Sunday, February 12, 2012

I see him. He’s half a mile away. He’s everywhere. When I move my head, he shifts with it. He’s always there. His tendrils outstretched across my vision. There’s nowhere left to go.

I hear footsteps in the snow behind me. I won’t fight him. I’ve never committed violence. I will not start now.
 I don’t have much time. No time at all. And yet every second is precious. Every second is a few more words I can add. The last few words of a dead man.

I’m not afraid. 

I’m going to see Caleb. 

I love you, Samantha.

I’m sorry, Annabel.

Never stop running.

Never stop struggling.

Never stop hoping.

Stop killing.

Stop letting others die.

Stop compromising.


Isn’t this interesting?  It seems he wasn’t quite finished with his post.  I suppose it was rude of me to interrupt him, but it almost works better this way.  After all, now I can explain events directly and save you a report, Messenger.

Donovan Swihart is dead.  On February 12, 2011, mere minutes ago, he was accosted by myself.  It’s strange.  He struggled at first, but only because he seemed glued to this phone.  Strangely enough, as soon as I felt the bones in his wrist crack under my grip and he was practically forced to let go of it, he simply gave up and refused to fight back.  Looking back over his post, it seems almost ironic, doesn’t it?  He stopped struggling very quickly.  He also never tried to run, although that might be because he knew it was futile to even try with broken knees.  It’s a shame I had to resort to a tool as inelegant as a lead pipe to do so, though.

Fortunately, the human body, the perfect tool, was more than enough to snap his neck.  Don’t worry, Raven.  I prefer quick, clean efficiency.  Your Donovan did not suffer.

You thought you had me on the run?  You thought you could bring Raven back to her old self?  You thought that I wouldn’t find out about any of this?  Please, Messenger, give me more credit than that.  And Raven, I’m very disappointed in you.  Have you learned absolutely nothing?  I thought I had made it clear that a doll like you should know her place.

The car will be burned with the body inside.  This blog is over.  


So, Messenger, was that satisfactory?
Car’s dead. The belt snapped. I replaced it last month. No such thing as coincidence. I’m out of town now. I’m isolated. I’m alone. There’s a forest to one side, open field on the other. Something’s moving in the trees. The field it is.

No use hiding my story now. Now that I’m dead.

I tried to be a hero. I tried so hard. I never made it off the ground. Too many people. Too many problems. It was all bigger than me. It’s bigger than any of us. I tried. I failed. I got people killed.

All this blood on my hands.

No one wants a failed hero. I was ashamed. I stopped updating. Better gone than derided. No point making a spectacle of myself.

I didn’t save anyone. I just got them killed. I never even got to New York.

I’m sorry, Annabel. I’m sorry, everyone. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.

It’s so cold. The wind is harsh. I don’t know where I’m running to now. I’m just running.

Wish I could just stop.
Dead. Brandon’s dead.

Wasn’t gonna come back. Too much shame. No one wants a failed hero. I’m dead though. Maybe there’s value in a dead man. These are my last words.

Went back to our safehouse. I’d left to meet a runner. Passed her some money. My last good deed. I stepped into the house. An arrow of blood painted on the wall. I knew. I still followed. The arrows took me 
to the bedroom. Brandon was there. Neck snapped.

Just like Caleb. Just like my son.

Black feathers on the floor spelled “Run”. So I am. I’m in my car, almost out of town. I’m still not safe.

I know this is it. I feel it. Even so, I’m not done running.

Never stop running.

Never stop.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011


Since my family's murder, I've spent the past two weeks remaining outside of contact with the world we've found our thrust into. I checked no blogs. I ignored all phone calls and texts that were not from trusted sources. I did not post, I didn't extend outreach. I couldn't cope with their mindgames. Isolation was the key to regaining my sanity. It was the only way. If anyone was hurt because of my time in hiding, I am sorry. The alternative was madness.

In the meanwhile, I began my journey across the country. I had to visit my family one final time before they were laid to eternal rest. The caskets were closed for the funeral, after what that villain did to them. It is good, I think, that their bodies remained sealed away, beyond the prying eyes of the vicarious and the wounded. They sleep now, forever beneath the dirt, in the only safety that one can ever truly know.

