Out Shopping

Gotten further into Doctor Who. After watching a few episodes with the second Doctor (who, according to I-330, is actually the 10th Doctor), I realized that the blue suit/long brown coat I-330 wears sometimes is identical to the one the Doctor wears. When I asked her about that, she admitted that she had specifically designed her clothes to be based off the Doctor’s. Guess it’s pretty obvious by now how big a fan she is of the show.

But life isn’t all Doctor Who marathons. Yesterday I went out to buy groceries. Not usually something worth talking about, but that time, I-330 said she wanted to come along to pick up things for her cooking. That wasn’t something I could say no to, so she walked with me to the store.

Or really, I walked to the store, she strode to it. She moved down the sidewalk in a straight line, automatically assuming that everyone would make way for her…. And, surprisingly, they did. Whenever we had to cross an intersection, her usual method was to keep walking forward, glaring down any oncoming traffic as if daring them to try and hit her. I kept thinking that someone was going to get mad at us, but no one shouted or anything. Just moved out of the way, looking almost as surprised as I was to see someone forcing their way down the sidewalk so confidently. She was drawing a lot of attention to herself like that…. I tried to follow in her shadow and avoid it. Don’t know if anyone was looking at me as well, since I had my eyes down for most of the walk…. I hope they weren’t….

Halfway to the store, a car tire blew out down the street. Soon as she heard the bang, I-330 dove to the ground. I just watched, unsure of what she was doing. A few moments later, she looked around, stood back up, brushed off some dirt from her clothes, laughed, and started walking again as though nothing had happened. So…. Yeah?

I-330 didn’t mention that for the rest of the trip, and I didn’t ask. Rest was mostly normal, just picking out food, except when I had to stop I-330 from just walking out the store and remind her we needed to pay for things. She insisted that she pay, which was nice of her…. I’m still not used to actually being able to afford things. She had to force me away from the shelves of ramen and convince me that it was alright, I could buy real food for once.

And…. I think that’s it…. Kind of a pointless update…. Not sure why I wrote it. Talking about what happened during my day like it’s something important. And really, all the interesting stuff that happened were things I-330 did. I just stood in the background and watched….
Might as well post this now, get it over with.

-Lisa

Doctor Who

This show is amazing and definitely not a medical drama!

We watched it last night until I was too sleepy to concentrate. We're almost through Series 1 now. Might make it to Series 2 today.
Even if we don't, I think I've found a new reason to watch television.

-Lisa

Living With I-330

Having someone else living in my home feels really, really weird. I’d gotten used to this house feeling like some giant, empty cavern; now it feels like the cavern has been filled. I wake up each morning, and instead of the grey silence I’m used to, all the lights are on and I-330’s busy making breakfast (seriously, she’s always awake before me; I’m starting to wonder if she sleeps.)

Can’t really say just what it is she does with her days; sometimes she’ll lounge around the house, reading books from my stacks, other times she’ll put on a suit and her coat, then walk out the door and not come back until after sunset.

Occasionally I’ve talked to her with the intention of asking the big questions I’ve had (what’s with those posts she made on my blog earlier? What really happened the night we met? Why does she need my house?), but I always get tongue tied, and can never figure out what I’m supposed to say….

I somehow managed to ask a few smaller questions, but none got very detailed answers from her….

-What’s her real name?
I-330. Whenever I tried pressing the question, she kept insisting on I-330. When I asked what name she was given at birth, she started ranting about the injustice of people getting no say in what they would be called for the rest of their life and that the entire system of conventional naming should be thrown out entirely…. Sounded a bit like a sore subject, so I dropped the question quickly.

-What does she do for a living?
Nothing. She said she’s just a traveler; all her money comes from investments. Made me wonder what she’s doing when she goes out, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

-Where did she learn to cook so good?
France. I wish I could go to France….

She used my questions as an excuse for her to interrogate me on my personal life. It… kinda reminded me of the conversation I had with John/Grendel, so I didn’t really answer them in much detail…. Still told her some stuff of the basics things about myself, but kept quiet about personal things….

The one thing we’ve been able to talk in depth about has been books. I’ve never had a chance to talk to someone who’s shared my interest like that before. We spent hours talking about S.M. Stirling’s Emberverse, and debating which book is the best from Garth Nix’s Old Kingdom trilogy (she says Sabriel, I say Lirael).

Talking with I-330 is…. Well, fascinating. I admit I haven’t spoken with that many people in my life, but out of those I have, she’s unique. Each word is boldly thrown into the air, laced with authority and bravado. She doesn’t give opinions; she states facts, and dares the rest of the universe to disagree with her. If Lirael wasn’t one of my favorite books, I’d have quietly acquiesced when she declared Sabriel superior, rather than try to stand up to such a commanding tone. And when she really gets into a subject, she puts her whole body into it; rapidly pacing back and forth while swinging her right arm in wild gestures with each emphasized word. It’s always the right arm, I’ve noticed. She keeps her left locked solidly at her side at all times, unless she needs its use for something.

Earlier today, a delivery man stopped at my house. Didn’t know why; I hadn’t ordered anything. Soon as I-330 realized who was at the door, she rushed over and practically ripped the box out of the poor man’s hands. I had to sign for the package, because she ran straight back inside and started to tear it open immediately. I’m not sure what the fuss is about; inside is just a bunch of DVDs from some TV show called Doctor Who. I-330 was looking at them like they were her long lost children, and handling each case with love. She’s made me promise to watch them with her; I don’t usually watch television (I haven’t even turned on my TV in over a year…), but it looked like something she’d insist if I disagreed, and I didn’t want to start a confrontation….
I suppose it can’t be too bad. Probably a medical drama like E.R. I’ll watch a few episodes, and maybe then she’ll let me off the hook.

-Lisa

Tenant

I’m never going to dig myself out of this mess. Goodbye, reasonable life of old. Can’t say I’ll miss you. But at least I had an illusion of control over you.

Couldn’t bring myself to leave my room while I-330 was out there yesterday. Frightened that if I did, I’d have to talk to her…. And that was a bit intimidating. Instead I tried waiting her out, hoping she’d eventually, I don’t know, go away? Stupid idea. Worked about as well as you can imagine. I gave up after the sun set and I was starting to get tired. Locked the door and went to bed, hoping that everything would be somehow fixed when I woke up the next morning.

Which brings us to this morning, when I woke up to the totally unfamiliar sounds of someone using the kitchen. Confusion doesn’t go well with sleepiness, so even after walking to the kitchen, it took me a while to figure out what I was looking at. I-330 was standing over the stove, cooking something. No longer in her fancy suit and tie, though I still have to wonder what type of person wears long sleeves when it’s 70 degrees outside (where did she get the change of clothes? She wasn’t carrying any luggage with her that I saw).

