Saturday, November 12, 2011

The Last Song

Everything was so cold now. No August day should have possibly been this cold. The girl held her jacket closer, trying to gain the tiniest bit of warmth. It didn’t help.

Around her, people walked through the park, enjoying their summer day. None looked at the young girl sitting on the bench; none asked her why her clothes were so torn and dirty, why she had such heavy bags underneath her eyes, why she constantly looked over her shoulder with fear. Their eyes passed over her, unseeing. None of them could feel the cold.


The Detective took one last look at the haven he had been living in for the past few months. A part of him still wanted to stay. A voice in his head telling him that they still needed him here. That she still needed him here. But this lead…. It was what he had been looking for. If he let it slip away now, he’d never forgive himself. He had to leave them. They could handle themselves fine without him constantly hanging around.

As the Detective started his car, he put a CD in, and let the sound flow over him. There was only a single song on the CD. Some girl he’d never met had written it and dedicated it to him, long ago. He didn’t think he deserved such praise, but it served as a reminder. He wasn’t the only one suffering from this. All those people who thought he was a hero, or some kind of messiah…. He knew it was all bullshit, just a false hope. He wasn’t a savior. He wasn’t going to be the one to put an end to all of this. But at the same time, he couldn’t abandon them. Couldn’t abandon a girl who believed in him enough to put it into song.
The fairytale was over. Time to get back to work.


The girl’s hands shook as she reached for her laptop. Her fingers were so numb, she could barely type. Why even try? It had been almost two months since she last posted on her blog. As far as everyone else knew, she had become another victim.

Though maybe that wasn’t far from the truth. It probably wouldn’t be long now. The girl could see the fog slowly rolling in from all sides, engulfing buildings, snaking through the trees, steadily reaching for her. Like a wall of gray nothingness, blotting out the world around her, until finally she too was consumed by it. She wanted to scream at the people walking past her, shout a warning about the fog, or maybe just a cry for help. But she couldn’t. The words choked in her throat, unable to break free. No one around her would hear her screams. No one could help her.


There were two of them walking down the night road; a boy and a girl. They had been inseparable before, and their current situation had changed little between them. If anything, it had only forced them closer together.

It was the boy’s turn for keeping watch, so he steadfastly held a flashlight ahead, while the girl rested her head on his arm, eyes closed but feet still moving mechanically to keep with him. It had been days since either of them had a chance to get a real night’s sleep; these tiny moments of rest were all that life offered them now.

The boy was listening to an iPod as he walked. Soft music played in his ears, a song made for another couple who had been forced on the run. They were gone now, but the boy felt he could identify with them. How they had protected and relied on one another, even through the hardest times….

A burst of static tore through the music, loud enough to wake the half asleep girl. The boy swung his flashlight around in wild arcs, panic racing through his mind. The light briefly caught the silhouette of a tall figure standing down the road before it flickered out, leaving the couple trapped in darkness.


The fog had covered the sun and all the other people in the park now, leaving The girl floating on her bench amongst a sea of mist. She tried to ignore it, ignore the fog and the whispers which came from it, focusing on her laptop’s screen. Others all around the world were still posting online, writing about their encounters. So many new faces had appeared recently, while so many old faces were gone…. It was strange, the knowledge that almost everyone she had talked to when she first made her blog were dead. There was always that fear, every time she looked online, that she would find more people gone.

It didn’t look like anyone had been killed today. The girl breathed a short sigh of relief which quickly turned into a shiver. Tendrils of fog were reaching out, brushing across her face, like ice being dragged across her skin.

Maybe there still would be a death today. It was a thought she tried to fight away, but such resistance was no longer possible. Her mind was too tired to ignore the echoes of despair all around her.


The fighter hefted his baseball bat. It was an old metal thing, dented in several places and no longer near suitable for any games. But it had been his companion for the last few weeks. His only companion, after the massacre which had led him here.

The monster’s minions were outside the cabin, shouting challenges and insults at him. For days they had been there, shooting through his windows, smashing at his barricades, laughing at his coming death. A few had tried to burn down the cabin, but he had managed to drive them off. Barely.

This siege couldn’t last forever. Even if he rationed, the fighter knew his food would last less than a week. And at any moment, the monster itself could choose to appear, and instantly end the confrontation.

It would be easy to just give up. Let the monster’s minions break in, and accept his death. Fighting was only prolonging the suffering.

His computer began to play the next song on the playlist. It was the battle theme of a previous generation of fighters who had faced the monster; men and woman who had for a moment gathered together in the hopes that they could defeat it. They had failed, but the power of the song remained. To them, it didn’t matter whether or not the monster was beaten, only that it was challenged. None knew how many had died trying to fight it, but for each that fell, more took their place. Humanity would not lie down and surrender to this monster; the fighter knew that to be a fact. This thing had to be fought, even if the fight was futile.

