Theo Twining

This is the tale of an incident that occurred to me a few years ago, when I was a younger man, and convinced that the world was exactly as I saw it, and worked exactly as I was told it worked.

I had just finished my undergraduate degree at a college I shall not name, in the middle of Wales. Though my degree was interesting enough, I really wanted to leave behind the books and the academia, and immerse myself in the study and practical research of the paranormal. Though my funds were slight, at best, and my student loan needed repaying, on returning to London, I placed an advertisement in my local gazette, asking for anyone who had experienced paranormal phenomena, and didn’t mind talking about it to give me a call. I couldn’t offer anything in the way of a reward for their troubles, but I did promise to buy them a drink or two while we talked over what they had experienced.

It didn’t take long for me to receive my first and only caller, and to be honest, I was quite surprised that my ad had this much success. But I am not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. The call came while my mobile was turned off, but a number had been left on voicemail, and a few days later, I called back. I didn’t want to respond immediately, though I don’t know why. Perhaps I wanted to seem more professional. Like I had a hundred people on a waiting list or something.

Anyway, I called the next evening, and was greeted by the voice of a young man, who identified himself as Theo Twining. I asked if we could meet, but he declined, with a dry and solemn chuckle. I told him that it didn’t matter, and that we could conduct the conversation just as easily by telephone. Perhaps he was shy, I told myself. His situation was this:

Since about two weeks ago, he (and he paused for a good minute or two before recanting his tale, repeatedly telling me that I would think him stupid) had started to see worms, regular earthworms, across his path. I at first thought him a little bit paranoid before I heard the particulars of the tale. Not just outside, not just crossing his path, but in all manner of places. If he made a cup of coffee, there would be an earthworm, dried and boiled at the bottom of the cup. When he woke, he woke to find himself covered with five or six of them, and when he sat at his desk, they would crawl toward him from beneath the monitor screen, and from under his keyboard. He told me of how he lived in a neat-ish studio apartment on the third floor, and how this only happened very recently.

I listened to all he said with a rapt silence, alternating between deep fascination and a nagging guilt. I was finding such thrill in hearing this tale while Theo was undeniably suffering over it. Naturally quite hooked on his story at this point, I asked again if we could meet. Maybe he was more at ease with me now? But he seemed even less inclined now to meet. However, he did promise that he would call the next day. We agreed that I could take the call at 7pm, after I got home from work.

I work in a not-so-busy estate agent’s, so I spent most of the next day’s office hours mulling over what he had told me, and even went as far as to run an internet check on Theo Twining. What I found made revulsion rise in the pit of my stomach, a hot and acidic feeling of sickness. I don’t know for how long I sat there, still and shocked, until a co-worker shook me out of it, asking me if I was okay. It was all I could do to lie, though before me the screen gave details on Theo Twining.

A young man of (…), the same area of London in which I lived, had committed suicide in his apartment two weeks ago. The obituary and funerary notice was in the very same paper in which my advertisement appeared. I ditched my mobile as soon as I could, tossing it into a hedge, and I took the next few days off work. I went off to visit friends, not wanting to be alone.

As of writing this, I am studying for a master’s degree in my undergraduate subject. I never tried to investigate the paranormal again, after that. The world doesn’t work the way I am told it does.

Credited to industrialresolution@googlemail.com

Contamination

You stumble into the kitchen, covered in sweat. Mind racing. Heart thumping. Christ, could he have followed me here? You think. How did he even find me?

A moment passes. One thing is certain.

He’s not here now.

Your stomach rumbles. Even someone in your position has to eat. Your refrigerator door cries as you tug it open. You peer through the shelves. A jug of tea catches your eye. You take a swig, right out of the container. Your mother won’t know.

The tea tastes sharper than usual. You examine the label. Black tea. She bought the wrong kind. You shrug, reach for some leftovers. Flip the TV on in the other room as you slide them into the microwave. The five o’ clock news plays in the background. It might say something about him.

The usual teary story about the war. Some presidential candidate is coming to your town. You count down the numbers on the microwave. 5, 4…

“And, finally, tonight a food contamination alert for all residents in this county.”

…3, 2…

“A shipment of Lipton’s Black Tea delivered to local stores has tested positive for traces of the ebola solanum virus. This super-strain of the disease causes painful sores on the underarms, neck and groin followed by profuse bleeding from all orifices. The survival rate once infected is less than 10%. I repeat, Lipton’s Black Tea has been pulled from the shelves but any resident who purchased the tea is advised to call the Center for Health Control to dispose of it immediately.”

1.

You tug open the fridge once more and look at the tea you just drank.

Lipton’s. That’s not the kind your mother usually buys.

“Authorities report the shipment was tainted by an unidentified biological expert who remains at large.”

He’s not here now. You think. The jug of tea falls to the floor.

But he was.

Credited to Alice Wilde.

Ancestral Memories

It is said that all of us have ancestral memories locked away within us.

Some even argue to say that these memories are kept in consciousnesses separate from our own, or, to put it more simply, in multiple personalities.

To unlock these memories is to gain an infinite amount of wisdom from the mistakes and experiences of the past, but to access the memories, one would have to discover their “other” personalities.

And once they’re awakened, they’ll be wanting a body to STAY awake in….

Chiasma

It wasn’t until I broke down in front of my sister that it occurred to me to use the word ‘haunted’. When I tried to explain what was happening to me, finally articulating the weeks of dread and utter dislocation, I found that no other word would come. Haunted. There’s still a part of me that scoffs and glowers at this, to use the language of folklore; it seems to compress what I’d experienced into a simple banality, a prisoner of language.

I paid cash upfront for the house in West Toluca Lake. Something about the 1930′s Spanish architecture tucked behind the grove of weeping willows triggered a strong association with my childhood ideal of what it meant to be famous and successful in Los Angeles. It was far more than I needed, and I struggled to fill the extra rooms with bedroom sets and elaborate smoking lounges; more out of an obligation to keep up appearances when guests were over than to satisfy myself. I was happy there, for a short while.

My friends stop visiting a few months after I moved in. Increasingly elaborate excuses were spun, and I soon stopped asking. It only occurs to me now that I was doing the same, finding every reason to stay in the house.

There was such a gentle descent into the insanity of it all, that I hardly felt it happening. The unusually stormy winter hit me hard, and long hours in front of the sun lamp seemed to do little to halt my growing feeling of melancholy and nameless unease. I started sleeping later and I abandoned even the pretense of writing, spending long hours in silence on the back porch, listening to the dry rasping of the dead leaves in the cold breeze.

