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.

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.

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.

//Collecting// the history

I swear by The Leader, the healer, the savior , and the creator, and I take to witness all the witnesses to keep according to my ability and my judgment, the following Oath and agreement:


To consider dear to me, as my parents who sacrificed me, Him who taught me this art; to live in common with Him and, if necessary, to share my goods with Him; To look upon His children as my own brothers, to teach them this art.

I will prescribe regimens for the good of my patients according to my ability and my judgment and never undo harm to anyone.

I will not give a lethal drug to anyone if I am asked, nor will I advise such a plan despite their pain and suffering, But I will preserve the purity of my life and my arts and my selfishness.

I will not cut for stone, even for patients in whom the disease is manifest; I will leave this operation to be performed by practitioners, specialists in this art, and leave them to die as they scream my name in agony.

In every house where I come I will enter only for the good of my patients, keeping myself far from all intentional ill-doing and all seduction, infringing on only their shattered psyche and leaving nothing else in my wake.

All that may come to my knowledge in the exercise of my profession or in daily commerce with men, which ought not to be spread abroad, I will keep secret and will never reveal, despite the fact that it may save them.

If I keep this oath faithfully, may I enjoy my life and practice my art, respected by all men and in all times; but if I swerve from it or violate it, may the reverse be my lot, may I be trialed, judged, and sentenced to death.


See, you almost forgot~! Let me remind you, Subjects; you are playing by my rules.

They will die, despite your best efforts, and there is nothing you can do about it.

Status Report - Part Two

Because Alex and Richard are going to brave the forest after everything that's happened this weekend.


Seriously, Richard, I know you're not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but really?

Really?


After spending five hours cleaning organs off the camp ground and trying to put out the fires of what used to be our tents, all while the insides of your stomach seemed to have turn to black sludge?


Really?

You're going to try the forest?


Really?


Oh, but I can hear your response already.

We need medicine.

No shit, Sherlock. We also food other than squirrel and blueberries but that's not happening anytime soon, is it?


We lost five.

Five.


Plus Will.

Plus whoever wandered off on Friday morning. I'm not even sure anymore. Everything's a bit of a fog and god, I'm so tired. 


Look at me, sounding like Alex.

Let's stop bitching and get to some exposition, eh?


Welp, if you haven't gathered from Richard's post and Collec - pardonnez-moi - bitch's little post, things aren't exactly sunshine and rainbows here right now.

My little visit from Where's-His-Face wouldn't be the only one we'd get that weekend. We were lucky enough to be blessed with a most welcome and appreciated visit from Slim n' Trim himself.

In camp.

At night.

And guess what?

He wasn't alone.

Some blonde-haired punk was with him (and I can take a guess as to who he was) and he managed to fuck a few of us up. Richard's nursing a few deep cuts in his arms ("Just a scratch, Suze. Stop worryin'." "For fuck's sake man, another quarter inch deeper and you'd be bleeding out right now!" "But I'm not." "But that's not the point!") and don't even get me started on Nick. He's got three fractures ribs and a broken leg and both of his shoulders are dislocated.

I guess that's what happens when you'll pulled in five different directions at once.

A couple are in even worse condition.

Hell, we've lost one already. And Chase is not taking this well.

We found him with a stuttering pulse and nearly all of his blood completely drained out of the massive hole through his abdomen. How Trent managed to stand and walk towards Chase, let alone stay conscious is beyond me. Then again, the kid was always stubborn as a mule, so I guess I really shouldn't be surprised.

You ... don't want to know what happened to the other three than Slender got to before everybody got it through their heads that holy shit, we're under attack and none of us have any idea what to do.


Let's just say 'intestines hung like Christmas lights' is putting it nicely. The dark strains are still on the trees and nobody is really willing to do anything about them.

We burned the bodies.

... But you couldn't really call them bodies at that point, could you? They were more like heaps of flesh with alabaster bones sticking out of all the wrong places, drowning in pools of their precious life fluid. I'd go into further detail, but it's already been a long, long night.


All in all though, we still seem to be holding together okay. I mean, there are plenty of us left and god that sounds so sadistic and horrible, hopefully Richard and Alex will be back soon and if the gods doth smileth upon us, perhaps they've found something useful.

...


Ha.

Haha.

Hahahahahahhaaaa.


Nope.

