Buzz buzz buzz buzz.
Constant buzzing.
Not sure where it's coming from.
But.
It's there.
Buzz buzz buzzing away.
Like bees.
A swarm of bees.
Sounds like it's coming from outsidebXkgd2luZG93LiBIZSdzIHRoZXJlLiAgVGhlIHdpbmRvdyBpcyBvcGVuLiAgUmlnaHQgdGhlcmUuICBCdXp6aW5nLiAgQnV6emluZy4=
2011/06/26
2011/06/04
The Kids
I went to the house that night when they were screaming. I was afraid. I was mad. I was upset. I wanted to do something. So I went.
The lights were all out, save for one flickering glow of the television through the front window. I knocked on the door. Nothing. So I jiggled the handle and heard the click of the mechanism working, then felt the door swing open almost on it's own. I watched it hit the wall and heard the hallow, echoing sound go through the house.
Empty.
The place was empty. Nothing was there. It was like they had picked up and left, leaving everything as it was. I walked through, holding on to the top of my left leg, because after all I had ran there, and did my best of looking around.
Going upstairs, which took some interesting movements, might I add, I looked everywhere. Nothing really stood out. No one was there, of course, and I just kept looking as if something would pop up and give me an idea.
So I went to the kid's room.
And I found something.
Him.
He was standing in the back of the room, near the window. I just kind of watched him, eyeballing him and trying to figure out what I could do. The kids were gone. He was standing there, staring at something on the floor. I couldn't tell what it was, but it got his attention pretty good.
Then he looked up.
And I jumped.
And he turned.
And I didn't move. More so, I couldn't move.
He walked forward a single step, and I walked back a single step. He moved again, and I didn't move. And I watched him. Observed him. His chest puffed and sank like he took a breath, a shallow, short breath. Then, he moved his arm.
And I ran.
And ran.
And ran.
Then hobbled.
And he didn't chase me.
I didn't come back for a good amount of days. I'm not going back there.
But.
I wish I knew what got his attention.
Adieu,
Will
The lights were all out, save for one flickering glow of the television through the front window. I knocked on the door. Nothing. So I jiggled the handle and heard the click of the mechanism working, then felt the door swing open almost on it's own. I watched it hit the wall and heard the hallow, echoing sound go through the house.
Empty.
The place was empty. Nothing was there. It was like they had picked up and left, leaving everything as it was. I walked through, holding on to the top of my left leg, because after all I had ran there, and did my best of looking around.
Going upstairs, which took some interesting movements, might I add, I looked everywhere. Nothing really stood out. No one was there, of course, and I just kept looking as if something would pop up and give me an idea.
So I went to the kid's room.
And I found something.
Him.
He was standing in the back of the room, near the window. I just kind of watched him, eyeballing him and trying to figure out what I could do. The kids were gone. He was standing there, staring at something on the floor. I couldn't tell what it was, but it got his attention pretty good.
Then he looked up.
And I jumped.
And he turned.
And I didn't move. More so, I couldn't move.
He walked forward a single step, and I walked back a single step. He moved again, and I didn't move. And I watched him. Observed him. His chest puffed and sank like he took a breath, a shallow, short breath. Then, he moved his arm.
And I ran.
And ran.
And ran.
Then hobbled.
And he didn't chase me.
I didn't come back for a good amount of days. I'm not going back there.
But.
I wish I knew what got his attention.
Adieu,
Will
2011/05/25
My Back Porch
It is currently 10 o'clock at night, darkness has fallen, I'm sitting on the back porch of my place with my laptop on a TV dinner stand. I've been out here for three hours. Watching. There is a string of lights on above me, my computer is illuminating my face, and I can see maybe ten feet in front of me before it hits complete and utter darkness. Until, of course, it reaches the alley. There is a faint light there, and there is a man.
Bob.
Or, more so, The Slender Man.
I'm tired of pretending. I do know who he is. I've known since I was a kid. He killed my brother. He killed my parents. And now, he's following me.
I don't give him the respect that other bloggers do by calling him "Him" or "HIM" or those who do not even say his name, like he's the equal to Voldemort from Harry Potter. I call him what he is. The Slender Man. He doesn't have a name. He's tall, faceless, slim. That's it. The Slender Man is a perfect fit.
He isn't moving.
Is it a he?
Any matter, we've been observing each other for the past three or four hours now. I've been out here doing some research on other victims. I'm both bemused and upset at the number of people infected by this guy.
I don't know how to kill him, and frankly, I don't care. I mean, come on. From everything that happened, from the numerous places he's been, there's not a way we can stop him.
