Through The Loop.

This is another short update; in fact, it's less of an update and more of a...compilation.

Yes, my Tumblr was hacked. No, I don't know who it was.

More interesting for my readers at home, however; the mysterious gentleman who took over my account for a few days, appears to be playing some sort of game.

First round of the game appears to be "Hide and Go Seek", where he posted a picture of...well, I haven't quite been able to figure that out yet. My followers on Tumblr have since informed me that in the picture...data (I'm not particularly great with how technology works; I can use it perfectly fine, but damned if I can understand it), was a code built out of a series of triplets, consisting of a large Roman numeral, an Arabic numeral, and a small Roman numeral.

If you want to see this code, it has been posted (presumably in its original form) at my Tumblr. If you do not trust that version of it, then you can probably locate the file embedded in the picture.

The reason I didn't notice this gentleman on my Tumblr? Simple fact of the matter, I wasn't here. Work has been running all of us ragged, and none of us are too sure what to think. Hell...some of the shit that's happened this week, we're not sure we want to think about at all.

I appreciate everyone's patience with these updates, but...you might need to wait a little bit longer. I just don't feel comfortable discussing some of the events of the last few days just yet; once my headspace improves, I will keep you posted.

Return to Sender.

It's been a crazy week, and I come back and find...that.
I've done the usual. Changed passwords and the like, but...I'm troubled. I'm...apparently far deeper into this than I ever thought possible. Than I ever wanted to be.

I can't tell the police. I've placed myself in a very...grey area regarding confidentially by writing this blog.

I should just delete it. Cut my losses and get out before I lose my job. That would solve at least one of my problems.

...I'm in over my head. I need to go calm down.

The Crime Scene.

I've been putting this post off for a long time, mostly because some of the contents of it are...well, I'm not quite sure how to deal with it. But Theo's house has been thoroughly investigated since that night, and I'm finally feeling comfortable enough with my mindspace that I can look at the evidence objectively.

First of all, outside. Three pairs of unidentified footprints were found in Theo's backyard. One of them came from fairly heavy duty boots; possibly army surplus. One was unidentifiable as any particularly recognizable sort of shoe. The third came from a pair of fairly dressy shoes, which would not look out of place with the assumed profile of our killer; wearing an expensive suit.

...Sadly for the paranormal enthusiasts, that particular pair of dressy shoes is now sitting in my apartment, after I took them off that night. The crime lab is unaware of my presence at the crime scene at any point in time. Detective Morrow was informed, and potentially Captain Hernandez; I'm not honestly sure who knows about the reason for my sick leave, and frankly, I don't want to think about it too hard myself.

The pile of organs was promptly analyzed before it decomposed too much. The majority of them belonged to an unfortunate member of the bovine population, but...mixed in (for want of a more respectful term), was a human brain and heart, the owner of which is currently unidentified. We're keeping an eye out for missing persons, but there's not exactly much to ID the victim on; we're hoping that the body will show up (though 'hoping' is not the word I would generally apply to a situation involving a brain missing a body...This isn't exactly a general situation.) The bags the organs were presumably carried in with have no fingerprints, but the same dress shoe from outside left an imprint in one of the intestines.

Downstairs, however, is where the most evidence of substance seems to be located.

First of all, that painting on the ground. I have read a great many of these blogs, and I don't believe I have seen anything like that in any of them. I do however, get a prickling feeling that I have seen that symbol before. Unlike the horrifying chaos upstairs, this symbol appears to have been created quite neatly, almost clinically. It appears to have been measured out precisely, and patiently. This seems far more in-character with the almost surgical nature of the first two murders we encountered.

Thoughts on the symbol itself...Color choices are consistent with those already explored in the Mythos. The wave extending from the semi-circle...it seems to me to be a stylized representation of the reading off an electrocardiogram; a single heartbeat, then asystole. Rather dire, I suppose.

What is most interesting, however, is the piece of paper found within the semicircle. Though it is fairly hard to see from the picture of the symbol; there are four streams of red liquid extending out symmetrically from the piece of paper in the middle.

Three guesses what the red liquid is. We have not yet identified whose blood that was. It does not match up with any of the evidence we have so far; another victim?

Dr. Aspen told me (with much glee) that the piece of paper in the blood was unable to be released for assessment. I was, however, allowed to have a brief look at it. The blood had soaked into much of the paper, however, there was still a phrase that could be made out.

"THE FIRST VOW." Extending from the outskirts of the page were several of the same insidious tentacles that pervaded Theo's notebook, and in the top right hand corner, a "V" was clearly visible.

...It's getting late, and I'm wrecked. Which beats being unable to sleep by a long shot. I'm going to catch a couple of hours rest before I need to be up for work.

First Thoughts.

...I'll be honest, not much. I've looked through the notebook several times and am noticing some trends.