Can't even keep a straight face.

sllee pno.w,
Suze

//Collective// Consciousness

Is truly a wonderful thing. Not that any of you would realize it, but alas, an ode to time past, yet

I am no poet.

Today, I bring the lyrical brilliance of Chopin; The Nocturne in C# Minor. Absolute... silence, even in sound; It seems to pervade even the most secretive of thoughts.

Do we aim to wound, or to kill with our words? Measured, spoken, burned, and broken. How is it we determine their significance? Words can confound and excite and amuse and entertain, and yet... They carry our lies, our "What if"s and "Can be"s. That which is. That which is not. It is impossible to define them, give them meaning. Some are cut from their sharp edges, and some take solace in their embrace.

It's foolish.

The black tendrils arch across the sky that is obstructed by the bed of shadows and black leaves, a whisper of both unadulterated joy and the dullness of morphine. Screams echo throughout the impassive bodies of birch bark and grassroots, a maze of their own design.

And so they observe.

Some are converted into red flowers arching among the ground...

(In Flanders fields the poppies blow,

between the crosses, row on row,)

And some only start to bud, webs of intricate crimson spreading across their skin, acting only as the canvas, marked.

(That mark our place, and in the sky,

the larks, still bravely singing, fly;)

Some hold back, statues, their visages unmovable, their feelings, unperturbed. Their willful blindness will not save them. Some others are used to the Court Jester that invades their thoughts;

arching, growing, deceiving

until there is nothing left of what they where;

was there anything in the first place?

(Scarce heard amid the guns below.)

Suffer, repent, and be forgiven.

Because you're all still keeping secrets, aren't you~?

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

Status Report

There really isn't much to report. Other than the blackout on the weekend, nothing has really occurred over here in Camp Slenderland (Richard's nickname. It has a nice ring to it, in a Friday the 13th sort of way.) aside from Jennifer and Josh.

Suze told you about them earlier. The couple who managed to get away long enough to seal their own fates before Collector got to them - or worse. You almost envy them. I'm by no means the type of person to say suicide is okay, but considering the alternatives? They're lucky. Some of the girls found them this morning, and the commotion woke up the entire camp. Suze was, obviously, distressed, and went straight for Jennifer's tent.

She emerged a couple minutes later, a paper in hand.

"God of power and mercy, you have made death itself the gateway to eternal paradise. Look with love on us, and make us one with Your Son in His suffering and death, that, sealed with the blood of Christ, we may come before you free from sin. 


Amen."

It was fairly obvious what we had to do at that point.

Lyle and Richard looked over the bodies and Walter agreed that they had to be given a funeral just as the others did. But by the time they had returned to cut them down... well. Nothing was there to be cut.

The nooses hung empty.

Lyle is now off in a corner somewhere, freaking out as usual. But is he really to blame? Everybody's freaking out. Everybody except me, it would seem. And to be honest, that's freaking me out. Walter says I'm just trying to block it out, and eventually it'll reach the point where something will snap.

Great.

So now we're sitting at camp and it's late at night and we've got a bonfire going.

The summer solstice.

Midsummer's night.

Back in the medieval times, people would create great fires on midsummer in order to ward off evil spirits. I wonder if that's why the fire seems so big tonight? We've got a viking funeral going - minus the swords and the boats, of course. The bags are sitting in the fire and pouring out wicked black smoke and the entire camp smells like burnt hair. How hot does a fire have to be to turn a human body to ash? I wonder if being cut up helps it any.

Wow. Now that's pretty screwed up.

Anyways.

I'm not sure if we're doing it out of cleansing or out of the fact that nobody's got a shovel and is willing to dig a hole. Or maybe we're all just a little too into the idea of the summer solstice - this isn't the first time it's shown up in this Mythos, afterall - and the local Quebecois (William. He's got an account but hasn't posted yet. I wonder if I should talk to him about that... might be interesting to see what he has to say.) tells us about midsummer celebrations back home. Says we should find marigold and throw it into the fire to purify the camp.

Personally, I think it'll take a lot more than a few flowers to cleanse us of what we've seen, and even more to wash the blood off of the camp floor.

Who knows. Maybe under all the ash you won't be able to see the stains.

Alex out.

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?

Comments.

Are back up again.

It took Bri and I a good hour of working around the HTML, (a block had been put in, and we can't seem to undo it) but judging by Lyle's post everything's fine now. I've got admin privs to mess with the coding should another problem crop up - worst comes to worst and we'll just throw up an easy CSS so we don't have to work around templates again.

