Archive for phantom

Concern

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 17, 2011 by aaronsummac

This.

This was in my inbox today. I don’t understand it, not completely, but I think I understand some of it.

I have a few personal days off from work, and I’m thinking of taking them. But I don’t want to leave and be wrong.

Can you understand if I think this is a trap? I think baits been laid and I’m being coaxed from cover. But by the same token, I have to be able to get him back. Have to. And wherever she is, she needs to be let out. No one deserves to be stuck there.

Not even her.

YouTube-ing, Because There Isn’t Enough of This Crap There Already

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 27, 2010 by aaronsummac

So, Merry Christmas to you five people who keep up with this blog. Blake and I were out of town for the better part of the holiday, and returned home Sunday afternoon in generally good spirits.

And those spirits remain, despite the recent developments. Blake went into our office and found something new. Well, the return of something old, but it may as well have been new. Truth be told, I kind of expected this. I happened to read oohthethingsiveseen’s tumblr message the day before we left, and I assumed she meant to leave us some kind of message. The return of Blake’s flashdrive, I must admit, was not my anticipated method of communication.

Long story short, she deleted all his files except for some pictures he took of me and the park near our apartment, and added a new one. After some consideration, I played the audio file, entitled CHRISTMASPRESENT.wav. I would have posted it directly here, but WordPress insists that I waste my money to do so, and thus, Blake and I now have a YouTube Account.  Here is the message:

If you can’t see the video, here’s the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-7eh9Ckjsw.

For whatever reason, the Bitch seems to think we’d be home for Christmas, which at least gives me the relief of knowing she can’t have been watching us for long, or spying on us very well as of late.

Still, it gives one something to ponder.

What they want

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on November 10, 2010 by aaronsummac

When I first saw Slenderman, I thought he was the sandman. My father had just died and I went through a long bout of insomnia; in desperation my mother started telling me stories to try lulling me to sleep. My grandmother tried to help; she told me if I didn’t go to sleep before the sandman showed up at the witching hour (an hour I’m still not sure of), he would snatch my eyes out of my head.

This, as you can imagine, was not a comforting thought. I was six, and I didn’t know that adults lied.

Not long after, I saw him in my window, late at night. He scared me at first, but he was still, so still, and so incredibly quiet. Just as loud noises and multiple noises irritate and upset me, the presence of a quiet, calm person tends to sooth me. The first time I saw Slenderman, he lulled me to sleep.

The other thing I met earlier still. Someone suggested this creature is something called ‘The Rake’. As near as I can tell, The Rake is a humanoid demon that either tells of death, warns of death, or hurts people. All descriptions of it are close to what I saw, but I am reluctant to call this thing by that name. By any name. Naming things is a bad practice.

Also, The Rake tends to be described as a hairless, malformed humanoid, and it is supposed to speak. Or be capable of speech. The thing I saw, as The Bitch described in her vague and annoying way, is much more like a large, shaved dog. About the size of a Saint Bernard, but muscular and bald, and with teeth more like an angler fish’s. Its teeth are needle-like and protrusive; there seem to be too many of them in its mouth. Its claws, too, are longer and sharper than are normal on a canine.

When I first saw it, it was lurking in the trees that fringed a little park by my house. It was laying in a little ditch, making a noise like a dog will make when it’s sick. That’s what I thought it was, at first — a sick dog, and I called to my mother to come see, and started pushing through the brush. I don’t remember if I made it through and went up to the thing, or if it lashed out before a got to its little nest. All I can be positive of is that one second I was fine, if a little scared, and the next my coat was torn open and blood was falling in the leaves and I was alone there. My mother came and scooped me up, and ran me home, all the while asking, ‘what got you, what got you?’, like she hadn’t seen the beast of a creature. I don’t remember it leaving. I think I went to the hospital for stitches, or my father might have given them to me at home. He died a few months later, and everything around that time is a little fuzzy in my head.

