Thursday, December 8, 2011

Marking Time, Waiting for Death

Good day, dears. I apologize for my rather lengthy gap in posting, but events have conspired to keep me away from my computer for quite some time. I have continued to expand my safe haven and take in more guests from all over the globe. I believe our current occupancy is 25, with room for another 50. Thankfully, those assembled here have shown a dedicated respect for the rules of the house, and we have had no incidents, nor have we had any sightings of the Slender Man within the bounds of the property. I am beginning to believe that the very nature of this place prevents his presence. There are so many of us here…and he prefers to hunt single targets.

Derek is also recovering nicely. He will never speak again, unfortunately, but he is able to walk and his physical and manual dexterity appear to be returning quite nicely, and quicker than I had expected. He has been a great help in establishing the haven as a truly safe place thanks to his personality. He seems to have a genuine gift for dealing with our more violent guests. Not surprising, given who his former wife was. However, that is not what I wanted to talk about.

The purpose of this post, dears, is to inform you that I feel the time has come for me to accept responsibility for the monster I have created. The existence of the woman now calling herself “Fractal Darling” is my fault. I began her when I murdered Christine. As such, removing her from this world is my responsibility. I will not accept any aid offered in this effort, though your good wishes would be appreciated. Should I succeed, I will notify you. Should the monster prevail…

KK. I know that you follow my writings. I will meet you in the place where the seeds of your life were laid. You and I both know where that is. I will meet you there in precisely one week.


Goodbye, my dears, and stay safe. In this world, all you can rely on is each other.

May God have mercy on our souls.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

A Journey

Good afternoon, dears. My apologies for not writing recently. I’ve been quite busy. The first level of the basement is nearly complete, thanks to some rather enthusiastic work by myself and a few new guests. More on them later. You see, after my last little update I returned at long last to my former apartment in New York. Or attempted to, rather. You see, I found that traffic in the city was even worse than usual, due to a mass of protestors on the Brooklyn Bridge and in the financial district. I tried to walk it…and that, dear readers, is when my day took a turn for the worse. I was arrested. I must say, the officer doing it wasn’t particularly nice either. He was rough, used uncouth language, and took my sunglasses (which effectively blinded me in the sunlight). I was shoved into the back of a transport vehicle with several other arrestees, and we were all taken to a police precinct. Several hours of waiting later, I was FINALLY interviewed by a detective.

Quite the amusing man, really.

His name was John Munch. He looked rather tired, but something in his manner told me he ALWAYS seemed this way. He also seemed slightly out of place, as if this wasn’t his usual work location. Thankfully, he had no file in front of him, meaning the local authorities were not aware of my past identity. I’d given them my name upon arrest, of course, but I had remained silent since then. Thankfully the interview room was dim, so I was able to think.

Detective Munch: (calm, seeming slightly bored) Are you a spy, Miss Harrington?
Me: (amused) Not hardly, dear. Why do you ask?
DM: Your fingerprints are a mess, as if you’d taken them off at some point. Only two kinds of people I know of who do that: psychos and spies.
Me: (still amused) It’s interesting that you’d assume I’m a spy before you’d assume I’m a psychopath.
DM: (small chuckle, wry tone) I’ve worked with plenty of psychos. You aren’t one. For one thing, you’re not trying to play games with me. For another, my partner out there saw you when you were brought in. Even HE thinks you don’t seem like a criminal. That’s pretty big.
Me: (small smile) Well, good. I WOULD like to know why I’ve been arrested, though.
DM: Well, your intake form says you were arrested at the site of a violent protest. Personally, I dunno. It seems like the guys down there are snapping up anyone who walks past. I don’t usually work this division, so I’m kinda flying blind. What happened that got you dragged in here?
Me: (he seemed to like me, and it was becoming obvious that everyone was overworked, so I decided to be as nice as possible.) Well, traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge was stalled, so I got out of my car and attempted to walk down the side of the road. As soon as I got near the protest I was grabbed, arrested, and thrown in a transport.
DM: (he nodded slightly at this, muttering, obviously not intending for me to hear) Government oppression at its finest…
Me: (calm, perfectly audible) Well…I wouldn’t call it OPPRESSION, but it does seem rather overzealous.
DM: (surprised look) You sound like you know what you’re talking about.
Me: (smiles) Oh, I do, dear.

We proceeded to have quite the nice chat about conspiracy theories and shady government operations. I believe I added a great deal to his store of knowledge, and when I was finally released I left him my address and an invitation to visit should he find the time. He seemed appreciative, and the quick once-over he gave me as I left did not go unnoticed. I was finally free at this point to proceed to my old apartment, which I did after Detective Munch’s partner (a rather dour-seeming man named Tutuola) gave me a ride back to my car.

I knew for a fact that the apartment had not been disturbed, since I was still paying its rent and had installed a rather impressive security system when I moved in. The air inside was quite musty, with a faintly unpleasant undertone. I had come for a specific reason, so I proceeded to the bedroom, effortlessly tearing up the floorboards I’d hammered into place months ago to reveal Christine’s remains. To my surprise she had mummified, making my task somewhat easier. I gathered up the pieces, quickly loading them into the trunk of my Miata. I know it isn’t much, and is a drop in the ocean compared to all the evil I’ve caused, but in my mind giving Christine a proper burial is something I need to do. This was my sole reason for coming to New York, to retrieve her remains. I managed to exit the city without further incident, aside from one attempted carjacking which was thwarted when I broke the man’s arm, tossed his gun into the East River, and gave his unconscious body to a nearby police patrol.

I’m home now. Christine’s remains are currently in their own room, awaiting the arrival of the other person who needs to be here for the burial. I have to wonder, dears…is ANYTHING I can do good enough? Is redemption even a possibility for me? I will keep trying regardless of the answer, but the thought has occurred to me that I may be beyond saving.

I’m sorry.

I promised you news about our new houseguests. There are only two, unfortunately, but at least someone is accepting my offer. The first is a teenage girl who refuses to respond to anything other than Wild Child. She is a Proxy, I believe, but seems more scared and tired than “evil” in any sense of the word. The other is a boy who insists on calling himself Twitch. He is…maybe a year younger than Wild Child, and I neither know nor care about his alignment. Both are eager to assist in housework in any way they can, and seem like they’re appreciating the chance to rest and feel secure. I now have enough dormitory space for 15 people, as well as a small armory and a large storeroom. More expansions shall follow, I’m sure.

I’m sorry, dears, but I need to go. There’s someone at the door. Ta ta for now.

Sunday, September 25, 2011


I apologize for the delay in updates, my dears. I’ve been rather busy. I’ll start from the top, shall I?

After we last saw each other, He summoned me. How this happens is hard to describe. I can only say that I felt an urge to go to a particular place at a particular time and wait. He took me, and he…well, he showed me what was being done to the woman who was once KK. It…sickened me. I somehow knew that this was a threat, that He knew of my wavering loyalties and wanted me to know what awaited me should I fall. I saw the post on her blog, dears. Believe me when I say she was massively underplaying the things she experienced. When I returned to my brownstone, I was…dazed. Dizzy. I felt as if I’d been beaten bloody and then discarded. I slumped in an armchair I happen to be fond of, staring out the window. There were people out on the streets, dears. Smiling, laughing, talking with each other as they ran errands. A whole neighborhood, city, WORLD of people ignorant of Him and His servants. What was it like to be one of them? It’d been so long since I WAS one that I couldn’t remember what it truly felt like. What was it like to be genuinely happy? To not feel a need to murder and torture to achieve one’s goals? I could see right then how something as simple as a trip to the grocery store could be far more enjoyable than anything in my current grocery store. I know it seems naïve, dears, but I thought it all the same.

