The next day, after school was over, we called Professor John. We told him that we were heading over, to review the situation with the letter. We left quickly, as soon as my chores were done. In case you were wondering, yes, we did come up with another pathetic excuse. It was something involving a science project, or something. I don't remember all of the details, but it doesn't really matter.
Anyway, we knocked on the door, and he let us in. We sat on the couch, and he poured us some tea. I think that it was green tea; nothing special. He said nothing. He just passed us an envelope. It wasn't anything elaborate, this time. It was simply a plain, white envelope. There was no address or stamp.
I opened it, and held it out for Charlie to see. It was written in the same style as the last note, except that it was a bit shorter. It read:
"To John:
I saw the piece of paper that you left me. I'm glad that you came through. I was beginning to worry that you wouldn't. Some people are put off by the unusual nature of my methods.You, however, seem to have the rare capability to overcome that skepticism.
I had promised you information, and you will receive it. But, first, I must decide where to begin. There's so much to tell you. It excites me. You're the first person to truly accept me as a direct ally.
Okay, so there's this abandoned carnival. You'll know where it's at. Years ago, a boy disappeared there. Before he was taken, he had reported to his father about a creepy, faceless gentleman, or so the man had told. No one ever believed him. It has been said that it was one of the first 'modern' appearances of the beast.
Anyway, shortly after, the carnies shut the place down, ostensibly due to a lack of funds. People can still easily get in there. There are no guards or cameras, and it's hardly been touched in years. If you haven't yet guessed, I'd like you to take a look around. There are things, in that place, that are more readily understood when seen with one's own eyes.
Once you have done this, return to the coffee shop. I will leave you a note, taped to the fourth table from the back, that will contain further instructions.
With luck,
A friend."
"We read about the carnival incident." I said, looking up from the page. "What do you think that you'll find?"
John stroked the thick, white mustache that lay under his chin. "I don't know." He said, "But it can't be good."
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Part Twenty-Nine (April 24, 1972)
Charlie's cousin opened her freezer, and threw me a bag of ice, which I promptly held against the front of my pants. Then, she turned to my friend. "So," she said, "What can I do for you?"
"We need fake IDs." Charlie responded.
The girl laughed. "Trying to get into a bar, now, are we?"
"No, it's a nightclub." Charlie clarified, "But it's not to score booze. We're on business."
She chuckled, once more. "What business could a couple of kids have at a nightclub, that doesn't involve alcohol?"
"You wouldn't believe us if we told you." I said, still clutching myself.
"Wouldn't I?" She asked, suddenly intrigued. "Very well," she added, "I'll do this for you, if you promise me that you won't drink at all."
"Thanks, Amanda." Charlie said, "We promise." He took a moment, to think, and then asked, "So, what's the damage?"
Amanda considered this, for a time, and said, "Well, usually, it'd set you back quite a bit. But, since you're my cousin, and since Lyle's in pain, I'll do it for free." Charlie thanked her, again.
She had us walk into a little makeshift studio that she'd set up in the living room, and took our pictures. After having us write down our basic personal information, she said, "Okay, I'll have these done in about two weeks."
"Um," Charlie protested, "We were kinda hoping for them to be done by tomorrow."
Amanda laughed. "It's that urgent, huh? Well, I'm sorry, but that's impossible. Give me two weeks."
After reluctantly agreeing to her time period, we walked home. After about ten minutes, I removed the bag of ice from my love-zone, and used it to slug Charlie in the arm. He hit me back, and we continued on our way.
"We need fake IDs." Charlie responded.
The girl laughed. "Trying to get into a bar, now, are we?"
"No, it's a nightclub." Charlie clarified, "But it's not to score booze. We're on business."
She chuckled, once more. "What business could a couple of kids have at a nightclub, that doesn't involve alcohol?"
"You wouldn't believe us if we told you." I said, still clutching myself.