I'm in Virginia. There's a few of us here. But I also know that there are people in New York, Chicago, somewhere in Alabama, California. He's everywhere. Every. Where.
I just looked up, and he's gone.
Gone to do what, I don't know.
Gone to infect more, probably.
Gone to stalk more, yeah.
Left me alone, no. Not at all.
I like to tell people I lost my leg in a car accident. There is some truth to that, but not all. I lost it in an intentional car crash. I worked for the FBI for the longest time. I'm in my late thirties, worked there since I was in my twenties, started low and worked to a pretty decent job. I'm not giving you all of the nitty gritty details. You don't need to know that. However, it was the day I was going in for the interview to see if I was getting a promotion. I took a cab because at the time, my narcolepsy was keeping me from getting a licence (since then I've gotten the proper drugs and pulled a few strings and kissed some ass and said 'Oh pretty pretty please' but that's totally besides the point) and I was shuffling around some papers in the back seat. The cabbie was talking and singing at the same time, which was a trip. Neither of us were really paying attention.
Then he stepped off of the curb and in to the road.
The cabbie freaked out, spun the wheel, launching the cab in to oncoming traffic where we met a firey death.
Okay, maybe not death.
The car died.
Ambulances were called, people rushed, someone tried to pull us out of the cab. It was a blur of red and numbness. They pried the cabbie out of the car, but I was lodged in pretty well. The jaws of life pried the shit out of that car door, and they pulled me out.
Without my leg.
There went my promotion. Right out the window.
...children down the street just screamed. I'm going to ignore them.
So without my leg, and a nice long stay in the hospital, I...
...the children keep screaming. Oh god. I can't. Why isn't anyone else...
Fuck this.
Bob.
Or, more so, The Slender Man.
I'm tired of pretending. I do know who he is. I've known since I was a kid. He killed my brother. He killed my parents. And now, he's following me.
I don't give him the respect that other bloggers do by calling him "Him" or "HIM" or those who do not even say his name, like he's the equal to Voldemort from Harry Potter. I call him what he is. The Slender Man. He doesn't have a name. He's tall, faceless, slim. That's it. The Slender Man is a perfect fit.
He isn't moving.
Is it a he?
Any matter, we've been observing each other for the past three or four hours now. I've been out here doing some research on other victims. I'm both bemused and upset at the number of people infected by this guy.
I don't know how to kill him, and frankly, I don't care. I mean, come on. From everything that happened, from the numerous places he's been, there's not a way we can stop him.
I'm in Virginia. There's a few of us here. But I also know that there are people in New York, Chicago, somewhere in Alabama, California. He's everywhere. Every. Where.
I just looked up, and he's gone.
Gone to do what, I don't know.
Gone to infect more, probably.
Gone to stalk more, yeah.
Left me alone, no. Not at all.
I like to tell people I lost my leg in a car accident. There is some truth to that, but not all. I lost it in an intentional car crash. I worked for the FBI for the longest time. I'm in my late thirties, worked there since I was in my twenties, started low and worked to a pretty decent job. I'm not giving you all of the nitty gritty details. You don't need to know that. However, it was the day I was going in for the interview to see if I was getting a promotion. I took a cab because at the time, my narcolepsy was keeping me from getting a licence (since then I've gotten the proper drugs and pulled a few strings and kissed some ass and said 'Oh pretty pretty please' but that's totally besides the point) and I was shuffling around some papers in the back seat. The cabbie was talking and singing at the same time, which was a trip. Neither of us were really paying attention.
Then he stepped off of the curb and in to the road.
The cabbie freaked out, spun the wheel, launching the cab in to oncoming traffic where we met a firey death.
Okay, maybe not death.
The car died.
Ambulances were called, people rushed, someone tried to pull us out of the cab. It was a blur of red and numbness. They pried the cabbie out of the car, but I was lodged in pretty well. The jaws of life pried the shit out of that car door, and they pulled me out.
Without my leg.
There went my promotion. Right out the window.
...children down the street just screamed. I'm going to ignore them.
So without my leg, and a nice long stay in the hospital, I...
...the children keep screaming. Oh god. I can't. Why isn't anyone else...
Fuck this.
2011/05/19
2011/05/08
I redid the layout of my blog. The old one was nice, but it was a little half assed. So I browsed around and BOOM, new layout.
So, now that I'm done geeking out.
Nothing really strange has been happening. It's quiet and normal and things are going good. My rent is paid, my internet is paid off for the month, my job is going well, and things are nice.
No, I haven't gotten the papers out of the attic. Work has me out all the time. And when I'm not at work, I'm in therapy, expressing my "feelings".
