Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Eclipse

I think I'll stick with Mr. Scissorman's titles. I can't think up a good one for this post anyway. I was never like the Skeptic. Or Jack, I guess I should just call him Jack.

He's dead, by the way.

Guess I should explain what happened. Well, as you can probably guess from when our friend from the Panopticon went insane, the Slender Man showed up. Everyone went pretty much crazy and started to run -- except for me, Tom, and Jack, who were tied down and couldn't move a goddamn muscle.

And then our pal from the Panopticon decided to switch sides and join with Slendy. Went up to the Slender Man, his head all bowed, and declared his allegiance.

The Slender Man cut his throat and then proceeded to carve him up like a turkey. I guess he doesn't like it when someone says that he doesn't exist.

And then Jack's chair broke. I know what you are thinking: what a deus ex machina. But stupid Scissorman tied us to Jack's own chairs, so apparently Jack knew exactly where to apply pressure in order to break it. Talk about crazy prepared.

Anyway, Jack crawled over to us and started to untie our ropes. Slendy was busy pulling out Scissorman's insides, so it seemed if we rushed, we could possibly leave without getting the same fate.

Except Jack couldn't walk. He told us that Sam -- the Scissorman -- had shot him in the legs. No more running for him.

"I'll just slow you down," he said like this was some sort of stupid action movie.

"Tom can carry you," I said. "Let's just go!"

"No," he said. "I have to face him. I have to face my fate."

I may have punched him when he said that. But he wanted to stay. "Go," he said, "I have an impossible promise to try and keep." He took my hand and slipped something into it.

So we left. We ran and ran and ran and when I finally looked back, there was nothing following us.

Tom's gone somewhere else now. He just slipped away, the way he usually does.

I'm all alone again.

I looked in my hand and found the note he put there.

Peri, 
This is one of those emergency ‘If you're reading this, then I am dead' notes. I'm sitting on bed now, recovering from whatever illness I had, knowing I won't have the courage to give it to you. 
There are so many things I have not said. But this was the hardest: I know why you run. I know when you were younger, your twin sister was taken from you. Kidnapped by the Slender Man. She was one of the children I tried to find. She was one of the faces I saw on the trees.
I have never seen any faces afterwards. None except yours. 
This was why I chose you. Because your face reminded me of all the faces I could not see. Without you around, I would have been surrounded by faceless people, a world of Slender Men and Women, and I could not stand that. You gave me a face to hold on to. 
And so I'm sorry I have to leave. But it's a choice and, even if it might be the wrong one, it's the one I'm making. We all need to make our own choices. 
I know, by the time you read this, that I will probably be dead by the hand of the Slender Man or the Plague Doctor or some other entity that exists. But I want you to know this: there are many regrets I have in my life. 
Meeting you is not one of them. 
Have a good life, Peri.

- Jack


I have many regrets, too, Jack. More than I can count. But knowing you isn't one of them either.

I don't think I can write any longer. Not here anyway.

Goodnight all.

Goodnight.

 - Peri

4 comments:

  1. ...I'm really sorry to hear.

    Skeptic. Jack was a good man. He was brave, smart and strong. He tried to give us all hope and unite us in the fight against the Slenderman.

    Weather he succeeded or not is up to us.

    Wish you luck Peri. Keep updated.

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  2. Ah, I was starting to wonder what the fuck happened to you people... guess I've got my answer there now. In more ways than one... -.-;

    Try to keep yourself alive... I doubt this is over.

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  3. Did you see him die? Did you watch life leave him ?

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  4. ̥̫̹̞̺̟͚͙̝̝̪ͪ̌̓̃͌͌ͦ͒̎͆̍̾̾̽͌ ̥͍̞̣̗̫ͨͬ͑̓͒͛̆̀̋̅͑ͅͅ ͍̘̖̱̭̜͔̙͈̯͙̗͚͇͖̞̑̈̒͑̂̓́̓̐ͯ ̝̫̫̠͓̤̮̣͎̜̩͔̥͉͙̻ͪ̂̾̉͌ͦͦ̐ͣͅ ̺̠̹͔͖̘̽͑͒͒
    ̟̣̜̻̦̞͍ͩ̈́͌̓̎̓̄ͧ̄̓̚
    ̪̯̤̩͚̳͎̺̰̳̜ͤ̋ͥͫͮ̾͊ͩͪ͊͐̏̓͑͋̽̚
    ̳̟̝̤͍̲͍͕̙͇̾͑̃ͣͮ̔̌ͪ̔̿͊̋͒
    ͈̻̠̗ͣ̀̌
    ̗̤̗͖̭̼̦ͥ͐̓ͯ̽ͯͯ̅ͅ ͙̲̘͇̠̫̣̲͍͍̦͖̯̬͕̱̯͋ͤ͗ͪͬ̚ͅ ̩̣̭̼̜̹̯͇̖̫̉͒̆̀̉ͪͬ́ͤͨ̈̉ ̱͙͙̮̩̳͓̩̩͎̐̏̇͒̇̃͋̇̿ͅ
    ̞̦̼̜͈̖̹̹̼̒ͨ́̏̊̆̉̋ͫ̀̚̚
    ̞̳̦̪͈̺̠̤͔̤̫̞̲̦̖̩̬̻ͥ̎ͮ͐͑́͋̓ͣ͊
    ̞͈͈̲̙͖͇̹͎̠̪̝̰̭̖̲̤ͮ̅͒ͮ̋̈́
    ͕͓̱̺͙̯̥̣̩̺̤̗̻̑ͫͫͦͭ͒ͅ
    ̼̝͉̰͔̟̩̫̞̹̪̹̫̫̳̱̆͒ͪ́͌
    ͕̺͖̣̞̥̠̩̝̟͉͉͖̺̥̭͋ͣͩͬ͋͊̾͌̾̎ͦ̐
    ̖̮͍̳̻͚̳̞͉̾͐̓ͤ̓ͅn̲̪̟͇̰͚̩͒͒̂͊ͭ̊̐̿ͫ̎͛o̝̥̫̺͈̟̘̱͑̅̇̍ͩͬ̊̽̓̽͌̆̍ ͇͚̬̤̪̹͇̿͂͗̉̆̋ͫ̔ͪ̑̐ͤm̳̻̙̥̯̲̱͚̳̱̣̹̞ͬ̊ͩ̾̊ͮ͂̇ͯͥ̊͛ͭ͊̔̚̚o̲͍̝̣̮̊͆̀̏ͪ̈́̉͛ͥ̚ṙ̜̼̫̣̤̯̟̲̲͔ͭ̀̌ͥ̃̓̇̇̓ͯͪ̔ē͍͈̰͚̹͚̳̱̯̩͉̦̤͎̊̇͆͋̇ͫ͂ͨ͗͑͊̒̌.̱͕͓̪̼̺̰̗̼̲̙̠̺̰̼͈̭́̊ͧ́̽ͯ͒̋͊̈́ͥ̉ͩͥ.̳͔̪͈ͭͫ̿̚.̗̥̹̱̫̳̮̺̦̔̾͊̓ͩ͌

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