I feel like nothing really interesting has happened since Zach's death (rest in peace, buddy) and most people seem to have calmed down... for the most part. I guess we won't be able to tell for a couple more days.

As Elliott's informed you, the prof hasn't come back. As Elliott went to moan to Lyle about later, no, we should not go after them, if they ended up dead what chance do we have? It's not exactly verbatim (the conversation involved quite a bit more swearing and glaring daggers before Walter stepped in and talked some sense into both of them.) but it's close enough, and the consensus seems to be que sera, sera.


Everybody has the same thought on their mind.

Class List

[REDACTED]

PROFESSOR: Williams, Stuart

Anderson, Joshua

Battles, Richard

Baur, Danielle

Blockridge, Jennifer

Broodmoor, Elliott

Campbell, Lily

Cash, Lindsey

Chambers, Serena

Cheng, Bryan

Church, Ian

Cunningham, Domenic

Day, Nicholas

Dearborne, Alexander

Ekkhardt, Adelheid

English, Laura

Fitzpatrick, Trent

Flynn, Brigitte

Fraiser, Adam

Freeman, Jonah

Gillespie. Garrett

Gilmore, Samantha

Harmon, Opal

Hart, Eva

Hayes, Stephanie

Holt, Annabelle

Hood, Craig

Houston, Chase

Kaufman, Olivia

Levine, William

Lewis, Zachariah

Lyons, Victor

McKenna, Erin

Mills, Jamie

Nieves, Chastity

Peterson, Robert

Pickett, Timothy

Pittman, Whitney
Reeves, Walter

Samson, Samantha

Smith, Dylan

Sosa, Catherine

Strangeworth, Lynn

Sullivan, Wallace

Trujillo, Micheal

Walker, Hayden

Walker, Suze

[REDACTED], Lyle

Whitney, Edward

Wright, Brianna



and one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one, 


they all fall down.

Status Report

The title almost feels in bad taste, but what else am I supposed to put?


I suppose you can consider this my official introduction. While my name isn't of much consequence, I go by Alex, and I guess I'm the one who'll be thinking 'Must blog. Must blog. Must blog.' now that... well, you know.

Well, Lyle got his wish and the camp has finally settled down a bit, though the word 'peaceful' isn't exactly one I would use to describe the current atmosphere. The phrases ominous still and complete and utter shock, however, come to mind. Everybody's around the fire, huddled closely for each other's warmth and comfort. They all seem so shell-shocked. A lot of them are wandering around like they're in a dream. Their eyes are blank and whoever isn't sobbing is just... staring. It's surreal and utterly terrifying.

As the chaos descended a little bit we realized that Zach wasn't the only one caught up in the attack. Two girls  ended up dead in the panic, throats slit and drained on the camp floor. Hayden thought they had fainted. Then he saw the puddle.

You could hear the scream echo for miles.

Me? I guess you could say I'm taking this at my own pace. Writing out what's happening is sort of cathartic, maybe I'll make a habit of it? I like the idea of Status Reports. Consider it my grounding in reality, even if my grounding is nothing more than a 1x3 inch screen and a few lines of text on a word processor.

Opinions are split as to what to do next. A few people think we should try and head back to the campgrounds with the trailer about five k away from here, but everybody is so terrified of leaving the fire and stepping into the crushing darkness of the forest that even the promise of civilization isn't enough to gain a reasonable reaction.

Most just stand there and stare.

It's a shame you never got to meet them. Zach posted plenty before he was... well, you know. But Danielle and Anna? Well, I guess they're just names to you. To be mourned by nobody but their family, their peers, and a single professor.

Speaking of the prof, he just asked me where Edward (yet another student, god there are so many of us) went. Says he went out to collect samples this morning and hasn't returned. Stuart's obviously shaken up, and now that I've told him Edward's gone his face has paled about three shades. He's the adult and so he has to try and act like he has is under control, but I wonder what purpose that serves? Deep down we're all utterly terrified of being the next slit throat and the prof has arguably even more to worry about - he's liable, afterall. I think the thought of losing another student is driving him nuts.

It's late now, so he says he'll go and look for Edward tomorrow. 'If there's a killer in the forest,' he says, 'then nobody is allowed to go into the woods alone. We travel in groups of two or more.'

Nobody argues because nobody intends to go out alone anyways.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need a bit of time for this to sink in.

Alex out.