It was the middle of the night when I first saw him. After a long time of lying motionless in the dark, I slowly pulled myself out of bed from an Ambien fog at the sharp urging of my bladder, and shuffled towards the bathroom.

He was in the hall, standing perfectly still, his back to me. His head was cocked slightly to one side as if he was listening, but he showed no signs of seeing me. My heart leapt and my body locked as I tried to comprehend this intrusion. He was walking away from me now, the soft tread of his feet on the carpet the only sound that punctuated the stillness. Less than three seconds had passed from the moment I saw him, to when he turned a corner and was gone.

When I wrenched control from my frozen limbs, I found the house empty, and the doors still locked. Sleep came slowly that night as I tried to convince myself that what I had seen was a product of my medicated and half asleep mind.

He returned the next night, as I lay in bed. I awoke to the sound of the door opening and my eyes snapped open to complete darkness. There was the soft shuffling of feet, and then with a sickening feeling deep in my core, the sound of bed springs softly creaking, as if he had sat at the foot of the bed. Fear held me in place like a vice. There was a sound from far away, a dusty crackling breath of wind.

My mouth went dry and I croaked a small involuntary rasp as I struggled to extricate myself from the sheets that suddenly clung to me. In that naked moment of helpless animal terror, he vanished, leaving a palpable hole in the darkness.

After that night, I was never alone in that house. At the corner of my eyes I saw slow plodding movement, the lumbering gait of a shadow that evaporated as soon as I turned. Rarely at first, but increasingly, I would see him in full view; walking slowly from room to room, sitting motionless on the patio, standing solemnly and silently in odd corners of the house. He would be gone only moments after I registered his presence, simply ceasing to exist, taking with him the tiny muffled sounds of his movements.

I could not describe him now if I tried. He was not vague or indistinct, but utterly unremarkable in every appearance. I can no longer even recall the image of him, only the idea of it all. Beyond the sight, there was an indescribable quality around him, a lingering fog of unease and dread that slowly suffused the house and clouded my mind.

My friends and my family all swear that during the darkest weeks they called me often, increasingly sick with worry. I remember none of it, just the constant crashing waves of dread and shock that weathered away at my reason.

The moment of clarity came on a clear February night. In a near daze, I stumbled towards the sleep, not wanting to stay awake, not wanting to wake up again in this house. I turned out the light, sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed when the miasma of his presence enveloped me.

He was behind me in the dark.

I pressed my eyes tightly together, and exhaled a slow wheeze, trying to calm my racing heart.
The bed behind me bucked with sudden movement and a raspy cough of air, and I leapt away, flinging the light switch upward. The bed, once immaculately made was in shambles, the sheets strewn on the floor.

Something deep inside me seemed to slowly bend and snap, and I grasped at a fragment of epiphany that slipped through my fingers away into the gloom.

I felt suddenly and sharply awake and lucid, like I hadn’t in months. I held onto my momentary courage close as I approached the front door; stepping over the threshold for the first time in weeks brought a faint wave of dizziness, and then I was in the car trying not to look back. As I pulled the car into the street, I turned to the house, the last time I saw it, its lights ablaze in mimicry of life. He was at the window, his hands clasped at his side, a momentary silhouette that vanished with only the soft sway of the curtains.

I was at a motel within an hour and at my sister’s Studio City apartment the next morning. My throat was raw from not speaking for so many days and I croaked out the story to her, embarrassed at the absurdity of the way it all, but swaddled in a profound relief.

Despite the usefulness of it to describe the events, the word ‘haunted’ soon turns sour in my mouth. It never occurred to me to call the intruder a ‘ghost’. This was… something else. Something I can’t explain with the clubs and spears of language. The phantom impression of a right word, the perfect word, seems always at the tip of my tongue, but it never comes. It wasn’t the intruder. It was the house. There’s something wrong with the house itself.

The house is… broken.

Credited to entropyblues!

The Rake

During the summer of 2003, events in the northeastern United States involving a strange, humanlike creature sparked brief local media interest before an apparent blackout was enacted. Little or no information was left intact, as most online and written accounts of the creature were mysteriously destroyed.

Primarily focused in rural New York state, self proclaimed witnesses told stories of thier enounters with a creature of unkown origin. Emotions ranged from extremely traumatic levels of fright and discomfort, to an almost childlike sense of playfulness and curiosity. While their published versions are no longer on record, the memories remained powerful. Several of the involved parties began looking for answers that year.

In early 2006, the collaboration had accumulated nearly two dozen documents dating between the 12th century and present day, spanning 4 continents. In almost all cases, the stories were identical. I’ve been in contact with a member of this group and was able to get some exceprts from their upcoming book.

The Rake
A Suicide Note: 1964
As I prepare to take my life, I feel it necessary to assuage any guilt or pain I have introduced through this act. It is not the fault of anyone other than him. For once I awoke and felt his presence. And once I awoke and saw his form. Once again I awoke and heard his voice, and looked into his eyes. I cannot sleep without fear of what I might next awake to experience. I cannot ever wake. Goodbye.
Found in the same wooden box were two empty envelopes addressed to William and Rose, and one loose personal letter with no envelope.

‘Dearest Linnie,
I have prayed for you. He spoke your name.’

A Journal Entry (translated from Spanish): 1880
I have experience the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I see his eyes when I close mine. They are hollow. Black. They saw me and pierced me. His wet hand. I will not sleep. His voice (unintelligible text).

A Mariner’s Log: 1691
He came to me in my sleep. From the foot of my bed I felt a sensation. He took everything. We must return to England. We shall not return here again at the request of the Rake.

From a Witness: 2006
Three years ago, I had just returned from a trip from Niagara Falls with my family for the 4th of July. We were all very exhausted after a long day of driving, so my husband and I put the kids right to bed and called it a night.

At about 4am, I woke up thinking my husband had gotten up to use the restroom. I used the moment to steal back the sheets, only to wake him in the process. I appologized and told him I though he got out of bed. When he turned to face me, he gasped and pulled his feet up from the end of the bed so quickly his knee almost knocked me out of the bed. He then grabbed me and said nothing.

After adjusting to the dark for a half second, I was able to see what caused the strange reaction. At the foot of the bed, sitting and facing away from us, there was what appeared to be a naked man, or a large hairless dog of some sort. It’s body position was disturbing and unnatural, as if it had been hit by a car or something. For some reason, I was not instantly frightened by it, but more concerned as to its condition. At this point I was somewhat under the assumption that we were supposed to help him.
My husband was peering over his arm and knee, tucked into the fetal position, occasionally glancing at me before returning to the creature.