She smiled and greeted me. No one should be allowed to be that happy before 9 AM. No one. Told me she’d gone out shopping while I was asleep, and was making crepes. Before I could question any of this, she handed me a plate and dished up several for me. Then I, still horribly disoriented, was led by her to the table. She sat down next to me, and started to talk. Emphasized how sorry she was about what I’d had to go through. I just nodded and mechanically ate my crepes. Didn’t have a clue what I was supposed to say in that situation.

Then she told me that she was looking for a place to stay in the city, and wanted to know if she could rent a room. Why does she always have to say these things while there’s something in my mouth? I don’t want to die choking on crepes….

Before I could finish coughing and say something, anything to try and get this conversation under control, she pulled a check out of her pocket and said that she was willing to pay her first few months rent in advance.

That check had… a very impressive number on it. Lots of zeroes. More than I’ve ever seen on any check handed to me before. I must have mumbled something, because she thanked me, then ran back to the kitchen to clean up.

I’m so confused. I can’t tell her she has to leave now…. But I’m not sure I really agreed to let her stay…. So I guess this means I have a tenant now? Somehow?

-Lisa

I have no idea what is going on anymore.

So I’m going to blog about it and hope doing so somehow makes everything better.


That last post, and the comments with it, freaked me out. Never should have read it at night. As I was looking at the comment Grendel made about him coming to get me, I could hear footsteps again in another room, coming closer….
Ran out my room, out the front door, and away from my house without stopping to think. I swear I could still hear the footsteps even outside the house, always just behind me…. I kept running until I found myself surrounded by lights and people. I was someplace in the city, close to downtown I think. Fairfax isn’t exactly known for its nightlife, but that doesn’t mean the place is abandoned once it gets dark. I think. I’d never before been downtown that late at night, so I can’t make too many claims about what’s normal for it….

It was like I was in a trance or something. I saw a bar, lights and music dancing out onto the street, and I slowly was pulled inside. Didn’t say anything to anyone in there; pushed through the clustered groups of friends to an unoccupied booth in the very back, and sat down. Just wanted to be someplace with lights and people, where I could feel safe from whatever imaginary monsters had been chasing me.

Probably sat there for forty minutes by myself. The staff didn’t bother me, which I was grateful for. I had just started to calm down, when I heard someone ask me if the seat across from me was taken. Jumped slightly in panic, all my prior fears rapidly returning, looked over to the source of the voice….

My first impression on the man was that he was gorgeous. Movie star gorgeous. No, more than movie star. No-real-person-could-possibly-look-that-good gorgeous. He was tall and slim, but you could still see the muscles underneath his black shirt. Angular face, with high cheekbones, rich black hair, and a smile which practically gleamed…. Spending too much time on describing, focus Lisa, focus.

There was no way I could try to respond to his question; my attempts at doing so ended with me stammering meaningless syllables. He laughed at that, and sat down anyways. Ordered us both wine; as soon as my glass arrived, I drank it as fast as I could. Needed something to help me out with this crazy swerve my night had taken.

That drink did help, enough that I could actually talk to the man. Said his name was John. I didn’t learn much more about him than that, except that he said he worked as a historian… For most of the conversation, we were talking about me. Didn’t know how to deal with that; no one’s ever shown real interest in me before, much less a guy like that. I told him about myself…. How I’d been working as a librarian until I was fired a few months ago, that I loved to read and write… Even got into a few more private details as I drank more. Told him that most of my family was dead, that I lived alone in the big house on the hall just outside town, and as the hours passed, I even started talking about Elizabeth and the black chest. I thought he’d laugh at the story, but he was actually interested, and I ended up telling him the whole thing.

Lost track of hours after a while. John was funny, smart, sophisticated (I don’t think I’ve ever before heard anyone else use “thereof” in casual conversation). This was the first time I ever been in a situation like that. It was…. exactly like my craziest romantic thoughts had imagined it would be. Sometimes I thought that I had to be dreaming. No way could this be happening to me.

Completely forgot there was a world outside the booth until we were told that the bar was closing up. How many hours had we been talking like that? I was feeling a bit dizzy from the drinks (I am such a lightweight), but John offered to walk me home.

Walking down the streets at night, leaning on John to keep my balance, feeling happier than I had in such a long time…. I swear I had fallen into a romance novel.

Then the genre changed.

We were passing by an alleyway when John stopped. Still was a bit drunk, so his sudden stop caused me to stumble. He grabbed my arm to keep me from falling, but his grip was no longer gentle; felt like a vice crushing my arm, enough to make me shout in surprise. I looked at him, confused, and….

…. Until that point, I couldn’t tell you what color his eyes were. I’d seen his eyes, I even remember thinking to myself how beautiful they looked…. But my brain couldn’t focus on their color. Except right then, I suddenly could.
His eyes were bright red, like fire…. And when he smiled, his teeth were razor sharp….

I wanted to scream, but my lungs couldn’t draw the air. He threw me into the air, as though I didn’t weigh anything, into the alley. I must have flown at least twenty feet before hitting some trash bags stopped me. Opened my eyes, and he was standing over me, grinning wide enough to show all the teeth in his mouth.
“Hello, Lisa!” John’s voice had become harsh, sounding almost like an animal’s growl. He grabbed me by the throat with one hand, and easily lifted me into the air, squeezing my neck until it felt like it was being crushed. With his other hand, he started casually ripping buttons off my shirt. I wanted to fight back, hit him or kick him or something, but I couldn’t move. My limbs were frozen, and all I could do was stare into those burning eyes.
“It’s DINNER TIME!” He growled.
Nononononono, not this, not again, no…..

Heard a bang, and half of John’s face ripped apart into blood, bones, and black… shadow… stuff…. Not sure how to describe it…. Almost like oil, but too ethereal to be liquid….

He let go of me and I hit the concrete. There was a woman at the opposite end of the alley, pointing a gun at John. Hard to see that late and night, but it looked like she was smiling.
“Evening, Grendel!” She shouted.

I turned my head slightly.... Moving my neck just a little brought pain…. So I could look back at John…. Grendel…. Whatever he’s called. The shadows were flowing back into the hole that had been shot in his head. Bone, muscle, and skin started to grow back over the shadows, until there was no sign that he’d been injured. His smile was still there; almost seemed to grow even larger, if that’s possible.
“Darling!” He kicked me violently to the side. “I swear, it’s not what it looks like! I was just-“

The woman shot him through the head again; a few seconds later, that new injury was gone as well. He still didn’t stop smiling.