It was then that I decided to leave.

That moment, staring out at the ordinary people enjoying the sunlight, is when I truly left the “Andromeda” persona behind for good. I could no longer be that person. Everything within me cried out against it. In one way, perhaps, I had fallen…but in a far more important way I was rising from my own ashes. I stood, quickly gathering a few of my things from my office (including my portable computer). I went upstairs, retrieving clothing and weapons from my bedroom. As I was doing so, Morgan came in. He wanted to know what I was doing. I found it…surprisingly difficult to keep a straight face as I lied to him. He’s so earnest, so naïve despite the visible evil in him. It was endearing and repulsive at the same time. I told him that “Father” was sending me to take care of some unfinished business, and that I’d be back in a week or two. By now, he knows I’m not coming back. In any case, I left, taking the Mazda Miata I bought after trading in the stolen Mustang. My trip across the East Coast was mostly uneventful, so I won’t bore you with details. I retrieved Derek (who has communicated to me that he wishes to be called “Freeman” from now on) from the house I’d stashed him in, and the two of us began searching for a new residence. We eventually settled on an isolated house in a small Maine coastal town. It’s a lovely single-level home, two bedrooms, sitting on a large patch of land with a few trees. The land is at the edge of a cliff, a steep drop leading to a rocky beach below. There’s a small path down the cliff, and a dock at the bottom.

We have spent the last week establishing ourselves in the nearby community, buying supplies and hardening the house against any attack or intrusion. Freeman is claiming to be my son when we interact with townfolk, though that may change. I’ve also ordered weaponry and survival supplies of various types from some of my old suppliers. I have somehow retained my abilities despite the discarding of the persona accompanying them, so I have been working on expanding the basement of the house. I aim to turn it into an extensive bunker/refuge for myself, Freeman, and anyone who wishes to take advantage of our hospitality. Yes, I said anyone. I am officially declaring myself neutral, dears. Proxies and Runners/Fighters are welcome on my property, so long as everyone is civil and there are no altercations or threats. I may not always be here. but my home is always open to all of you.

And please, dears. Call me Constance from now on.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

All Alone In The Moonlight

My name is Constance Imelda Harrington. I am...46 years old, I believe. For the last 14 years, I've been forced into the service of the Slender Man. I have been brainwashed and forced to assume various personas, none of whom could recall who I truly am. Perhaps that was by design. In any case, that's immaterial. My most recent persona was that of one Andromeda Carter. I...I remember everything. I did horrible things. Ghastly things. I don't know how I can even begin to make up for them...but whether or not any of you are open to it, I want you all to know who I truly am. I am not the woman who has been murdering and terrorizing her way across the United States.

I was born in Sweden. My mother was...was...I can't quite remember, but she was an artist of some sort, and exceptionally wealthy because of it. My father owned a grocery store, the only one in our town. We owned land, and a house sitting right on the Atlantic Ocean. It was so beautiful there, whether the ground was covered in flowers or snow. When I was 13, that beauty was shattered. He murdered my parents and ate them in front of me. Yes, Him. I still don't know why He didn't kill me that night. In any case, it doesn't matter. After a suitable grieving period I moved on. Funnily, I'd convinced myself that He was a delusion. I went to medical school, and after much study received a Ph.D. I took up practice as a surgeon, and genuinely enjoyed my work.

Until the accident.

A patient died while in surgery. A young woman. It was my fault. I'd worked a triple shift, and my fatigue led to mistakes any first-year resident could've avoided. I was fired. My license wasn't revoked, but the fact remained that I'd never work as a doctor again. I didn't know what to do. Then...then HE came again. He took me. It's like he'd been watching me all along, waiting for a reason to sweep me up. He...I don't remember exactly, but somehow he broke me. He forced me to become one of His servants, and he unleashed this new not-me on the world.

I'm sure all of you are wondering why I'm telling you these things. You aren't used to me showing any humanity, any sign of remorse or caring about other people. For that, I'm truly sorry. I have just finished saving the life of a rather wonderful young man, Mr. Derek Collins. Doing this has served as a reminder of things I once enjoyed doing. It reminded me what it's like to preserve life instead of take it constantly. I am not certain where I'm going from here, dears, but you can all rest assured of one thing. Whatever my next actions, they will only be taken after careful contemplation. Now, at the moment I need to hide Mr. Collins in a safe location, so I would appreciate it if all of you would pardon me. I will be with you once more when I have something new to report.

Father is calling for me. I must go.

Ta ta for now, dears.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Home Is Where The Heart Is

After a rather exhausting journey, I am once more home. Well…at one of my several homes, that is. A person with a career such as mine would be foolish to keep only one bolt-hole, after all. This home happens to be in Harlem, a lovely area I’ve become rather fond of. It is a two-story brownstone, quite well-stocked with money, supplies, and weaponry, as well as tasteful furnishings, a piano, and most of my rather extensive book collection. We just arrived an hour or two ago, and Morgan left almost immediately to purchase some clothes for himself. While he was out, I thought I would take the time to update you, dear readers, and share a small anecdote from the trip home.

We stopped in a small town in southeast Iowa to refuel the Mustang. As we were still wanted by federal authorities, I was attempting to avoid stopping in larger cities. This was mid-morning, and the only other person at the station was a young man in a surprisingly decrepit subcompact. He was overweight, though in a stocky way that managed to be interesting without being repulsive. He was watching me as he fueled his vehicle, surprisingly icy and calm blue eyes shielded behind round wire-frame glasses. Now, I’m quite accustomed to men staring at my figure. This one, however, was staring at my face. He appeared to recognize me, which I found odd. I’m certain I’d never been to this part of the United States before, so there was no reason for him to know me.

After he had finished filling his tank, he calmly resealed it and walked over to me. I could see Morgan inside the convenience store, bristling protectively. Something about this boy made me uneasy. He stopped a fair distance away from me, arms crossed over his barrel-like chest.

“You’re Andromeda, aren’t you?”

I blinked. This boy was too young to be a Federal agent. That automatically meant he was either a Proxy like myself, or a Runner (in which case he’d be RUNNING, not talking to me). No matter what, I had to be cautious.

“Yes, I am. Who are you?”

Thomas Crane.” This boy was incredibly cool. He obviously knew who I was, yet he wasn’t reacting at all. This…worried and impressed me at the same time.

“What do you want with me, Mr. Crane?”

He smirked slightly. The light reflecting off his glasses temporarily hid his eyes, giving his next words an added bit of menace. “You killed one of my cousins. I kinda took exception to that. Y’see, I used to live with them, and I’m kinda protective.” At this point he pulled a butterfly knife from his pocket, casually flipping it open.

I replied calmly, keeping one eye on the knife. “Well, I can’t honestly say I REGRET doing it, but I will tell you that it was rather a while ago, and holding on to grudges will only end poorly for you. Now, you’re not actually going to USE that knife, are you? After all, it’s broad daylight.”

He chuckled at me. Actually chuckled. This boy had ice water for blood. “What makes you think I care?”

