the industrial surroundings. There's a long wait, and I feel as though nothing is going to happen. I even turn to leave, before Darren arrives at the hospital on his longboard. He stops at the steps to take a deep breath, mutters something to himself for a minute and steps inside.
Fade to black. Bright light again.

He's in a jail cell, just waking up. He sits up in bed and turns his head to face me. He takes a look at me, then looks down to the floor, starts shaking his head a little before covering his face. I think he's trying to hold back tears, but it skips at this point.
Fade to black. The rustling sounds something like a soft rain on glass, or trees swaying in the wind, or maybe even a card pyramid collapsing across the room. Bright light.

This is where things start getting scary, honestly, because even though all of the 'clips' before now are usually in a random order... this is always the part it ends on, without fail, although the details of it vary.
It's probably around midnight. Darren's on a bridge, wearing the scarf I gave him on the last Christmas of his life.
The bridge. The one we met on. Darren is leaning on the supports, as if waiting for something to arrive. He's playing with his bowie knife, cleaning out from under his fingernails or shaving his arm hairs as usual... and then looks as though he's about to cut himself, causing me to cringe. Before he goes through with it, something catches the corner of his eye. I'm relieved, until he looks directly towards me with a look of sheer malice across his face. He walks towards me, screaming angrily at the top of his lungs at me (I can't hear the words, it sounds kinda like we're conversing underwater), pointing at me in case I couldn't tell who he meant. He makes a number of gestures toward his arm- which I notice is now healed- as well as towards his stomach, all the while bouncing around and fidgeting uncontrollably. He brandishes the knife once more and makes a motion like he's about to stab me, but stops in the air- sometimes it seems like he stopped himself, others like something stopped him. He slowly released the knife from his hands, a look of defeat upon his face. He turns away and leans on the railing, saying something else, although I feel like he was asking rhetorical question. He turned his head to look at me one more time, a smile on his face.
Before I could react, he kicked off of the railing and descended towards the water. I reach out for him, but to no avail. A white-hot flash of light and I wake up with a pounding in my head.

That has, more or less, been how the dream has gone for months.
But you want to know why I bring special concern to it now?
For the past week, that final image- Darren's descent- has had an additional split second, like deleted footage... one extra feature that confuses, sickens and most importantly horrifies me.

I did reach out successfully.
I don't know what actually grabbed him- and I don't think I ever want to know- but those weren't human hands.

Test Results #3

Been a bit more reclusive recently, sorry about that, rest assured I'm still alive, still unharmed (within relevance) and so on. Or to your ears, "boring".
Keeping this one short.
Yes, my fingers were crossed.