Once more, the fighter clutched his bat and opened the door. They were waiting for him outside, jeering at his seeming suicidal stupidity. The fighter only smiled, and charged forth, back into the battle.


The girl told herself she had to run. It was coming for her, cloaked in the fog, slowly and patiently approaching its victim. Her only chance was to run now, and hope that it would allow her to escape.

She couldn’t do it. No matter how much she tried, she remained seated on the bench. For months, she had been running. Always having to stay on the move, trying to keep one step ahead of this silent stalker. Everything she’d cared about was gone now. Her whole life, slowly ripped from her, piece by piece. All she had left was constant fear and paranoia. She was tired, wanting only a chance to rest. But there was only one way to find rest now.


None of the people gathered under the bridge had known each other before they had been forced to abandon their regular lives. They had come together by chance, looking for the sense of security numbers brought. Most knew deep down that no amount of companions could protect them, but it was comforting to have someone nearby. Someone to remind them that they weren’t alone; to know that someone else out there understood what they were going through.

One of them pulled a guitar out of her bag. After tuning it, she began to play a melody which most there had heard before. Then she begins to sing…

“One AM, I toss and turn, awake in my own bed,
I can’t sleep because of a creepypasta I read….”

And for a few minutes, smiles are on the faces of those gathered under the bridge.


The fog had completely surrounded The girl. Even the bench she was sitting on was hidden, and her laptop appeared only as a shining light which barely could pierce the grey wall which had grown around it. A blank draft was opened on it, but she couldn’t think of what to type. How do you tell people that you can’t keep this up anymore? That the only way left for you to escape is to give in? There were some people who had, in their last messages, said they were preparing to attack the monster, claiming it better to die fighting it than letting it kill you. But she wasn’t one of those people; she didn’t have their madness, the insanity which allowed them to gaze into the abyss and laugh. She was just a girl, someone who should have just lived a normal life.

How could she tell everyone that it was over? What would they say about her afterward? That she had “given up”, that she’d “let them all down”. A small voice tried to shout that this wasn’t true, that they would understand… but that voiced couldn’t be raised above a whisper.

She wouldn’t tell them. Quickly, trying to finish in the brief time she had left, The girl wrote a short blog post, linked to another post written on a forum. It was all a story. The whole thing had been a story. She was dropping the blog because she was too busy with college preparation, and just wasn’t satisfied with how the story was going.

Would they believe her? She didn’t know. But it was better than adding another death to the list.


The Successor held the sword in his hands with reverence. It had been the weapon of a leader, murder, sage, hero…. Once broken, it was now reforged. He swung it a few times, a bit clumsily, but it felt good in his hands. As though it belonged.

So many had called him insane when he said he was looking for the fallen sage’s weapon. Why would he want to reclaim the tool of a man who had turned on them, a man who had slaughtered so many innocents in an insane crusade? They only seemed to remember him for his failure and descent into madness. But the Successor remembered the man before the fall; he remembered the sage who had brought hope to those who had given up, and led them to rise up.

The thoughts brought the memory of a song the Successor had heard. It had been written for the fallen sage, on the day he had died. It wasn’t a song written for a murderer or a madman. It was dedicated to the memory of a hero.

The Successor hummed a few bars as he sheathed the sword. He didn’t know what to expect on the road ahead. But there were people out there who needed help and protection.


The girl could see it approaching, slowly drifting forward through the fog. The black suit and white body were almost invisible at first, but as it got closer, they came into contrast against the grey background. She stared at its head, the blank spot where there should be a face, as it approached. There was no fear now, only regret, and the slightest hint of relief. At last it was all going to end.

The thing stopped several feet away. It tilted its head slightly, almost as though it were curious. The girl slowly stood to her feet, legs shaking slightly. A strange compulsion told her to walk forwards to the thing; she obeyed, feet dragging sluggishly across the black grass. As she got closer, it spindly arms reached for her, wrapping around her in an embrace.

The girl and the creature gradually faded into the fog, until no sign of them could be seen. The mist began to dissipate, returning the sun. The visitors at the park continued with their lives, ignoring the abandoned laptop lying on top of a bench where a young girl had just been resting.

Monday, October 17, 2011


"Ah thats right carrying around a paino would be foolish, but after all she's been through everything may have seemed foolish right now...maybe worthless.

Slenderman, that's was what made her leave in the first place and now she was on the streets and it seemed peaceful, Hoso had not seen the Slenderman for a long time now. Then why was she still wandering these streets? It started so slowly to snow, winter in summer how odd, she darted out her tongue tasting the snow, since 2010 things had been happening, things that were out of her control.