"Wouldn't I?" She asked, suddenly intrigued. "Very well," she added, "I'll do this for you, if you promise me that you won't drink at all."
"Thanks, Amanda." Charlie said, "We promise." He took a moment, to think, and then asked, "So, what's the damage?"
Amanda considered this, for a time, and said, "Well, usually, it'd set you back quite a bit. But, since you're my cousin, and since Lyle's in pain, I'll do it for free." Charlie thanked her, again.
She had us walk into a little makeshift studio that she'd set up in the living room, and took our pictures. After having us write down our basic personal information, she said, "Okay, I'll have these done in about two weeks."
"Um," Charlie protested, "We were kinda hoping for them to be done by tomorrow."
Amanda laughed. "It's that urgent, huh? Well, I'm sorry, but that's impossible. Give me two weeks."
After reluctantly agreeing to her time period, we walked home. After about ten minutes, I removed the bag of ice from my love-zone, and used it to slug Charlie in the arm. He hit me back, and we continued on our way.
Part Twenty-Eight (April 24, 1972)
The rest of the school day was rather normal, with the exception of the teacher being somewhat concerned over the decline in the quality of my work, as well as my general melancholy behavior. That discussion was long and boring, and it mostly amounted to my having to tell her that I was alright, and that I just hadn't been feeling well, and all of the other crap that she needed to hear, so that she didn't think that I was being abused, or that my nonexistent dog got squished by a passing truck. Anyway, it was kind of a stupid conversation, so I'm not gonna continue talking about it.
When school was over, I did my homework, and then told my parents that we were off to meet Charlie's cousin, which was, at the surface, true. They were okay with that, so we walked to the other end of town. Once there, we knocked on the door. I didn't really know what to expect, since I had never met this person, but I eagerly awaited the moment when I did.
After a minute, the door opened. Behind it was a tall, skinny woman of about twenty years. Her legs were long, and her breasts were some of the biggest that I'd ever seen. Being the ten-year-old that I was, upon seeing all of this, I immediately blurted out, "Whoa, Charlie. I didn't know that your cousin was a girl. Damn, she's hot."
As soon as I said it, I regretted it. And, as soon as I began regretting it, Charlie made me regret it more, by punching me in the balls. As I was writhing on the ground, he turned to his kinswoman, and said, "Sorry, Lyle doesn't have much of a filter, when it comes to the ladies."
"It's alright," she said, helping me up, "Let's come inside. I'll get you some ice for those. You're probably gonna want to be able to produce your own horny ten-year-olds, someday. God forbid that Charlie takes that away from you..." With that, we walked into her kitchen.
When school was over, I did my homework, and then told my parents that we were off to meet Charlie's cousin, which was, at the surface, true. They were okay with that, so we walked to the other end of town. Once there, we knocked on the door. I didn't really know what to expect, since I had never met this person, but I eagerly awaited the moment when I did.
After a minute, the door opened. Behind it was a tall, skinny woman of about twenty years. Her legs were long, and her breasts were some of the biggest that I'd ever seen. Being the ten-year-old that I was, upon seeing all of this, I immediately blurted out, "Whoa, Charlie. I didn't know that your cousin was a girl. Damn, she's hot."
As soon as I said it, I regretted it. And, as soon as I began regretting it, Charlie made me regret it more, by punching me in the balls. As I was writhing on the ground, he turned to his kinswoman, and said, "Sorry, Lyle doesn't have much of a filter, when it comes to the ladies."
"It's alright," she said, helping me up, "Let's come inside. I'll get you some ice for those. You're probably gonna want to be able to produce your own horny ten-year-olds, someday. God forbid that Charlie takes that away from you..." With that, we walked into her kitchen.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Part Twenty-Seven (April 24, 1972)
"What'll happen if we refuse?" Charlie challenged.