Has anyone else outright called you 'insane', 'crazy', 'creepy', or a similar term for something you did? Yup.
--> Would you agree with their assessment in that context? Nope!
Have you simply found yourself saying "I know it sounds crazy, but..." or similar phrases? Yup.
Have you been having what you can only describe as 'visions'? Nope.
Have you been receiving unusual sensory input, such as hearing voices/ticking or seeing creatures/figures that nobody else could hear or see? Not as far as I know.
Have you spoken to yourself in public? Yup.
--> Did this draw serious attention from other people? Only because others forgot I wasn't speaking to them.
--> Did this devolve into an argument with yourself? Nope.
Have you spoken to inanimate objects? Does my computer count?
--> Have you received replies? ...Does my computer count?
Have you found yourself repeating a single phrase at least three times within as many breaths? Nope.
Have you found yourself writing in code when it was either ridiculously easy to crack or unnecessary to begin with? 0100111001101111011100000110010100101110
Have you had any violent mood swings? Nope.
Have you recently experienced any significant changes in your mood that lasted for an extended period? Yup.
--> Could this change be considered positive, contrary to recent experience? Dunno...
--> Could this change be considered negative? See previous...
Have you noticed changes in your own eating behavior? I've been eating a bit less...
Have you made any significant changes to your wardrobe or style of dress? Nope.
Have you recently found yourself unusually bitter towards or paranoid of your close friends and colleagues? Again, no more than usual.
--> Have you seriously wished harm upon them? Again, no.
Have you found yourself simply paranoid of everyday social interactions? Always.
Have you spent abnormal amounts of time scanning scenery for potential foes while out and about? Yup.
Have you believed there was a conspiracy to kill you, someone you know, or an iconic figure? Would that be surprising at this point?
Have you simply 'felt the presence' of Tall Pale and Faceless, another Fear, or any other supernatural forces/creatures without any other sensory input? Yes.
Have you believed you had any abnormal abilities for a human? God no.
Have you ever believed yourself to be something 'more than human'? Nope.
Have you threatened to kill anybody? Offhandedly mentioned ripping off someone's head to use it as a pillow as they were making comments on my unusual posture while sleeping.
--> Multiple times? Nope.
--> Was it (exclusively) to deter future harmful action, i.e. "If you touch a hair on his/her head..."? Does it look like it was?
Have you ACTUALLY killed anybody? No.
Have you contemplated methods of homicide or harming others, without any particular target in mind? Usually.
--> Could such methods be considered 'unusual' or 'creative'? I try.
--> Could such methods be considered 'inhumane'? I try not.
Have you simply felt apathetic towards the painful misfortune of others? Admittedly? A little more these days.
Have you delighted in the painful misfortune of others? No...
While awake, have you had periods of complete unresponsiveness to the physical world? While daydreaming.
Have you had extended periods of uncontrollable twitching for no explicable reason? No.
Have you had extended periods of disorientation or lapsed memory while awake? Not that I remember.
Have you indiscriminately considered yourself superior to strangers or colleagues? Nope.
Have you acted like you are, or believed yourself to be under the age that your legal documentation (i.e. birth certificate) says you are? Perhaps I've been a little whiny...
Have you found yourself singing or humming a song to yourself that was inappropriate for the situation (i.e. a cheery tune while fighting or killing people)? Nope.
Have you had periods where you found yourself unable to stop making puns? Nope.
Have you had periods of simply wanting to bellow out maniacal laughter?  Heh.

And I saved this one for last cause it's... a little bit more important these days. Maybe I'll elaborate if it comes up, maybe I won't, but...
Have you had an unusual number of nightmares, lucid dreams, or other abnormal REM occurrences?
Definitely.

Song

Stroke of brilliance.

Music.
In reverse.

Think about it. REALLY think about it.

Our mutual Tallish Friend can be repelled by music- "showtunes" according to the original source, although I wouldn't put it past 'The Construct' to be indiscriminate.

What happens if you turn it around?

No, I'm not saying "playing music backwards reverses the effect and attracts HHIZ attention" or whatever. It's still soundwaves, so it'll likely produce similar effects from that factor alone, and to say it'll do the exact opposite would be childish. Nor am I saying it'll produce a drastic increase in effect that would completely obliterate the entity in question.

But if our mutual Tallish Friend is a 'Tulpa' or some kind of telepathic entity, then what we know matters- if it didn't matter, perception filters wouldn't exist, no?
Well, we know what the music sounds like right-way-forwards, so what would happen if we deployed THAT variable? Caused two frequencies to be sent simultaneously, one auditory and one from recall, trick 'The Construct' into believing we don't hear what it does?
How would Tall Pale and Faceless react?

I'm not saying I know. I'm specifically saying I don't know.
But it's worth a try, no?

Test Results #2

Couple days late on this test. Perhaps a slowed schedule is a sign I should keep an eye on? Heheh. Heheh. Heeeeeh.
Not really.
Elaine's... Poe's... Morningstar's... yeah. Mostly Elaine.
It's not creepy, is it? I mean, we weren't close, we only talked a couple times, but I've followed her work for as long as I've been in all of this and... back to 'yeah'.

Goddamn Blogger, still says she's following and...

Gonna hurry through this while I can still think straight.