In a flurry of motion, the creature scrambled around the side of the bed, and then crawled quickly in a flailing sort of motion right along the bed until it was less than a foot from my husband’s face. The creature was completely silent for about 30 seconds (or probably closer to 5, it just seemed like a while) just looking at my husband. The creature then placed its hand on his knee and ran into the hallway, leading to the kids’ rooms.

I screamed and ran for the lightswitch, planning to stop him before he hurt my children. When I got to the hallway, the light from the bedroom was enough to see it crouching and hunched over about 20 feet away. He turned around and looked directly at me, covered in blood. I flipped the switch on the wall and saw my daughter Clara.

The creature ran down the stairs while my husband and I rushed to help our daughter. She was very badly injured and spoke only once more in her short life. She said “he is the Rake”.

My husband drove his car into a lake that night, while rushing our daughter to the hospital. He did not survive.

Being a small town, news got around pretty quickly. The police were helpful at first, and the local newspaper took a lot of interest as well. However, the story was never published and the local television news never followed up either.

For several months, my son Justin and I stayed in a hotel near my parent’s house. After we decided to return home, I began looking for answers myself. I eventually located a man in the next town over who had a similar story. We got in contact and began talking about our experiences. He knew of two other people in New York who had seen the creature we now referred to as the Rake.

It took the four of us about two solid years of hunting on the internet and writing letters to come up with a small collection of what we believe to be accounts of the Rake. None of them gave any details, history or follow up. One journal had an entry involving the creature in its first 3 pages, and never mentioned it again. A ship’s log explained nothing of the encounter, saying only that they were told to leave by the Rake. That was the last entry in the log.

There were, however, many instances where the creature’s visit was one of a series of visits with the same person. Multiple people also mentioned being spoken to, my daughter included. This led us to wonder if the Rake had visited any of us before our last encounter.

I set up a digital recorder near my bed and left it running all night, every night, for two weeks. I would tediously scan through the sounds of me rolling around in my bed each day when I woke up. By the end of the second week, I was quite used to the occasional sound of sleep while blurring through the recording at 8 times the normal speed. (This still took almost an hour every day)
On the first day of the third week, I thought I heard something different. What I found was a shrill voice. It was the Rake. I can’t listen to it long enough to even begin to transcribe it. I haven’t let anyone listen to it yet. All I know is that I’ve heard it before, and I now believe that it spoke when it was sitting in front of my husband. I don’t remember hearing anything at the time, but for some reason, the voice on the recorder immediately brings me back to that moment.

The thoughts that must have gone through my daughter’s head make me very upset.

I have not seen the Rake since he ruined my life, but I know that he has been in my room while I slept. I know and fear that one night I’ll wake up to see him staring at me.

You Know That Old Urban Legend?

If you grew up in the country as I did, you’ve heard it. The one about some bridge or some location, usually in a valley and almost always near water, where something horrible supposedly happened to a mother and her baby, and at night if you are quiet you can hear a baby crying or a woman calling for her child? Yeah, that one. It’s a great excuse to take your girlfriend out to a dark secluded location, get her all scared and have her jump in your lap. When she feels all safe and secure, the panties come right off, right? Scary places always landed me the choice ass back in the day. Know what I mean bro?

Yeah well, I know what really happened, and I know the place where it occurred. You see, there’s this old bridge down in a valley that crosses a small river. It’s not far from here, If you want I can take you out there. Yeah, we can go tonight.

The legend usually says a mother was rushing her sick baby to the hospital and ran her car off the bridge. The story also goes that the mother got out of the car, but drowned after repeatedly trying to find her baby in the dark water. The next morning the police found the car and the two bodies after a farmer called the wreck in. Years later teenagers used to hang out in the fields on the north side of the bridge, and they told stories of hearing a woman screaming “Oh god MY BABY SOMEONE PLEASE HELP OH GOD MY BABY”. There are variations, but this is usually the gist of the tale. Well, the truth is, the valley was haunted a long time before anything like that ever happened, and it wasn’t haunted by some woman screaming for her lost baby. Not then at least.

You see, out in the country here, there’s things that never see the light of day. Things not meant for mortal eyes. They wander the countryside looking for food. They feed on humans you see. They wear the skin of their kills, look just like us. Once it’s on them you can’t tell them apart from us. What they look like under the skin, nobody alive now knows.

The woman in the story, she WAS rushing her baby to the hospital, and she did wreck, but she didn’t run off the bridge. She came close though, and she seemed to be in luck, as a truck came along just minutes after she ran off the road and smacked a tree. Her lights were still on, and the driver of the truck spotted her waving in the middle of the road. What happens next, well… it’s pretty horrible. You see the driver of the truck, well, he was one of those things, and he was wearing the previous owner’s skin. He pulls over, offers to help. The mother is on the verge of passin’ out, so he helps her get the baby out of the car. He found it impossible to resist the tender, sweet flesh of one so young. The smell of it’s innocence was too much, and its appetite overtook it. He ate the baby right there in front of the mother. Jaws split like some sort of horrible giant snake, bit it right in half, swallowed it in two bites. Right in front of that poor woman. That’s where the screams come from you see. Right before he ate her too. Of course, she didn’t die so quick, being a much bigger meal than a little baby.

The real horror of these things is, once they eat you, your soul or whatever, it doesn’t move on like it does after a normal death. It lingers, you see. How do I know all of this? Well, I grew up around here. My grandfather told me all about it. He was one of the cops that found the car, you see. He ran across one of those things here in town once. Said it looked like a person, just didn’t seem to move right. His grandmother was an old Indian wise woman, she told him stories of the skinwalkers when he was a child. Said he’d know when he met one.

So you want to see the place? It’s just a few miles from here. Yeah, hop in the truck, I’ll take you out there. She’s a beaut ain’t she? Belonged to my grandpa too, she’s a 55 Chevy. Restored it myself. Finish your drink, we’ll head out there.

By: CaptainYetiZombie

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 16

Phew! That was the last of the things that I've piled up.

As you may guess it, I have moved out of the house.

I gotten the hell outta dodge and I will never turn back.

I've gotten all the things that I needed, left a not-so-farewell note behind for Momma, picked up Bushy to bring along with me and just left in the middle of the night.

Well, I gotta have some form of company now, don't I? Bushy pretty much fits the bill.