Jeremy grinned, and said, "I'll tell your parents that you're involving yourself in a dangerous police case. They'll send you to therapy, or boarding school, or some other Hell-on-Earth. You'll sit there, alone, separated from your best friend, and, in the cold darkness, you'll quietly whimper, 'Why didn't I let Jeremy in?'"
"Here's another idea." I said, "How about we tell your parents about some of the stuff that you've been doing?" I kept it vague, but I held a serious expression, to allow him to fill in the blanks. We, of course, had no idea what the blanks were, or even if there were any, but it was worth a shot. There was a high chance of failure, but there was always room for improvisation.
It worked. His eyes widened, in grim anticipation. We expected him to retort, but he did not. Whatever he imagined must have been terrible, for he simply got up, and exclaimed, "This will not end." As he walked off, the bell rang.
Jeremy grinned, and said, "I'll tell your parents that you're involving yourself in a dangerous police case. They'll send you to therapy, or boarding school, or some other Hell-on-Earth. You'll sit there, alone, separated from your best friend, and, in the cold darkness, you'll quietly whimper, 'Why didn't I let Jeremy in?'"
"Here's another idea." I said, "How about we tell your parents about some of the stuff that you've been doing?" I kept it vague, but I held a serious expression, to allow him to fill in the blanks. We, of course, had no idea what the blanks were, or even if there were any, but it was worth a shot. There was a high chance of failure, but there was always room for improvisation.
It worked. His eyes widened, in grim anticipation. We expected him to retort, but he did not. Whatever he imagined must have been terrible, for he simply got up, and exclaimed, "This will not end." As he walked off, the bell rang.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Part Twenty-Six (April 24, 1972)
We got to school a bit early, so we had some free time on our hands. There were some basketball hoops, on the playground, and there wasn't a lot else to do, so we played a game of Horse. Charlie won, by a small margin, but my head was elsewhere, so I didn't care much.
We went inside, and sat on a lunch table. Soon after, we were joined by someone whom we both somewhat dreaded. It was Jeremy Maxwell. He was just an average kid, a year ahead of us in school, but, for whatever reason, he declared himself to be our personal enemy. We felt no animosity toward him, ourselves, but he just hated us. Or, he acted like it. We were never quite sure if it was real, or just an act. He didn't even really count as a bully; he was just insane. Scratch that. We weren't even sure of that.
Anyway, he sat down beside us, and turned to talk to me. The room's dim lighting made the dark circles under his eyes all the more disconcerting. They weren't the result of tiredness, or anything, either. As far as we knew, his eyes were just naturally like that. The stringy black hair, that haphazardly fell before his face, did not help matters, either. He looked like a child of Satan.
After a moment, he opened his mouth, and asked me, "Why are you so depressed?"
"What are you talking about?" I questioned.
"Don't even try to deny it." He said, "Have you seen yourself for the past couple of days? You look like you've been lost in a desert, and you escaped, just before the vultures picked the guts from your body. You haven't really talked much, either. What's wrong? Has Daddy been giving you the belt?"
We ignored him, and he was quiet for a time. Then, suddenly, he spoke again. "No," he said "That's not it. This is about those disappearances, isn't it; Tommy getting lost in the woods? Yeah, I know that you found him. I hear things. Ma's been keeping him at home, like a little lost puppy. And you... You saved him. You should be happy, but you're not. Whatever happened to him in there, it happened to you, too. Didn't it?" He smirked.
"What do you want?" Charlie cut in.
"I want information," he said, "And, if you two are looking into all of this, I want in."
We went inside, and sat on a lunch table. Soon after, we were joined by someone whom we both somewhat dreaded. It was Jeremy Maxwell. He was just an average kid, a year ahead of us in school, but, for whatever reason, he declared himself to be our personal enemy. We felt no animosity toward him, ourselves, but he just hated us. Or, he acted like it. We were never quite sure if it was real, or just an act. He didn't even really count as a bully; he was just insane. Scratch that. We weren't even sure of that.