Has anyone else outright called you 'insane', 'crazy', 'creepy', or a similar term for something you did? Not recently, must be an off-month?
Have you simply found yourself saying "I know it sounds crazy, but..." or similar phrases? Nope.
Have you had an unusual number of nightmares, lucid dreams, or other abnormal REM occurrences? Yup.
--> If you weren't prone to it prior to exposure, have you been sleepwalking? Probably.
Have you been having what you can only describe as 'visions'? Note while awake.
Have you been receiving unusual sensory input, such as hearing voices/ticking or seeing creatures/figures that nobody else could hear or see? Yup.
Have you spoken to yourself in public? Often.
--> Did this draw serious attention from other people? I should hope not.
--> Did this devolve into an argument with yourself? Once.
Have you spoken to inanimate objects? Nope.
Have you found yourself repeating a single phrase at least three times within as many breaths? Only if 'nonononononono' counts.
Have you found yourself writing in code when it was either ridiculously easy to crack or unnecessary to begin with? Ummm... no?
Have you had any violent mood swings? Not recently.
Have you recently experienced any significant changes in your mood that lasted for an extended period? In light of recent events, I'd say so.
--> Could this change be considered negative? Probably.
Have you noticed changes in your own eating behavior? I eat more slowly. Significant though? No.
Have you made any significant changes to your wardrobe or style of dress? Nope.
Have you recently found yourself unusually bitter towards or paranoid of your close friends and colleagues? Same as last month.
Have you found yourself simply paranoid of everyday social interactions? Yup.
Have you spent abnormal amounts of time scanning scenery for potential foes while out and about? Yup, although I swear I heard that pothole cover move behind me. 
Have you believed there was a conspiracy to kill you, someone you know, or an iconic figure? A-duh.
Have you simply 'felt the presence' of Tall Pale and Faceless, another Fear, or any other supernatural forces/creatures without any other sensory input? Yes...
Have you believed you had any abnormal abilities for a human? Same number of limbs, still bound by gravity, still only about as psychic as people willing to think too hard on what I say are willing to let me be...
Have you ever believed yourself to be something 'more than human'? No.
Have you threatened to kill anybody? I may have told a guy I was considering ripping out my own ribs just to silence him with them. No idea why I chose that route, I know.
--> Multiple times? Nope.
--> Was it (exclusively) to deter future harmful action, i.e. "If you touch a hair on his/her head..."? Only if the future harmful action was detrimental to my sanity.
Have you ACTUALLY killed anybody? No.
Have you contemplated methods of homicide or harming others, without any particular target in mind? Like you wouldn't believe.
--> Could such methods be considered 'unusual' or 'creative'? Depends on who's asking.
--> Could such methods be considered 'inhumane'? Depends on who's asking.
Have you simply felt apathetic towards the painful misfortune of others? ...
Have you delighted in the painful misfortune of others? -.-
While awake, have you had periods of complete unresponsiveness to the physical world? Daydreaming in class probably doesn't count here.
Have you had extended periods of uncontrollable twitching for no explicable reason? No.
Have you had extended periods of disorientation or lapsed memory while awake? Lapsed memory, sure. No blackouts though.
Have you indiscriminately considered yourself superior to strangers or colleagues? Again, not indiscriminately.
Have you acted like you are, or believed yourself to be under the age that your legal documentation (i.e. birth certificate) says you are? <.<
Have you found yourself singing or humming a song to yourself that was inappropriate for the situation (i.e. a cheery tune while fighting or killing people)? Oh yes.
--> Did you make up the tune? No, Sondheim did.
Have you had periods where you found yourself unable to stop making puns? Not yet.
Have you had periods of simply wanting to bellow out maniacal laughter? Couple times.

Took me a bit longer to write this than I was expecting.

At least I can see it now though.

Nothing Lost, Nothing Gained

Wasted that spring break. Didn't find anything that a Proxy may have left behind. Either he concealed it really well, it was already found and destroyed, or... I'm just paranoid.
But, not wasted entirely. When I was done beating my wall to death with my forehead, I got to placing a few extra "surprises" around the house.

Mua. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.



Ugh. Yeah, if this is what I do for fun these days, I need to get out of the house more.

Note

Welp.
A lot's going on these days. Murder. Kidnapping. More murder. More death on the way.

Been so caught up with the excitement, I only noticed yesterday the lovely little note that (I assume) the previous intruder left for me. Seems very trite by comparison.
I mean really, a cryptic message? Not even one that would freak me out any. I've been waist-deep in these gimmicks for long enough that that's just... ugh. Amateur.