The Slenderman wants something. The persistence of his lurking, the insistent staring and stalking (and, yes: eyeless or no, he stares) tells enough of that. But what exactly he wants, I don’t know.

The other thing… I think it just wants to eat.

Ringing in the Changes

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on November 8, 2010 by aaronsummac

A Very Bad Man took a knife and cut my father out of the world.

But first, Something hurt me. Something that followed us, lurking around the outside of our lives. I saw it in the park, hiding in the dark, and when I called attention to it, it lashed out and marked me.

Before the Something, there were the doors. Doors to everywhen and anywhere, but all of them locked; the perils inside not yet mine. A five year old can only survive so much, and hungry for travel and adventure though I was, the doors would never open. I could only imagine what lay behind them, these doors I was told I only imagined.

When the Very Bad Man cut away my father, I was afraid. If the Very Bad Man could take Dad away, then mightn’t he also come for me? And if I slept, I wouldn’t even see him coming. I denied sleep for days until one night, laying in bed,  a door appeared outside my window,  a black void against the white sliver of moon.

As I stared at this door, I became convinced that this was the door to the Very Bad Man’s house.  Now the Very Bad Man would come and steal me away, the Very Bad Man would come with a knife and cut me right out of the world. He was going to open the door and come in through my window, and Mother would scream and weep and shriek just like she did when the Very Bad Man took Daddy away.

I wanted to call out for my mother, for any adult to come – because bad things always disappear for children when an adult is near, is it not so? But I remembered all to well the Something that had hidden itself in the bushes; how it hurt me when I cried out, how could I forget when the blood still drained into the bandages wrapped around my arm; and I knew that some horrors never flee in the face of the coming calvery. Some just hurt you all the worse.

Then the door opened.

It opened to nothing; blackness layered over blackness, as if someone had taken a swatch of sky and swept away the stars. A complete darkness, malicious and maddening, so total it retuted the possibility of light.

Out of the doorway, the darkness seemed to leak; like ink overspilling the well, it poured over the lip of doorway and down some impossible distance to the ground. My bedroom was in the attic space, and the door hung somewhere slightly higher in the air. Something boneless and vile eked from the door, pooling down in the grass below. It seemed endless, this slimming ink, until suddenly, too quick to comprehend, it took on a solidity, a formedness; it became a thing with long reaching fingers and a pale faceless head staring from above a perfectly black body. It was something terrible; it was a man. It was the Very Bad Man.

It moved toward me in one smooth step, so it stood right outside the window, its long fingers clutching at the sill. Though I had been scared for so long, and though the thing standing beyond the thin glass of my window leaked malvolence from every bit of itself, as I watched it, my fear suddenly fled me. Iwas in the presence of the Very Bad Man, but I couldn’t be scared. I asked, starting to slide from my bed – perhaps to open the window – “Do I have to come with you?”

The Very Bad Man looked at me, seeming to stare with his ever shifting face at my bandaged arm. Was there was something about it, something about my clawed up meat that changed his mind? Because after a while of staring, he simply shook his head. No, I didn’t have to come; not yet. Later, perhaps; and did he say that with his mouthless face or did I just make it up? I don’t remember. I remember the cracks running across his face, shifting, changing, consuming themselves only to spread in anew different web; I remember watching these and falling asleep, thinking of wounds that heal and reappear, heal and reappear.

 

Good News

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on November 7, 2010 by blakecalhoune

First of all: Aaron and I don’t have a dog. I have no idea what that crazy bastard is talking about. The complex we live in doesn’t allow pets over ten pounds, and then they charge an extra fee for the pet, so we’ve never gotten one. So even if we had a dog, it would be a chihuahua-sized runt, and if he got his ass kicked by a chihuahua… well, then we have absolutely nothing to be afraid of.

Secondly: I would never shave an animal.

And finally: Aaron says he’s willing to start posting again, soon. So that’s really all I have to say tonight, except I’m glad to hear that ‘youknowme/oohthethingsiveseen’ got his ass handed to him by an imaginary animal. More power to you, Shaved Phantom Dog.