He moved rapidly, faster than I could counter. The knife drove itself up to the hilt in my left shoulder. As I was trying to puzzle out how the boy could move that fast, Morgan came barreling out of the store, roaring. I barked at him to get in the car and get us out of there. Mr. Crane watched us go, smirking. It wasn’t until we were passing through Akron that I remembered to pull the knife out of my shoulder. I’d stopped bleeding by this point, of course, but still felt faint. Even now my shoulder is sore, though it’s improving. Morgan is home, so I’m afraid I’ll have to go now, dears. I hope I’ve given all of you something to think about.

Ta ta for now, dears.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

A Small Update

Hello again, my dears. I’m terribly sorry I haven’t written recently, but dear Morgan and I have been rather busy escaping federal agents and other unsavory types. We’re currently in lovely Wyoming, staying at a small hotel. I’m writing to you from the hotel room balcony, taking advantage of the sky’s remarkable clarity to do a little stargazing. I don’t have any interesting stories to tell today, no new examinations to detail or derring-do to relate to you. Instead, if I may, I would like to outline some of my thoughts. You don’t mind that, do you dears? Good.

For…several years now, I can’t remember how many, I’ve served Father. I was always glad to do so, as he’d given me something I never had before.


I did his bidding, following the gentle impressions in my mind as best I could. I made mistakes early on, and was punished, and learned from it. I was a good servant. Some of you have seen traces of my work in the tales of Runners or other of Father’s children, though I name no names. A good servant takes pride in her work, and cares not for fame or infamy that may come with the recognition of the true scope of their work. In my off time (which I had a surprising amount of), I would pursue my own hobbies of reading, composing music, and performing anatomical examinations of unique individuals. I have shared the results of some of these examinations with you, my dear readers. My hobbies are my joy and my pleasure. This only makes recent events all the more disturbing. I have related to you my doubts concerning my recent tasks, though I carried them out as befits a proper aide. Those doubts have only increased over the last few days.

Mr. Stern appears to rather enjoy being a servant of Father, though his face normally betrays no emotion. His sarcastic smirks, his arrogant posture…they make me uneasy. I have associated with Redlight in the past, without fear. This boy, though, scares me. He is dangerous. And I believe I am becoming less so.

I have also found myself remembering people and places I’m quite certain I’ve never seen. I am losing distressingly large amounts of time, dears, wherein I will apparently travel or otherwise go about normal activities without anyone noticing anything different about me. I understand from my reading that I am not the only of Father’s servants (or adversaries) to suffer this malady, so I’ll attempt to keep it at the edges of my thoughts. The memories concern me, though. The most prevalent one has me as a small child, in a place that appears to be rather near the polar regions. It may be Sweden, considering the architecture and geography. I am sitting on a dock, feet swinging just above the water. I’m young, wearing a purple dress and a flower in my hair. A woman calls to me in Swedish, which I somehow understand. She’s wanting me to come in for dinner. The house she is standing in front of is the only one around, indicating that we live in a secluded area. I stand, running to her. I can feel myself smiling as I mount the porch and land in her arms. The memory ends here.

I have no idea what this means, dears. The emotions in it are…different than those I feel now. I suppose, were I pressed for description, I would say that they felt purer, unaltered. More and more, memories of this type are surfacing. I’m also starting to note contradictions or outright fabrications in my own memories since I joined with Father. I’m no longer entirely certain of my mission or my actions, dear readers. I hope you will forgive me if there is some slight vacillation in my future actions. A path I had once believed to be sure and true is now in question. I shall continue as I am for now, however, I shall be slightly more cautious in my actions.

Ta ta for now, my dears.

Friday, September 2, 2011

The Most Interesting Man in the World, Pt. 2

As promised, dears, here is the second half of my tale.


As I freed my new acquaintance from his confinement, his true size struck me. This boy, who couldn’t have been older than 17, was already at least 6 feet 4 inches tall. Very muscular as well. He fairly towered over me, an experience I haven’t had very often. I’m sure his proximity was meant to intimidate me, but I simply smiled up at him.

“What’s your name, dear?"

The poor boy looked befuddled by the question, as if nobody had bothered to speak kindly to him before. “Morgan Stern…ma’am.”

I chuckled. Please understand, dears. This boy’s reactions to my questions were rather amusing. “Well, Morgan, you’re free. Would you like to join me in a little fun?”

As he nodded, I realized that I could see Father, hanging back in the trees behind Morgan, watching us. Normally His presence would reassure me. In this instance, though…I found myself disquieted. I knew it was his influence that had caused me to murder Mr. Roye. How much of me was still me, and how much was Father using for his puppet? I no longer know, dear readers, but for the time being I chose to continue as before and hope that my doubts would resolve themselves. I smiled at Morgan, leading him back to my vehicle. Again, nobody so much as glanced at us, an oddity which I now recognized as Father’s influence at work.

The agent who had owned this car before me was either a weapons aficionado or believed in being extremely well-prepared. The first time I had opened the trunk, I discovered to my delight that it was filled with weapons of various types, as well as appropriate ammunition containers, all neatly labeled and organized. This was the first time, however, that I would willingly use a gun. Firearms are exceptionally noisy weapons, you see, and I prefer to avoid them. I chose a nice Beretta rifle for myself, loading it and tucking extra magazines into my pockets. Morgan, for his part, chose an HK USP and several magazines with 9mm hollowpoint rounds.

We proceeded to round up all the happy campers, a surprisingly easy task considering the size of the compound. Staff and clients alike were herded into their disgustingly large chapel. Why must you people persist in worshipping an ineffective and possibly imaginary deity? I honestly don’t understand. You build grand structures to His glory, ignoring the fact that every single one of you follows a tradition founded in blood and iniquity. At least those of us who follow Father are HONEST about our origins. We recognize that our god is a cruel god, a dark one that hunts worshippers and strangers alike. We accept this and follow Him anyhow. But you…you’re all hypocrites.

Morgan and I took up positions in the balcony, our guns trained on the pathetically mewling crowd below. They all looked so small and terrified. I found it telling that not a one of them was praying to their God, despite the fact that they were in a chapel and in mortal danger. This fact normally would have amused me. In this circumstance, however, it simply made me sad. Even if I had doubts about what I was doing, I still had faith in my Father. They had apparently lost theirs. One particular boy caught my eye. He looked familiar to me for some reason, having black hair and very European features despite his slim build. He was staring up at me, his eyes full of tears, pleading. He was silently mouthing a single word over and over.


I couldn’t stand to look at him for one more second. I squeezed the trigger on my rifle, planting a bullet squarely in the center of his forehead. I spoke harshly, voice projecting so that I could be heard by the congregation.

“All of you! Strip! Right now!”

They began to do so, very hesitant and slower than I would have liked. Blowing off the head of a middle-aged woman was sufficient incentive for them to finish the job, though. They soon stood, naked, shivering and revealed to the world, each trying to avoid contacts with all the others. I hefted the rifle, noting that Morgan was watching all of this quite calmly. I closed my eyes momentarily behind my sunglasses, quietly reciting a prayer that had sprung to mind.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who have sinned against us, for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”

I don’t know why that prayer came to mind, or why I chose to say it. In any case, it didn’t change my course of action. My next command caused gasps of dismay and outright disgust from many of them. I spoke coldly, forcing myself to restrain several unwanted doubts and emotions that were threatening to interfere with my work.

“Men pair with men. Women with women. You are to engage in sexual congress with each other. Anyone who refuses will be shot, and others will be ordered to rape the corpse.”

