Goodbyes are always so awkward.

Where do I begin?

I feel like I’ve become the bearer of bad news or something. My five or six posts here have been nothing but dealing with whatever it was Elaine currently couldn’t, and I guess now she really isn’t able to cover my ass.

That’s right. She’s dead.

Went down in a blaze of fucking glory, though, so good on her. Know what they say about mother bears and their cubs? Yeah, that’s a pretty solid analogy for what just went down. Think she might’ve  managed to get one of the guy’s balls at some point, and judging by the way he screamed I’m guessing Elaine brought more than just her favourite hunting knife with her.

Actually, I guess I’m not being entirely honest. This all went down earlier today, and after finally managing to (sort of) console Em and pass her off– hell, I’m not exactly taking this well myself – I'm off again.

Why post now, then? Well, I’d be damned if I could have managed a post that wasn’t shit, Elaine’s dead, Em’s safe, we’re in some unspecified location I’m not going to mention for fear of that crazy bastard Angmar destroying the warehouse he was holding Em hostage in followed by a few ramblings about I’m not a father what the fuck am I supposed to do with a kid.

Well, at least one of those issues has been sorted out: Em’s off to live with Ben. A permanent home’ll be good for her. Safe.  Safer than she’d be with me, anyway, which isn’t too difficult to achieve.

As for me, blogging isn’t really my thing. There’s something about loudly announcing my plans, feelings and actions for the world to see that I don’t find appealing or particularly smart.

Maybe that’s just me, though.

Anybody who I want to contact me has my details, and everybody else… well, you people'll find a way, I'm sure.

Elaine, though I got my goodbyes out of the way before we went into the warehouse, I’ll state it again: thank you for everything.

She’s got one more post she wants me to put up. Emily’s already in more responsible hands than mine and, well, I’m off to do my own thing.

As for the research? Rich and I are still getting things together. Figure we’ll post it on the original blog. We’ll see. At any rate, neither of us’ll be around the blogosphere anymore.

I guess that’s the end of that. Best of luck. God knows we all need it.

I've got something of a debt to repay.

And I'm not about to let this one slip.

Angmar, you crazy fuck, who do you think you are?


Yeah, long time no see. Been with Elaine for a couple days but had no reason to post - busy with rescuing a kid.


I'm no father. Even as big brother standards go I'm pretty fucking pathetic.

But this?

This is ridiculous. Met Elaine a while ago and believe me when I say the rage hasn't subsided. It's started to get me roiled up too. Got a nice little revolver courtesy of Battle and a single bullet to put between your eyes, Angmar. And I'm going to take so much pleasure in watching your head explode like the Christmas cracker from hell.

Or maybe I'll just aim for the gut and have a cup of coffee while I watch you bleed like a stuck pig.

Whatever suits my mood, I guess.

Can't say much about where we are or how much progress we're making - just that we're making it.

And trust me, we will get her back.

Even if it means losing one of us.

Tying up loose ends.

Elliott again.

So, we're spending some time in Canada. No big deal. We really don't have anything better to do with our time- other than, you know, living which we kind of have to do anyway, as being six feet under or in little pieces tends to impede ones driving ability and yeah I'm a little tipsy, drinkign age is 19 here what of it - we really don't have anything better to do with our time and hey, I've got shit to do, Canada it is.

Stayed in my hometown for a couple days. I forgot how much of an utter shithole my family's old apartment was and why I moved out as soon as possible. Place didn't even belong to her anymore. Some old hag with some stupid fucking well-groomed rat she was trying to pass off as a dog - you know the type. The ones with the tiny legs and the massive heads and they shake and shake and yip and shake like windup toys and fuck I'm getting sidetracked again, aren't I - anyway, the place didn't belong to my folks. Surprise surprise. After my bank account had been wiped off the face of the earth and all of my information on every social networking site ever (include myspace, fuck I haven't even thought of the word myspace since 2005) disappeared and all of my friends have stopped answering my calls and the ones who do answer say I'm dead or have no idea who I am, I've kind of stopped being surprise.

Still being bitter, though.

Got one good thing out of it, though. Or as good as it can get when apparently you don't exist - which is a fairly common phenomenon among runners, apparently? Fucked if I know. I'm just a college kid.

Managed to get enough information out of one of my former bandmates to figure out I was buried in some hole-in-the-wall cemetery on the outskirts of the cathedral area. Kinda fuckin' funny if you ask me, seeing as I'm pretty alive and typing and not in some little shit graveyard.

We went. Of course we went. Because I'm a fucking idiot who can't let go of his old life. Because I want closure.

Well I got it, alright. In the form of a one-meter tall slab of stone.

ELLIOTT WIMBLEDON BROODMOOR
1991-2011
Every man's life is a plan of God.

There were sunflowers on the grave.

Sunflowers, half-buried in the fucking snow. Most of them were dead or rotted but there was one, one little head hidden deep inside the others, that was a bright and as cheerful as the day it had been picked. A little ray of sunshine in a dark and dead and rotting world.