Only, there's been this man. He's tall and always wears the same old business suit. I've seen him before, and lately, he's always been in my field of vision. When I leave the bar, he's there. When I go to therapy, he's there. When I look out my window, he's walking past. When I do anything, he's right. there. all. the. time.
I've called the cops, and they came over a time or two, looked around, shrugged and said there was nothing they could do since he wasn't there. And they left. I've stopped calling it in, and they've stopped caring. Oh, but this man keeps right on creepin' around.
And I don't even know his name.
I think I'll call him... Bob. Bob is nice.
Bob isn't around. Maybe it's because he knows I'm talking about him.
But I swear. I've seen him before.
Like... a few months back when I was going to therapy. He went in to my therapist's office and I was pissed. But when I went in, he was gone. Strange way of disappearing there, Bobbo.
And.
In Germany. With my grandparents. The woods. Wait... there's no way...
No. Of course not. God, I must need sleep.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
So, now that I'm done geeking out.
Nothing really strange has been happening. It's quiet and normal and things are going good. My rent is paid, my internet is paid off for the month, my job is going well, and things are nice.
No, I haven't gotten the papers out of the attic. Work has me out all the time. And when I'm not at work, I'm in therapy, expressing my "feelings".
Only, there's been this man. He's tall and always wears the same old business suit. I've seen him before, and lately, he's always been in my field of vision. When I leave the bar, he's there. When I go to therapy, he's there. When I look out my window, he's walking past. When I do anything, he's right. there. all. the. time.
I've called the cops, and they came over a time or two, looked around, shrugged and said there was nothing they could do since he wasn't there. And they left. I've stopped calling it in, and they've stopped caring. Oh, but this man keeps right on creepin' around.
And I don't even know his name.
I think I'll call him... Bob. Bob is nice.
Bob isn't around. Maybe it's because he knows I'm talking about him.
But I swear. I've seen him before.
Like... a few months back when I was going to therapy. He went in to my therapist's office and I was pissed. But when I went in, he was gone. Strange way of disappearing there, Bobbo.
And.
In Germany. With my grandparents. The woods. Wait... there's no way...
No. Of course not. God, I must need sleep.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
2011/04/29
In the Attic
I finally got around to snooping in the attic. There's a lot of boxes and crap around. Old baby toys, old clothes my mother used to wear. The works. Pictures, but nothing really of importance:
This was some crates of Charles'. His old uniform bag is behind them.
Another box and a suitcase (but I think he used it as a briefcase?)
I think these are the names of the people who used to live in this house. David and Freddy? Not sure about last names, and frankly, I don't care. Nothing really big. I just thought some pictures would help with the "broader spectrum" of the situation.
As I was up there taking pictures (with that lovely crap of a camera on my iPod), I kept hearing strange noises. I'd hear creaking and cracking and banging coming from down the stairs. Though I'm pretty sure the creaking and cracking was me walking on the squeaky wooden floors and stepping in some old, crunchy leaves or wood shavings, but the banging was not me. I know that for sure.
A chill ran down my spine everytime I passed Charles' uniform bag, too.
I'll get around to sorting through the one box with the papers in it soon.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
Edit: I just looked back at a previous post; the boxes that were taken are still missing. They didn't really look important anyways. That old camera and some of Charles' personal belongings, like some pictures and his wallet and knick-knacks like that.
2011/04/12
Another Day
Went to therapy. Went to work. Went home. Attempted the attic again. Passed out again. Woke up a few hours later (and not days, thank god). I'm going to have to get me some different amphetamines ("I'm on speeeeed." - Dr. Wilson, House) or something.
I'm a narcoleptic. It's odd, but hey. For those who do not know: Narcolepsy is a sleeping condition where the person falls asleep in random places, doing random things, at random times. So all of my passing out must be due to the lack of sleep I've been getting.
Or I've been sleepwalking. I've had a history of that, and during that whole episode, my spells came around more often. Possibly just my body reacting to the lack of sleep.
I'm for sure getting a good nights sleep tonight. I have the day off tomorrow. I'm free of work and therapy for one glorious day. Attic cleaning, here I come.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
I'm a narcoleptic. It's odd, but hey. For those who do not know: Narcolepsy is a sleeping condition where the person falls asleep in random places, doing random things, at random times. So all of my passing out must be due to the lack of sleep I've been getting.
Or I've been sleepwalking. I've had a history of that, and during that whole episode, my spells came around more often. Possibly just my body reacting to the lack of sleep.
I'm for sure getting a good nights sleep tonight. I have the day off tomorrow. I'm free of work and therapy for one glorious day. Attic cleaning, here I come.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
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