I assume he must have tried taping it to the front door some time in the last week or just left it at the doorstep or something? Dunno. It got swept out into the dirt.
It was on the back of a photograph of me leaving class. There were a bunch of numbers written in Sharpie, all the zeros X'd out for maximum dickery, just in case I forgot. Not gonna rewrite them, I already translated it, it's just more of that uninspired run-of-the-mill "Father is watching" etc. crap.
Is this guy doing things out of order? Pretty sure you give out the warning notes and stuff before breaking in.

Unless he was setting up for later when he broke in before, rather than waiting for me like I originally thought, and this is the first thing I was SUPPOSED to notice. Created such a mess, it wouldn't be hard to hide some addition to spook me with later. Guess I'm spending another spring break at home, searching high and low for something unusual that may or may not even exist.
Heh.
Speaking of unusual stuff lying around, I suppose I should mention that since I started working on this blog, I've been working on some improvised devices for any future Proxy-or-Slender-related activity in my house.
Kinda the reason I knew the door was unlocked before, one of said devices, a little hook on the doorknob. Simple, yet surprisingly effective.
Thinking my next project will be some kind of alarm system for unconscious nocturnal activity.
Maybe using those poppers for New Years' parties? We've got a ton of those lying around.

Those little streamers will be a pain to clean up though.

The First Questions of Spring

Can you die if you haven't lived? If you've done nothing worth remembering?

If you're immortal in memory, are you truly killed when forgotten?

Is forgetting really a form of cruel and unusual punishment?

If you aren't remembered, did you ever exist at all?

Can one enjoy killing you if you don't exist yet?

Why are they called Canadians when they're not from Canadia?

Claustrophobia, and Test Results #1

FINALLY they're all gone! Now I can get to work on the quiz for the month!
Yeah... I should probably explain that first...
So yesterday was Pi Day. All a big joke in this area, really. Course I was too busy answering questions to do any eating of pies.
Remember when I said before that no proxies had come by yet? Congratulations to me then on my first.
I came home after class yesterday and funnily enough, the door to the house was unlocked. Normally this wouldn't be so unusual if my mother hadn't been out at the vet's office with the dogs (her car wasn't even in the driveway, and there was no barking).
I went over to my neighbor's place across the street and called the police- I've already mentioned the house was well-stocked with armaments, I'm not going inside alone when someone could take a sword off the wall and skewer me. Sure enough, squad car shows up, cops go in, ten minutes later a guy in a hoodie with (X) symbols on the back takes a flying leap over the fence and flees the neighborhood. Nobody caught up with him of course, which only serves to reassure me of the law enforcement system.
You know all those shows where someone becomes a vigilante because the police can't be trusted or are corrupt or can't handle 'the conspiracy'? Not so much of a case here; they're just kind of incompetent.
So we were asked some very vague questions (for the umpteenth time, no, I don't think he took anything Mr. Uniform), some guys (I'm really hoping they were CSI and not grifters) show up and take a bunch of pictures of the mess and all of the... art... he made on the walls, then we had painters in this morning, but they're gone now! So I have access to my computer again!
And of course since I'm here, it's been a month since I wrote up the quizzes to begin with, so time to give it a test run!