And I know who put them there, too.

...

I miss him.

Fuck I miss him.

How goddamn twisted is that? Kid killed for someone's sake. Then again, so did I - so did a lot of us. Something we said we'd never talk about but fuck, what does it matter now? What's done is done. Can't change what's happened.

Anyway.

We're meeting with Rich in a couple nights. Heading to the university and area to tie up the last of the loose ends - not going to be able to stop thinking about it until I do. Closure's a bitch to get sometimes.

Saw that red-haired bastard before we left the House. Writer. That one. Maybe Elaine will write about what happened there, god knows I'm too fucking depressed and too drunk to think about it right now. Words were exchanged, Writer threatened Em, we knew we couldn't stay. We were out less than half an hour later.

Don't die and shit. Updates to come.

Silence at last.

Staying at a hotel, the location of which I'm in no mood to give out. Already had to deal with a couple of tails on the way here. Last thing we need is another unwelcome surprise.

Always kind of liked hotel hopping. When I left the house to attend uni I spent a couple days moving from place to place, trying to find somewhere to settle. It was Zach who eventually got me a place near the school, actually. Kid always had resources. Knew people. Enough people to make you wonder.

Still kind of wonder.

Anyway.

Here's a little tip: Douglas Coupland had it right. Next time you stay at a hotel with rooms that have those big armoires that hold the TV, (most chains will have them - Holiday Inn, Comfort Inn, Super 8) climb up and feel around on the top. Housecleaning'll often miss that spot and people will dump anything they don't like there. Nasty, compromising stuff. Gifts people didn't want. Stuff they couldn't get rid of in case management or something found it. Tacky jewellery. Airport books you don't want to keep. Porn - and I mean the really, really dirty stuff. Drugs. Weapons. You name it, you'll probably find it up there. Found an abandoned hard drive once. Brought it to Alex. Guy spent a week going through security measures just to open the wrong file and watch the entire thing wipe itself and his computer completely blank.

Still kind of wonder.

Anyway.

Try it out. You'd be surprised at what you find. People are into some weird shit.

As I said earlier, we're out. Nothing new to report other than that. Head's quiet, Elaine's still a mess, Em's quiet and sad and I'm bouncing between them as best I can. August, I respect you. How you can deal with stuff like this all the time and keep going is a fuckin' amazing gift.

Don't think I know where we're headed to next. Probably just going to travel for a while. I've got... business to take care of north of the border and think that might be where we're headed next. Though how a missing person, an ex-convict and a somebody who doesn't technically exist will manage to cross the border is beyond me. I guess we'll have to figure something out.

I have to admit, I kind of miss Canada. Culture shock's fuckin' weird. I don't think I can respect a country where the only Tim Horton's lie 150 miles from the border and all of their money is the same colour. Just feels strange.

Uncanny.

We'll see. Stay safe and all that.

This House is insane.

Fuck. Fuck. Been in this place maybe a week and my head won't stop screaming at me.

Konaa's dead. Lucas is dead. Joel's dead. And so many others. People I've only read in passing. People I've only talked to once or twice. Michael. Josh. Why always the holidays?

Rest in peace. All of you. Konaa - no, June. June, you brave son of a bitch. I was going to tell you before you left that if you died before I could repay you I was going to be pissed. Guess now it's too late. Joel, what little time I spent with you was great. So, thanks for that. Lucas... everything I've heard about you tells me you were a great person. I wish we could have talked more than the passing 'hey's that we did. Everybody else... you fought the good fight - but everybody's gotta go eventually. Guess you can consider this my last respects.

shutupshutupshutupshutup


This is getting ridiculous. It's one thing to stare at the wall of foliage from the safety of a guest room, advancing inch by inch as the days pass by. It's another thing to wake up with your window shattered and about five trees eagerly clawing at your doors, bedposts and closet.

It was a fun morning.

Talked to Fitz - afterall, he's already talked about it once. Apparently we can't escape that damn forest. Even when we're out, we're still not out. It's still a shadow in the back of our minds. A shadow that screams and pulls at nerve endings and calls to you in the dead of the night and no, Broodmoor, you're not listening to it because that's the stupidest fucking idea you've ever had but fuck, it's siren's song and there's only so many times you can get talked down from it before it just. Stops. Working.


Alex is looking better, at least. But the kid's quieter than ever - I don't blame him, though. This place is doing horrible things to me so I'd hate to see what's happening in his head. But with him in Rivers' care I know there isn't much I can do.

Going to talk to Elaine about leaving tomorrow. Don't know how much longer I can stay here.

Where do I begin?

Elliott here.

Managed to wrestle coherency out of Elaine for a little while. I think anybody with a shred of common sense will figure she's not in the greatest of states - but hell, is anybody? Anyways. Got her functioning long enough to get myself on here. Figure you deserve an explanation.