I still couldn’t move my arms or legs, no matter how hard I tried. It was still hard to breath…. The two were saying something, but I couldn’t make out any of it. Could barely see them, as my vision started to go fuzzy.

At some point, I went unconscious. The last thing I clearly remember is a burning white light, and what sounded almost like Grendel shouting “No fair!” Then I woke up in my bed. Again.

Had another freakout as I remembered what happened last night, but calmed down when I reassured myself it had to be a dream. Well, maybe not the drinking part; I had the hangover to tell me that was real. Everything else? I dunno, maybe I had drunk more than I thought….

Door to my room opened, and a woman came in holding a cup of coffee. The cheery way she said good morning didn’t help with the headache, but the coffee and pain meds she gave me was nice, so I suppose-WHY IS THERE A STRANGE WOMAN INSIDE MY HOUSE.

It was the woman from last night. Nearly spit out my coffee all over her when I realized it. What had I been doing then….

How am I supposed to talk about her. Let’s start with the normal stuff. I think I can handle the normal stuff for now. She had long black hair (see? Normal enough.), was wearing a blue suit with a long brown coat over it (even had a tie. Bit formal, but I suppose that’s still regular clothing, right?), a black glove (just on her left hand. O-kay, only one glove, bit odd….), two scars on her face, a curved one on the left cheek and one going diagonally across her nose (not used to seeing facial scars on people, but I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation….), and an eye patch (kay, I’ve got nothing for that).

Never could shake the feeling that I was looking at a well dressed pirate girl.

Then she introduced herself.
“Sorry about what you had to go through last night. Hope you’re feeling a bit better today. Oh, by the way, I’m I-330.”

Yes.
I-330.
The person who’s been posting on this blog.

That time, I wasn’t able to stop myself from spitting out the coffee. At least she’s got fast reflexes, and ducked out of the way before any of it hit her. Started to feel faint again. That was all way too much for me to be taking in. The room started to spin around me, I heard I-330 asking if I was alright, and then I blacked out again.

Woke up less than an hour ago. The coffee cup was sitting next to my bed, contents cold, next to a plate with a peanut butter sandwich on it, and whatever mess my spit-take had made was cleaned up. I cautiously peeked out my door and looked around. Soon as I saw I-330 lying on a couch, reading a book she’d picked up from my mess on the floor, I closed my door and ran back to my bed. Couple of minutes later, got out my laptop and started writing this post. Then I ate the sandwich because I haven’t eaten anything at all since last night.

Really don’t know what to do here. Should I try talking to I-330? I have a lot of questions I need to ask her…. But I’m too nervous to try. What if those things I remember actually happened last night? Does that mean all the posts she’s made were also true? If they’re true, then…. I don’t know. Someone took my conception of what the world was like and smashed it with a hammer last night. Can’t say when I’ll get over that….

-Lisa

HELLO LISA

DID YOU LIKE THE LETTER I SENT YOU?

Staying up all hours of the night? Not healthy for you at all, Lisa dear. Why, when I stopped by, you were sleeping on the floor, using The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man as a pillow while cradling Sabriel like a teddy bear. Of course it wouldn’t do for an upstanding lady to be found in such a compromising position, would it? I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of moving you to a more respectable location.

My, what a large house you live. How strange it is, for a lone woman to be living in a house so very large. One filled with so many memories and skeletons. Have you told our audience why it is that a young woman like yourself is in possession of such a spacious house?

Did you ever tell them about Daddy Dearest? Poor young Lisa, always so desperate for parents’ love. What a futile hope. Daddy never could be made happy, could he Lisa? You were always disappointing him. If only you had been smarter, maybe if you’d been prettier, perhaps if you hadn’t failed at every task he gave you, you wouldn’t have gone to sleep every night after night after night covered in bruises. But you could never too that. You were too much of a failure for that.

So many years this went on! Even a monster such as myself could have learned a few things about causing pain from Daddy. His only failing was that he did not realize what your breaking point would be; had he just held that awareness, how many more wonderful years could he have continued the performance?

You always have been so fond of your fantasies, haven’t you Lisa? Running away to your little make believe lands, where you don’t think the real world can hurt you. Daddy hated your little escapes. Hated that you possessed a way to hide from his grasp, even if it was only for fleeting moments. And one day, his hatred turned into action. What a brilliant fire those pages must have created!

For the first time, little Lisa gained her voice. In response to this threat against her one refuge of happiness, little Lisa spoke out. Harm to your own person was tolerable, but harming books? Heaven forbid.

You should have known better than to defy Daddy. He didn’t like that. Not at all. I don’t believe he had ever held as much rage before, which is a true accomplishment. Bruises? Those were the least of your concerns in the beating which followed. But it’s not as though you needed your left leg’s bones to be intact. Or your rib cage. And this time, when he took his belt off, it wasn’t because he meant to hit you with it, was it Lisa? WAS IT, LISA?

Hours later, you were still lying there, next to the ashes of your books, clothes ripped apart, salt on your cheeks from your dried tears. Practically comatose. What was it that sparked you into movement? Maybe after I have devoured you I will know, but for the time I can only watch in wonder. Ignoring the crippling pain which you no doubt were experiencing, you stood on your feet, took a knife from the kitchen, and limped to your parents’ room. Lying there before you was the brute, asleep and snoring. You finally wanted your long desired revenge, Lisa? Finally would have the courage to meet violence with violence? Snicker snack went your knife, through the sheets, through the skin, trailing red everywhere….. You might have killed him there, had your mother not woken in time to stop you.

When the ambulances arrived, the story was that your injuries had been a result of Daddy trying to defend himself from his insane daughter’s unprovoked attack. No one was surprised by the tale. They always did think of you as the odd sort. “It’s always the quiet ones who snap,” they all told each other.

Sometimes I wonder what delightful tortures would have been inflicted on you had Daddy returned. I have no doubt that they would have been AMAZING. But so fortunately for you, Daddy was burned alive in his own hospital bed the same day Mommy experienced a fatal car crash. The beatings were over, but they were replaced by the years of apathetic therapy. Judging by your current state, I don’t believe it helped much.

With your legal guardians dead, it fell onto your relatives to assume care of you. But why would any of them want to raise YOU? They didn’t even want to associate with you. You were a black mark of shame on the family. They simply wished to push you aside and keep you out of sight until the scandal went away. So they sent you to one of the family’s old homes in Fairfax, where they would regularly check to make sure you were staying silent, praying you would die quietly and they could stop dealing with you.

