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.

its reel real I mean it's really all actually FUCK fuck fuck fuck fuck


it took an hour to calm the fuck down relatively fucking speaking

there doesn't seem to be much point in beating around the bush so let'ss out with it
the fckuing fucking Slender man
feel like someones replaced my bones with bits of lead pipe
rusty spiky frozen fucking jgagged bits of lead pipe
sososoooso much fucking running running like you would not believe
i was out  taking photos
no you wont see these ones
iive deleted them

fFuck okay where was i it shard to type im still fucking shaking its been five hooours and im still fukcing shaking WHHat tthe fuck the woods righ was out at that woodlot snaaappign some pphotos and i was looking at one of the treees look im trying not to wax peotic here but... worrds dontt exactly work rhigt i cant do 'just the fucking facts'''

needd ot warm up



How did that take an hour? How the fuck.
An hour to calm my fucking hands down.
Going to regret punching the wall. pathetic
Keep fuckng writing dumbass. The tree?



It's an odd looking tree. I've tried getting photos of it before, but they don't turn out well. Its fucking annoying because I can see what the photo should look like but it never comes out quite right and i'm getting stide tracked. No sense in not trying again though, right? So the camera comes up, viewfinder to the eye. And, in the space between where I see the tree directly, and where I start looking through the lens somewhere in that moment


It doesn't make any fucking sense.






I can't explain it. I don't suppose there's a point in even fucuking trying to explain it. In that blink of an eye, where before there's nothing but empty space between me and the tree? He's right fucking there. Out of fucking nowhere. It's not like someone just stepped out from behind a fucking tree, there's not enough fucking cover. Not with the fucking leaves off and... fuck.


Doing better with this calming down thing now. Only took thirty minutes. Where the fuck were we?




Right. There he is. And it's just... cold. There's nothing to read off of. No body language, no facial expression. Like a fucking dressmaker's mannequin. Like trying to get an expression out of a fucking tree. The temperature drops, just for an instant. The kind of cold that takes the breath right out of you when you try to get your breath.


I wonder, if this is how an animal feels when it finds itself in front of something more dangerous? Every bit of me starts screaming to get the fuck out of there but my legs dont move. icant fucking move. I blink. He it moves. Moves isn't the right word. Moving implies... something. Action. This was like... moving, without action. He's simply there. Closer now. Shaking, it feels like my legs are about to give out. And the cold... like having ice in your veins. Flowing, ice.



Click. The shutter on the camera. Did I psuh it?


Doesnt matter. The cold is gone. Broken. I can run. Right into the street. Don't know how I didn't get hit by a car. I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Like... a big spring that someone had wound all the way up. Not until I was warm. Still not warm. Suppose I should keep running.

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?

Weekend Plans

We've had freezing rain again, so I'm off to the woods for more photos.
Also on my list of things to do?

• Scream Liveblog
• Sleep
• Delicious food
• Complain to the post office?

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.

On the air

So a quick update then.
Sleep continues to be elusive. I can't count the nights I've fallen asleep after the timer on the TV kicks in at two in the morning and then lay awake at least another hour. You know, television stations used to go off the air at night. But now they run constantly. 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Radio stations are the same ways. It's always on. There's always something on. But there's never anything to watch of course.

Spring break is a few weeks away now. God knows I could do with it. Lack of sleep certainly hasn't done any favours for my usually sunny and outgoing disposition.

That was sarcasm.

Fuck it. I'm going to go make some tea, see if I can't knock myself out a little earlier than three in the ante meridian.

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