Morgan smirked slightly at this. I found my stomach churning. What was I doing? This was…despicable. On several levels. Yet I couldn’t stop. One part of me was thoroughly enjoying this desecration, while another was screaming at me to stop it and leave while I still had some shred of dignity. Unfortunately, the former side won. I smirked slightly, the expression icy and brittle as I watched these people begin to essentially condemn themselves to their Hell by following my orders. It devolved into a full-on orgy as they lost all moral restraint. I had to forcibly bite down on my tongue to stop myself from crying out that they could stop now, it was enough, they were done. This continued for…nearly an hour, I believe. As the camp employees and clients began running out of energy Morgan and I let loose, shooting haphazardly into the crowd. In under two minutes, every person in the chapel was either dead or immobilized and dying. Morgan was smirking. I kept my expression flat, trying to force the roiling disgust in my stomach to vanish.

Before we left, we raided the camp’s motor pool, finding several drums of gasoline. The chapel was ignited first, the screams of those still alive inside perfectly audible over the crackling of fierce flames. I forced myself to ignore it once more. The rest of the camp followed. As we sped off in the Mustang, the flames and smoke could be seen rising for miles. I found myself quietly reciting another unknown prayer as we drove.

“God our Father, your power brings us to birth, your providence guides our lives, and by Your command we return to dust.
Lord, those who die live still in Your presence. Their lives change but do not end. I pray in hope for their families, relatives and friends, and for all the dead known to You alone.
In company with Christ, who died and now lives, may they rejoice in Your kingdom, where all their tears are wiped away. Unite them again in one family, to sing Your praise forever and ever.
Forgive them.
But not me.”

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

The Most Interesting Man in the World, Pt. 1

Hello again, my dears. I’m sorry I haven’t had an opportunity to update all of you on my status recently, but I’ve been rather frightfully busy. After recovering from my indisposition, Mr. Roye and I travelled south once more, mostly at night so as to avoid any police officers or federal agents who might still be watching us. Our progression was impeded several times by Mr. Roye’s increasingly annoying insistence on bathroom breaks. What was I to do, my dears? I appreciated the little man’s assistance in facilitating my escape, but he was rapidly becoming a colossal nuisance. Fortunately, we happened to be driving near a rail line that appeared to be in regular and heavy use, as I’d seen at least four trains pass by in the last ten minutes.

I pulled the Mustang off the road, parking rather near the train tracks, but taking precautions to keep the car itself concealed within a stand of trees. Mr. Roye followed me out of the vehicle, staying on my heels as I walked over to the tracks. He looked so pathetic, following me around like a small dog. I had neither the time nor the inclination to perform a physical examination of his body, so this would have to do.

“What are we doing here, Mistress?” he asked, his voice high and irritating. I shook my head, wincing slightly at the buzzing his voice had left inside my skull.

“Getting rid of a problem, dear.”

Mr. Roye appeared rather confused at this (evidence of a low level of mental acuity, most likely). I saw no point in drawing things out any further. Without further hesitation I picked up two small rocks, throwing each one hard enough to shatter one of his femurs. As he collapsed I stomped on each of his humeri, shattering his upper arms and ensuring that he wouldn’t be able to pull himself off the tracks. The vibrations of the rails under my feet told me that another train was already on its way, coming rather fast by the feel of it. Mr. Roye looked up at me, his expression agonized and bewildered.

“Mistress…I don’t understand…”

I turned and walked back to the car, ignoring Mr. Roye’s weak cries for forgiveness and aid. As I slipped into the driver’s seat, his dismayed wails were silenced with a wet crunching noise. The train’s conductor had never seen his body, and had run over the late Mr. Roye without so much as slowing down. I waited until the train’s engine was out of sight, then restarted the Mustang and headed for the nearest highway. My thoughts were racing, an unusual situation for me. I’d just killed a man, not for medical examination, but simply because he was in my way. He had been a rather devoted disciple of mine, actually. An admirer. Not a threat. Removing the FBI agents who had been holding me was one thing. This was…wrong. I had no idea why I’d done it. Something deep inside me was telling me that with this killing, I had crossed an invisible line. Why was I feeling this way? I had killed plenty of people before. Everybody had to die sometime, after all, so why did it matter if I brought that time around somewhat sooner?

This time was different because it was unnecessary. I could’ve left him in a town. He wouldn’t have told anyone about me; he was too devoted for that. Something…something had pushed me to end him. Something not a true part of me. I’m not a murderer. I’m not psychotic. I don’t go around killing people willy-nilly like that. Maybe…maybe I’m doing something wrong. Maybe this isn’t what I’m meant to do. I don’t know.

In any case, as the sun was rising I found that I’d been driving on autopilot all night. I was somewhere in western Tennessee, outside a Christian youth camp. It was quite a sizable compound, and very well-kept. It was also full of trees, a fact I approved of as the summer sun was giving me quite a headache even through my glasses. I parked the Mustang near the gates, stepping out and striding through the camp’s front gates. No one seemed to think I was out of place, despite all of them (staff and clients) wearing blue jeans and white shirts, while I was in my preferred immaculate three-piece suit and tie. I followed the nagging attraction in my mind, which led me through the camp to a storage area in the very rear. Amidst the farm implements and sports equipment were a row of small sheds, each with a tin roof and whitewashed sides. I could hear crying from a few of them, a fact which momentarily bothered me until I realized that the pulling feeling was leading me toward the one on the end. I slid open the viewing port in this shed’s door, not at all surprised to find a strapping young man inside. He had short blonde hair, blue eyes, very chiseled features, and was VERY well-built. He looked up as I looked in. I smiled slightly, amused.

“Now, what could you have done to land yourself in a place like this, dear?”

The boy stared at me, something in his eyes seeming dead already. His reply was even and toneless. “I raped my bunkmate. He was annoying me and needed to learn how the hierarchy works.”

I liked this boy already. I smiled, glancing at the flimsy lock holding the shed door shut. “Well, dear, let’s get you out of there.”


I’m afraid I need to take care of a thing or two, dears. I will post the second half of my account tomorrow. Ta ta for now.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Une Petit Mettre au Courant

My apologies for my lack of posting, dears. I’ve had a terribly busy week. You see, shortly after my last post I was arrested by an FBI task force. They put me in manacles. Such an indignity, and I was forced to endure it the entire way to Frankfort, Kentucky, where I was processed into a federal holding facility. Several days of nearly constant interrogation followed, most focusing on my anatomical investigations over the last three years. They subjected me to unbearably bright lights, constant noise and yelling, and all manner of extremely painful sensory inputs. It was more than I could bear, dears. I honestly thought I was going to die, but by the third day I was too weak to even plot revenge. From the smirks some of the agents were wearing, I believe they knew precisely what their abuse was doing to me. I eventually realized that their interest in me was more than simply penal. Sometime around the fourth day, they began asking me questions about Father. Thankfully, even through a fog of agony and fatigue I still had the personal strength to hold my tongue.

On the sixth day, I was informed (to my surprise) that my lawyer had come to see me. I’ve never hired a lawyer, dears, so this was most unexpected. It turned out to be a Mr. Taben Roye, an admirer of mine, wearing a suit and doing a rather decent lawyer impression. He had managed to sneak in a knife. At this point I was fatigued, in agony such as I’d never experienced before, and ANGRY at the way they’d treated me. It was time to take manners into my own hands. For the first time since He made me His, I used the gifts He had given me to their full extent. I kicked the interview room’s door off its hinges and proceeded to slaughter everything in my path on my way out of the building. There was no time for artistry, so instead I went for brutality. Men were stabbed, necks snapped, limbs forcibly torn from their bodies…it was beautiful in its own way, I suppose. I was in no mood to appreciate it. Mr. Roye followed me out of the building. I must say, I approve of the levity he showed in bludgeoning injured agents to death with the severed limbs of other agents.