It wasn't easy to pack the printer, laptop and my clothes in one suitcase, but somehow I managed. Surprisingly.

Guess where I am now?

Bet you can't.

Give up?

I'm at Jan's place.

Yes, that's right, I got the hell outta dodge and moved in to Jan's place.

Or to be more specific, his attic.

Only Jan and I know about this place. Not even his clueless rents know about this attic because it just so happen to be above Jan's room through a trapdoor on his ceiling directly above his bed, and he wasn't about to share this secret place with his rents or anything. I'm the only person he had ever told about this place.

We even had sex in here.

Those were good times.

Definitely the perfect place to not rouse any suspicion.

The electricity and water may be a bit of a problem (though it's still running for the moment), as well as food or whatever, but I'll get my way around it.

Come on, what better way to investigate this phenomena and research on my Slendy-shit than from the source, right?

OK, I admit, it gives me the creeps a little being here, seeing that both Jan and his rents totally hit rock bottom six feet under here, but it was the best place to hide out from Momma and beat the rental and traveling expenses.

It's not like I have anywhere else to go, or wanna go anywhere outta town anyhow.

I'm sure Jan wouldn't mind, and would've wanted me to crash in his place if I ever get outta my own home.

Besides, there may be clues in this house here that might give me a hint as to what all this Slendy-shit is about. Especially Jan's room, where it all began.

Which reminds me, I better grab whatever stuff that is around in Jan's room before they decide to clean up the place. Those crime scene cleaners can really do a number on a dead house and I don't want to lose any precious evidence or clues as to why Jan died.

From what I heard from word of mouth, the boys in blue have already finished processing the place, taking whatever they needed to investigate on Jan and his rents before deciding the verdict of Jan being a psycho and having a meltdown and did a murder-suicide fiasco.

Jan is not a psycho, though he did have a meltdown, and that murder-suicide fiasco had everything to do with whatever he was obsessively researching about.

I'm gonna find out and put an end to it.

I'm printing out all my research from scratch again.

Thank God for internet bookmarks.

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 15

I had an argument with Momma today.

Why, you ask? What did she do this time, you ask?

She totaled my research that's why!

2, 3 weeks of research down the toilet because she decided to go bonkers and tore up all my folders and whatever I had in them and threw them into the fireplace.

I fucking told her not to ever, EVER, enter my room without my permission! I even forced her to sign an agreement on this! And what does she do? I turn my back for one moment to go out and buy myself some take-out for lunch and come back to see her ransacking my room, walking back and forth from my room to the fireplace and tearing up my folders and my research and pictures while sobbing like a fucking scorned 3-year-old. Fucking breach of contract, that's what!

She was absolutely hysterical, screaming and crying like I just gave her a whoop in the ass or something (not that I'm not tempted to) and told me I shouldn't dabble into things that I have no understanding of. I tried to stop her from tearing up anymore of my hard work and she frickin' freaked out and pushed me away like I was some kind of disease.

I told her whatever I research is my own business and none of hers, and I just wanted to find the meaning behind Jan's death, but she wouldn't listen. She screamed back at me to tell me to leave it alone and that Jan's death was just an unfortunate incident of a depressed child. I asked her how would she know whether Jan's depressed or not and she just clammed up and threw the last of my stuff into the fire.

Fucking bitch! What the hell, man?? What the FUCK is her problem??

Fuck, that's it! That's IT!

I'm getting the hell outta dodge.

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 14

Sorry for not logging in on updates or anything. Been researching things like crazy, and something happened that made me gone into withdrawal for a while.

Janphen's funeral was on the way last week. I was expected to attend, but I didn't. I couldn't face the fact that it could've been my fault that he was dead. That I didn't see the signs and allowed it to happen. I just stayed outside the church where the funeral services was done, hearing the preacher droning on and on about blessings and life after death and whatnot (I'm not a sucker for religion, really), and people delivering eulogies for him.

Some of them were bullshit though, just a farce, because I've known Jan long enough to know that some of the things they said are totally not what I know about Jan.

Or maybe it really is something I didn't know about Jan, the other side of him. He did, after all, became my friend not entirely by choice.

Choice...

I remember his words that day I visited him.

Maybe...Maybe I am...I dunno...Maybe I'm just sick of all this...

What was he sick of? Life in general? Me?

Do you KNOW where your dad is? Do you know WHO your dad is? Do you even KNOW WHAT he is? Do you??? DO YOU???!!!

Those were his last words.

His last final words of desperation.

Desperate for me to hear, to understand.

And what did I do? I ditched him, and left him for dead.

I didn't even have the courage to go up to the funeral procession where they carried his and his rents' body to the cemetery to be buried. I just stood somewhere far away and hid behind a couple of trees, watching from my spot as they lowered him six feet under.

When the funeral ended and Jan's relatives who handled the funeral caught sight of me, I got the hell outta dodge.

I'm not gonna stand there and wait for them to scream at my face and rubbing it in that it was all my fault.

I've had enough wallowing in self-pity and beating myself up the past few weeks to know it.

Anywho, I've decided to make print-outs of everything that I have studied about this Slender-freak (including the pictures) and keep them in folders for references later. Heh, the last time I did this was for an assignment at school. Didn't think I'd actually be that hardworking for this shit.

I dunno, maybe making print-outs and studying them helps me cope with the loss, that by studying them, I will know what hit Jan so hard to drive him to this madness, and subsequently be close to him.

I actually showed Momma some of the freaky drawings of the Slender-shit and she totally freaked out, telling me to burn that garbage and ran to her room crying hysterically.

Wonder what was that about?

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 13

Sorry for the late entry here, but I've been going through some really weird shit trying to investigate this odd Slenderman guy, and boy, do I have a freaky result up in hand.

OK, so after I searched through the web about Slenderman, this is pretty much what I got:
The Slender Man is a mythical creature completely created on the Internet which has grown beyond its Internet Urban Legend status to become the target of pictures, fictional stories and videos about "him".

He's often depicted as a tall and thin silhouette, wearing black pants, a black suit with a white shirt, and a black necktie underneath. What is startling and creepy about this creature is that he is usually depicted with absolutely no visible face. Furthermore, he can stretch out or shortens his arms as well as he hides some kind of tentacles on his back.

So basically some dude named Victor Surge got bored, decided to start up some fucking shit, goes to this forum website called Something Awful and joined a "Create Paranormal Images" contest or something, made up this stupid Slenderman and posted it in the contest, and now shit just comes up and everyone starts thinking he's real??

How dense can they be?