I really should apologize to advance to them. As you most certainly are not going to be dying quietly. NOT. AT. ALL!

I wonder. If spontaneous combustion is the karmic retribution for those that rape you…. What horrible punishment could be given to me after I inflict what I am planning to do to you?

Oh, shivers of anticipation run down my spine whenever I consider it.

Sincerely,
Grendel

Last Night

Couldn’t sleep last night. I swear, I heard footsteps coming from the other rooms the entire night long. I would go to investigate, but the rooms were always empty…. Then I’d hear footsteps again, from a different room. Spent the entire night walking through all 28 (yes, I counted, it was a long night) rooms in this house, keeping the light on in every one. Some of those rooms, I haven’t been inside in over a year. The dust was completely undisturbed, but I could still hear footsteps coming from them….

Exhaustion took me around 7 in the morning, and I collapsed into a pile of books in the kitchen (of course I have books in the kitchen… I might want to read something while waiting for the microwave to finish cooking….) Woke up about an hour ago, lying on my bed.
…. I’m kinda starting to freak out a bit here….

-Lisa

I went to look through the black chest one more time before I put everything in it away for good. Glanced over the diary, reread some of the letters…. There were a few other letters at the very bottom of the chest which I hadn’t touched. Decided I might as well look at them now.

Opened on up…. And could tell something was wrong. The envelope was ancient, showing every sign of being a century old. But inside was a brand new sheet of computer paper. The writing on the paper didn’t look like it had been made with ink…. It was dark red, and looked painted on…. But I don’t think it was paint. The letter said,

I SEE YOU, LISA WELLS
I’M COMING TO GET YOU
YOU CAN’T RUN FROM ME
I’M GOING TO EAT YOU UP

I just…. I mean…. What?

I threw the letter back into the box and ran to my room as soon as I finished reading it. Haven’t left since….

-Lisa

End of the Journal

…. This can’t be real. None of the things I’m reading could have happened. It’s not possible. None of it.
….
The handwriting for this entry is new. Very neat and orderly; each letter has been formed with precision. Which means Samuel isn’t the one transcribing anymore….

Suppose I should go ahead and post it….



This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Everyone… I’m so sorry.

Mid-afternoon, Thomas Baker arrived at the front door of Samuel’s inn. He didn’t bring anyone with him, not even cronies to guard him. It’s not every day that the Mayor of Albuquerque, whose brother just died because of you, shows up like that. It was curious enough that I, the poor crippled girl, got out of bed and went down to see him.

Dorian was already there, and both men were glaring at each other with equal contempt. I asked Thomas why he’d come here. Without breaking his glare from Dorian, he said to us, “The time has come for you to embrace the Archangel.”
“And what if we’d rather not embrace any Archangels?”
“Then everyone here shall embrace Him.”

That was the extent of the conversation, as he left as soon as he said that. Didn’t know what he meant then. Thought it was just some vague, generic threat.

Course, we weren’t complete idiots. We knew that something was up, and that we should prepare for it. Dorian made sure he had plenty of ammo, and I reapplied bandages to my hand…. I can kinda shoot with my off hand. Better than most can. Still not near as good as right handed shooting. But good enough to keep bullets in the air.

The day was quiet. Paranoid, but quiet. Kept jumping at noises, thinking something was about to go on. Looking out the windows, didn’t see it anywhere…. Nor did I see Thomas Baker, or anyone who looked like they may have been working for him.

Dorian was around me most of the day, trying to take care of my injury. Kept telling me that everything would be alright; I think, at the time, he actually believed it. Sweet, but somewhat overbearing. Getting an actual medical practitioner may have been better. And his attention on me was making him focus less attention on being paranoid. And at that moment, being paranoid was the smartest thing we could be doing.

The sun set without anything happening. That we had gone for so long without any payoff to Thomas’s threat did not alleviate our concerns. If anything, it only made them worse. If someone gives you a vague threat, you don’t want to have that threat be played out in the middle of the night.

Didn’t even try to sleep. Dorian was by my bed for most of the night, and Samuel was watching the bar. Still weren’t sure what we to be expecting. “Embrace the Archangel” isn’t very specific, honestly.

Heard the first screams just after midnight. Dorian and I ran out of my room and towards the source; another room in Samuel’s inn. When we got inside, we found a man, his head crushed in and his blood spread across the walls. Didn’t get a chance to investigate, as there was another scream from a different room. Ran there and saw the same scene: the occupant’s head had been bashed in.

The screams were waking up the others in the building, who came out of their rooms and looked around in their sleepy confusion. A few were awake enough to ask what was going on. Just as I opened my mouth to warn them that something was killing people, a figure in black just…. Stepped out of a shadow. He…. Had the same build and clothes as Pastor Gabriel…. But the pastor was dead…. I saw his corpse…. He couldn’t….
He was wearing something like a mask on his head. It looked like bronze, or copper, and covered the entire head, except for the eyes, which were covered by fogged glass. He grabbed the closest man to him by the neck, and started strangling him. Dorian opened fire. The bullets hit the pastor’s body, and I saw the blood from their impacts…. But it didn’t stop him. He just kept tightening his grip on the man’s neck, until it snapped. More people screamed, and everything dissolved into panic. Everyone screaming and running, and in the middle of it, Pastor Gabriel vanished.

Heard more gunshots coming from outside, so we ran out to look. Didn’t quite expect what we saw. There was another body on the ground, throat torn out, and a building burning further into the town. Of course, Dorian and I went running to the burning building. It’s the sort of thing we do.

A small audience had gathered around the fire. Some people were forming a bucket chain from the well, others just watching. As we arrived, a gunshot went through the head of one of the men in the bucket chain. I looked at the source to briefly see the face of Sheriff Baker, then it disappeared. The people around the fire started to panic…. Then two more shots were fired, striking two more people in the head, and everything went to hell. Some tried shooting back, and hit others. With the flames distorting the shadows, and the sound of gunshots surrounding everyone, it was impossible to tell who was shooting at who. Soon there was a full firefight breaking out, one without sides or logic. Just a bunch of scared men firing bullets at each other.

I wanted to try and stop them, but it didn’t look like there was anything I could do…. With no one left trying to stop it, the fire was spreading rapidly, destroying everything around it. Nothing I could do to stop it. Dorian and I started to run back to Samuel’s place. I tried to ignore the screams….