Anyway, he sat down beside us, and turned to talk to me. The room's dim lighting made the dark circles under his eyes all the more disconcerting. They weren't the result of tiredness, or anything, either. As far as we knew, his eyes were just naturally like that. The stringy black hair, that haphazardly fell before his face, did not help matters, either. He looked like a child of Satan.
After a moment, he opened his mouth, and asked me, "Why are you so depressed?"
"What are you talking about?" I questioned.
"Don't even try to deny it." He said, "Have you seen yourself for the past couple of days? You look like you've been lost in a desert, and you escaped, just before the vultures picked the guts from your body. You haven't really talked much, either. What's wrong? Has Daddy been giving you the belt?"
We ignored him, and he was quiet for a time. Then, suddenly, he spoke again. "No," he said "That's not it. This is about those disappearances, isn't it; Tommy getting lost in the woods? Yeah, I know that you found him. I hear things. Ma's been keeping him at home, like a little lost puppy. And you... You saved him. You should be happy, but you're not. Whatever happened to him in there, it happened to you, too. Didn't it?" He smirked.
"What do you want?" Charlie cut in.
"I want information," he said, "And, if you two are looking into all of this, I want in."
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Part Twenty-Five (April 24, 1972)
I woke up, that morning, without any real desire to get out of bed. I had awoken, several times, in the middle of the night, and my heart was racing. I kept having this dream... Slender Man was chasing me through an empty town. Right when I thought that I was going to get away, I tripped, and he caught up to me. Suddenly, the nightmare switched to a third-person perspective, and I got the displeasure of watching the results. I was forced to lie there, stuck in my own dream, while the creature tore my entrails from the bizarre projection of my own body that had been formulated by my subconsciousness. The worst part was that, during this, my dream-self was fully awake, but too weak to scream, as the beast continued ripping open my chest. The best that I could manage was widening my eyes in an expression of pure panic. Then, right when Slender Man delivered the final blow, I woke up.
Every time that I awoke, I would get increasingly desperate to make it stop. I tried everything, from reading a book, to dunking my face in the bathroom sink, but it was to no avail. If that wasn't enough, when I finally gave up on forcing myself to stay awake, it happened again. Whenever I closed my eyes, the dream would begin anew. Eventually, I had to tie myself to my bed, with sheets, to keep my fits of terror from causing my to fall off.
In the morning, I got Charlie to untie me. He looked confused, but he asked no questions. He couldn't really understand what was happening to me, but he did his best to help me. Anyway, when that was done, I immediately called Tommy. I didn't even wait until I was dressed. I just walked over to the phone, in my underwear, and dialed the number. Admittedly, I could've done it later, but I figured that updating him on the latest happenings would give me a degree of catharsis. It did not.
After informing Tommy, I told him that we'd probably come to see him in about a week, provided that he felt up to it. He agreed, finding that to be reasonable. With that, I said, "Goodbye," hung up, took a quick shower, and put on some clothes.
Understandably, I did not want to go to school. Of course, my parents didn't understand my crippling depression, so I still had to attend. As far as they were concerned, I was just being "difficult". It's not as if I had much room to protest, though. It would be extremely difficult to explain any of this to them.
Every time that I awoke, I would get increasingly desperate to make it stop. I tried everything, from reading a book, to dunking my face in the bathroom sink, but it was to no avail. If that wasn't enough, when I finally gave up on forcing myself to stay awake, it happened again. Whenever I closed my eyes, the dream would begin anew. Eventually, I had to tie myself to my bed, with sheets, to keep my fits of terror from causing my to fall off.
In the morning, I got Charlie to untie me. He looked confused, but he asked no questions. He couldn't really understand what was happening to me, but he did his best to help me. Anyway, when that was done, I immediately called Tommy. I didn't even wait until I was dressed. I just walked over to the phone, in my underwear, and dialed the number. Admittedly, I could've done it later, but I figured that updating him on the latest happenings would give me a degree of catharsis. It did not.