Come on, they even did an interview to that sucker and he admitted to all those fake photos. But I see some weird shit comments about people saying that it's real and that this sucker had first account of the monster, which he tries to bring it to the public's attention of its existence.

People. They can be really dense sometimes.

I mean, look at these pics.

Fake shit.

Come on, copy-paste and blurring much?

OK, this is obvious fake. I mean, Doc Oc much?

The kicker on this last photo is that it includes a so-called "news report" of the kid gone missing a few days after this picture was taken, which is, of course, total fake. And that Victor bugger admits it too.

How could Jan fall for these? What exactly is behind these photos that he thinks it's so goddamn real? Even a retard can tell it's fake.

Though I gotta admit, even though it's fake...it kinda creeps me out a little...

--:--

I decided to type Slenderman in the image search engine to see how he looks like in other people's eyes, and boy, do I get a LOT of weird shit.

To know about this motherfucker is something, but to actually draw and illustrate him into this sort of sucker?

This is fucked up

--:--

More weird-ass picture art of Slenderman.

Attempts to anthromorphize this motherfucker is really just so whacked.

What is it that people see in this guy that they have this morbid fascination for even though they know he's fake?

What does Jan see in this monster?

And what does it have to do with what he's talking about Pops?

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 12

I have done a bit of looking up on this weird symbol that I found. I've spent all day and all night searching through the net to see if there is anything that would explain what that symbol is, since I dunno the name and I could only type the word "weird symbol" on the Search engine and sieve through a gajillion pictures to find the one I was looking for.

Thank God I've got the patience to the point of inhuman when it comes to doing things that I really set my mind to it.

Apparently, this symbol is called The Operator Symbol. Something that has to do with some sort of internet cult known as the "Slenderman Phenomena". Says in this website that The Operator Symbol can either be considered a sign for protection against this motherfucker or some sort of compulsion the victims of Slenderman tend to have after their encounter with that mo-fo.

Is that it? Jan got involved in some Slender-watchamacallit shit and ended up becoming something out of the Twilight Zone? How dense can he get? I thought he's all about NOT getting into this sort of shit! I thought he didn't believe in all this kind of crap.

What the hell...?

I'm gonna research on this some more. Maybe try to make sense of all of this shit.

Later.

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 11

Momma is knocking at my door again.

I tell her to go away and leave me alone.

Fuck, can't I even mourn for my best friend in peace?

I heard that some of Jan's relatives from another town are going to come down to proceed with the funeral services, that is, after the boys in blue are done autopsying him and his rents and reporting it to whoever was in charge of handling Jan's case.


The boys in blue came yesterday to question me again, and I just told them what I knew, what I saw and what Jan and I have been through for the past few days before he started acting like shit to me.

They asked me if I knew he had any troubles or was depressed or was on medication. I told them I knew none of the sort. I told them he was perfectly fine, and we even had sex after we went to watch some R-rated movies. Momma didn't look surprised that I told them I lost my virginity to Jan. She had expected we were a couple.

It's not like that. It's just casual sex. We're friends. Best friends who have sex with each other.

That's it.

The blue boys looked at me like my relationship was the most complicated ever when I said that.

What the fuck is so complicated about us being just friends and still have sex?

Geez...

Anyway they did ask me about whether I know what the symbols that he drew around his room meant, and again, I told them I knew nothing. Not sure whether they believed me or not but they didn't seem to ask me anymore.

If I'm not mistaken, once the blue boys were done with Jan, the funeral would commence sometime 2 weeks later

Damn, after what I saw, I don't think I would want to attend the funeral.

They might just pin the blame on me, since I was the closest to him, like as if I SHOULD have seen this coming and prevented it.

In a way, it would've been right.

I was his best friend. He was my only friend. We were together thick and thin since, like, ever. I should have seen this coming.

But I didn't.

Because I couldn't.

And whatever that symbol is and whatever he said about Pops, gotta have to be something to do with his death.

I'm gonna fucking find out about this.

And kill that bastard.

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 10

God, I can't believe...I can't believe this is happening.

Jan...Jan is dead...

I guess I should start from the top.

God, my hands are shaking just typing this damn post.

The day before I made that last post, I decided to put my foot down and investigate once and for all what the hell was going on with Janphen and his little recluse phase. I decided to go forth after giving Bushy his nightly feedings.

As I walked down to his home, so many questions were spinning in my mind.

What happened to us? What happened to him? Why is he behaving this way? What could possibly have caused such a drastic change in him? What did he mean by me knowing where, who or WHAT Pops is? Does he know something about Pops that I don't?

And where the hell are his parents? They should at least be around worrying about their son being like a fuckin' hermit crab at home and call in the shrink or the exorcist or whatever, not going MIA all of a sudden!

So there I was, in front of Jan's house and rang the doorbell and banged at the door for the umpteenth time. Thank goodness for neighbours who minded their own business, or I would've been seen creating scene at the time.

Though after what happened...I had wished they were a little nosy...

When I tried the door, it was surprisingly open this time, unlike the last few times when I find it locked. I entered and called out for Jan's parents.

No dice.

I called Jan's name.

No go either.

There was this really awful smell going about in the house. Like something just died and rot in a corner or whatever. I reached for the lights to turn it on so that I can see better.

I wish I wasn't right about what I thought it was, and I wish that I had not turned on the lights.

His folks were sitting at the dining table as if having a family supper, just without Janphen there. They seemed to be arranged like they were leaning back against their seat, their eyes rolled up to the back of their heads and their mouths agape into a frozen scream of horror.

They were gutted like fucking fish and the guts were arranged onto the dinner plates placed before them, part of it still linked into the cavity of where their innards were supposed to be. Blood was everywhere on the dining table and on their clothes. And I don't need to be a genius to see that the content in the wine glasses served on the table was not red wine.

I fought the urge to scream and run, or to puke my guts out because the thought of Janphen was on my mind. The first place I thought would be his room, so I made a run for it upstairs and banged at his door.

The door gave way, creaking open as if it hadn't been closed properly.

How I wish I had obeyed the urge to run.

I saw him, hanging on the ceiling by a power cord around his neck. He looked like he hadn't eaten or slept in days judging by the malnourished look on his face, and he was pale as hell. He wore the same clothes he was wearing when I came to visit him, and his room was littered with pieces of paper with just this symbol of a crossed-out circle.

It was all over the place, littered on the walls, on the floors, on the bed and drawn with some sort of white paint on his computer screen. He even had some of those blasted symbols stuck onto his body.

But that wasn't the freaky part.