We say a woman, fleeing the fire with her son. A man…. Stepped out of the shadows, and began to brutally strike the woman’s face, over and over and over, until he had crushed her skull. The child was crying, gripped by fear so great he couldn’t run away when the man reached over to him and snapped his neck.

That was it. I drew my gun, and not even pausing to aim, fired it over and over at the man. Dorian was beside me, doing the same, both of us pulling the triggers until no more bullets came out. Round after round struck the man, tearing his skin apart, making him stagger, making him fall…. Then he stood back up. His body…. Changed. And suddenly he wasn’t the man we’d been shooting, but was the woman who had just been killed…. The woman whose body was lying on the ground next to it…. Then it stepped back into the shadows, and was gone.

Didn’t know what was happening. Didn’t have time to stop and figure it out. Started running again, back to Samuel’s. When we got there…. Maybe if we’d run a bit faster, maybe if we hadn’t wasted so much time…. The inn was burning when we reached it. A ring of bodies surrounded the burning building, and standing amongst them was the pastor. Motionless. Calm. Staring at us through those fogged lenses. Dorian ran at him and swung a fist at his face. The punch connected, and Dorian prepared for another, when the pastor’s body changed. Suddenly, Dorian wasn’t swinging at a masked preacher, but at Samuel. He hesitated, and in that hesitation, the thing which looked like Samuel grabbed him by the throat.

Hell no. Not him too. Tried to fire my gun, but it doesn’t work very well without bullets. Then I remembered another weapon which I had been neglecting. Pulled out the Doc’s grappling gun and shot it at that thing’s chest. Definitely not what I’d imagined it would be used for when I requested it be build, but it worked. The spike burrowed into the Samuel-Thing’s chest, and it let go of Dorian, who quickly stepped away.

Then it changed again. This time into…. No, it couldn’t have done that…. It couldn’t have turned into…. No, it isn’t possible…. Dad, you’re not dead yet, you haven’t even been born yet, how could it turn into you, you don’t die for another century, it can’t have….
….

Dorian got me to run away. If he hadn’t been there, I might have just stood and waited for that thing to kill me. Not that there was anyplace we could run to. The entire town was burning, and the streets were littered with bodies. It had become quiet, save for the sound of flames consuming wooden buildings.

We made it to the edge of town without seeing a single living person. Waiting for us there was Pastor Gabriel. Fuck, the flames reflecting off his metal mask…. Fuck. Not something I want to remember.

Nowhere for us to go. Weapons didn’t have any ammo left, and punching didn’t seem very effective. For once, it looked like I had run out of options. I…. Well, I…. Grabbed Dorian, shouted something stupid about in case we didn’t make it out of there, and kissed him.
MOVING ON MOVING ON MOVING ON.

And then, like a beam shining down from heaven itself, lights which were not from the fires suddenly lit up the area around us. Floating in the sky, glaring light down on us, was a large, metallic, oblong object. Haha! Finally finished that zeppelin I wanted, Doc!

And the look on Dorian’s face! I don’t know what scared him more, the madness we’d just gone through of the GIANT FLYING METAL OBJECT which was above us! Aha! That was great!

A ladder was thrown down, and I somehow managed to talk Dorian into climbing up it. And helping me climb up, because I kinda couldn’t use one of my hands. When we reached the top of the ladder and got inside, Doc was waiting for us. Don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see him than that moment.

Looked down, and saw the Pastor still standing in the same place. He hadn’t tried to stop us as we made our escape. Just watched us get away….

We’re in the air right now. Having something which flies actually makes my plans to investigate the desert feasible once more. Doc’s agreed to transcribe for me, though it took a while to convince him to write down everything I said accurately. Didn’t it, eh Doc?

As for Los Valle…. It’s… It’s gone. The whole city burned down. I don’t think there were any survivors.

…..

These things…. They’re going to pay for this. I promise that.



Yeah…. Interesting story, but…. I looked some things up. Zeppelins? Not invented for around a decade after this. Los Valle? No record of any such town. Mayor Thomas Baker? No record of him either. No record of anyone from the Baker or Gardner family living in Albuquerque. Nothing she talks about in her journal has any record of actually happening.

And that’s not even starting on the blatantly unrealistic things. At first I tried to ignore them… But this entry goes too far for me to ignore it.

This is the last entry. All the pages after it have been burned away. End of the notebook.

Feels really, really weird.

I’ve been obsessing over this for how long? Almost two months? And it’s over now? That’s it? No more?

I suppose there’s a few more things in the box which I haven’t looked at…. But I’m not sure I want to, now that I know how impossible this story is. I thought it was so cool, having someone like Elizabeth for an ancestor…. But it’s all a story. Much as I love stories…. For once I was hoping to find something real from this. But I guess the real world doesn’t have people like her in it.

Back to my fortress under the bed sheets, I guess. Don’t know when I’ll come out again.

-Lisa

I’m just going to ignore that last post. I’m not going to read it, not going to look at it, not going to acknowledge that it’s even there.

Like an addict, I keep going back to the black chest’s contents. Even when it seems clear that its contents can’t be factual, I keep reading them.

Picked out a letter at random from the chest. The message was from Doctor Jeter, addressed to Elizabeth. He’s explaining that he’s been forced to move production on the designs she gave him to a more industrialized location, but that it should be finished within her deadline.

There’s a problem with this letter: her designs. In her diary, Elizabeth said that all the inventions and plans were the doctor’s ideas. Yet here, he’s claiming the opposite….

The journal continues its trend of oddities. For a long times, Elizabeth’s preparing for this expedition into the desert. It seems like an awfully long time for a simple trip. Ever so often, she’ll mention “it” being around, but doesn’t go into any more detail. Whatever “it” is, doesn’t seem to have done anything important since she last talked about it.

The handwriting on this entry is different than normal. Bit messier, with a few spelling errors (most of which I’ve gone ahead and corrected, to make it easier to read). It’s still Elizabeth’s words, but someone else is writing them.



10:00 PM-Fuck this time keeping shit
I hate having to skulk around Albuquerque at night like some criminal. Yes, I technically am a criminal, but still.

Dorian and I had just finished speaking with some men about hiring a guide for our expedition. All done very discrete and hush hush like. Small room, barely lit by a candle, didn’t even get the names of the people I was speaking to. Dorian assured me we could trust them, but I have my doubts.

When we stepped out into the night and saw a tall, pale figure in black waiting for us, I thought it was back. But no, nevermind, this figure had a face. Just a preacher standing outside the door. Dorian respectfully tipped his hat and greeted the priest while I walked by, ignoring whatever response he had. Was about to tell Dorian to stop chatting and get moving before whatever law enforcement was wandering around caught us, when the priest said to me, “I see that you have come under the gaze of the Pale Prince.”