Has anyone else outright called you 'insane', 'crazy', 'creepy', or a similar term for something you did? Yup.
--> Would you agree with their assessment in that context? I can understand why they thought so.
Have you simply found yourself saying "I know it sounds crazy, but..." or similar phrases? Nope.
Have you had an unusual number of nightmares, lucid dreams, or other abnormal REM occurrences? Now that I think about it, I had a pretty lucid dream last night...
--> If you weren't prone to it prior to exposure, have you been sleepwalking? Only if waking up on the floor of my room in front of the door counts. Which with my luck it probably does.
Have you been having what you can only describe as 'visions'? Nope.
Have you been receiving unusual sensory input, such as hearing voices/ticking or seeing creatures/figures that nobody else could hear or see? Not really.
Have you spoken to yourself in public? All the time.
--> Did this draw serious attention from other people? Not recently.
--> Did this devolve into an argument with yourself? Nothing serious.
Have you spoken to inanimate objects? Nope.
Have you found yourself repeating a single phrase at least three times within as many breaths? Nope.
Have you found yourself writing in code when it was either ridiculously easy to crack or unnecessary to begin with? Umm... no?
Have you had any violent mood swings? Nope.
Have you recently experienced any significant changes in your mood that lasted for an extended period? Changes? Not really.
Have you noticed changes in your own eating behavior? Nope.
Have you made any significant changes to your wardrobe or style of dress? ...I bought a new pair of shoes, but I doubt that counts...
Have you recently found yourself unusually bitter towards or paranoid of your close friends and colleagues? UNUSUALLY, no. USUALLY... a tad.
--> Have you seriously wished harm upon them? Nope.
Have you found yourself simply paranoid of everyday social interactions? Usually.
Have you spent abnormal amounts of time scanning scenery for potential foes while out and about?  I wouldn't have thought so before yesterday.
Have you believed there was a conspiracy to kill you, someone you know, or an iconic figure? I probably should start thinking that now, shouldn't I?
Have you simply 'felt the presence' of Tall Pale and Faceless, another Fear, or any other supernatural forces/creatures without any other sensory input? Yup.
Have you believed you had any abnormal abilities for a human? Heh, I wish.
Have you ever believed yourself to be something 'more than human'? Nope.
Have you threatened to kill anybody? Not outright.
Have you ACTUALLY killed anybody? Nope.
Have you contemplated methods of homicide or harming others, without any particular target in mind? ...Yes...
--> Could such methods be considered 'unusual' or 'creative'? I like to think so.
--> Could such methods be considered 'inhumane'? I don't like to think so.
Have you simply felt apathetic towards the painful misfortune of others? No. More just... very confused by the events leading up to them.
Have you delighted in the painful misfortune of others? See previous.
While awake, have you had periods of complete unresponsiveness to the physical world? While daydreaming.
Have you had extended periods of uncontrollable twitching for no explicable reason? Only when joking. Hence that 'creepy' commentary above.
Have you had extended periods of disorientation or lapsed memory while awake? "Lapsed memory" is also usual, but nothing like a blackout.
Have you indiscriminately considered yourself superior to strangers or colleagues? Not indiscriminately, but I do consider myself more intelligent than most of my classmates, although this is one of those 'hard to confirm or refute' cases. Otherwise, no.
--> Have you ever called them your minions, underlings, or other derivatives of servant? No, but I feel like I should now. Mua. Ha. Ha.
Have you acted like you are, or believed yourself to be under the age that your legal documentation (i.e. birth certificate) says you are? I think I've done a decent job of handling things maturely.
Have you found yourself singing or humming a song to yourself that was inappropriate for the situation (i.e. a cheery tune while fighting or killing people)? Nope.
Have you had periods where you found yourself unable to stop making puns? Noooooo.
Have you had periods of simply wanting to bellow out maniacal laughter? All the time.

...Right then.
No idea what to do now.

Wait?

Schrödinger's Fear

I already know what you're thinking: contemplating the existence and psychology of a creature that can at best be compared to a pocket-edition Cthulhu is not a very sane thing to do. My apologies, and let it be stated here that I do not expect anything good of it in the future- not that I can stop once the cage is rattled.

But it strikes me as odd- this "Construct" (ugh typing that feels so unnatu- wait.) is not bound by the same dimensional travel limitations as the rest of us, right? So our mutual Tallish Friend can be at any point in spacetime, provided that the location fulfills the unknown prerequisites, anyway.

So can TPF ever overlap HHIZ own timeline? Is there some rule or force preventing zirlikschten (not gonna use that one again, lest I screw it up...) from being in two places in the 3rd Dimension at once, given that the complete transcendence of the 4th is already more than possible?
And are there periods where TPF just doesn't exist within spacetime at all?
If so, then where does zi (nope... not using that one again either, my apologies to Ms. Elaine in particular) go during those periods? Anywhere? Maybe the same dimension as that Path of Black Leaves thing, given that they're so close? If so, does that mean the Path can be used to travel or at least glimpse backwards or forwards in time, relative to us? If not (to that last one, still doing this linearly like an idiot), does that mean the Path does have its own relevant time, meaning it exists at a point relative to our 3rd Dimension?

And that's where the train of thought derails, I get the feeling that anyone with experience will just repeat 'no' reading it.
If any human with the necessary experience exists.

