The forest's gearing up for something.

The air around us seems different. Charged. Almost. . . waiting?

I've heard whispers of rescue plans.

Suze has already voiced the general opinion on this matter. Good luck. If something could've been done it would have been done already. Couriers have tried. That's what Harper tells me, anyways.

Can you believe I actually listen to the bastard? No wonder Suze thinks I'm a deserter.

She's not dead, by the way. So that's always a good thing. One less body to add to the smoulder pit at center camp. She's here and Richard's back, too. Got screwed up pretty badly by Collector by the looks of it. That's what he tells me, anyways.

A flash of red, he says. We see them around a lot. /I/ see them around a lot. A blur of crimson. A spark of what looks like fire, so intense that it sends a painful shot straight to your head and leaves you with an perfect shade of its former self, now teal and gray, exactly where you saw it.

Sometimes, it has eyes. If you're lucky, teeth. A grin a mile wide.

I call him Cheshire.

Camp calls me crazy.

Actually, traitor's the word that's on their lips most of the time. Traitor. Deserter. Back-stabber. They cycle through them. All because I want to play a tune or two every now and then. Or maybe it's because I've been wandering the forest every so often. This place really isn't too bad once you get used to it.

Not like it's safe to go out there. I mean, it was never safe. Just stable. Wander too long and you'd never see camp again. Sometimes I wonder if there's anybody left. The ones who wandered off, I mean. Sometimes I look for them when I'm out there. Listening for something, /anything/, that would tell me that somebody other than the seven of us and our resident 'caretakers' (and I use that word very, /very/ lightly) out there.

I've been unsuccessful. I'm even pretty sure that Cheshire's just a figment of our collective imagination.

But it's nice to pretend.

Well, at least he kept his promise

If by promise you mean "LET'S TWIST EVERY FUCKING HOPE AND DREAM YOU HAVE, SMASH IT INTO THE GROUND, AND THEN SET IT ON FIRE."

Calm, Lyle, focus.

Nick came back.

Now he's dead.

And a whole lot of shit happened in the middle. fuck, my hands are shaking, I'm covered in blood, and I have to wonder if you're insane if you know you're going insane.

Sometimes I log onto the blog and can't see posts. We all used to tell each other when we'd put something up; for praise? Peer editing? I don't know. But lately everyone has been trying to keep things secret.

...I think they're trying to keep it from me.

... He didn't lie. Nick stumbled into camp in the dead of night, not that any of us heard him. We heard this from Richard, who happened upon him first, or did he, no, i'm the one that found him first, it's hard to remember...

But he didn't lie, didn't lie, didn't lie.

Do I blame them....? Can... I blame them? Somewhere in my head I know it's possible. I'm not so sure what they're afraid of, or at least I tell myself that, but I used to share my tent with Zach and now everything so quiet at night and you can hear everything

and I mean everything

And they're talking about me these days in harsh whispers and sideways glances. And this is SO out of character for me but I'm just going to spit it out;

I'm scared.

He had never been quiet or stealthy, but somehow, he made no sound as he moved. It was a voice that woke me up, not a scream or even a grunt, but I heard him, I heard HIM but that should be impossible

Sometimes... something just comes over me and I throw all one hundred and thirty pounds of my lanky body into doing things I... I don't want to talk about. Richard keeps looking at me, oh god, he's not looking at me, he's guarding me and my head is pounding

Just because you let it slip that you heard ONE whisper from Slender in your head, and it wasn't even cool enough to be directed at you, oh jeeze, just KNEW that William was in trouble and now they're guarding me like a fucking prisoner.

Got up, noticed a dark, moving shadow near the fire. Noticed the body. And another. And another. More people dead. It didn't matter, not at that second. Did it ever matter? Not your body on the ground. The dark figure moved over to Suze's tent.

I followed.

I am not Number Four.

It'll pass. It'll pass and either they'll forget or all go nuts or IT WON'T BE SO FUN WHEN IT HAPPENS TO THEM, WILL IT? I'm the only one that can remember everything.

Nick. Nick was back with that knife and that sick grin on his face and he was standing over Suze and I could see her chest move slowly up and down as she struggled to breath and his hand moved over his belt buckle and suddenly I understood

And split his neck open from ear to ear.

