A fucking hitchhiker. I don't believe it.
Okay, where the fuck am I?
This map has to be fucking useless. There isn't a stretch of road that even FUCKING REMOTELY resembles this anywhere. There isn't. It's just straight fucking road going on to infinity that isn't on the fucking map.

Wait...
No. No. FUCK THAT. Fuck that shit.
god damn it this is not fucking happening it is not

Road to Nowhere

Still inside the fucking cloud. Five fucking hours. I don't believe it.
At this point, I'm betting the highway is some sort of mobius strip. Wouldn't be too fucking surprised at this point. I swear to god, it all looks the fucking same.
The bit of fence I'm next to? Well it looks like any split rail fence but I'd swear I've been by it a least twice already. Hard to tell in the fog.
Sure as hell not getting out of the car.
Wait.
Is that a fucking hitchhiker?

Right. So.Calm now? Yeah. Calm now. Good.
Woke up yesterday, pulled the car over to the side of the highway to sleep the night before.
I woke up this morning and someone had delivered mail.
MAIL. To a fucking car, in the middle of nowhere. Just dropped it on the hood. Asshole even put a fucking flag on it. Like one of those little swing-y arm things from the mailboxes? Duct taped to the side of the thing.

Same package as last time. The exact, same fucking package. The one that I left in Ottawa. No. Nope. Calm. Incredibly fucking calm. Okay. Good.
Yellow envelope. Like what they sometimes send airmail, with the bubble-wrap on the inside.
No, I'm not opening it. It's in a ditch somewhere south of London.

Miranda is missing.

She was here yesterday.
I think.
Camera is missing.

Conclusion? Miranda probably has the camera.

There's not a note. No signs of a struggle, but I don't suppose that means anything. Her stuff isn't here.

And then there's the pictures.
Miranda left it up on the laptop.
I recognize... the first one is from out at the edge of  the woodlot.
The second? No.
Conclusion? Miranda is running.
Makes sense.

Fuck. Right. Okay. Caffeine. One stop. Then more running.
Running is better than sitting still at least.

Count the coincidences

This can't be happening. It just can't.
Count the fingers on one hand, see if you're dreaming.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Thumb.
Four fingers and a thumb. The thumb's not a finger because it's opposable.
One of these things is not like the others.
One of these things just doesn't belong.
Did I see that? Is the lack of sleep finally getting to me?

Mail Call

I had a friend once, back in high school. He was... what you might call "enthusiastic" about ideas. Had all sorts of them. Green energy, shadow governments, time travel. They were always interesting, so I'd listen to them.

Anyways, one of his explanations (may it live forever in infamy) about conspiracy theories had to do with the scale of events, and the effect that people observing them had. 9/11, the assassination of J.F.K, the Moon Landing conspiracy nuts.

The idea he had was that having so much attention, the attention of hundreds of thousands of thinking minds focused on a single moment affected reality somehow. Warped it and stretched it for the briefest of moments, and opened up a window where anything could happen. Quite literally a "perfect" moment in time. He called it "causally free". After it opens, it snaps shut again, and things sort of, reorient themselves around that. Like a linchpin, the rest of the event constructs itself around that perfect moment. And that created ripples so things like birthdays and middle names and places and even license plates started to line up in weird, funny, creepy co-incidental sorts of ways, both before and after the actual moment. Little echoes

So what did it mean when this started happening?

"You run for cover." His words exactly. Run for cover. "Because it's not really an echo. Not exactly."
"It's an air raid siren. And something is about to go off."

Well, I'm starting to get the feeling he might have been right.

You see, I found a package waiting for me on my doorstep when I came home this evening. Which, I know isn't exactly strange, things like that happen all the time. No, the strange part is who sent it. Which is to say, "me." My name was listed as the sender.
The return address was that house that burnt down.
Is someone playing a trick on me? Because I am not in the fucking mood.

Dear Asshat

Whoever sent this?

Mr. Smith,

Have you taken a good look at those photographs? The ones that you continue to post. You must, since you seem to be using some form of discretion when selecting them. God knows what that is.
But I digress. You appear to have an uninvited guest.
Tell me if the description sounds familiar: tall fellow, thin, generally lanky build. Snappy dresser, lacking a face entirely?
It is time to face facts Mr. Smith. Time to start running.
Do not delay.

I'm telling you once:
FUCK. OFF.

Of course I examine those pictures. That's why they're good. There's nothing funky in them. I mean, fuck, I avoid putting people in them all together when I can, so I don't know what you think you're seeing.
Is it the Loch Ness monster perhaps? Black Shuck? The Cu Sith? Granted, we're a little far afield for any of those so let's look a little more locally... a wendigo maybe, out to eat me? Or maybe it's dear Philip! Bigfoot? Nope, we're not on the west coast. It's really a shame, I'm not up to date on my folklore for this side of the pond. There's so terribly little of it.

Of course I'm being sarcastic you dumbfuck. Don't expect another response, I'm deleting those on sight now.

Sincerely,

Robin Smith

Creepers

Returning to last night's post.
The photos turned out alright, as seen on the tumblr. The obvious problem is that -10 in the dark and -10 in the sunlight are two very different things. As is -10 while walking and -10 while trying to hold very fucking still so that you can work with a slow exposure and still get a clear photo.

Saw some guy while I was on my way back last night. Looked like he was waving. Or she, I suppose. About a block up the road.