…..
Alright preacher man, you got my attention, now what are you going to do with it.

Introduced himself as Pastor Gabriel. Tall and skinny guy, not quite bald, but getting close. Easy to see how I mistook him for it when I first saw him. Told us that he could help with our problem, but insisted that we walk with him to his church first. We could talk on the way, he said.

For someone who promised talking on the way, he sure was quiet. I asked him dozens of questions. How did he know about it? What did he want with us? Why did we need to go to the church? All of my questions received short, vague answers. This was getting damn suspicious. I told Dorian to be on guard, but he seemed affronted at the idea that a man of God could be working against us. Damn it, Dorian…. Walked the rest of the way to the church sullenly quiet, while Dorian and the pastor engaged in small talk.

The church was a white painted wooden building, and one of the largest buildings in the city (although that wasn’t much of an accomplishment). Pastor Gabriel went in first and lit several candles to illuminate the place. All that managed to do was throw around a lot of shadows. The pastor gestured for Dorian and I to take a seat on the pews, which we did. He spoke, in calming, gentle tones. While he had never experienced any encounters with it, his time working as a servant of God had led to him hearing rumors about the being he called “The Pale Prince”. Tales had been few, a scattered handful of hastily scribbled notes here, the mad ravings of a man who long ago lost his mind there…. It was difficult, but he managed to piece together enough of the puzzle for his understanding. And enough, he claimed, to know a way to free the two of us from its hunt.

“What way?” I asked the pastor.
He smiled, looking at both of us with fatherly eyes, then he opened his arms and said, “You must embrace the Archangel.”

The door was thrown open, causing a gust of wind to blow out most of the candles. Sheriff Frederick Baker stood in the open portal, gun drawn. I saw him pointing the gun towards Dorian, the pastor giving a slight nod, the sheriff’s finger tightening on the trigger…. I lunged, pushing Dorian aside just as the gun was fired. Pain…. Worse pain I’ve ever felt…. My vision went red…. And I was on the floor of the church, blood dripping from my hand onto the wooden planks, pieces of my shattered bones sticking out of the hole which had been torn through my palm…. Dorian was shouting, there was more gunfire, but I couldn’t see any of it, all that existed was my blood soaked hand and the vomit rising in my throat….

I can barely remember Dorian picking me up and carrying me out of the church. The bodies of the sheriff and the pastor were left behind us…. I’ve never seen anyone look so happy when they died. They must have been in horrible pain, having been shot as many times as they were…. But both bodies were smiling. Not the insane smile of a psychopath, but content, peaceful smiles.

Passed out while Dorian was getting me onto a horse so we could escape. Came to back in Los Valle, lying in my bed. Dorian and Samuel were waiting for me when my eyes opened. My hand had been bandaged, but it’s useless. I cannot stress how much I miss pain medication. Even a doctor can’t do much to help it (if there are any doctors out there who would still help me after my involvement in two prominent deaths). Samuel’s agreed to write this for me as I dictate.

This…. Is not the best thing which could happen to me. It’s unlikely that I’ll ever be able to use this hand again. And with my current medical options, I’m running the risk of infection, fever, then dying a horrible death.
Well, a slightly less horrible death than what I was probably going to experience before this, but a horrible death nonetheless.
So. I’m crippled, in bed, hunted by a monster, just went from “Robin Hood Criminal” to “Evil Murderer Criminal”, and now I’ve got to figure out what the pastor meant by “Embrace the Archangel” (know I’ve heard it before, brain gets fuzzy whenever I try to think of where). I’m guessing my plans for an expedition may need to be put on hold while I think of some new plans.

Unless I get killed in the next few days, in which case, I won’t be needing those new plans at all.



So….. I have no idea what’s going on here. At least for once, Elizabeth also seems to be out of the loop.
I’m almost at the end of what’s left of the journal…. The way things are going, I’m getting nervous about what’ll come next……..
…..
No choice but to read on and find out….

-Lisa

September 7, 2011-Montreal, Canada

392

And now I’m in Canada.

Funny how that works out.

I’ll put up a post explaining why I suddenly left Germany and wound up here next time (whenever that is going to be); still sorting out the memories from it.Lots of explosions, gunfire, screaming, pain, I blacked out, and now I’m in a hospital. At least I had the good fortune to wind up in a place where, when a young woman is found unconscious and bleeding in a public park, ambulances are called and she is treated.

That was all a few weeks ago. I’ve been sitting in a hospital bed being useless since then. Having your arm torn up/being shot tends to make strenuous activity inadvisable for a period of time. I got questioned by a lot of people asking me why there was shrapnel in my arm, including the police (they tend to get curious about random people lying around the city with bullet wounds). I avoided most of the questions, kept claiming I couldn’t remember. Just wish I could be there when the cop’s ballistics people try to get a match on the gun that shot me. Imagining their faces causes me to burst into unstoppable laughter.

One of the nurses is pretty cute. I’ll confess: a few of the times I called her in have been just so I could flirt with her. She seemed flattered, but told me that she didn’t swing that way. Also, she had a boyfriend.

“Great,he can join in!”

Yes, I am a master at putting people into awkward moments.

……..

I’m avoiding the main subject, aren’t I.

…………

There’s a reason I try to never stay in one place for longer than a week unless necessary. Being hospitalized, I wasn’t able to follow that rule. Hilarity did not ensue.

Sitting awake in my hospital bed at night, only a skeleton crew staffing the building. Wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on around me; just lost in thought (I seem to be spending too much time lost there, lately). Then the lights started flickering, and survival instincts kick in. Looked out the door, didn’t see anyone. No doctors, nurses, janitors, no one at the phone, nobody in sight. Lights kept flickering, on and off. Obviously suspicious, so I decided to investigate.

There I was, in my hospital gown, left arm a useless mess of stitches, bandages allover my body, still limping a bit, walking down the halls of an abandoned hospital determined to confront whatever monster was causing this. Confidence,stupidity, both? You decide.

Lights off, back on…. And there it was. Hey there, Slender Man. It’s been, what, two weeks since our last meeting? Or was it seventy years? Math never was my specialty, you know.

Couldn’t really run away from it, not injured like I was. So, I tried to stare it down.Bit hard to do when you’re dealing with something that has no eyes, but I gave it my best damn shot. Course that didn’t work. It took steps towards me,sometimes flowing with impossible grace, other times with jerking and stiff movements. Six feet away from me, black tentacles exploded out from his back.Too many of them to count…. I could barely tell each individual one apart; as more kept pouring out, it looked like a wall of writhing blackness charging towards me. Braced myself for some kind of horrible pain when it hit…. If onlyI would have been so lucky as to have experienced physical pain from that….