Let me start off by saying we're safe - or, well, as safe as we can be given the circumstance. It's me, Elaine and Emily crammed in a car. It's spacious, at least, and Elaine and I are taking shifts. Em is basically comatose on my lap, the poor thing - she's got the softest brown hair and the clearest fucking blue-gray eyes and she just looks completely and utterly destroyed. I can't say I blame her, either - seeing what she saw there is something no six-year-old should have to deal with. Or anybody, for that matter.

From what I've heard, Rich and Shaun are travelling together. Good on them. They're tough bastards. Alex is with Steele, Rivers and Ray and they're not doing so hot - though they're alive, and fuck that's worth a whole lot right now. Rivers, Steele, thank you again for taking in Alex. I don't think I can express my gratitude enough. I don't even want to begin to think of what would happen to him if you didn't agree - and I'm so, so sorry about getting you dragged into this. Rivers, you'd better pull through. I've got a debt to repay to both of you.

But enough stalling.

Hope.

I could tell the place was off the second we set foot inside the concrete walls. Something about the way the floors creaked and the way the light hit the paint made the place seem uncanny. It had the same smell in the forest - under the pine and the damp earth, there was the unmistakable /stench/ of sulfur, pine and something I think we eventually nailed down as tar. Acrid and bitter. It burned your throat and made your eyes water. It wasn't nearly as strong as the forest had been, but it was still there. Notes of it on the edge of every breath. If you didn't step out for some fresh air you'd develop a headache - or, that's what happened to the three of us. Rich hated the place, Alex was uneasy and I was on edge. Every time I'd slip to the roof for a cigarette I'd see the slender bastard at the edge of the property, watching. Waiting. As if something was keeping him out.

We figured that one out, huh?

It was one hell of a deal, too. Tried leaving Hope to go shopping with Alex once. Second we crossed the property line Tall, Dark and Slender was on us - on /Alex/. We weren't two steps over and got back before he could be snatched up, but I don't think I'd ever been more scared of losing one of them. The second we were back over He stopped. Went back to watching us. Waiting.

(And of course now that we're out it's only gotten worse. Off in the corner of your eye. Like you've got blind in the deepest part of your peripheral vision, except the hole wavers every once and a while. It's barely a movement at all - always seems to happen just when you forget it's there. The fucker's toying with you and you know it and goddamnit it's working.)

...

I'm stalling again.

Can you blame me?

(Yes. Get on with it, Broodmoor.)

I... wasn't actually around for the start of it. I was supposed to be out of Hope by noon today. While everybody was having what'd be the last communal lunch, I was packing. Missed the glorious reappearance of Slender himself, Rivers getting his leg splayed open and destroyed - by the sounds of it, anyways - and the chaos that tends to follow this kind of stuff.

But I'd be damned if I didn't feel it in the place. So could Alex. I think to an extend everybody else could, too. If you stared at the walls they'd flicker and the rotten eggs and pine stench was noxious. But that aside, the place was quiet. Peaceful. Deceptively so, you could say - the calm before the storm.

(And don't think I didn't notice the date. Maybe it's coincidence, but I'm not stupid enough to dismiss it so quickly.)

Then hurricane Slender hit with full force. Rivers loses the use of a leg, Steele grabs him, Ray and Alex and books, Nick and Ellen are off riding flaming wolves somewhere, (/how much I wish I was kidding about that/) and I come into the kitchen just in time to watch Jennifer and Adam get run through by Dr. Stalktopus himself.

Elaine's standing between them. Defending them from Slender. He doesn't take kindly to this, of course, and grabs her by the leg and tosses her across the room. It's then that He turns his attention to the mother and child and lets them share the same fate as their husband and father.

Adam wasn't old enough to chew his own food. Babbled and bubbled. Couldn't have been more than a year and he was slaughtered in his mother's arms. Her dad was killed off before then - shotgun only a couple feet away. I didn't want to think about it.

And there's Emily, staring in horror.

I grabbed her and ran. 'Course Slenderfucker grabbed me. Popped my arm right out of its socket. Hurt like a bitch. Still hurts like a bitch. Popped it back in a while ago but it's still awkward and painful as fuck. But I'll live. Bastard's been waiting twenty years for me - a few more won't kill Him.

Had my bag over one shoulder and Em over the other. Injuries be damned I wasn't going to let her die. Ran until we got out of Hope - which had by then turned into a maze in itself, doors leading into different rooms than the ones you entered through. Windows blocked halls and I think we ran along the top of a door frame at one point. It was messed up. BC had some seriously weird architecture, but that was unsettling. This just didn't make sense. The kitchen was on fire. The sitting room - the one with the piano - was soaked in gasoline. Wouldn't be long until the fire reached it and there'd be a sizeable boom to follow - at least if Hollywood has taught me anything.

Flash of red. Giggle. Green eyes.

Writer. Couldn't see the bastard but I knew he was there. Probably the one responsible for filling the rooms with gas. Crazy bastard.

(Guess the forest wasn't enough for you, huh?)

We started driving. We're still driving. Not going to stop until we get to Vermont.

Time for my shift. I'm probably forgetting a few things. Going to add what I can as I can.