We eventually made it to the evidence storage area. I killed the guards there, then retrieved my kit and foil as well as a few other useful items. Foil in hand, I proceeded to exit the premises. One of the agents in this facility apparently had an extra source of income, as his mode of transportation was a lovely 2010 Ford Mustang, black. We stole it. I must say, as much as I love my motorcycle, this car is a wonderful machine. We were able to completely lose our pursuers after almost two hours of pursuit, and after a quick stop to swap license plates with another car and deactivate the Mustang’s tracker, we continued into the Kentucky hills. At the moment I’m sitting in a dark room at a motel whose location I shall not disclose. We will most likely remain here for another day or two as I finish recovering from the abuse heaped on my by your dear public servants. After that…I feel a need to press south. Mr. Roye shall accompany me until I tire of him. He’s actually quite useful as a servant, though he talks entirely too much and is continually attempting to look down my shirt, a fact I do NOT appreciate. Still…he’s more useful than annoying, and as long as that remains the case I shall continue to use him.

Ta ta for now, dears. It’s good to be back.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Cecidit Enim Heros

Good morning, my dears. I'm afraid I don't have much to say, for today is a sad day for our cause. One of the great ones among us has fallen. Redlight, who was one of Father's most valuable tools, is dead. He was felled by his own creation. Cynthia, dear, if I ever come across you I shall visit unendurable agony upon you for weeks before giving you up to Father for your final punishment. You have been a bad little girl, dear, and bad girls are always punished accordingly.

Redlight, I wish you peace, wherever your soul may have gone. I assure you that I shall do my best to carry on your legacy and your work.

Ambuletis sicut pars semper in pace Patre nostro.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Faith Rewarded

Good afternoon, my dears. I'm afraid my discourse for today must of necessity be brief, as I'm currently attempting to evade an FBI task force that has been assigned to what I hear they are now calling the "Deadly Cure" killer. Why they've assigned my case that particular name is beyond me. But I digress. After saving that dear waif Sabrina, I was unfortunately prompted by Father to leave the area. I realized after a certain degree of random travelling on my motorcycle that as I progressed west, I felt more and more certain of the direction I was to travel. To make a long story short, I eventually found my destination. Father had sent me to a hospital in Ohio. Again following His quiet guidance, I asked at the front desk for Brennon Laideckt's room. After a few moments of hesitation, the nurse was kind enough to give me his room number. I made my way through the hospital, borrowing a lab coat from an empty maintenance closet on the third floor. Thus equipped, I strode into the room, not surprised to find Mr. Aiden Clarke asleep in a chair near the bed. I had come equipped for this possibility, of course. After shutting and locking the door I retrieved a roll of duct tape from the backpack I'd brought with me. I secured his arms, legs, and chest, then taped his mouth shut and smacked him sharply across the face. The look of panic in his eyes as he shot awake was...delicious.

I calmly explained to him that I was here to exterminate his dear companion Brennon, Father's voice in my mind giving me the exact words to say. I then taped each of his eyes shut, chuckling slightly as he attempted to struggle against the tape. I also taped his sleeping lover's mouth closed. After all, it wouldn't do to have my work cut short due to interruption from other medical professionals. I set to work with my personal toolkit, removing the healing skin grafts from Brennon's body one section at a time. He awoke immediately, his screams markedly muffled by my makeshift gag. Within five minutes his torso was bare. Father, unfortunately, had prohibited my normally lengthy examinations in favor of a much-shortened kill. His will be done. I began the next step of my quicker process, sprinkling mixture of bleach and sulfuric acide across dear Brennon's exposed torso. His back arched, and for a moment I thought he might be having a grand mal seizure. One quick stab with a scalpel, however, eliminated the problem. Knowing how to cause immediate paraplegia through severance of one's spinal cord can be a useful skill. After the acid mixture had done its work I sliced into the man's torso, removing his abdominal and oblique muscle groups, leaving the pectoral muscles intact. Simply for laughs, I set the severed muscles in Aiden's lap, then went back to work. I proceeded to sever each of his internal organs from its connections, rearranging them in alphabetical order and removing the liver. That organ was placed in a small plastic container for my own use, a small excess for which Father had granted his permission.

By this point, dear Brennon's eyes were empty. It was clear to me that he was dead, as he had stopped screaming and struggling at least ten minutes ago. As a final indignity I removed his penis and testes, pushing both into his throat after removing the tape gag. I quickly repacked my tools, delivering one final quip to Aiden, who by this point seemed to have recognized the futility of his situation.

"This is your punishment for defying Father, dear. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did."

I discarded the now-bloodied laboratory coat in the room's trash bin and left, leaving Aiden taped to his chair. The hospital staff, bless their incompetent hearts, had no idea anything was amiss. My act was quickly discovered, though, as I saw several local and federal law enforcement vehicles speeding toward the hospital as I left its parking garage. I am now safely out of the state, dears, and well on my way to my next assignment, which should prove QUITE interesting. However, I believe the vehicle behind me may be a US government surveillance vehicle, and I am going to attempt to evade its tracking.

Ta ta for now, my dears.

PS: My dear Aiden, if you happen to read this, I have something to tell you. Your lover's liver was QUITE tasty in a red wine sauce. I wonder if yours is as delicious? Perhaps I'll be allowed to find out at some future juncture.

Monday, August 8, 2011

A Mission

Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends. I am one of Father's friends, come inside, come inside...


I happen to be in a rather good mood right now, my dears. My walk the other day was MOST productive. I met a very lovely girl named Sabrina, you see. Something (possibly Father, possibly something or someone else) happened to lead me to her house, my feeling of anticipation growing with every step. I could hear Father in my head, whispering to me, telling me what I was to do. This girl was to be His, you see, but others were trying to steal her from him, to take what wasn't rightfully theirs. Needless to say, Father wasn't happy with this prospect, and I was told to go protect this girl. I find the irony amusing. I was being told to PROTECT a Runner. Still...Father's will be done. I would not complain at ANY task He gave me.

I soon arrived at dear Sabrina's house. As soon as she opened the door, I had to stifle a chuckle. She's a tiny little thing, with mousy brown hair and large, doe-like eyes. She actually quite strongly resembled a girl I'd sacrificed to Father a year ago. Such a beautiful scene....all the bodies, all the blood...I laughed when the police found the apartment I'd used for the sacrifice, by the way. That gung-ho detective nearly vomiting at the was delicious on several levels. But I digress. I introduced myself to the girl, informing her that I was here to help. It had been a long walk, so I also asked if I could borrow her kitchen to make myself a snack. She was gracious enough to acquiesce to my request, though she certainly didn't look happy about allowing one like myself into her space. Perhaps it's the goggles. I'll ask her if I ever see her again. Anyhow, we puttered about for an hour or three, and I was beginning to think I'd been wasting my time when I happened to look out the rear window.