He. Was. Smiling.

He was hanging by his neck on the ceiling and his eyes were rolled up his head like his rents were and he was fucking smiling!

Like he was fucking happy that he was dead!

I heard some sort of rustling sounds outside his window and that fucking broke me out of my trance. I quickly made a run for it out of the house and finally puked and hurled onto the grass outdoors. After puking out the last of the bile, I took out my cellphone and called the police.

It was a long process of questioning and writing report and whatnot, but it was finally over. I went home with Momma and she offered to make me something to drink to calm my nerves, but for once, I didn't shout at her to fuck off and mind her own business, but said "No, thanks" and went to my room. I wasn't in the mood and I had no appetite anyways.

Janphen...My best friend...

My ONLY friend...

Is dead...

Please....

Please...

Tell me this is all a dream...

Please...

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 9

Holy crap...

HolycrapholycrapholycrapholycrapholyCRAP...

Jan is dead.

Jan is fucking dead.

I'm not kidding!

I'M NOT KIDDING!!

Jan is DEAD!!

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 8

Jan hasn't answered my calls.

Again.

He hasn't answered my texts either.

Again.

He's not even online.

Again!

He's not even answering his doorbell and his parents are just frickin' not there all the time.

AGAIN!!

What the fuck is wrong with you, bro?! You were fine all the way ever since I met you in junior high! Now all of a sudden you're like behaving like some sort of weirdo from the frickin' Twilight Zone or something!!

Why don't you answer my calls?? Reply my text?? Go online?? Get the fuck up and answer the door??

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU??!!

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 7

I did it.

I went to school and told the principal that I'm quitting.

I know, I said I was going to call them, but I think it would be better that I told him in person.

It's gonna make the experience so much better.

When I went to the principal's office, though it kinda reminds me of the last time I went in there for something I have done (particularly the one where Jan wasn't around), he was enjoying his lousy decaf coffee and eating Dunkin' Donuts like all fatass principal who enjoys to just laze around inside rather than getting involved outside where the student welfare actually mattered.

Principal: Ah, Ms. Anderson. I was about to call your home to ask of your whereabouts, since you have been absent from school more than the grace period time of absence

Me: Flowery words, Mr. P, but I'm here to tell you, I quit school

Principal: Oh? On what grounds?

Me: On the grounds that I don't like it and I don't really give a shit about schooling

Principal: Well, that is some strong opinion there, Ms Anderson, but I'm afraid I cannot allow you to do that

Me: On what grounds? (I was being sarcastic here)

Principal: On the grounds that you are underage and you are in no position to refuse education

Me: Fuck that! You just want my money. Is that it? You want to keep me here so that I can keep paying you bloody school fees and money you do not deserve?

Principal: Now, let's not jump off that far. I never said that

Me: But you implied it

Principal: I merely state that it is my responsibility to keep you educated, to prepare in the real world...

Me: No, you don't. None of what we learn will ever truly apply in the real world, and you fucking know that well

Principal: I will not have language in my office

Me: Well, I'll keep going until you'll let me off, you fucking hypocritical prick

Principal: I don't see any reason I should let you go

Me: And I don't see any reason you SHOULDN'T let me go

Our argument continued for a while, but I could tell that impotent bastard was losing his patience. I nagged him about first amendments and my freedom of speech and my free will to want to accept education or not, but he didn't seem to want to budge, and he sounded intent to keep me in school no matter what bloody fucking reason I give him or no matter how I argue my point

So you know what I did?

No, I didn't kill him, though I wish to. But I'm not that stupid.

No, I just got myself expelled.

Violence is not tolerated here in my school, so I did the 3-strikes-you're-out kinda thing. I've already have been caught twice for fighting, the 2nd one being the one where I tried to come alone to school without Jan.

So I stormed out of the office, grabbed the first guy I see, slammed his head against the wall just enough to crack his skull a little but not kill him, then gave him a good whacking enough to send him hospitalize.

I've always had a talent in fighting somehow. I dunno where I got my strengths from. I never went for physical training or anything, but my fists tend to have a mean punch somehow and I've got the stamina of something entirely out there.

That's why I told you it's not pretty and you don't wanna know what happened the last time.

Seriously.

So third time is the charm. Mr. P had no choice but to expel me. Armed with the letter of termination, I came home, feeling rather good at myself. I slapped the letter on the dining table at Momma and made my way upstairs, turning the music out loud and totally ignoring her shouts and banging at the door while typing this.

If it weren't for the fact that Jan is still going freakily MIA on me, I'd say I did the best thing I've ever done in my life.

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 6

Nothing special today happened.

Other than the fact that Jan ignored my calls and text and had not gotten online when I tried to contact him through MSN.

And when I came to his home, his folks didn't seem to be home to answer the door and he didn't seem to want to answer either.

I know he's at home. He's got his own car and it's parked in the partially opened garage.

But he didn't answer the door and didn't seem to have left his room either.

I wanted to climb up and peek in but that would make me look like a fucking criminal trying to break and enter.

I did see lights from his computer flicker for a while, but that's it. He showed no signs of movement whatsoever.

I didn't go to school either. In fact, while typing this, I'm trying to construct what to write in my letter of school resignation.

Ah, fuck it. I'll just call the school and tell them I don't wanna have anything shit to do with them and I'm quitting.

Momma is not gonna like it but who cares?

It's my life and I'm gonna lead it however I want.

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 5

Today something else freaky happened.

I was staying home as usual, contemplating whether I should just give going to school alone another shot when there was loud banging at the front door.

I didn't bother answering it, coz I know Momma would do it, since she's usually the early bird for work, but when there was suddenly yelling involved, I knew something was up.

No one yells at Momma but me. That was the rule in this house.

My rule anyway, but still.

Anywho I went down to investigate, and I saw that it was Mrs. Crumps, the next door neighbour who "owns" the White Witch. The moment she saw me showing up, her voice seemed to have gotten an octave higher as she pointed that stupid nail-polished finger at me.

Mrs. Crumps: You! I know it's you! You did it, didn't you?! ADMIT IT!!!

Me: I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, bitch! And get that fucking finger of yours off my face before I hack it off with a chainsaw!

Momma: Language, George!

Me: She started it!

Mrs. Crumps: (I'll just call her 'Bitch' for now) If you're not going to admit your handiwork, you better go check it out yourself!

Oh, I checked alright. I was not about to admit to something I KNOW I didn't do. Momma followed behind me to see what the hell the Bitch was talking about. She led me to her backyard where so-called prized apple trees (which looked more leafy than fruits, if you ask me) and pointed at one of them.