There's also some stuff that I just plain haven't encountered in any of my research into the Mythos.

Pages 20, 21 and 22 appear to be as a single instance, as do pages 18 and 19.

The reason I stopped where I did, was because from that point onward, the art style changes...entirely. I still don't know what to think about that. Or the Roman numerals throughout the book. Or...anything.

I can't concentrate. This is a stupid time to be awake. I've been up since about 4, after sleeping at 1. Just...couldn't sleep for longer. I've...well, I've been having dreams. I'm aware that this is a hallmark of these Slender stories, but I can assure you, it's nothing I hadn't expected. I just, relive that moment, where I'm looking up at that face. Porcelain white with arrogant abysses of eyes, crying blood as my vision fades around the edges. He leans over me, and...does he say something? No, he snorts. A single "Hah." Derisive in the face of my horror.

I'm going to make myself a coffee, then head in for work. I need something to take my mind off this.

The Night Shift.

I haven't posted in a long time. And I don't think I can finish this post in one go, either. I have my reasons, certainly. First, and least importantly, my paperwork from my clinicals has been catching up with me. The time I've spent on this murderer (dubbed the Fishmonger or the Mad Surgeon, depending on which papers you read. Thankfully, Franklin's 'theory' hasn't been picked up by many of the major news networks.) has been cutting into my free time both at the office and at home, as much as I loathe to give it that credit. 

On the upside, I...believe I wouldn't be too wrong if I were to say I am somewhat of an expert in the Mythos that help formulate this killer's methods. I've read the origins of the character, I've seen the creative directions it has been taken in, I've noted the subtle differences in each blog's character, whether it's the Operator of Marble Hornets or the Wicked Gentleman of Hiking Fiend, or the many Slendermen of Breaker (I have read a LOT, good and bad.) I've seen what he does, and every so often, something still gives me chills (though I will be honest, those moments are few and far between. One is inevitably desensitized to a tall businessman watching from the treeline.)

So please understand that, when I describe what happened when I took Jess up on her offer to keep her company on the night shift, I am not speaking from a position of ignorance.

Detective White knocked on my door at about 9:45 that night. I opened the door to a rather more casual looking girl to the harsh, up and coming detective who so terrorized the precinct.

"What, you're wearing a suit on a stakeout? You want the kid to think you're with the fucking Bureau? You're a bit of an idiot, aren't you?" 

Well, she was still in casual clothes. That counts for something.
"I forgot to change after work."
"Well, whatever, we need to get there, NOW, to take over from Officer Madison. I'm driving."

I will not speak about the drive there. She was driving at...the speed that suited her, I said some things I shouldn't have, more loudly than I should've, and we almost crashed into a Pizza Hut.

Needless to say, when we first arrived at the house at the stroke of 10 (which was impressive considering where I live), we weren't exactly on speaking terms. She did initiate conversation after she got sick of sulking, though.

"So, what do you think? Any amazing breakthroughs you've made with your time reading teen dudes try to do horror?"
"For your information, most of the bloggers are in their 20's, and there's a fair few female bloggers. Or at least, dudes pretending to be females. And, you can try and belittle the genre as much as you like, but the fact of the matter remains that it is a group of literary works that clearly inspire our murderer. Would you be belittling it if the murders resembled say, the deadly sins of man, and I started looking into Dante's Inferno?"
"...Yes, mostly because I've seen Seven."
"...Point to you."

The night continued pretty much like that. I think I dropped off to sleep at about two, because I remember nothing between then, and when Detective White punched me in the shoulder at 3:33AM. "Something's happening."
"Hmm?"
"Look out the window."

I rolled over (we had apparently reclined the seats so we were almost lying down. I guess that provides us with more cover or something? I dunno.) and looked at the house. Only one light was on; from Theo's room. Poor guy couldn't sleep. I don't blame him; I'd be kept up by the events going down too. I could see his silhouette behind the venetian blinds, on his computer...

The lights flickered. Like a whisper through a candle. Barely noticeable.

Then, they cut out entirely, as a "SMASH" rang out through the neighborhood. A lone dog barked, breaking the night from its peaceful silence with its harsh staccato. Detective White jumped out of the car, opening the door with a fluid movement. "Look after the car," she demanded, before darting into the night.

I'm not a fighter, I'm a lover. Ah, so to speak. So when she made that demand of me, I was entirely content to follow orders from the officer. If only things were that simple. As the Detective disappeared behind the house, I watched as a shadowy figure slipped silently across the wall, right behind her. 

I'm not a fighter, but I know that fights are generally decided by who gets in the first good hit. And this...whoever they were...

I got out of the car, locking it as I left, and ran as softly as I could with my work shoes on, around the back of the house. It was deserted as I went, with tiny pieces of glass from the broken door glimmering in the moonlight. I stepped over the threshold and listened for any signs of movement, standing awkwardly in the dark kitchen, wondering desperately to myself what I thought I was doing.