He didn't make a sound.

Then they'll know I'm not crazy.

Maybe it's just a matter of me convincing myself of that first.

. . . What, you want a real post?

Guess I can't be cryptic forever.

He showed up on time, as expected. 10:30, and not a second later.

How gentlemanly.

Christ on a bike, the entire camp (or what's left of us) was watching when he arrived. Some were glaring, Lyle was shaking with rage and Suze was just . . . cold. But when the branches split and a dark hoodie entered HQ, you can be damn well certain everybody stared.

You couldn't see his face through his mat of hair. I'm not sure if it's actually brown or if weeks of being stuck in the forest with us just turned it that colour.

It has for us.


"Where's Nick?" it's the same question on everybody's mind, Suze's just the one that says it. She's brave, you know. Brave but protective and that makes her reckless.

"The same place you are all in when the song of the leaves engulfs you whole~" He laughs. "Subject Susan, did you really expect a straight answer?"


You can practically see steam pouring from her ears.


"He will be returned. Unharmed."

She clenches and unclenches her fists. "Tell me when, you blonde basta -"

"Suze, that's enough." That's me. That's me telling Suze to back off. A fight here wouldn't do us any good, especially if they had Nick - especially if Suze was the one doing the fighting. 

She glares at me and I know I'm not going to hear the end of it. But the Collector? He sighs. It's... melodious? 

"Aha, good to see that even I have allies in this madhouse."


"Hardly." Still looking at Suze, I reply in a heartbeat. "But we're not here to fight. We discussed this. Or did you forget about our little arrangement, Mr. Collector?"

"It seems that you lot are all talk and no action~! A shame, a shame..."

He grins. you can't see his eyes.

"Lead the way."

Suze says something to me before I leave. I'm not sure, but it ended with '... you idiot,' and I was guessing I was going to get to hear it many times over when I got back.

I set foot in the forest, the Collector behind me. Every last pair of eyes followed us until we were too far out of view.

No, I couldn't stop my fingers from trembling but yes, we did manage to hold conversation for however long it took us to get to our destination. Little things. How long we'd been playing, other instruments (he plays classical guitar as well, much to my complete lack of surprise.) and, of course, the subject of today's . . . adventure: Sonata Pathétique.


It didn't take us long to reach the boudoir grand he had set up in the woods. What took me well over two hours on my own the other day was maybe a hundred feet away from camp today. I was convinced that if I looked back I would see camp poking through the trees, but all I saw was a thick net of branches and leaves. This forest is a maze.

My shaking was hardly under control by the time we had sat down. I could only catch glimpses of his facial features under that hood and mask of hair. His eyes are, from what I can tell, a grayish blue and his hair looks to have one time been a light blonde.

What followed was . . . difficult to describe. Have you ever sat down with a blank piece of paper or instrument and utterly lost yourself in the feeling of raw creativity? Become a slave to those notes or lines on the page, letting it move your body, no, your soul?

That's what it was like.

Beethoven's Sonata Pathétique is a heart-breakingly gorgeous and it was almost an honor to play with someone with talent as opposed to just skill as a result of years slaving over ivories.

Almost.

Oh, and Mr. Collector?

It's a shame you never got proper training. There are things only years of lessons and professional teachers can teach you that no amount of personal talent can account for.

And don't think this means I'll do this again anytime soon.

Just because we had one good run doesn't mean we trust you.

Or will ever trust you.

Found the piano.

And guess who was playing it?

He's self-taught, by the way.

We Couldn't Find Him.

...

Yeah.

Don't really have much else to say on the matter.

Rest in peace, you fucking, fucking idiot.

Suze out.

I Always Knew He Was An Idiot.

Suze here.

Elliott's gone, to the surprise of absolutely nobody.

Really, I knew we should have kept an eye on him the second he started going on about pianos and music and Moonlight Sonata. What the hell, guy? This isn't the Elliott that blares stupid indie music down the halls at school and sang shitty country songs as we roasted marshmallows and weenies.

Since when did Elliott like classical?


Whatever. I'm not here to judge. The point of this post is a bit of an update, I guess. I know this is Alex's job but he's been stuck in his tent and nobody wants to go in and ask what's up.

Selfish bunch, aren't we?

I guess impending doom does that to you.