If I may digress for a moment, I'd like to lament the poor state of what is traditionally termed "villainy". Far too many people now seem to think that watching "horror" films makes them a valid Satanist, or reading the Runner blogs gives them enough information to be a true devotee of Father. I have to wonder how many "proxies" are really just misguided humans who think that by killing others, they're somehow endearing themselves to Him. We are His prey, dears. We can't endear ourselves to him. We can only feed Him and hope He bestows His favor upon us on occasion. These MORONS profess to follow Father, even though they have most likely never seen Him or heard His beautiful voice. I must admit I was rather annoyed at their approach, so I resolved to confront them in the open.

Their leader was a woman, maybe 21 or 22 years old. I strode onto the front porch, waiting for her. Our conversation went as follows:

Me: (silently waits for the leader to approach. She did so, leaving her followers at the bottom of the porch stairs)
Leader: (somewhat hostile) Excuse me, but this house is only supposed to have one occupant. Who are you?
Me: (calm) My name is Andromeda. I serve Father.
Leader: (annoyed. What an immature woman) Ah, I see. Then you must be here to assist us in capturing that girl?
Me: (still calm, though beginning to get annoyed) She will pay if and when Father decides. He has told me to STOP you. This girl is His to kill, and if you continue to come after her, I am to kill you in retaliation.
Leader: I see then. Clearly you must be confused. We have read over your “Father's” scriptures well, and we know our mission. If you refuse to stand aside, then we will simply remove you in His name.

At this point, the woman attempted to stab me with a blade concealed in the sleeve of her jacket. I disarmed her, disemboweled her with her own weapon, and proceeded to do the same to each of her eight companions. I'm sorry for not giving details, dears, but it really wasn't terribly interesting or illuminating. When I was done I re-entered the house, where Miss Sabrina was still cowering in her chair in the corner. I'd managed to keep my clothes free of bodily fluids, but the blood on my hands and the knife I was still holding appeared to terrify her. Not that I minded, of course. Father spoke in my mind again, giving me a message to give to this girl.

Me: Miss Sabrina, I've been instructed to tell you something.
Her: (scared) What?
Me: You are to run. Far away from here. You are to run as far and as fast as you can. If you have not left this city within 12 hours, I will hunt you down, and I will sacrifice to him...oh, and on a personal note, dear, I'd relish the chance to study your exquisite bone structure in detail, so I suggest you do as Father says.

To her credit, the girl is a very prompt actor. She bolted upstairs immediately, and I could hear her throwing things into what I assume was a suitcase. I smiled and left, feeling Father's satisfaction with my actions.

I'm afraid it may be a while before my next update, dears. I can already feel Him in my mind, urging me to travel west. I can only assume that there's another mission awaiting me somewhere in that direction, and I'm not inclined to stop before I've completed it.

Ta ta for now, my dears.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

A Hiatus

I must apologise for the delay in my updates to this blog, my dears. I've been taking in the wonderful sights and sounds of this nation's capital, as well as working on the project I mentioned when last we spoke. I also indulged in a small hobby of mine. As I've mentioned before, I was once a surgeon. One of the reasons I chose that profession was my fascination with the human body's remarkable resiliency. Every so often, I like to carry out small experiments on the limits of said resiliency.

The subject of my current experiment was a young Negro woman I found busking in a tube station near the Smithsonian Museum. After treating her to a lovely dinner ( I had salad, she had lasagne), I persuaded her to come back to my hotel for more discussion on certain topics of mutual interest. I then administered an oral sedative in her martini and paralysed her larynx through the severance of certain muscles necessary for it's operation.

It was almost a pity to do so, I must admit. The girl had proven to be quite a conversationalist and a not inconsiderable wit as well, traits I always admire. Ah, the sacrifices we make for Science...but I digress. I turned on the radio, tuning it to a modern rock and roll station I've become rather fond of, and set to work. I've taken to carrying a small surgical kit with me, as such things are always useful in my work. First, I determined to examine her musculature. I began with the torso, gently slicing into and removing the skin in four-square-inch segments, each of which I set aside for later use. After approximately 45 minutes, I had removed all the skin from her body, save only her eyelids, lips, and the skin of her labia majora. The girl was awake at this point, of course. Such excruciating agony would completely overwhelm the sopoforic powers of the sedative I'd used. However the same agony prevented any possible escape attempt she may have been contemplating, so no restraints were necessary. This particular specimen had wonderfully structured thighs, so I decided to start the next phase of my examination there. I began with the quadriceps, severing them at the ligaments and carefully removing the muscle. I continued this dismantling one muscle group at a time until her legs were naught but bone from ankles to hips, taking proper steps at each juncture to prevent undue blood loss. To her credit, the girl didn't so much as TRY to scream. I placed each of her muscles neatly alongside her removed skin. I briefly considered attempting to reassemble her legs when I was through with her, but considering what else I had planned I decided it wouldn't be worth the extra effort and trouble.

My next experiment was based on earlier observations. I used a scalpel to split her abdominal muscles, peeling them away from her thoracic cavity and exposing her internal organs. The smell that rose up from them, the smell of bile and blood and was delicious. Almost orgasmic, really. I can never get enough of that smell, and the ecstasy I know will soon follow in its wake. I still had some of the lye from that lovely couple in Pennsylvania, and a moment's careful mixing created in my syringe a milky-white paste, which I injected directly into this young woman's large intestine. I made sure to keep careful notes on the speed and progress of the acidic reaction as it consumed her intestines and a good amount of her reproductive system before fading out (not to mention various musculature structures and quite a bit of her cervical vertebrae, including the spinal cord they were meant to protect). To my amazement, the girl was still alive after this. I was able to tell not only by her respiration, but by the tears of blood running from her eyes. It was mesmerizing, and for almost ten minutes I could do naught but stare at her face, silently marvelling at the beauty of the human form. If ever there was an argument for the existence of a Deity aside from Father, the existence of this practically Angelic perfection was it. I leaned down and kissed the girl deeply, whispering my reassurances that she was becoming more beautiful with every passing moment, and that soon she would know the ultimate release. She couldn't reply to my promises, of course, but the expression in her eyes was all the reward I needed. That utter agony that always accompanies transformation...I confess that I'm sometimes envious of my subjects, for they undergo a metamorphosis that I shall never be able to experience myself.

I sat back up, licking the girl's blood from my lips with no small amount of enjoyment. It was time for the next stage of my investigations. Using a small scalpel, I began removing one muscle group at a time from the girl's face, neck, and torso. I am rather disappointed that I was unable to expose bone in several areas, as doing so would have required the severance of major arteries and veins. I did what I could, however, and eventually I was satisfied with my work. The girl was still breathing, her eyes open, though I have no doubt that at this point her higher brain functions had ceased. There was nothing more I could learn from this subject, so I moved on to the final stage. Carefully removing the muscles around her rib cage, I pulled the bones apart, exposing her vital organs. I delicately took her heart into my hands, admiring its simplicity of design and function. Such a small muscle, responsible for all human life...there is no greater beauty than this. I slowly applied pressure, feeling its beating becoming erratic, then stopping entirely. I placed the heart back in its hallowed space, then laid down on top of the girl, my naked skin pressing against her exposed flesh. I kissed her again, accepting her silent expression of gratitude for that final act.

We laid like that for quite a while. Two days, I believe, during which I consumed most of what I had removed from her. It would have been quite wrong of me to let it go to waste, after all. I believe the examination itself lasted almost three days, bringing my total time with the girl to almost a week. Eventually, however, I had to move on. I cleaned up and moved to a different hotel, under a different nom de guerre. Now that I've updated you, my dears, I believe I'm going to go out for a walk. This is a lovely neighborhood, and I feel that there's something I am to see here before I depart this fair city. Perhaps Father has something planned for me. In any case, I should be on my way.

