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.

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.

Saw HIM

I saw HIM.

The stupid faceless FUCKER. He was just starin' at me even though he doesn't have eyes and his head was sideways and he just STARED and I tried to punch the motherfucker but he's too fucking tall man, too fucking tall to be HUMAN. What the fuck is he? I tried to punch him but I just got this BAD fuckin' throbbing in my punching hand and now my fingers look all mangled and shit and doc says they're not broken so I'm just supposed to WAIT until they get better again.

Motherfucker.

IT'S ON.

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.)

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

Everyone's First Time is Different

And don't go letting your minds wander too far into the gutter; I'm talking about none other than Tall, Dark and Slender.

More specifically, meeting none other than Tall, Dark and Slender.

In the woods.

At night.

Alone.

At first you can't believe it. You can't comprehend this ... this figure, this presence standing before you. You blink and suddenly you get a face full of what looks like a suit from afar, but up close seems to be something all together more alive, restless, shifting, breathing below an oily, black skin. It's only after you crane your neck that you can fully realize just how tall this creature is, how his head rests on his shoulder, bent like it's crafted of plastic, seemingly broken because this figure is just so ... so ... human and yet wrong in so many unfathomable ways that it fills you with a sense of an almost ancient recognition and the even more ancient fear that comes along with it striking your very core.

And then it hits you.

It hits you like a fucking semi.

And suddenly everything around you is screaming and the trees are screaming and the wind is screaming and those inky tendrils are screaming from his back and you wonder, when did those get there? - and your mind is screaming and you're screaming and run, run, oh god you've got to run but your feet are stuck in place because you can't get past the sheer wrongness and yet alien beauty of that perfectly blank face - like porcelain, maybe, you wonder if it'd be smooth and cool under your hand and -

nononononosuzeyou'renotallowedtothinklikethat!

And so you run.

You run so fast that the soles of your shoes rip off and you trip in the undergrowth and crawl the remaining fifty feet back to camp, praying to god that everybody is asleep and you can inch your way on your knees back to your tent without having to answer any questions.

And that's why I haven't been sleeping.

Role reversals

Because it seems that being the bearer of bad news no longer falls exclusivly on one person. I have mentioned to some others that I am no longer sure if I exist outside of my own mind; something rather strange for someone like me, (Maybe it is more normal for me than I realize. It is hard to judge oneself, and even harder to realize what oneself truely is. "Self" is a whole concept that I'm not currently willing to delve into). But what would spark such a strange concept?

It would be easy for me to assume that I /had/ proof of my continual existance. My friends, now my allies, the blog itself, the responses from others. But it's come to the point that I'm not even sure that this proves much of /anything/. Strange.

I decided a short while ago that it was time to try and contact the outside world. Sure, it was obvious that the cellphones would not work; obviously the result of some sort of jamming signal (Emitted by what?). Yet there are other was to contact the outside world.

"Cogito ergo sum." I think, therefore I am. Despite the terror we had been subjected to, I was determined to prove that, above all, logic would prevail.

Now, this held a few problems. There's many possible reasons for our continual inability to navigate this place; hallucinagetic gasses, strange fauna, even medications being introduced to our enviroment. Regardless, it's impossible to get out of here by ourselves. So I tried for more... conventional help. Police, the campus, and, more importantly... our families, my family, in fact. My Mother; a good, strong woman, intellgent and kind. My Father. Tall and giant and loving and who instilled my love of philosophy and logic. And my younger sister. Innocent.

....

I digress.

Using a jury-rigged system, I managed to make contact with the outside world.

Of course, I may be lying. It's easy to garner sympathy, isn't it? Logic is useless. Especially when I'm keeping secrets~

The Police, I presume, only looked up from their poker game for a few seconds before writing me off as a hoodlum. The campus denied any such trip, in fact, the campus denied that Class 123 ever existed. And as for my family?

My sister answered the phone. She's fairly young and my parents don't tend to leave her alone, so this troubled me, even moreso than the previous responses.

I could barely even hear her voice over the downright /incredible/ static, but it was apparent what she was saying.

"Wally, they're saying that you were never here, that you're never comming home, that you'll keep The Tall Man away. It doesn't make any sense..."

Over. And over and over and over.

Getting into contact with other people's parents was very much the same. Either they refused to take me seriously, voices high with denial and... fear; or whispered something cryptic regarding Tall, Dark, and Slender and then hung up, quite rudely, if I may add.

[REDACTED]

He's... following my sister. Or maybe he's stopped. Here's my only problem....

If //it// thinks, does //it// exist as well?

...I'd rather not get into that one.

There have been some other things troubling me as well. A strange comment in the post by Lyle, by me... a comment regarding something about health...
That post. The one describing Zach's death in all the gory detail. Why would I berate him for getting it all out? Another point; our location is clearly stated in the subtitle of this blog. Why has nobody mentioned it or noticed?

The only hypothesis I can provide is that we are being censored. Someone is watching our ever move.

Well, I can play mental chess as well, good sir.

Your turn.

Because he's been quite naughty, hasn't he? Going behind my back, collaborating. Don't you see, Sir Bishop? I only want this for your own good.

Just kidding~

You have no idea what I can do, and I look forward to the day that it dawns on you. Sleep well, Subject.

On all the others out there

Hello again. As you can see, I only really seem to post after Lyle has an ...episode. Whether this is co-incidence or simply an interesting case of synchronicity, I can not currently tell. Regardless, the research continues.

This... "Slenderman". Have I heard of it before? Yes. Whispered on messages boards and reveled on youtube. But alas, the blogging comminity? I had no idea.