The hospital turned black, with only the white parts of Slender Man’s suit and its pale head as contrast against the darkness. Then the eyes started to appear.Grotesque, ichor dripping eyelids burst from the walls like blisters, opening to show dozens of eyes, all staring at me…. Black tentacles rose from the floor and wrapped around my arms and legs, scorching every inch of skin they touched.They pulled me onto my hands and knees, pulling me down to the floor…. I fought, my arms struggling to prevent me from being pulled all the way down. Sweat dripping down my hair, muscles screaming, the tentacles burning my skin, slowly being dragged down…. Each moment, pushing to keep from being pulled into the blackness at my feet; each moment, inevitably being pulled further down. I looked up at its blank head, and growled. Not like this. No way in hell was it going to beat me at something like this. With a scream of rage, I started to push as hard as I could, ignoring the pain and the smell of burning flesh. It was enough to stop the constant pull, and slowly begin to bring myself back up,fighting for every centimeter I raised myself back from the ground….

Then the stitches in my arm tore open, and in that moment of shock and pain the tentacles pulled me to the ground, into blackness. That’s all I saw for a while:blackness all around me.

My eyes open up, and I’m lying on a stone slab in a dark room. Men wearing robes and ornamental metal masks surround me. I feel tired, can’t move at all. One of them speaks, voice muffled by the mask.

“She’s waking up.”

Another responds. “Already? It’s too soon. Sedate her again.”

And then my eyes are closing again, and I’m adrift in the darkness.

Open my eyes again, and I’m lying in a crater. There’s smoke in the sky, coming from infernos burning in the distance. I’m surrounded by bodies, torn to pieces in bloody and grotesque ways, thrown all over the battlefield. A man in a uniform comes over, and crouches down to inspect me.

“This one’s alive!” He shouts.

More run over, carrying a stretcher. As they lift me up, my eyes close again….Blackness….

Once more I open my eyes. I’m in a cave, face down in a puddle of red. Someone grabs me and flips me onto my back. I see…. Grendel…. Above me, shaking my shoulders,desperately shouting at me to wake up. I still can’t move, can’t do anything. He looks back, and starts to scream, then is pulled into the darkness. My eyes close….

And I woke up back in my hospital bed, screaming. According to the doctors, they found me thrashing and yelling, covered in my blood and with second degree burns on my arms and legs. They were able to put my stitches back in, and treated my burns as best they could. I’ve been told I’ll need to spend more time recovering. Gonna have to ignore that recommendation. I’m getting out of here soon, and don’t plan on taking any breaks like anytime in the foreseeable future. Got that lesson hammered into my brain…. Soon as I finish this post, I’m leaving. Not sure where yet, but anyplace that isn’t here sounds like a good start.

I-330

Well.... She's Crazy

I think I might try out a little talking about myself before I go more into Elizabeth’s journal. It’s…. Tangentially related to her, at least.

Just because I’ve been only posting the entries doesn’t mean my own problems have vanished…. Still unemployed…. Still wasting my time at home….

I realized I couldn’t keep that up forever. A diet of peanut butter and ramen can only get one so far. I’d need to leave this shell and go out into the world eventually….

It was this journal that let me do it. Ever since I’d started to really pour over this, I’ve felt like there’s a little voice in the back of my head. Always telling me, “Elizabeth wouldn’t be so scared. She wouldn’t be so paralyzed by shyness that she couldn’t even go outside. You think you have problems? This is nothing compared to what Elizabeth was going through.”

After a while, it started to get to me…. Which led to me finally leaving the house, walking down the street to that McDonalds, and filling out an application. I even squeaked out a little small talk with the people working there before running back home. That was the first regular conversation I’ve had with another person since July…. It’s nothing like robbing a bank or throwing people out a window in a bar fight, but it’s still a step closer than where I was before. Now I just need to wait for a call for an interview, and hopefully soon I’ll actually be capable of financially supporting myself. I’d say wish me luck, but right now the only active reader here appears to be a self proclaimed mass murderer….

Of course, all of this was done before I got home, read the next few days in the journal, and realized that the woman I was trying to be like may have been insane…. I won’t say anything here, just going to post what I read and let you see.

11:00 AM-12:00 PM

I’ve begun to receive replies from Miskatonic. I hope that with time, I can turn this into a regular correspondence. They’re probably my best avenue for information hunting.

Spent most of the morning trying to think of how to tell Dorian what was following us without sounding like an idiot. Didn’t find much success in that endeavor, really. Eventually I gave up and just decided to wing it, like I usually do.

When I managed to get ahold of Dorian, I nearly had a panic attack as my mind went blank. Couldn’t think of what to say. I’m starting to believe that maybe I should just stick to fighting things, and leave the socializing to someone else….

Eventually I did succeed in telling him. And he didn’t believe me. Thought I was joking. Joking? I was trying to save your life, and you think I’m joking?

That got me mad. I was going to make him believe me, dammit. I grabbed his arm, and pulled him outside. It had been out there, watching us from the dirt street the whole time. Strange how no one noticed it. People, horses, carriages, all made detours to go around the thing, but not one man or beast turned an eye towards it.

As we got closer to it, Dorian began to struggle, and attempted to break free of my grip. Some unconscious survival instinct, which understood better than he what he was looking at. I kept pulling him along, creating a bit of a scene on that street.

His struggles stopped once we were close enough to really see the thing. It stood perfectly still, arms locked to its side, that eyeless head gazing directly at us…. Dorian whispered something about it not having a face to himself, too shocked to do anything else but stare.

As I was really planning on not dying there, we ran back inside. It didn’t follow us. Dorian now believes me, which I guess means I won the argument. Hooray.

Okay, so something without a face. She’s still being vague on the details, but I didn’t see that coming. Kept reading the rest of the day’s notes to find an explanation, but there wasn’t any. Typical.

While strange, I can’t call Elizabeth crazy based off this entry alone. It’s too vague, and I really don’t understand what’s going on. So I continued to read, until I got to the night entries.

2:00-3:00 AM

Finally time for me to get to work. Living a semi-normal life had been fun for a while. No more time for that, now it was back to the realm of monsters.

Los Valle has a small cemetery connected to its church. Nothing that interesting, unless you know what to look for. Signs of digging apart from the holes made for the graves, stories about bodies disappearing, children with feral faces and alien natures…. Ghouls. I’d seen the signs of them, but they hadn’t attacked anyone while I was in town, so I’d elected to leave them alone. But now things were starting to get all eldritch around here, which called for a change in plans.