It was really some freaky shit.

The White Witch was fucking hanging by the neck on that tree.

Dead as a doornail.

With his guts sticking out.

Yes, you heard me. Guts sticking out.

Like it was fucking Saw VI or some shit. Like someone has gotten medieval on that bloody cat.

As much as I liked the White Witch to become roadkill, this was really fucked-up.

Bitch: See?? You see that?! Look what you did to poor Persia!!

Me: Me?! ME?! How the fuck did you come to that "brilliant" deduction, asswipe?!

Momma: George, langu...

Me: No, Momma! I will NOT watch my tongue! You fucking call this MY handiwork?! You think I'm THAT sick?! I never even touch that fucking cat!

Bitch: I know it's you! I KNOW IT'S YOU!! ADMIT IT, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF...

Momma: Hey, hey, if my daughter said she didn't do it, she didn't do it? How can you be sure it's her and not someone else?

Bitch: I KNOW it's your...whatever your fucking runt's gender is...it's ITS fault! I KNOW it is!! You and IT had never liked my Persia, always complaining and accusing that he raids your trash and make a mess, when Persia would never...

Me: I thought you said you don't own him, now you're saying you are?

Bitch: Th...Tha...That's... That's not the point of discussion here...

Momma: Actually it IS the point. Why would you care so much that this cat was killed if it wasn't yours in the first place? And "Persia"? Sounds like you are admitted what you've been denying all along.

Bitch: THAT'S NOT THE POINT!! IT'S NOT!!! The POINT is YOU KILLED MY CAT!! I'm not going to argue with you right now! I'm calling the cops on you! And don't you fucking leave town!

Leave town? Who does she think she is? The sheriff?

Anyway, she did call the cops and animal control on us, and the blues came to investigate, checking for any foul play after clearing the White Witch's body, and despite the Bitch's loud protests and insistence to the point of jumping up and down and banging and kicking and screaming like a fucking 5-year-old throwing a tantrum, they found nothing to say that we did anything to the White Witch.

Of course we didn't. How sick do they think we are? If you ask me, THEY'RE the sick ones to think that WE did it.

Momma had asked me if I really didn't do it and I snapped "You're sick" at her.

I just got back from feeding Bushy, and even then, I saw that Bitch peeking out of the window, to see if she could "catch us in the act". She's been staring out the window at us ever since the blues gave us the clean bill, giving me the stink-eye every time she caught me seeing her.

I bet she's doing it right now.

Fuck her.

Bitch.

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 4

Sorry for the missed day. Technically it should be considered Day 5, but since I was at Janphen's and this really freaky shit happened, I had to collect myself to get my head together before I could write this down.

Besides, who's counting, right?

Anywho, that night after my blog entry, I made my way to Janphen's place to check him out and see if he's OK. Didn't go with the best of my clothes, but then again, Jan's folks, despite their grimaces, never really comment much about it.

They better not be. If they know what's good for them.

I asked for Jan, and they said he had been down with something they couldn't really explain, and had been cooped in his room since he came home from Home Ecs. That's when I remember I did notice something a little off when I was his partner in that class, but he kept saying it's just a stomach flu or something.

I went to his room and let myself in, and there he was lying in bed, his back facing me. I sat down and shook him gently to get his attention.

Me: Yo, bro. U alright?

He didn't reply me.

Me: Yo, bro. C'mon, it's me, George. Ur gal pal. Wakey-wakey.

Jan: Such is the life of a monotonous man, don't you think?

Me: Whut? What the hell are ya talking about?

Jan: When was the last time we went to the beach?

Me: What does that gotta do with it? You're high on meds or something? Your rents say you got some downtime health going on. You're not having cancer or anything, right?

Jan: (he still didn't bother to face me) Do you remember the last time someone in school asked you about your dad?

Me: Well...yeah, I remember. Totally would've showed him a thing if you hadn't told me to leave it be

Jan: Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing

Me: What?

Jan: Telling you to leave it be. Maybe I should just let you loose, just like the last time I was sick and you had to go to school alone and you totally busted that...

Me: Hey, what are you implying there? Are you saying you didn't want to come pick me to walk me for school on purpose?

Jan: Maybe...Maybe I am...I dunno...Maybe I'm just sick of all this...

Me: Oh, just fucking say it, Jan. You don't wanna be my friend anymore, do you?

Jan: I never said that

Me: But you're implying it

Jan: Maybe...

Me: Maybe what?? The fuck are you...

Jan: (this is where he sat up abruptly and looked at me with his cold dead fish-like eyes, black rings under them like he hadn't been asleep for quite a while) Do you know where your dad is?

Me: What the...How the hell would I know... (I was taken aback at this, it really getting fucking creepy, but he grabbed me by the arms)

Jan: Do you KNOW where your dad is? Do you know WHO your dad is? Do you even KNOW WHAT he is? Do you??? DO YOU???!!!

Me: Get the fuck away from me, man!!

I immediately shoved him against the wall and made my way out of the room. I didn't even bother to explain what happened to the rents. I just stormed out of the house and ran until I couldn't run anymore all the way back home, ran into my room and slammed the door like nobody's business.

Janphen is never like this. He's always been the calm, collected and level-headed person between us. This is the first time I've seen him freak out like this. He never freaks out. Ever.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 3

Janphen still hasn't showed up to pick me up to school today, so here goes another day without school.

Momma just yelled at me for not going to school again. I told her to fuck off.

I told her if she loved school so much, she should just go herself and take over my place.

She just said "Shit" and left me at that.

Good riddance. Why is she always on my case is beyond me. Well, actually she's always on my case, but these few days it was more than usual.

If it weren't for the fact that I'm still a minor and can't really hold my own until I actually get a job to survive, I would've moved out of my home and hit the road already.

Dammit, she may be my Momma and all, but dammit, I hate her.

And God knows she hates me too. I just know it in my gut instincts ever since the first time I heard her blaming me for being who I am and blaming me for Pops' disappearance.

I think maybe tonight I'll go visit Janphen to see why didn't he show up today and yesterday for school. Not that I want to go back to school or anything, but I have to if I wanna get Momma off my case.

I know what you're thinking. Why can't I just go by my own? Why must I be with Janphen?

Well, it's because only with Janphen around will I be able to function properly in school. He is the only person who will keep me sane in school. Without him, I'd be a wreck. I'd probably be suspended before I even set foot into the building.

Trust me, I tried.