Anyways, so Elliott's gone. Things have been pretty quiet after Nick disappeared; (honestly nobody reported on it because nobody gave a fuck; the kid was annoying and arrogant and wouldn't stop hitting on me) the delivery seemed to really ease everybody's nerves because, holy shit, there are people out there who are actually noticing us. 


Fantastic.

Richard and I are heading out to see if we can't find the crazy fool before the sun dips too low in the sky. Hopefully this will be brief.

Hopefully we're not too late.


Elliott, you fucking idiot, I'm going to chew you out so hard that you're going to wish that blonde brat had gotten to you when we find you.

So please come home safe?

Thanks. <3

Suze out.

Being baited.

But genre savviness is Lyle's job, not mine.

I'm finding that damn piano if it kills me.

Moonlight Sonata.

A favourite of mine, actually.

You sly bastard, how did you know?

Been out in the forest.

Hearing music on the wind.

I wonder if I'm not just going crazy?

As fun as it'd be...

This isn't the time for everyone to sit down and fucking cry.

Here at camp slenderland, things are not going well, at all. and really, if you can't see that, you're a fucking idiot.

So why are some of the others running around camp with fake optimism?

... It's not something that I'm going to try and understand.

Am I going to give up?

Fuck no. It's going to take a lot more than one of my best friends going to the dark side to make me fucking give up.

(Those cookies better be damn worth it, Walter.)

But we had to do something. Leaving all this shit around from the people who died (and the person that might as well be dead) is really creeping everyone out. Not me, of course; I can handle a shirt or two.

But Lyle...

Suze....

Christ, everyone is taking it hard. Especially now that-

(fucknoRicharddon'tthinkabouthim)

So we staged a pretty big bonfire last night. It was... soothing, in a way? I don't know; a few kept crying and a few kept laughing and really, they haven't stopped since.

... and I'm banking on nobody checking this, so I'll come out and say it.

I was going through Walter's tent, picking and choosing what we were going to burn because, fuckdammit, some of those textbooks he had were interesting and there was no point in putting them to waste because nobody wanted to be fucking sentimental....

Anyways.

I was rolling up his sleeping bag when I found a lump. Woulda just ignored it but it was unsightly and

okay. Is anyone surprised that I thought it was porn?

... It was better than that. This little soft thing, kinda worn. Still in pretty good shape; patched up with black stitches on white fur. Maybe whoever was mending it had run out of proper thread? Pinned to it was a little note;

"Wallllllllllllllly

I'm going to miss you! D: But Mum and Dad say that you really want to go on this trip and it's going to be good for your career and blah blah blah. They're lying, aren't they? I know you don't like this stuff, so I packed your favourite textbooks without you noticing. Teach Zach some, will you? He doesn't seem the most happy all the time, but he's nice. He said he'd take good care of you while you were gone, so I'll just have to trust him, right?

Try not to get too many mosquito bites! I can't wait to play with you once you get back, okay? No avoiding it for schoolwork!

Uh-oh, I can hear you walking back up to your room. Have fun on the trip, and sleep tight!

(P.S. If you rip Mr. Nibbles, make sure to fix him, alright?)"

Sorry, guys. but when we get out of here, I'm going to be returning this. Plus, this rabbit has a damn bowtie. A BOWTIE.

Beat that, Slendershit.

... and to close on some good news, though it's kind of paranoia inducing;

We got a special delivery yesterday. Food. Water. A bit of medicine. After weighing the risks, we've decided that it's all we've got right now. The paths are so bad that it takes hours to reach the river and minutes to get back. Almost like the forest is going nuts or something; ah well.

Only question is...

Who the hell left it, if nobody can get in?

(Though if somebody doesn't end up keeling over dead, well....

We've obviously got someone watching over us.)

Fight 'till the end;

--Richard Battle

I really have to get over myself

If I want to live.

You all saw what happened. Walter... fuck. Walter left.

And we all know what he is now.

But me, I couldn't leave it at that, oh no. Suze is smart. She fought back in words.

(Not that it did anything)

But me, for some reason I thought, I don't know. Was I even thinking?

So I followed him.

It doesn't get less genre-savvy than this, folks. But Walter had changed. In the moment that he had reached... some sort of realization, something turned into something else.