Regardless, Zach has left us quite the reading list. His history has proved... enlightening, to say the least. I now follow a few blogs myself; if anything, they provide some sort of entertainment.

God grant me distraction....

Yet all these blogs raise interesting points, or rather their comments raise an interesting metaphysical dilema. Today, we delve into Solipsism; our only continual existance within our own minds.

...and that's quite simple minded, is it not? Rather, there are three basic types of Solipsism; the world does not exist outside the mind of the philosopher, the world may or may not exist as nothing is certain outside of our own senses, and that our own thinking is the perfect framework for building upon our basic thought, as well that it is our outside relations that shape our veiw of the world.

Now, how does this apply to these blogs?

One: We are afraid of isolation, despite it's possible risks. Despite KNOWING that we do not know our observations are accurate, we are almost compelled to log them, reach out, and gain outside opinion.

Two: We continue to let others define us. Too often, these comments say more than the actual updates do (Here's looking at you, M.). Craving the imput, craving the understanding, we give too much power to people that we do not even know.

Three: We may not be able to control this. Our incredible situation has both it's benefits and it's disadvantages. Yes, there's an incredible community of theory and assistance, but what good is it when we can't be sure what is false? An excellent example of this was Reach and the Remnants; falsities, spread by our own hand.



We can only follow what is currently in our minds. Our senses lie, others lie, even our worlds lie to us. We are forced to use outdated and illogical methods to keep sane, but it is a neccesity that we are AWARE of this folly, and, moreover, ensure that we take the neccesary precautions, taking everything with a grain of salt.

It all comes down to one simple thing; trust. Are you going to trust these people? Are you going to trust the world you see? Are you going to trust your own self?

There is no clear answers, only more questions.

In the end, the only conclusion I could come to was that we all have to be more cautious with what we believe in, and what we deliberate, what we consider. We need to start thinking before we act, yet not let thought obstruct action. It's certainly a delicate balence, but if we all want to survive, it's one that we must manage.

....look at me, chattering off as if I actually matter. Tomorrow and tomorrow, there's really nothing more to say, although I wish I had more. It's been... a long day.

Hopefully more will be up later, explaining what... transpired today. Maybe someone else will have an idea. It's...

I can't even give the situation justice.

Because, to be honest? I'm not sure what we're dealing with.

Sleep well. I wish everyone out there the best.



...Sometimes, when you're out here, it really feels like you're the only person alive. I hope that doesn't actually turn out to be the case.

//Collect// what you know

You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down

long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace

and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,

headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place

…for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go

or a bus to come,

or a plane to go

or the mail to come,

or the rain to go

or the phone to ring,

or the snow to snow

or waiting around for a

Yes or No

or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite

or waiting for wind to fly a kite

or waiting around for Friday night

or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake

or a pot to boil, or a Better Break

or a string of pearls,

or a pair of pants

or a wig with curls,

or

Another Chance.

Everyone is just waiting.

Too bad he'll never have the chance to //wait// for answers~

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

Guess the cat's out of the bag.

Oh sure, I'd love to spent my time curled up in my tent sobbing my fucking eyes out over the death of my boyfriend but you all seem to have that role well and truly filled.

What the hell was I supposed to do, Lyle? You know just as well as I did what could happen going into the forest, and when Zach started slipping all you could think about was how to cover your own ass.

Christ on a bike, I never thought I'd be the voice of reason in a situation like this.

As much as I would love to sit here and wail 'Oh, woe is us! We're trapped in a forest and we've seen the deaths of our classmates and now our beloved professor has vanished!' I'm well aware of the fact that we have much, much, much worse things to worry about.

Anybody who isn't painfully genre-blind will know what I'm talking about.

[REDACTED]

There's no point in playing dumb anymore because this has reached the point of pants on head retarded and nobody seems to be able to do anything anymore. It's been five days since ... well, you know and nobody except for about seven of us (god bless you all, you beacons of common fucking sense in this otherwise abysmal pit of genre-blind, angsty university students.)

Calm, Suze, caaaaalm.


Tempers are running short, obviously. What Alex is so cheekily calling Exploration #1 (in what I pray to god isn't a House of Leaves reference) isn't helping, and while Richard goes and menaces some trees Lyle is beside himself because he knows just as well as I do we're all well and thoroughly fucked.


...







Jesus rollerblading Christ.


I always pictured the worst-case scenario of this trip being our chargers dying and the poor, defenseless peroxide blondes being left without their precious facebook.

But that's a lie, isn't it?

One of them is a brunette.

What I didn't expect was this.



Fanfuckingtastic.

To be perfectly honest, I'd like to pretend I have absolutely no clue as to neither who Tall, Dark and Slender is nor to what he wants with us, but when it comes right down to it I don't see the point in pretending. After all, he's been given fifty delicious servings of University Student à la mode and has no intention of giving us back any time soon.

Or at all.

Zach was a huge fan of the mythos. He was completely fascinated by the v/blogs and the idea of a seemingly unstoppable, reality-warping, cough-inducing Eldritch Abomination. I myself was never a fan of horror, but the vlogs seemed interesting enough and some of the blogs are very, very good.

So I suppose you could say I know what we're dealing with.

...

Nope, can't even keep a straight a face.

So I suppose you could say I'm more knowledgeable than 95% of the people here.

So I guess not all hope is lost?

Yay?

[REDACTED]

... Alex was right. Being optimistic is hard.

Speaking of Alex, you and Richard need to gather as many people as you can and meet me at center camp in ten. It's my turn to go talk some common sense into the rest of the camp and inform them about what we're dealing with. Lyle knows and I think he's just as badly in denial as I was, but with the events of this afternoon he'd be downright stupid to not accept it.


Either way, it's going to be one helluva afternoon.