After the ceremonies, I spent my time working out what to do with my family's estate. Despite my attempts to scrape together a living on my own, I could have lived comfortably if I'd desired. My great-grandfather made very keen investments during his lifetime, and my family has reaped the rewards ever since. There is a reason I always try to do good - I was fortunate where they are not, and I have always had the means. But now, with no other heirs, the entire fortune falls to me. I plan on touching none of it, save the money that is necessary to aid me on my quest. The house and all its contents remain. The investments will continue in the hands of my father's trusted advisers. I, on the other hand, shall continue my leave of absence to see the world. This time, however, I have purpose besides running.

David must come to justice. For what he's done to me, to my friends, and to my fellow human beings. I do not threaten violence. The man is a monster, but still a man. I only call for justice.

Annabel must be saved. She never wanted this, I always knew that. Still, there was more to it than that. It played with her mind. She can be reached, and I'll strive to do all I can that she is.

And a hero must rise. For too long, we have allowed ourselves to be assaulted and abused. It attacks our bodies, our souls, our minds. Something must be done.

There has to be a happy ending.

Sunday, September 4, 2011


On the 1st of every month, my parents deposit money into my bank account. They think I've been out traveling. They think I've been trying to find myself since Caleb died. They don't ask questions. They just support me. They always judged my decisions, but they support me. They're always there for me.

I've been running all week. They've been hunting me, driving me for some  inexplicable reason. They were never this focused before. I always felt like an afterthought in their twisted war against innocence. This week, though, I've been hunted like I've been attacked like I never have been before. Only on the 2nd did the proxies and the husks cease their assaults. Only when I started panicking about my parents' deposit not appearing in my account.

It's always been there. It's always been the one constant of my run. Sometimes it'd come in the morning, sometimes in the late evening, but there was always a little bit of money from my parents by the end of the day.

I looked in my e-mail. I checked if maybe there wasn't a note from my parents telling me to expect their support to be late. Instead, I found a message from someone I'd never heard from before. The address was a meaningless string of letters and numbers. The subject only "Concerning the 1st"; the contents merely a link.

He killed them. He was in their home and he killed them.

The Mad Ventriloquist told me a lot about David. He described him as an old friend, and an old shame. I never thought it'd lead to this, though. I never thought he'd be in my parents home. I never thought he'd kill them.

The link was to a Youtube video. It was David, walking around their house, talking about who he was. He seemed so affable at first. It's true what they say about some serial killers. There's a certain charisma about them. But he was in their home. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was all wrong.

David put my mother on camera. She was bound and gagged and bleeding. He pulled out a switchblade. That sick bastard said how good of people they are, how they let him in and fed him. Then... he started cutting. He cut off her skin. That evil man skinned her while talking about how its all my fault... all my fault.

I'm the hero. And he's the villain. So everything I love around me has to die. All my family did was be family, and he killed them. Because that's the way the world works. Black and white. Good and evil. Hero and villain.

He said all this while leaving piles of her skin on the floor.

And David did it to all of them. He slit my dad's throat while critiquing the way he ran the family business. He sang while he killed Terry. He sang as he gouged out my little brother's eyes. All because of me. My parents are dead. My little brother is dead. All because I tried to be a hero.

A hero...

Friday, September 2, 2011

He killed them. He killed them all.

Mom. Dad. Terry.

David killed them all.

He killed them all.

He kill

Wednesday, August 31, 2011


Running. Always running. I've driven for days. They're chasing. Always chasing. They don't stop. Hardly slept. Just a few hours. Always running. Must keep running.

Running for Caleb. Running for Pete. Running for Frank. Running for Rob. Running for Janelle. Running for Dale. Running for Annabel Lee.

I keep them alive. I run for them. I'm alive. They're dead. Or...

I'm alive. I'm still running.

I don't blame Annabel. It's her. I checked her blog. I know it's her. She's human. She fell. She can get back up. I want to help her.

The proxies won't let me. The husks won't let me. Forcing me west. Wrong way. I want to help her. I can't get to her.

I hate them. I hate him. We were normal once. We were human. Now we're dead. And we're alive. We're in nothingness. It's all on him. He's a monster made real. A story come to life. And he's destroying us.

I hate Arnold. Annabel is his fault. He left her. He forced her. If only I could hurt him, I would make him pay for what he did to her and what she's become because he didn't value any life other than his own. But I'm a pacifist. I do nothing.

I just run. I just keep moving.