(I know I'm not making a lot of sense, sorrysorrysorry)

Either way. He knew. And not like my tripping and stumbling in the undergrowth made it any better.

"I assume you're not here to come with me."

He gave me a sad smile and his eyes positively shone in the moonlight and for some reason he didn't seem human anymore-

"Walter. Walter, you don't have to do this. You're being stupid."

I'm a genius, you know that? He took one step towards me, then two, and I instinctively stepped away.

Well fuck.

"I think the climax of the book will be the execution of poor old Edgar Derby. The irony is so great. A whole city gets burned down, and thousands of thousands of people are killed. And this one American solider is arrested in the ruins for taking a teapot. And he's given a regular trial, and then he's shot by a firing squad..." He looks down at the ground, still smiling softly.

"Um."

"Don't you think, Lyle, that's really where the climax should come?"

Slaughter-House Five. One of Zach's favorites. I'd read it the day after he...

"You don't have to do this, Walter, this isn't your fault!"

He tilts his head at me, and for a second I panic because I seem to have a two phrase vocabulary.

"Just because it isn't my fault doesn't mean I can't do something. You're all afraid."

Guilty.

"And I'm not a madman because I accept my fear."

And I try and look up at him, accept what he is saying.(IwillrunfrommyfearIwilloutdistancemyfearthenIwillhidefrommyfearIwillwaitformyfearIwillletmyfearrunpastmethenIwillfollowmyfearIwilltrackmyfearuntilIcanapproachmyfearincompletesilencethenIwillstrikeatmyfearIwillchargemyfearIwillgrabholdofmyfearIwillsinkmyfingersintomyfearthenIwillbitemyfearIwilltearthethroatofmyfearIwillbreaktheneckofmyfearIwilldrinkthebloodofmyfearIwillgulpthefleshofmyfearIwillcrushthebonesofmyfearandIwillsavormyfearIwillswallowmyfearandthenIwilldigestmyfearuntilIcandonothingelsebutshitoutmyfearIn this way I will be made stronger.)

"You ARE a madman, Walter. What happened to saying that you weren't giving up? That you weren't going to let anyone else give up?" And he turned away from me and muttered

"I said I wasn't a madman. I never said I was a person."

And he left me standing there. Standing there until I was so cold and numb that it didn't hurt anymore to look at the blank space that he had been standing in. I came back to camp empty handed. Richard was busy staring into space, and when he saw me, he put his head into his hands.

Everyone else was asleep.

Everyone else was awake, waiting.

And I didn't say a thing.

We're playing into their hands

Hello.

It sure has been a while, hasn't it? Yet again, there really hasn't been much to say.

Nick did recover, but that depends on what you call recovery. The minute he could walk, he ran into the forest and-

Really, you should know the rest by now.

It's getting a bit hopeless, our situation. Some, like Richard, still show hints of wary optimism; trying to keep the glass eyed dolls somewhat engaged, from looking at the darkness that circles us, prowls the paths at night, branching tendrils that follow silently behind you in a wave of something that you don't quite understand and will eventually-

I digress.

Today we discuss Hegemony, but first, perhaps, a detour?

Dominant ideology. In Marxist theory, is a set of common values and beliefs shared by a majority of people in any given society, setting a precedent how that majority will regard different topics. Marx argues that, in his socio-political worldview, Dominant ideology is used to reflect and serve the interests of the almost superior class in that society- if it conflicted with the legitimacy of the superior class's rule, than the society would appear to be at a constant state of chaos within itself; superiority appearing as an illegitimate occupation.

This theory is therefore summarized; "The dominant ideology is the ideology of the superior, dominant class."

Whereas basic Hegemony is child's play, its offshoots are a tad bit more complicated. Really, Hegemony is described as an indirect form of imperial dominance is which a leader state (in this case, the Greek Hegemon), rules sub-ordinates by the implied means of power, as opposed to a direct showing of military force. Curiously, Hegemony is used in languages to describe a means of application and creation; any source that classifies information is, intentionally or not, part of a Hegemonic process, in that source can only contain a finite amount of information. Therefore, in the particular selection of information that is displayed, the source is limiting and skewing the information that the recipient gets; influencing the recipients choices based on that information.