I tried going to school alone without Janphen for a change when he was down with the flu.

It didn't end well.

Even Momma was terrified of me for a while and didn't want to show her face in public for a whole month after what I did, which made her lash out at me more on how it was my fault Pops left when she went on her binge again.

You don't wanna know what I did in school when Janphen wasn't around.

Trust me. It's not pretty.

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 2

Janphen didn't come to pick me up to walk with me to school today, so I guess I'm not going to school either.

He's probably the only reason why I would put up going to school.

Seriously, what is exactly even the point of going to school? I mean, you only learn half of what's out there in the real world, and 90% of the time, the things you learn in school doesn't even apply shit in the real world. So why bother?

Momma said if I keep this up, I'll end up working for some good-for-nothing department store as a cashier or a waitress at some dragster cafe earning peanuts.

Well, EXCUSE ME for not having high expectations like you, Momma. What I wanna do with my life is none of your beeswax anyways. Didn't you hate me for being a girl in the first place? Why are you so damn concerned about my welfare anyway? Since when do you give a shit?

Though I should've said this to her face. I'd love to see her looking like I just told her I was pregnant or something.

The last time I lashed out at her, we didn't speak for a week. I was highly dependent on Janphen during that time, coz during the cold shoulder period, she cut off everything, even food and pocket money, from me. I swore I think I lost a pound or two during that week, coz Janphen isn't the richest guy in the world, and I don't fucking accept charity from his weird-like-hell (he agrees with me on that) parents.

Some Momma she is.

I bet she's wondering whether "Pops" would be out there at the window, looking through to try and get a glimpse of the family he left behind.

Though I'd rather he just rot and die somewhere. I don't give a shit.

Speaking of food, I better get all those leftover scraps out for Bushy and let him in the house to eat before the White Witch gets him.

I'll talk about Bushy and White Witch later when I'm done feeding him.

Be back in a few.
--:--
OK, I'm back. Now where was I?

Oh, right.

Bushy and the White Witch.

Well, Bushy is more of a stray pet of mine actually. He comes and goes as he pleases, but most of the time it'll be at night, where he would come to beg for leftover scraps. I would always keep a plastic bag nearby to dump in any food that I want to give him, maybe a few other things that I don't like to eat myself, during the day and have them ready by nighttime after our dinner, the last meal of the day.

Sometimes we let him in during the rainy seasons, and he bunks in for the whole winter season, which we let him sleep in either the laundry room or the cellar, but other than that, he's a free spirit.

And then there's the White Witch.

He's the cat next door who has a habit of scavenging our trash at night, making a big fucking mess. We've complained it almost a gajillion times to the neighbours to get rid of it, but they deny ever owning the White Witch even though we caught them letting him in their house a few times.

They call him Persia, if I'm not mistaken, but I rather call him the White Witch.

Coz he's a bitch.

A bitch who's always bullying Bushy.

He sees Bushy as a threat to his territory and is always trying to bite or pick a fight with Bushy to scare him away. Fucking little prat thinks he owns the place when we never invited him in in the first place.

God, I wish he'd just keel over and die, that White Witch. Just get run over by a truck or something and put him out of his misery.

Anything to leave poor Bushy alone.

.......I have a soft spot for cats. Shut up.

Midnight Rendezvous-Day 1

Well, can't believe I'm back, and actually playing along with this.

What more can I say about myself? Hmm...

Well, from what I heard from conversations between Momma and her family friends, I was pretty much born in a good old fashioned home birth. Pops almost missed the birth, but then again in the old days, men weren't allowed to be in the same room with the women during birth anyways, which pretty much made it redundant to show up anyhow.

Must've been a pretty crappy birth coz from the looks of it, the midwife who delivered me wasn't too experienced. She made Momma punch me out (no literal pun intended) too hard that it somehow severed some of the arteries in her womb, thus the near-death experience with blood loss. Momma had to be rushed to the hospital in the dead of night to be saved, and I was pretty much the one that pulled through the most.

Pops left when I was one month old. Never really knew the reason why. He just left a note saying that he won't be home for dinner tonight, and also left behind the birth certificate that he had finally gotten down to register my name in.

And he never came home since.

George Midnight Anderson, that was the name he registered me in, and it stuck ever since.

Momma went on to say that during the first few years of his absence, she could've sworn she saw Pops standing out in the window, staring into my room and at me in the bed. She said he even had that tell-tale tilt of the head especially when he wanted to see something clearly, but every time she opened the window or ran outside the house to check and see if he was there, he wasn't. And when she asked around if he had ever showed up or seen him where he always peeked in, no one saw a thing.

And once I reached 5, the "visitations" just stopped altogether.

I don't bloody remember if I ever saw anyone standing outside my window peeking through like some sort of pedophile perv, but then again, I was prolly too young to remember.

Momma blames me sometimes when she is mad or drunk, saying that it's because I was born a girl that Pops left. That I was born a girl that I drove Pops away, and my namesake was for him to punish her for giving him a girl instead of a boy.

Well, geez, bitch, it's not like I WANT to be a girl. If you want a boy so much, why don't you just kick me out of the house and fucking adopt already? Fucking bitch.

I guess that's all I have to vent for now. I promised Janphen we'd go check out some R-rated movies.

Later.

Midnight Rendezvous-Intro

Depression is a bitch.

And apparently my friend Janphen told me that writing on a blog like some sort of diary might help.

Not that I want to. But I'm doing this just to make him happy.

So...what am I supposed to write?

About myself? Maybe.

Alright, here's the facts:

1. I'm female, though people tend to think I'm male, but that's fine. Gender consciousness was never really my thing.

2. The name's George. Yes, that IS my actual name. Not short for Georgina or Georgiana or whatever. Just George. Father wanted a boy, came out a girl, Mother ended up almost died of blood loss after birth and had to remove her entire womanhood, and thus no more sibs for me. Guess that's why Pops left.

3. Not at a legal age to smoke or drink, but who gives a fuck, right? You only live once.

4. Go to a crappy middle-class school with a bunch of doodads for friends and only have one true friend, which is Janphen. He's all I need.

5. Aside from movies and arcades, I stay in my room most of the time, maybe have a casual sex or two with Janphen, but that's about it.

6. People think I'm emo or whatever coz of the way I dress, but honestly it's more of me being a recluse.

7. I used to love life, but life don't love me back, so I decided to hate it

There, that's about the gist of who I am. I guess venting out is not so bad after all. Gotta thank Janphen for this.

This may mean a trip to the drug store...