Funny Aneurysm Moment

You know what's fun? When your peers and fellow students are discussing Our Mutual Tallish Friend just within earshot of you during class, unaware of your experiences.
Really, what are you supposed to do then? Pipe up with "hey, don't joke about that, people have died fighting or running from the bugger"? Or even just anything along the lines of "don't talk about it"- God forbid they think you believe it or that you're crazy.
Not even sure what to think of it really. On the one-hand, they're awfully annoying. On the other, being Stalked isn't funny. And on the other, I really should keep an eye on how many hands I have.

But then again, TPF doesn't appear to everybody. Just because of that possibility, there will forever remain doubt there's really anything one can do...

Blades

My parents were part of the Society for Creative Anachronism back in college. They met on the battlefield, so to speak. They were Dungeons and Dragons nerds too, of course, and one can only assume LARPers based on the general description. If they were, I never heard those stories. Would've been funny though, right? My dad in shining armor, mom in a dress and elf ears- off topic again. Sorry about that.
When they were married, they didn't do the classical thing of going some place like Hawaii for their honeymoon. They went instead to a British armo(u)ry and bought their dream blades, everything they could think of including fencing foils, some replicas of Spanish sabers and at least one blade that belonged to a British officer during the Napoleonic Wars and probably killed a few men.
I dunno how many swords they bought. We keep 3 sabers and a scimitar on the mantel, but when my mother took them out to polish them, she retrieved a rusted pile from the garage that covered the entire couch. I counted one bastard sword and at least a dozen matching of pairs of short swords, along with the foils and Spanish replicas, and that's just what I can remember right now. My memory's not what it used to be.
They also kept three longbows, a crossbow, two flails, a pair of nunchaku and a bokken that I commandeered- never mind, it's coming back to me..
Anyway. When I was three my parents took me to my first renaissance fair(e?). They noticed I took interest in a pair of knights sparring, so they put me into a fencing workshop and I was dubbed 'Sir Clueless' for my inability to tell which end of the foil was supposed to point towards me. So I guess I can safely say I've been holding swords since I was strong enough to lift them.
Over the next couple of years, they did their best to train me in the use of some of their other weapons. We only ever got around to fencing and archery, cause that was all my dad had the equipment for to teach a kid without anybody getting hurt.
Eventually though, the other kids picking on me for my nerdiness led to me dropping it altogether. That and for being gay.
Middle school was rough. During those years the only blade I had been acquainted with was a razor blade. I hated myself for all the same reasons everyone else hated me- because I never stood up for myself. I may have known how to fight them but I never wanted to hurt anyone, even at the sake of my own preservation.

Once, I nearly ended it all. I stood at the top of a bridge and looked down into the water, just thinking about how all the pain would go away. But something... extraordinary happened.
I met someone.

More accurately, he threw himself upon me, knowing full-well what I'd been planning to do. He held me down and shushed me until I could speak coherently and could promise to let him walk me home.
His name was Darren, he was a year older than me and went to another middle school in my city. He too had an interest in weaponry, albeit primarily katana and quarterstaves, although he knew how to use a gun and a composite bow. He was brave, strong, and the general definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He was impatient and had what he called 'anger issues' and would be a little violent any time I displayed that I was smarter than him, but I didn't mind. I was worried about coming out to him during the violent times but he proved to be cool with it.
Darren was my first true friend. He was the only thing I cared about in the world.
In freshman year of high school, Darren broke up with his first girlfriend. I helped him through it the same way he'd helped me, and he called me his brother.
This was of course stunning to me, considering my status as an only child and the fact I never had any men to look up to. But it also meant something else to me: we formed a bond of trust. Something I'd never had with another living soul. That he truly and definitively cared for me.
I fell for him at that moment. Hard.
He took me back to his place a few times to train, which is why I commandeered said bokken. I accidentally broke his, since he'd been using it to practice with his katana, so I bought him a couple replacements off topic off topic OFF TOPIC!
Anyway. We spent three years training in his backyard. I'd forgotten everything I knew about swords and he helped me pick some of it back up.

And then all of a sudden... it was over. To say I was heartbroken would be an understatement.
My parents bought me my own scimitar to help me get back through the depression. It didn't help. I had them mount it on a wall out of my reach.
I haven't touched a sword since. They're beautiful, but the feel of it in my palm... that reminder... sickens me.



Requiescas in Pace, Darren. I still love you.