... Leading into Cultural Hegemony. Gramsci, a martyr of his time. Now, he stated that a culturally diverse society can be easily dominated (and therefore ruled) by one social class by manipulating the social cultural beliefs, explanations, perceptions, and values, so that the resulting ruling-class worldview is imposed as the socialistic norm;

which is then perceived as a universally valid ideology and status quo beneficial to that society, while in actuality it only benefits the ruling class.

Interestingly enough, it is impossible to have full understanding of these three concepts without understanding the others, for they go, almost universally, hand in hand. Curiouser and curiouser.

So the superior class, the ruling class, uses Cultural hegemony to set dominant ideology; in simple terms; the set the rules and then use their authority to keep them in place. The very nature of hegemonic rule keeps this behaviour perpetuated, resulting in maximum profit and success for the ruling class.

Yet...

How do they maintain this level of control? Surely, if we realized this was going on, we would not allow it; after all, we are creatures of choice, not to answer to any master! We are our own kings of destiny, conquerors of logic and cheaters of death! How dare I, in my impudence, even so much as suggest the opposite?

Of course you would say that. That's what everyone says, because we are taught to think that. We are taught to be happy as lobotomized salves to our own shackles that we call "choice".

After all, the best form of control is control that your subjects are not aware of.

Now, as per usual; how does this tie into our current situation? I have been made aware that one; I hold very little power in this place, two; that I therefore hold very little sway, and three; there is very little I can do to remedy this. Perhaps it was better when the wool was over my eyes, when I felt that I could make a difference, that with enough research, I could fight against this.... Thing, that my knowledge counted for something.

I was wrong.

I didn't even get that Sarah was in danger until it was thrown into my face that she was dead, didn't assist Clair until it was too late, didn't apprehend Lyric by any means necessary, didn't even get to speak with Robert or confide in the Doctor before it became clear that the Collector holds all the cards, and I just keep betting on a useless hand.

(Didn't, or couldn't? I still ask myself this as I read Nick's last post; It bleeds? What nonsense is that? How could It bleed, when it towers over us, watching, observing, as impassive as a god?)

I believe that I said in my first post that I refused to give up, that if I ceased my efforts than I would have to give up my own personhood. It's coming to my attention that perhaps slow degradation of this view is something that we all experience...

"Did I do any good?" That question, it seems, comes up a fair deal; though, it only seems to surface near the time of death, the time of reckoning. I need no validation. It still stands, regardless. Though I feel it's less that, than rather...

"Did I do enough?"

And the answer, of course, is a quiet

resounding

no.

Someone Needed to Change the Blog Description

So I changed it.

Radio Silence ending in...

Three...

Two...

One...

And here I thought that we may be better off just shutting up and not saying anything, but, fuck, Chase is losing it and with most of us hanging on by a thread... It's, shit, hard to type without swearing every two seconds, because I'm not too sure what to say. What can I say? The /Collecting/ bastard seemed to sum it up pretty clearly, though real classy, implying that we're all injured or worse. Ha ha, you fucking wish.

(They're not dead yet They're not dead yet They're not fucking dead yet Why is everyone acting like they're not alive anymore?)

It came out of the night like a bat out of fucking hell. Or, at least, I'd like to say that. We were all on edge because of, well, how could you not be on edge in our situation? But we were all sitting around the fire, not really saying much of anything. Richard was chatting on about god knows what (I swear, he likes to hear his own voice more than anything), but this sense of almost calm had almost pervaded the camp like the sickness has pervaded our lungs.

Like that was going to last. There was this... rustle, this kind of crack, and everyone's heads whipped to the source so fast we all could've gotten whiplash or something.

You heard Suze mention Trent. And to be honest? She really, really didn't give him justice. I'm not sure I even can. He had just gone to the goddamn perimeter of the camp; not far out into the forest, to look at the symbols carved into what now are bloodstained trees.

I like that imagery as much as the next guy.

And we all go as white as a sheet, because he's stumbling towards us, towards Chase, all while whimpering desperately;

"helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmeIdon'twanttodieIdon'twanttodieIDON'TWANT

TODIEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPME"

And so on and so on. And you know what? That was plenty bad enough.