Ta ta for now, my dears.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Travelogue, Part II

My, my, what an eventful weekend I had. Did you know, my dears, that the human body can continue to twitch for some time after death? Needless to say, this only made my night with my dear dead host all the more exciting. I'll leave the details up to your imaginations, my dears, as a true lady never kisses and tells. Anyhow, I left my hosts the next morning, after showering once more and thanking them for their hospitality by giving them a Viking funeral of sorts. The fire crackled beautifully as it smouldered inside my host's chest cavity, the smell of charring fat filling the living room. I had to smile and grab a bit to snack on as I went out to fire up my motorcycle. The final ironically enjoyable stamp on my day was when I passed the police and fire brigade on my way out of the town. They had no idea anything was amiss, and that somehow made the whole experience more delicious.

Anyhow, after a few hours of riding I found myself in Maryland. I must say, it's beautiful territory, despite being infernally hot. I decided to visit this nation's capital (having never been), and that's where I am now. I'm considering paying a visit to Congress tomorrow. Perhaps a little negative incentivising will help them to resolve this ridiculous deadlock they seem to be in. Also, dears, has anyone noticed how the Pentagon seems to be shaped like a massive rectum? Given the Washington Monument's unabashedly phallic nature, this may indicate something about your dear Founding Fathers. Bum pirates, the lot of them. Does anyone have any suggestions for things to do while I'm here? The more outrageous or offensive they are, the more likely I am to do them. I'll be here until Saturday morning, so there's plenty of time. I'm also working on a little project, details to follow when it's slightly more fleshed-out and Father gives his approval to the venture.

Ta-ta for now, my dears.

Saturday, July 23, 2011


After the recent unpleasantness with my dear estranged daughter, I decided it would be best if I took a short sabbatical from my activities in NYC. The two police officers I strangled and shoved in the pantry may have also had something to do with it, but let's not make any unfounded assumptions. In any case, after hiding dear Christine's body under the bedroom floor I fired up my Honda street bike (acquired from a lovely Chinese-looking man who most assuredly will have no further need of it) and headed out of town. Pennsylvania is truly lovely this time of year, dear readers....or it was until I drove into a storm. Driving rain, high winds, and lightning and thunder every four seconds on average. I swear, the cacophony nearly knocked me unconscious. I DESPISE noise with ever fibre of my being. Thankfully, I was near a small town called Clarion. Lovely little college town, really. The people were very friendly. When I was unable to find a hotel, a lovely couple let me stay with them for the night.

I killed them, of course. I took great pleasure in breaking the woman's kneecaps, then forcing her to watch as I strangled her husband. I ASSUME he was her husband, anyhow. Come to think of it, I can't see a ring on either of their hands. Anyhow, I took my time with the woman. After all, it had been a long ride and I was in need of a little amusement. Might I just point out how beautiful that first moment is when you cut into flesh, that initial clean separation of tissues followed by a flood of the very elixir of life itself? It's almost hauntingly elegant. I was very careful to fill the woman's mouth with her husband's vomit-covered shirt, of course, so that her screams wouldn't be heard by the neighbors. I started with her face, carving tribal designs into the delicate skin with a small scalpel before moving down to her neck and chest. I began taking her skin off one strip at a time, savoring each moment as it peeled away to reveal the raw musculature underneath. I couldn't help but smile at the terror and agony in her eyes, the silent plea for a quick death that she HAD to have realized I had no intention of granting.
But I digress.

After I removed the skin on her torso I took a quick snack break. I had all those skin strips and nothing to do with them, so I simply borrowed a skillet and a little butter and fried myself some long pig. It's quite delicious. All of you should try it some time. When I was done with that I took the skillet out to the living room where my dear plaything was stretched out and poured the grease over her raw chest. Her writhing and moaning actually enchanted me. I didn't mind getting splattered in blood as she thrashed. Actually, it was quite amusing, especially since when she finally stopped I could see the charred tissue across what had once been her breasts. I took a small sample. Not as satisfying as the skin strips, but certainly edible. My next step was to borrow a steak knife from her kitchen and shove it into her rectum. The dear woman barely reacted to this. To be honest, I was amazed that she was still conscious at all, especially since I followed it with two more knives of the same type. I was growing bored by this point, and yearning for the climax, so I decided to.....well, I believe "cut to the chase" is the proper description.

It would seem this woman made her own soap, as I found a good supply of lye and other cleaning substances in her pantry. Have you ever seen what lye does when mixed with water, my dears? It's a fascinating chemical process, and quite corrosive I might add. Well, being the kind soul I am I chose to give this woman a relatively quick ending. I borrowed her bread knife (a lovely ten-inch serrated stainless-steel OXO knife, by the way) and cut into her abdomen, exposing her internal organs. I then upended nearly a pound of lye powder into her thoracic cavity. The smell was delicious, the reaction beautiful. I must remember to buy a package of lye to carry with me in the event of impromptu stops such as this.

Have any of you ever watched a person die in front of you, my dears? It's almost a holy experience. It's fascinating to read all the little expressions in their eyes, the confusion and pain and dismay as they finally see that their lives have meant nothing....and then, just before they return to nothing more than glassy gel-filled lumps of meat, there's a split-second where they seem to see...something else. Something that none but the almost-dead can see. Perhaps it's Heaven. Perhaps it's Father. I'm not certain. All I know is that there is a Great Mystery in this world, and the last thing every person learns in this life is the answer to it. That single fleeting expression is the greatest beauty in all the world, and I fall down and worship Him in humility every time I am blessed with the opportunity to see it again.

Now that my amusement is over, I'll get back on the road. First, though, I believe I'll take a shower. I saw a lovely and expensive raspberry-scented shampoo in the bathroom that I'd like to try. And I believe I'll also take a nap. Maybe I'll even bring the woman into bed with me. I would enjoy the companionship.

Ta ta for now, my dears. I'll see you all soon.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011


My, my, my...I knew that you Runners were stupid, but my dear little KK has to take the cake. She seemed to think that she could catch us unawares, but the joke was on her. However, her attack plan WAS marginally clever, so I thought I would give her a chance to explain herself. Here is how the conversation transpired.

(I watched as KK was restrained, disarmed, and rather severely beaten by some of Morningstar's men. For such a tiny thing, she really IS quite resilient.)

Me: (waiting for a break in the beating. Indulgent smile) Hello, dear. You could have just knocked, you know. I would have let you in.

Her: (spitting out blood from a broken tooth) Yeah, and then you would've killed me.

Me: (chuckles, not offended) Well, that's true. Of course, we may end up doing that anyway, so the only thing you've gained is....(quick once-over) quite a few new injuries.

Her: (sarcastic) Yeah, thanks for that. I've always wanted a broken shoulder.

Me: (calm) You're welcome, dear. Now, to business. You obviously know I have your sister, or you wouldn't be here. The question is, what would you do to get her back?

Her: (stubborn) I'd kill every one of you if I had to.

(I had to roll my eyes at this. This girl's stubbornness obviously outweighs her common sense)

Me: (patient, hiding exasperation) My dear, you really don't understand the purpose of negotiation, do you? Allow me to ask again....what would you be willing to do to get your dear Christine back?

Her: (still stubborn) I'll promise NOT to kill all your asses.

(If ALL Runners are this absurdly obstinate, it's a wonder any of you are still alive.)