After informing Tommy, I told him that we'd probably come to see him in about a week, provided that he felt up to it. He agreed, finding that to be reasonable. With that, I said, "Goodbye," hung up, took a quick shower, and put on some clothes.
Understandably, I did not want to go to school. Of course, my parents didn't understand my crippling depression, so I still had to attend. As far as they were concerned, I was just being "difficult". It's not as if I had much room to protest, though. It would be extremely difficult to explain any of this to them.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Part Twenty-Four (April 23, 1972)
"How long do you have?" I asked, after some thought.
"Two days," John said. He took a pause, as if he was uncertain, and then said, "Yeah, it would have been on Tuesday, if I remember right, so I have two days."
"Are you gonna do it?" Charlie asked.
"Yes, and I trust that the two of you are not going to heed my words, and stay out of this." John said. We grinned, and he began scrawling on a tiny scrap of parchment. "Here," he said, "Call me at this number, two days from now."
We graciously accepted the number, thanked the man, and began walking out the door. Then, suddenly, John shouted for us to wait. "Do you two have a ride home?" He asked.
"No," Charlie said, "But we can take the bus." John nodded.
On that note, we headed home. We spent the rest of the night there. We decided not to call Tommy until morning, assuming that his mother wasn't sending him to school. It was a lot of information, and we were still stressed out from yesterday's events, so we figured that it could wait.
"Two days," John said. He took a pause, as if he was uncertain, and then said, "Yeah, it would have been on Tuesday, if I remember right, so I have two days."
"Are you gonna do it?" Charlie asked.
"Yes, and I trust that the two of you are not going to heed my words, and stay out of this." John said. We grinned, and he began scrawling on a tiny scrap of parchment. "Here," he said, "Call me at this number, two days from now."
We graciously accepted the number, thanked the man, and began walking out the door. Then, suddenly, John shouted for us to wait. "Do you two have a ride home?" He asked.
"No," Charlie said, "But we can take the bus." John nodded.
On that note, we headed home. We spent the rest of the night there. We decided not to call Tommy until morning, assuming that his mother wasn't sending him to school. It was a lot of information, and we were still stressed out from yesterday's events, so we figured that it could wait.
Part Twenty-Three (April 23, 1972)
That question was left unanswered, but we kept it in our minds. We were both too young to develop any real conclusion about it, other than half-realized assumptions about some sort of immunity to supernatural charm, and Professor John was too well-versed in mythology to narrow it down to one possibility. So, we just moved on.
"So," Charlie asked John, "What else do think?"
"I think that two kids, like yourselves, should probably think to stop digging into these matters, before they cause further psychological damage."
"Wait, what?" I asked, "But you wanted to talk to someone that you could trust. You have us for that."
"Yes, but I don't want you to get hurt." John said, "You should forget about all of this; live out your childhoods. Don't go chasing some adventure that's far beyond your experience."
"But," Charlie said, "Bruce told me that you knew something, and you promised us that you'd tell us your theories about Slender Man. You owe us those two things, at least."
John looked like he was considering this. Then, he said, "Okay, I suppose that I did promise you. Very well, I'll tell you those two things. Then, you can make your own decisions about whether you wish to keep this up."
We nodded, and he continued. "Firstly," he began, "I'll tell you my theory. As a former professor of folklore, it is quite easy for me to conclude that this is supernatural in origin, as I have thrown out most 'earthly' alternatives. That being said, it is fairly reasonable to say that this 'Slender Man' is a legendary creature, likely of the child-stealing variety. Many cultures have beings such as that. America has several types of 'bogeymen', for example, most of which are ill-defined. And Spanish-speaking countries have 'El Coco', who devours misbehaving children, only he can change shape. Celtic culture presented us with all manner of beings that we would call 'fairies' or 'Fair Folk'. They referred to them as 'aos sí', and they came in both good and evil forms. The more malevolent ones were often known for killing, or snatching away, young children. These creatures came from a strange place called the 'Otherworld', which existed alongside our realm. It seems to me that some some of these creatures may have been reinterpretations of this beast that you call 'Slender Man', but don't tell that to anyone who does not need to know. It sounds certifiably loony, and it's only a theory."