(Trent was a good kid who never decided to write on the blog because "I don't want to bore the hell out of whoever is reading this out there. They deserve better than me!". He doesn't even mean anything to you, all you guys have is a name. But he played guitar, not well though; never had the time to practice. He had a girlfriend back home who was studying to be a lawyer. He had an older brother who he got along well with. He played hockey, and had talent, but wanted to get a full time job so he could get married. He did alright in our coursework, but tried harder than most of us.

And now he's dead.)

But it got worse. Of course, it got worse. The... the videos never really give It justice. It was behind him, tentacles out and ready to wreak havoc, some of the slick with (don'tthinkaboutitdon'tthinkaboutitdon'tthinkaboutit). And we just stared.

And there was this blur and this same general air of unease and someone's abdomen fell out and the screaming began and it was every man for themselves.

All things considering, it happened pretty quickly. Chase ran around, checking the bodies of those who fell for a pulse, and Richard starting barking orders and here we are.

There's just one thing that bothers me.

The Collecting bastard made a few things clear. People dead. Slender. An attack. Infection. So, assuming that the ones we have alive stay that way...

Are we going to end up having to fight our own people?

Shit. Five days ago, Richard and I were looking around the clearing, trying to find a possible way out, and he said

"It couldn't get any worse."

He was wrong. Obviously.

Now let's see if that first aid course has done me any good so Chase can get some sleep.

(At first, I didn't care. Them, not me, you know? It was knowledge versus ignorance and if they couldn't deal with it then it would be their bodies on the ground, not mine. But then I started to know their names and see their faces and get used to them, just like I got used to Zach, and suddenly they weren't faceless meatshields that would keep me from dying, and when they started to die it felt like someone had punched me in the gut and if I could I'd just let them kill me if it meant they could all get out because I've started to care.

I don't know what's worse. That none of us are getting out alive or that there's not a damn thing I can do about it, no matter how hard I try.)

I wonder how much longer we'll try and delude ourselves.

Someone needs to change the blog description.

Goddammit!

Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

We couldn't find him. We couldn't find him, goddammit, didn't find him before The goddamn FUCKING Collector got to him, shit shit shit. What the fuck was that last post about? And we stumbled on the clearing and we looked at that damn bastard in that goddamn fucking hoodie and he just didn't even say a FUCKING word, just stood there over the body, and Lyle went FUCKING INSANE and nearly beat the shit out of that asshole because he was just caught by motherfucking surprise and then Slender showed up and dear god, you idiot, what the hell did you do? I can't stop seeing the leaves now, you fucking douchebag, Lyle, god, at least I think before I do something stupid but now you've gone and.... fuck. William's dead. Fuck.

He was a good kid, too, probably followed a long time and he never cracked, took a shine to White Elephants and was constantly lurking on there. God. He was quiet and didn't say much until he found his voice this year and shit why did he run off, and why did Lyle know to go after him and fuck my head is fucking pounding. Elliot has been on the ground moaning for what seems like hours and I have to stop typing every two seconds to puke this really nasty looking black shit and our little enigmatic friend can speak for his fucking self.

Fucking hell. I'll post later when we're not all in such a mess. All quiet on the home front, at least for now.

We're going to burn the body tonight.

Rest in peace, Will. God knows you deserve some sleep.

Fight 'till the end,

Richard Battle

Oh, You Son of A ...

BITCH.

The blog was down all weekend. Not that any of would have known, seeing as somebody has been posting in our abscence.

Collectorfucker.

Mmm ... no. Doesn't have the same ring as Slenderfucker.

I'll come up with a nickname yet.

Bitch.

... Yes.

I quite like that.

Bitch will do nicely.

So, the sumbitch who decided that we needed to be 'punished' decided to do so by trapping us all in a dead zone. No internet, no service.

As if we weren't lacking in those already.

On top of that, we had cases of what I will now refer to as Slendersickness up the wazoo. Lyle locked himself in his tent and is currently coughing up two lungs and a liver's worth of blood and bile, (as black as the fucking night, of course) and Alex has this splitting headache and has curled up in a ball somewhere in the middle of camp and Walter has been ... well, he's been Walter, but a wall emotes more than that man and that's only because you can paint a wall.

Two more people are dead.

As Elliott puts it.

FanFUCKINGtastic.