Brief explanation, my subdivision happens to be built on a god awful fucking grid that only includes streetlights along the roads that run out to the larger road, which from my perspective is those going "vertically" on a map. Which means there's four street lights on the entire road, one per intersection. No sidewalks either. Bit of a pain, but you get used to it, and it's a low traffic neighbourhood.

So I'm standing in one little pool of light cast by a street lamp, whoever the fuck this is, they're standing in the pool cast by the streetlight at the other end of the street. About a minute away. I don't have my telephoto, sadly. It's a wonderful lens but it's absolute fucking rubbish when it comes to shooting in low-light conditions. So no zoom to speak of on the camera, my fingers are numb. And frankly, I'm already a little creeped out by the dumbass who was following me back from the parking lot I'd been shooting in.

Not a fan of being watched, you understand. You know that feeling you can get, when you're in the house alone. And you fucking well know there's no one else in the house, but you still feel like there's someone behind a door, or around a corner keeping their fucking creepy-ass eye on you? Or following you around?

Me either.

In any case...

I start to walk over there. Intending to see what this idiot is about and maybe threaten him a little. I'm in the mood for it. And I've already got big stompy boots on. Gotta love those steel toes. Anyways, I get there, and I realize. He's vanished. Into fucking thin air. And it felt like it took a little less time than I expected to get there. Maybe I was doing an angry fast-walk? Weird night. Too cold to stick around to see if he's wandered off somewhere. I head back. Hot chocolate is good for the soul. Or at least for cold bones.

He didn't show up in the shot I'd snapped looking up the street a few seconds before. Maybe it was a quality issue?

Hanlon's Razor

"Never mistake for malice, that which can be adequately explained by stupidity."

News then. Miranda finally decided to answer her phone. Montreal. She was in montreal. That took all of two seconds to mention. Seriously. You break into my account, post a cryptic comment and... are the blogs getting to you or something Mir?

It's snowing again. Plenty of it. If you read the tumblr (don't know why not) you'll have seen the photo this morning.

Miranda

Where in the everloving fuck are you? You broke into my account? To post a fucking comment? You can fucking well do that without guessing at my password. SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK? Answer your goddamned phone. I'm not even kidding at this point. You weren't at class yesterday? Yes I checked.

Just answer the phone.

AWOL

My own bed again. And if you'd believe it, I still haven't bothered unpacking. Haven't really had the time.

Went by Miranda's house yesterday.
Actually, let me preface this by saying that she hasn't answered her phone in two days. She always answers the phone. Even if it's just to say "busy now, talk later." 
So I walk to her house. We've got plenty of snow here, nice and crunchy where it hasn't turned to slush. Knock on the front door. No answer. Maybe she's gone somewhere? Don't recall her having any plans though. And there's a shit-ton of mail piled up. I took a look, she's got one of those flap/slot things on her door for mail.

At least a week's worth.

Of course, the neighbours seemed a little wary of some short white dude in a jacket looking through someone's front door. Threatened to call the cops on me, so I scrammed.

Went back that night, there's no lights on in the whole house. Where the everloving fuck are you hiding Miranda?

Hey, Mir? If you read this, pick up your fucking phone. So I can punch you through it. I will find a way to do it. Disappearing is not fucking cool.

Happy Fucking New Year

Yes, you read that right.
Hello 2012, we're off to a great start aren't we?
Fuck you too, new year. I did not ask for sleep problems.

Maybe these'll clear the hell out when I get back to Ottawa.

So what have I been up to? Photos, among other things. Went out and got some good ones, one is even a decent photo of myself, if anyone's interested. However, while I was out, of course it hadn't snowed here when I left Ottawa so I only brought my running shoes. So outside, in the cold, running shoes and a camera, I happen across some ice. One foot slips, the other goes too, and I manage to bang my shins pretty nicely on the ice. Little bit of bruising, but I'll be a little more careful.

But yes. sleeping problems. Sleeping too much, not sleeping enough. My whole sleep cycle is a little fucked right now. Expect posts (like this one) at odd hours of the morning. Of course, all the problems that go along with not getting proper sleep have tagged along for the ride. Irritability, problems remembering things, I've spaced out a few times, general lethargic behaviour, poor appetite. The whole nine yards.

I leave on the sixth. And I will be happy to do so.

What the fuck?

We were downtown for class today, and Miranda flipped out. At a homeless guy in a wheelchair.
I think that sums up what happened fairly accurately. Exam stress must be getting to her or something.

We're on our way back from the field trip downtown, visiting an office, about to catch the bus, and all of a sudden, from behind me I hear Miranda start swearing. At least I assume it was swearing, judging by the tone. I'm assuming because I think there were at least four different languages in there. She starts going at the guy in french. I know a *little* but she was talking way too fast for me to pick up more than every sixth word.

You have to understand, this is fucking out of character for her. Incredibly out of fucking character. I have never seen Miranda flip the fuck out on someone like that. Not on her worst days. So I have no idea what this idiot did to get her going like that. I knew she spoke french, but I think there was some italian and german thrown in there for good measure. At least when she was cursing.

In any case, the entire street now staring at them (myself notwithstanding) Miranda finally manages to get a hold of herself, leaves the wheelchair guy alone. And when she gets close enough, she shoots me this look. You know the sort right? The ones that contain volumes of information without actually needing anything more than a glance? This one said "Don't even fucking think about asking." Did I mention she was... I think grinning is the right word. What the fuck have I gotten into here?

I'm going to go back to this thing I was working on then. The break cannot get here fucking fast enough.