We tried to wrap our minds around this. We had little idea of what he was rambling on about, other than the fact that we had a certain familiarity with the bogeyman. We had never heard of fairies being called "aos sí", which the man pronounced like "ease she", and we had little care for Latin-American shape-shifters. Therefore, we just nodded, acting like we understood.
"Okay," Charlie said, after a while, "So, what's the other thing?"
"About a week ago," the gentleman orated, "I went to open my mailbox. Inside, I found a little brass box, circular in shape. There was no address on it, and there was no form of identification. Curious, I opened it. Inside the box, there was a makeshift inscription... You know what? It'll just be easier to show you."
He left for a moment, bringing back that item that he had just described. He dropped it into our hands, and we opened it. On the interior of the top lid, it read, "Swiftly entangled, the branches are gathered." Then, in smaller print, there were only three words. "Unfold the note."
I grabbed the remainder of the container, and I removed a folded piece of lined paper. Upon opening it, I discovered that the note had been written in bold italics, probably as a means of masking penmanship. It read:
"To John:
I am aware that you have been gathering information on the missing persons' case. Do not be alarmed. I frequent the same café at which you have been reading the paper, for the past week. I appreciate your taste in lattes, by the way. You drink pumpkin-spice in the spring. That shows that you are willing to forgo tradition, in favor of your own ideals. This could be interesting...
Anyway, on the first day that you visited the establishment, I was sitting two tables to your right. (I like that spot. It gets decent sunlight.) After a while, I had walked up to the counter, because I had needed some more sugar. At that point, you came behind me. You went to order another drink. Glancing over, I had happened to notice that your paper's cover-story was about the disappearances. I had also noticed that you are on friendly terms with the cashier, since he had addressed you by name, but that's not important. What is important is that, for seven days, you had carried the same type of newspaper. Normally, this wouldn't interest me, but each issue of that paper had happened to contain an update about the case, and you had spent an unusual amount of time, glaring at the same article.
For each of those seven days, I sat at a different table, and I wore a simple disguise, to avoid detection. Each day, you would continue to stare at that one particular kind of article. (Obviously, you've invested a lot of time to this case.) After some time, I began to buy the same paper, so that I could find out exactly what you were learning. It was shortly after, when I'd decided that I could trust you.
You see, I am deeply involved in the same case, more so than I am at liberty to discuss. On a related note, I dedicate quite a bit of my time to spreading information to those who would hear it. I do not go to the police, for they are not inclined to do much, which is the same reason why I would advise you to not show them this letter. You will be tempted to do so, as this is likely to come off as profoundly creepy, but I would avoid it. Have faith in me.
Anyway, whether or not you trust me, I trust you. So, I will give you this fair bit of information, to help you in your quest for truth: There is a way to stop this. I realize that that statement is extremely vague, but it must be left that way. If you choose to believe me, I will send you further intelligence. To show that you believe me, draw an 'X', on a piece of paper, and slip it under the fourth table from the back. (It does not matter what time you choose to do so, provided that you do it in one week's time.) If you do this, then things will gradually become clear. If you do not, however, no ill fortune will befall you. I wish you the best of luck in your investigation. On this, the eighth day, you have my support.
Sincerely,
A friend."
"So," Charlie asked John, "What else do think?"
"I think that two kids, like yourselves, should probably think to stop digging into these matters, before they cause further psychological damage."
"Wait, what?" I asked, "But you wanted to talk to someone that you could trust. You have us for that."
"Yes, but I don't want you to get hurt." John said, "You should forget about all of this; live out your childhoods. Don't go chasing some adventure that's far beyond your experience."