Brought Dorian to the cemetery with me. He was nervous, and still not over what he’s seen during the day. But now that he was involved in this, I couldn’t leave him behind. Told him to bring his gun, but under absolutely no circumstances to fire it unless I said so. Couldn’t have him starting a fight because he was being jumpy.

We went out an hour after midnight; me leading with a lantern, and Dorian behind me, carrying a bag holding a dead coyote we’d hunted early in the day. Once we reached the center of the cemetery, Dorian placed the bag on the ground, between the tombstones, and we stepped back. I shouted something to let them know we were there. Stupid. Of course they knew we were there. All we could do then was stand there, and hope that the ghouls didn’t decide that fresh human would taste better than the snack we brought for them.

Suddenly three figures sprang from the darkness onto the bag. Creatures with rubbery skin, slouched poses, and canine muzzles. They tore apart the bag, and started to feast on the dead animal inside, slurping up blood and cracking bones apart. Dorian shouted something and drew his gun, but I stopped him before he could fire.

Less than a minute later, the coyote had been devoured, leaving the ground covered in broken bones and dark blood. Their meal finished, the ghouls turned towards us, red eyes hungrily staring us down, blood dripping from their mouths. It was fairly obvious that they were measuring up Dorian and me for a potential second course. That both of us were armed with guns may have been the only thing keeping them back.

One of them spoke, in their meeping, gibbering language. Didn’t understand a word of it. Wish I had a translator with me, like the last time. Communicating was going to be very difficult without one….

Carefully keeping my eyes on the ghouls in case they tried anything, I started to draw in the dirt. A stick man, with disproportionately long limbs. Then I carefully drew an x over the face. The ghouls recoiled from it in fear. They knew what it was I had drawn.

There were dozens of questions I wanted to ask them. Stupid language barrier. Had to focus on the most important one; which was going to be damn hard using dirt drawings.

Did my best at drawing a crack, tear, fissure, whatever you want to call it. Came out just looking like a jagged line. Needed something better. Something to illustrate the jagged white tear floating in the air that I’d seen before I wound up here…. Sudden inspiration hit me: I poured some of the lantern’s oil down the line, then lit it. Fire was the closest I could come to emulating that white light.

The ghouls stared at my little fire show for a while. Then one pointed northwards, across the desert and towards the mountains. It also said a few words in its language, but I don’t have a clue what any of it meant, so I’m just going to hope it was relevant to my question. Then again, it’d be hard to imagine how it wouldn’t; it’s not like they’d mistake my drawing for the other reality defying burning tear in the air related to the tall guy. Because there’s just so many of those lying around.

Questioning done, time to leave. The ghouls still looked unnerved by my drawings, but I wasn’t sure if it was enough to keep them from attacking us. We left as fast as we could, and ran until we got inside.

So I’ve got a lead. Small lead, but a lead. Next step, start preparing an expedition north to the mountains.

So…. We’ve got her talking about meeting monsters called ghouls in a cemetery late at night, tall faceless things, and glowing white tears in something. Either she’s making all of it up, or she really thinks it’s happening and is insane. I don’t know which of those I dislike more.

Or….

She’s telling the truth, and I’m not going to sleep tonight as I think about the implications of that….

…..

I’m starting to think I may read too many horror novels for my own good….

-Lisa

And Still More Weirdness

So I read the blog that belongs to the guy who commented on my last post…. OnePoundOfFlesh….
Only got through the first three posts before I stopped. I hope it’s fictional. I really do. Because if it’s real…. That’s sick. Why does a blog about a serial killer even have so many followers….

Here’s the entries following the ones I posted yesterday. I still don’t really understand what’s going on. It’s almost unnerving, reading about this but not knowing what’s really happening. My imagination keeps trying to fill in the gaps. But my imagination never has been a place of happy things….



7:00 AM-8:00 AM
Woke up later than usual. Times like this, I wish I had some way to record what I was doing in my sleep. It would add a lot to my peace of mind.

Was still in the stable. Not the most comfortable places to sleep, but hey, I was tired. Barely even noticed the straw I was laying on stabbing me through the night, least not until I was woken and suddenly could feel every tiny blade poking into my skin.

I say “woken” because stables are not places designed for individuals to sleep in, and not long after the sun had risen someone was waking me up and asking why on earth I was asleep there. Didn’t give them an answer; just got up and walked out.

No sign of it as I walked away. And believe me, I was looking carefully. I was focused so much on searching for any hint of a tall and thin silhouette in the shadows that I jumped when Dorian called my name. I think it was obvious how nervous I was, but he didn’t press me too hard for details. The two of us walked down the road, chatting. Small talk. Nothing of much importance.

Until Dorian mentioned we were being followed. I looked over my shoulder and saw it, standing from a distance, watching us. Whenever I blinked, it would be closer. Felt like I’d been thrown into a bucket of ice; barely heard Dorian’s theory that it was someone hired by the Baker’s to get revenge on us for the bank robbery. He could see it. Dorian could see that thing. Everyone else on the street walked by, ignoring the towering, spindly, faceless figure amongst them, but Dorian…. He saw it, even if he didn’t understand what it was.

Dorian was still talking about our follower as we reached the center of town. Going through his list of suspects that the Bakers would hire to pursue us. Cept he couldn’t figure out what kind of person would walk around dressed as an undertaker….

Dressed as an undertaker? Yeah, dressed as an undertaker, Dorian confirmed. Hadn’t I looked at the man’s clothes? Well, yeah, I did, but….

Guess that confirms that the people here see him differently. Undertaker, though? Seems a bit cliché.

Don’t know what I should tell him. I feel obligated to warn him, but there’s nagging doubt that he won’t believe what I say. It’s not exactly the most realistic sounding scenario. And he’d find out on his own eventually….

I’m being selfish…. Because I don’t want him to look at me like I’m crazy. He’ll need help. I couldn’t have gotten through my first encounters if I didn’t have someone by my side. Could I put him through that? Make him deal with this on his own? Just because of what he’ll think of me?

Can’t do that. Could never do something like that. Even if he doesn’t believe me, I have to try. Give him any warning I can for what lies ahead.



Maybe if I’m lucky, when Elizabeth explains what’s going on to Dorian, she’ll be nice enough to give me an explanation as well.

Ah, who am I kidding. She’ll probably spend the rest of this journal cryptically referring to whatever’s following her as “it” and I’ll never figure any of this out….

-Lisa