You wanna be a hero, Rivers? I can see the headlines now, "Savvy Shrink Saves Damsel in Distress" Alternatively, "Stupid-Ass Psych Skinned, Detective Dead." Wanna take a spin at it, mate?

I wondered why my internal monologue sounded exactly like that goddamn reporter, before hearing slow footsteps ascending the staircase to Theo's room. I froze, standing in place for what seemed like an age, but was probably only a few minutes. I looked around the kitchen for anything I could use to defend myself; a rolling pin being the first object to come to hand. It was an odd weight to be carrying, but the heaviness comforted me enough to move through the house, with a slow 'tap tap tap' of my feet. The light was low, so I brought out my cell phone to help navigate.

Tap, tap, tap, squelch.

I looked down and was overcome with a wave of nausea, narrowly holding down my dinner. On the ground,  was...what my minimal knowledge of anatomy could identify as an intestine, snaking across the floor like a grotesque trail of yarn, leading inevitably to the main ball, hiding in the bathroom down the hall like some inhuman beast.

Garbage bags were strewn around it, slimy with the vestigial juices from what they used to contain; building blocks for the...grand construction. Organs. More organs than could possibly come out of a single human body, piled on-top of each other in a glistening, raw bastardization of the natural order. Some cleaved in two, dissected, as if this were just a macabre science lesson. I swear, they were squirming, the glistening of my cell phone light playing off them, invigorating them, giving them the power to beat, digest, consume. And the stench, oh god the stench. Ammonia and something else, something worse. I couldn't just smell it, I could feel it. My hair follicles felt like they were buzzing in protest, my pores screamed, my hands tingled.

I tried to shout, to do something, but opening my mouth only let that foulness enter my body further. I whimpered pitifully, my lungs burning, eyes tearing up unwillingly. I stumbled backwards, whispering, "What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck...", only to feel a sharp pain in the back of my head.

I dropped the rolling pin, stumbled a bit more. My vision blurred and I fell to my knees. I felt the floor swing beneath me, toppling me to my side. I blacked out, but before the darkness consumed me, I looked up, seeing a ghostly mask grinning down at me, its hollow eyes streaming tears of blood.

Nice try, mate.

The Calm.

Business continues as normal, I suppose. I get into the office at the same time as I always have. Jess still spends most of her time in the field, so as to avoid the stony silence she receives back at the office. The routine is the same, but it all feels different. Tense. As if the world as we know it is balanced on a razor blade.

Maybe it's because Detective Morrow has been confined to a desk. Sitting in silent comprehension, occasionally typing. For such a legend with the force, it's unnatural to see him so, leashed. His forceful personality was gone, and he had become very introspective. For a man with such a passion for getting out in the field and helping people, this probation was taking its toll. He's been refusing to step a foot inside my office as of late, determined to push past this without help. Typical, I suppose: he understands the relevance of what I do, yet his sense of personal pride has been deteriorated to the extent that he feels he must go through this alone. I am, respecting his wishes, as a friend. Even so, his presence around the precinct is somehow uncomfortable.

It could be that which is setting me on edge. Or it could be that damn reporter...Freelance Franklin. (It's so corny, but that's what goes in the tagline.) He's published an article.  "Something Awful Lurks: Internet Horror Connected to Student Murders". Thankfully, he thinks he's a bigger shot than he actually is: the article was relegated to page six of the paper. Maybe an eighth of a page long. Even so, seeing "The Slender Man" in print was a disconcerting experience. Lance has been snooping around Theo's house lately, too. We've had an officer turn him away from the front door as a 'security threat'. To which he grew quite agitated, declaring this to be a 'fucking imperialistic new world order coverup', government conspiracy, First Amendment, Slendergate, yadda yadda yadda. The officer had a huge grin on his face when he returned to the precinct. Everyone loves a good old dose of crazy in their lives. That said, this guy is smart and persistent, despite his quirks. I've got a bad feeling about him.

Rachel Aspen's been coming into the precinct a lot lately, too. Always with her pseudo-intellectual babble. (maybe not the best word, she is indeed, very smart, but her high and mighty way of delivering her information indicates a clear superiority complex, perhaps drawn from self-image issues or a lack of self-worth in her adolescence.) She's taken a particular dislike to me, possibly because she sees a psychological outlook on this case as a threat to the more typical forensic sciences. Pride in one's field is...natural, however her pride seems to be taking on a competitive edge. Her clearance of the notebook pages are painfully slow, and I am beginning to suspect that she is taking a certain amount of pleasure in delaying them from passing through my hands.

That said, it might just be me being paranoid; spurred by this odd feeling of tension which has been floating around lately. I'd probably tell myself it was, if I were a patient of mine.

I guess I can't know for sure.