"But," Charlie said, "Bruce told me that you knew something, and you promised us that you'd tell us your theories about Slender Man. You owe us those two things, at least."
John looked like he was considering this. Then, he said, "Okay, I suppose that I did promise you. Very well, I'll tell you those two things. Then, you can make your own decisions about whether you wish to keep this up."
We nodded, and he continued. "Firstly," he began, "I'll tell you my theory. As a former professor of folklore, it is quite easy for me to conclude that this is supernatural in origin, as I have thrown out most 'earthly' alternatives. That being said, it is fairly reasonable to say that this 'Slender Man' is a legendary creature, likely of the child-stealing variety. Many cultures have beings such as that. America has several types of 'bogeymen', for example, most of which are ill-defined. And Spanish-speaking countries have 'El Coco', who devours misbehaving children, only he can change shape. Celtic culture presented us with all manner of beings that we would call 'fairies' or 'Fair Folk'. They referred to them as 'aos sí', and they came in both good and evil forms. The more malevolent ones were often known for killing, or snatching away, young children. These creatures came from a strange place called the 'Otherworld', which existed alongside our realm. It seems to me that some some of these creatures may have been reinterpretations of this beast that you call 'Slender Man', but don't tell that to anyone who does not need to know. It sounds certifiably loony, and it's only a theory."
We tried to wrap our minds around this. We had little idea of what he was rambling on about, other than the fact that we had a certain familiarity with the bogeyman. We had never heard of fairies being called "aos sí", which the man pronounced like "ease she", and we had little care for Latin-American shape-shifters. Therefore, we just nodded, acting like we understood.
"Okay," Charlie said, after a while, "So, what's the other thing?"
"About a week ago," the gentleman orated, "I went to open my mailbox. Inside, I found a little brass box, circular in shape. There was no address on it, and there was no form of identification. Curious, I opened it. Inside the box, there was a makeshift inscription... You know what? It'll just be easier to show you."
He left for a moment, bringing back that item that he had just described. He dropped it into our hands, and we opened it. On the interior of the top lid, it read, "Swiftly entangled, the branches are gathered." Then, in smaller print, there were only three words. "Unfold the note."
I grabbed the remainder of the container, and I removed a folded piece of lined paper. Upon opening it, I discovered that the note had been written in bold italics, probably as a means of masking penmanship. It read:
"To John:
I am aware that you have been gathering information on the missing persons' case. Do not be alarmed. I frequent the same café at which you have been reading the paper, for the past week. I appreciate your taste in lattes, by the way. You drink pumpkin-spice in the spring. That shows that you are willing to forgo tradition, in favor of your own ideals. This could be interesting...
Anyway, on the first day that you visited the establishment, I was sitting two tables to your right. (I like that spot. It gets decent sunlight.) After a while, I had walked up to the counter, because I had needed some more sugar. At that point, you came behind me. You went to order another drink. Glancing over, I had happened to notice that your paper's cover-story was about the disappearances. I had also noticed that you are on friendly terms with the cashier, since he had addressed you by name, but that's not important. What is important is that, for seven days, you had carried the same type of newspaper. Normally, this wouldn't interest me, but each issue of that paper had happened to contain an update about the case, and you had spent an unusual amount of time, glaring at the same article.
For each of those seven days, I sat at a different table, and I wore a simple disguise, to avoid detection. Each day, you would continue to stare at that one particular kind of article. (Obviously, you've invested a lot of time to this case.) After some time, I began to buy the same paper, so that I could find out exactly what you were learning. It was shortly after, when I'd decided that I could trust you.
You see, I am deeply involved in the same case, more so than I am at liberty to discuss. On a related note, I dedicate quite a bit of my time to spreading information to those who would hear it. I do not go to the police, for they are not inclined to do much, which is the same reason why I would advise you to not show them this letter. You will be tempted to do so, as this is likely to come off as profoundly creepy, but I would avoid it. Have faith in me.