Not by Slender, oh no, not even at the hands of the little bitch who thinks it's cute to

Calm, Suze, caaaaaaaalm ...

TL;DR suicide. Lucky bastards got out before Slender could get to them.

If only we could all be so lucky.

They were ... in love. Deeply so. Disgustingly so. Goo-goo-ga-ga eyes and 'I wub you more' 'no, I wub you more!' and promises of being together for as long as they lived and bluh bluh huge waste of time.

Well.

I guess they were right about being together for as long as they lived.

But what they got was far from what I'd consider a fairytale ending.

But that's what you get for being stalked by an eldritch abomination, isn't it?

Sometimes there are no happy endings.

We found them hung with belts on the other side of the thicket around camp. I'm not the first and certainly not the last one to tell you this forest is a maze, so I'm not going to lie to you when I say that I doubt that they actually decided to ... end it there. Judging by the note we found in Jennifer's tent the morning of, (Saturday, thanks for asking.) they didn't want to be found. She rattled off some Bible verses and said something about being 'together in paradise' and I really couldn't care less.

But maybe I'm just bitter.

Well fuck me me with a rusted railroad spike you didn't read this post expecting anything less than a rant and a cluster f bomb to put every Michael Bay movie ever to shame, did you?

Recaps are Alex's job, if I recall correctly.

Come to think of it, I should ask him about that. Somebody needs to be able to deliver in this shitstorm of panic and angst and god knows what else.

Quickly losing patience,
Suze

To Whoever Managed To...

Hack into Zach's account?

I have no idea what you're trying to pull or achieve or... whatever. But congratulations. Because you know what? Suze flew out of her tent like a bat out of hell and started interrogating everyone and now everyone is more terrified than they already are. So well done, you fucking jackass.

And as for your little poem? I don't know how YOU fucking know this, but we have no choice but to wait. We can't seem to navigate the forest and now everyone is turning up dead-

But you would know about that, wouldn't you, Lyle? Isn't it downright easy to fool yourself? You know me, but I know YOU more. Because, you see, I'm watching. And waiting. While you try and save your own hide.

Then again, am I really one to talk?

You never found his body, did you?

Hayden's at least calmed down a bit...

... But it's been a long, long night.
The meeting explained a... lot to the others, but it was hard to multi-task with the whole Hayden situation being on the down-low.

Dear god. If anything could be described as a fortress.....

If anything, he's creative.

We figured that since he checks the blog religeously, if we posted a summary of the meeting, he'd calm down and....

Well, that was the plan.

What actually happened is that all our phones decided to have some sort of panic attack and get stage fright. Having our only source of communication cut off all night has REALLY not helped the psyche of most of us, but I digress.

With that option rendered... not an option, we were forced to move the meeting closer to Hayden's tent//fortress and speak IN VERY, VERY LOUD VOICES.

Here's to technology.

It seemed to work, though. Hayden's calmed down sufficiently for us all to stop worrying about him, uh, MURDERING US IN OUR SLEEP and everyone is up to speed now. Which means that Alex, Suze, Richard, Walter, Elliott, and I are very, VERY tired from keeping watch over him all night.

Needless to say, we've got our work cut out for us.

Alex'll be posting the summary of the meeting tonight, once we all get some rest. In the meantime, Richard has insisted on going on some kind of lack of sleep marathon and told the rest of us to get some shut-eye.

(And all of us are too afraid of him and/or exhausted to say anything)

Hopefully, the screaming will tone down a bit.

...

Doubtful.

No. NO NO NO NO.

You've...

No.

No no no.

NO.

Broken record broken record broken record broken record broken record broken record broken record broken record broken record broken record broken record broken record broken record

Shit shit shit

what do we do?

what do we do?

what do we doooooo?

Suze was in on it

Suze was in on it

Suze was in on it AND SHE DIDN'T TELL ME

I'm next

I'm next I'm next oh god I'm next I'M NEXT I'M NEXT I'M NEXT

Ahaha.

Not going to happen, Suze, see that? I'm not falling for your little tricks and obviously there is SOMETHING YOU ARE NOT TELLING ME

I'll wait, though. I'll wait and wait and wait and wait because that's all I can do because even though I've read I still don't understand and I have to understand

why you would do

this to me

.....to us.

Hayden