Me: (exasperated) That's hardly an acceptable offer.

(At this point I retrieved Christine from the closet I'd been keeping her in. Please note that most of her bones were broken, her face was scarred from bleach, her breasts had been removed, and her eyes were plucked out. A pitiful picture, really. Oh, and there were other assorted injuries from my attempts to quiet her)

Me: Maybe you should reconsider your answer, dear. After all, Christine here can't take much more of my hospitality.

(I yanked on her shoulder to reinforce my point. She screamed, of course, though not very loudly as her vocal cords were destroyed and her lips were sewn shut. This seemed to cause KK no small amount of distress)

Her: (face flushed, obviously QUITE agitated) Goddamnit, don't do that!

Me: (pulls harder, separating the break with enough force that it tears through the skin of her upper arm) I'll stop when you agree to do what I want.

Her: (irate, but remarkably cautious for someone with no common sense) What do you want?

Me: (calm, proceeding to cause several more injuries to Christine as I speak) I want you to serve Father. It's all I want from anyone. I want you to become part of Us. It's not hard, really, and it eliminates things like THIS. You'll have no more pain, no more worry. No more fear. It's bliss, dear.

Her: (becoming more irate by the second. It was quite entertaining) You have GOT to be fucking with me! After THIS shit, you really think I'd join you pathetic fucked-up losers? LET HER GO!!!

Me: (amused, calm) No, dear. I really DIDN'T expect you to change sides. You're far too stupid to see that that's the best option. I simply needed to hear your refusal.

Now, at this point she proceeded to spew quite a few epithets that are HARDLY fit language to repeat, let alone to use on one's mother. Being rather annoyed, I proceeded to dismember and disembowel Christine right in front of her as a punishment. It's actually a good thing that Morningstar's crew are such muscle-bound types, as otherwise I'm certain I would be dead right now. Anyhow, I let him go to work on her, as his sadism DOES have its purposes. I'd asked him to save me the killing stroke, though, so that I could finish what I started so long ago. Unfortunately, I never got to deliver it. She was rescued, teleported out by some boy who can apparently use the Path.

Morningstar, naturally, was furious. I, on the other hand, couldn't stop laughing. It was all too much. I'd been so impossibly close to my dream, only to have it once more yanked out from under me. To whoever rescued her: I will hunt you down. I will cut you open one tiny slice at a time and I will eat your heart. I will turn your ribs into a corset and your spine into a sword that I will use to kill every member of your family. I will find you in your sleep and I will torture you for weeks. I will not forget this, and if you have ANY shred of wisdom you will commit suicide and save yourself considerable agony.

Ta ta for now, my dears.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

What a long, boring day. I had to amuse myself by cutting several strips of flesh off dear Christine's legs. It made a bloody

ohmygod whereamiwhatsgoingon? who are these people? somebody help me, please.....

Monday, July 18, 2011

Points of Interest

It occurs to me, now that this girl has finally ceased her annoying whimpering (nails on a chalkboard have NOTHING on one of you pathetic meatsacks squealing in terror), that some of you may be interested in hearing a modicum of information about who I was when I was still one of you.

As I stated before, my name was Alicia Carter. I was a moderately successful woman, a surgeon with a husband and three children (all girls, of course). I was a surgeon, a good one. I don't think it's terribly prideful to say that I was among the best in my field, if rather unrecognized due to my location. I had what many of you would consider to be a good life.

It was, naturally, all a lie.

As it turned out, my husband was cheating on me....with my daughters, none of whom were older than 7 at the time. When the police investigated, he attempted to implicate me. This pathetic stab at avoiding his own responsibility failed, naturally, but in the ensuing scandal my medical license was revoked. All the good I had done was forgotten, and only an outright LIE remained in people's minds when they thought of my name. I wasn't happy about this. At all. So I resolved to eliminate the problem, as any good empowered woman should do.

I tried to kill my daughters. I say "tried" because only one actually died. Another was wounded, and the third (the little bitch) called the police before I could silence her. I was sent to prison. My life had gone completely off the rails. I had never been a religious woman, so I didn't even have a cold and uncaring God to blame my misfortunes on. I cried out in the night on Death Row, pleading for someone, ANYONE to bring me an answer. I craved a "why" with every fibre of my being.

Father was the one to answer.

He came to me. He appeared in my cell, and without speaking told me everything I could ask for. He promised me release, and vengeance, and PURPOSE if I would be his, his entirely, body and soul. I said yes. I fell down and worshipped Him, and he took me as his servant. He made me better than I'd ever been, more intelligent, more alert, stronger and more than human in every way. I was more than happy to provide any services he asked of me. He was my Father now, and a good girl will always do as her Father asks.

You know now who I am and how I came to this. I fell from grace, but in that fall I found a new purpose and a new meaning. I am more than human, more than I could have ever been alone. He gives gifts to His Chosen, all you dear Runners and Fighters. He will accept you with open arms and make you better. He will fix you. He will make you whole.

Embrace Him and know true peace and rest.

Friday, July 15, 2011


My GOD you scream a lot. You're not even bleeding yet, you little twat. If I'm going to have to suffer through days of this, I may just end you right now. Then again, maybe that's what you want. I think I'll stretch it out. I imagine having a cattle prod in there is rather uncomfortable, but if you don't shut up and let me get on with my preparations I'll trigger it again, I swear I will. Just shut UP!

Oh, look at that. Your wrist snapped. Well, it's your own fault for disobeying me. Father's agent said you wouldn't survive Hallowing, so now you're mine. If you don't do what you're told, more pain will come. What's that? Water? Hmm.....only after you do something for me. Yes, that. Again.

There, that wasn't so hard, was it?

Here's your water. Oh, I forgot to mention...that burning you feel is the bleach I added. It shoudl start eating your tongue and lips in about ten seconds. Ah, there it goes. With any luck it'll consume your vocal cords too and you'll finally be silent. Father, help me tolerate this cunt for a few more days....even after the bleach she's able to MOAN. This is ridiculous. Shut UP, you stupid meatsack! Nobody's going to rescue you! Nobody's going to hear you! SHUT UP!

..oh, damn. Now look what you've done, Christine. You've gotten your blood all over me. Good thing you're a cutter. You're used to pain there, aren't you? Well, how about here? Here? Oh, look. Without breasts, you look rather mannish. Unfortunate, really, as you were borderline cute before. Then again....that gives me an idea.

There, that's better. You're all fixed up now. And don't worry about your eyes. I donated them to a friend. Now, we just have to wait for your sister to arrive. Then the real fun can begin....


I am setting an example, by His command. Those of you who think you can harm him, you will soon see see exactly what sort of vengeance He will exact. I hope you are prepared.

An Introduction

You're all hopeless, all you Runners and Fighters. I used to be one of you. Then I met Father and he changed my mind. He is the Alpha and Omega, the darkness from which we all came and to which we'll all return. I embrace nothing but my destiny when I become a part of Him.

Oh, I'm sorry. I promised an introduction, didn't I? 

My name was once Alicia Carter. I was like the rest of you; pathetic, mewling, simpering bags of shit who seek nothing but your own gratification, living for nothing but your next meal and your next fuck and the next bit of stimulation for your primitive thoughtless pre-hominid cerebra

Apologies. I'm afraid that my thoughts run away from me sometimes, especially when I think about the pathetic excuse for a life I used to lead. Now I am His, and I am coming for you. All of you.

I will show you His glory, and you will beg for your lives. And I will laugh.