The Skeptic-On-Duty of a Decaying World

Man starts over again everyday, in spite of all he knows, against all he knows.

It's time. It's time to tell the truth.

Peri has fallen asleep on the couch. She's been watching over me like a mother hen these past few weeks. I didn't realize just how much she cared about others until she cared about me. She cares more than she realizes. And yet, I write this in secret. Tom O'Bedlam is sitting in the corner, grinning at me like some sort of ghastly specter, but I know he will not wake her. Not when I leave.

So much has happened this past week. This past month. So many have died. And past villains seem to have returned. The pendulum of life has tipped and we seem to be entering a time when everything goes wrong. When we are powerless and trapped.

And I am not blameless. My hands are not bloodless.

I have never revealed where the name of "Skeptic" came from. It was a nickname, given to me by the Panopticon. Back when they were just a think tank. Back when I worked for them.

I was there, when we were hired to study the runners and the proxies. The others, upon hearing about the Slender Man, scoffed in disbelief. I, on the other hand, knew the truth. I tried to convince them of it, but they called me "Skeptic," a reversal of my role.

And then they saw him and they despaired. And I did something foolish. I did something stupid. I proposed the idea of a counter-meme.

They took to it instantly. How else to fight a meme-complex but with a counter-meme? I knew the truth, but I wanted to keep them sane. I didn't realize how bad I was making things. Memes were proposed and discarded. I tried to minimize the damage, but already it was spinning out of my control.

My last proposal was an attempt to get them to fight the Slender Man. To get them to war with him.

The invincible summer. That was my counter-meme. That was my idea.

They rejected it and replaced it with their own. With the "best of all possible worlds." With Brazil and Brave New World and 1984.

I am sorry, Adam Krug. I am sorry, Proxiehunter. I am sorry for all future victims of my mistakes.

And now? Now I have somehow attracted the attention of the Plague Doctor. The Beak Doctor, the spreader of disease, and his servants are after me. And if I stay here, I know Peri will continue to care and protect me. And for that, she will suffer at his hands. And I cannot abide that.

So I am running. I'm running away and leaving this blog for Peri and Tom to continue. I'm going to go where the damage from my death will be minimal. Where the Slender Man or the Plague Doctor can take me without anyone else dying by my side. Because I am going to die. The only questions are where and when.

I am leaving the war for you to fight. Even if it is futile, you must not give up. You must push the rock up the hill, even knowing that it will fall. When we push the rock, knowing that it is futile and still pushing, that is when we know we are human.

There is no fate that can not be surmounted by scorn. 

If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy. This word is not too much. Again I fancy Sisyphus returning toward his rock, and the sorrow was in the beginning.

Signing out for the last time,


Jack "The Skeptic" Castel