Anyway, whether or not you trust me, I trust you. So, I will give you this fair bit of information, to help you in your quest for truth: There is a way to stop this. I realize that that statement is extremely vague, but it must be left that way. If you choose to believe me, I will send you further intelligence. To show that you believe me, draw an 'X', on a piece of paper, and slip it under the fourth table from the back. (It does not matter what time you choose to do so, provided that you do it in one week's time.) If you do this, then things will gradually become clear. If you do not, however, no ill fortune will befall you. I wish you the best of luck in your investigation. On this, the eighth day, you have my support.
Sincerely,
A friend."
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Part Twenty-Two (April 23, 1972)
Sorry, guys. I had another schedule slip. My home Wi-Fi was down, for an absurdly long period of time. When my internet was finally working, again, I lost all motivation. There didn't seem to be any point in any of this. I hardly have any readers, and it's not like this is even going to help anyone. He'll still come for you.
I know... I've got to stop using that excuse, but it can be difficult. I've talked to a therapist about some of this. Of course, I had to sugar-coat it, and mask it as a generic kidnapping case, but it seems as if it might help. The doc says that it's too early to tell, but I seem to have some signs of PTSD, along with a healthy dose of clinical depression. I don't really know what to make of that, but I guess that it's good to know. I'll see how it goes, in later sessions. Anyway, I'm gonna try to be more consistent about all of this. It pains me to continue telling this story, but I'd prefer to finish what I start. So, even if it causes me to go catatonic, I will do my best to carry on.
Now, give me a couple of minutes, to figure out where I was at. I haven't been here, for a while, so bear with me. It's getting hard to remember what I have, or have not, written.
Right, Professor John... Okay, so we told him everything that had occurred since we'd found that body. We went into a good amount of detail, too. He needed to understand the sheer terror that we faced, so nothing was brushed over. The description of the attacks, in particular, covered a decent percentage of our story.
John listened intently, hanging on every word. Sometimes, he would lean forward in his chair, as if he was watching a monster movie. After we had finished talking, he was quiet for a while, like he was gathering his thoughts. Then, he spoke.
"Hmm..." He said, "Out of that whole account, one thing struck me as odd. This other boy was tricked into following the creature, correct? It presented itself as helpful, and later assaulted him. That also seems consistent with some of the other stories. But you, Lyle, were forced to directly challenge it. It was only observing you, until you reacted in fear. So, the big question is this: What made you different?"
I know... I've got to stop using that excuse, but it can be difficult. I've talked to a therapist about some of this. Of course, I had to sugar-coat it, and mask it as a generic kidnapping case, but it seems as if it might help. The doc says that it's too early to tell, but I seem to have some signs of PTSD, along with a healthy dose of clinical depression. I don't really know what to make of that, but I guess that it's good to know. I'll see how it goes, in later sessions. Anyway, I'm gonna try to be more consistent about all of this. It pains me to continue telling this story, but I'd prefer to finish what I start. So, even if it causes me to go catatonic, I will do my best to carry on.
Now, give me a couple of minutes, to figure out where I was at. I haven't been here, for a while, so bear with me. It's getting hard to remember what I have, or have not, written.
Right, Professor John... Okay, so we told him everything that had occurred since we'd found that body. We went into a good amount of detail, too. He needed to understand the sheer terror that we faced, so nothing was brushed over. The description of the attacks, in particular, covered a decent percentage of our story.
John listened intently, hanging on every word. Sometimes, he would lean forward in his chair, as if he was watching a monster movie. After we had finished talking, he was quiet for a while, like he was gathering his thoughts. Then, he spoke.
"Hmm..." He said, "Out of that whole account, one thing struck me as odd. This other boy was tricked into following the creature, correct? It presented itself as helpful, and later assaulted him. That also seems consistent with some of the other stories. But you, Lyle, were forced to directly challenge it. It was only observing you, until you reacted in fear. So, the big question is this: What made you different?"
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