November 12, 2010 she introduced herself to the world as a young song 'writer' and she wanted it to be a place in which she could show the world her beautiful melody's, and she did, and everyone loved them.

She recalled her first song, dedicated to Zeke a slenderbloger, she did not believe in the slenderman at first but everyone loved it and so she kept uploading more of her beautiful songs. 

'I'm just glad to know I'm making something that people care about.'

She opened her eyes at the noise of an oncoming truck and realized she had wandered into the road by accident and quickly moved out, the snow had become a bit thicker, she still found it odd, snow in summer....but she didn't complain and tied her scarf tighter around her neck.

Where was she anyways? Hoso was unsure yet she knew it felt no where like home, could it be possible she was happier and more relaxed here? The thought excited and frightened her at the same time.

She remembered the note, 嘘つきはだれ? 'Who's the Liar?' Could this all be a really bad dream? Was it wrong of her to have wanted to see slenderman in the first place? She remembered wishing everyone a Merry Christmas, what a lovely time.

Yet she told everyone to stop listing to her stupid excuses for music, yet no one listened instead they told her the truth 'we love your work'. She remembered that she thanked them, depression was a part of her life and they wanted to be there to help.

'Could I still be a child at heart?' Hoso wondered this again as she saw the snow start to really pile up under her feet, ah it was so cold as it brushed against her bare legs, if only she had brought a sled, why was it snowing so hard today anyways? She kept walking through it as if reaching for something better.

The first time she had seen Slenderman she remembered it being just as bitterly cold as it was right now, she remember how wrong that moment felt HE shouldn't exist, that HE shouldn't be there and yet he was. Yes she remembered that moment almost as if it had only happened hours ago. 

Hoso opened her eyes and stared into the white sky, according to her Ipod her music was still playing..even so had she had been ignoring it for the past hour? Impossible. For a moment she believed her piece of digital technology was lying she closed her eyes instead trying to remember the rest of her story. 

The girl, that smile, her face, that mask, how when she first saw her it was snowing and that streetlight. Hoso opened her eyes softly to stare up at the streetlights how were these any different...maybe...maybe it was because the masked girl wasn't there standing under them watching her, those words 'worthless' 'can you hear them laughing at you' 'pathetic', She remembered how she had freaked out and killed her, she didn't regret that, could she have possibly regretted not doing it sooner?

Now she wondered if she could write anymore, she stopped and for a second the world stopped with her, tears drifted into the white pile that had collected at her feet. She would have asked the world, could they respond? Would they respond? There was no answer, instead the world sped up passing her and leaving her behind.

There was no more music, for some reason even though she had stopped thinking about everything that had happened she couldn't hear her music, her music where was it?

'Call me stupid, but as long as I have my music, I feel like I can do anything.'

Her own words echoed in her head, but now she didn't even believe those. If she didn't have her music could she do anything?

The world she knew, all the color's and shapes turned white like and empty sheet of paper, it turned silent everything she knew was gone, she fell onto her knees all her songs, all her written words, if she left would she be remembered?

She couldn't tell the difference anymore...was this a new start or was someone burning whatever she had left?

A light dimly shone in the distance, a soft enchanting melody, it was calling to her lifting herself from the ground she decided no matter what now she would have to start doing something to make herself remembered.

"..I am..." slowly she took a breath the air was warm again, the snow that had been falling seconds ago was melted and she took small meaningful steps towards that light.

"..I am going to continue on.." her skirt waved behind her softly as a warm breeze blew caressing her hair and scarf she could once again hear her music playing. Her music, not the kind that blasted on the radio's or the kind that was massed produced it was her music the wonderfully unique sound that gave people the strength to go on.

"As long as I have my music. I can do anything"

"I am Hosozukuri"

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Sorrow? No thank you.

Needless to say, these past few days have been stressful. Concidering what happened and all.

It's funny, when I look back and read "that" post, I'm stuck by got how worked up I got when I wrote it. I was tempted to go through and fix the spelling, but what purpose would that serve? Oh well.

I've had a massive amount of free time to think about that event. In fact, I've had nothing but free time since I arrived at this...location that I will not reveal for the sake of a friend. I think about her, it, whatever I've decided to call that thing. The thing I conveniently stopped thinking of as a human just long enough to...never mind. I'm a person who likes to think I have a decent amount of common sense, so I must wonder whether what I saw was really what I saw. Was it a lie? Was it a trick? Or, the question it always comes down to, am I just crazy? I thought it was a little early for that whole insanity thing. At least, I hoped.

So when my parents came home that evening, did they find me, beaten and dead on the floor? No. Even if other people could see what I saw, her face was too messed up after what I...never mind. I thought for a while that this might be His doing, but then I realized something important. That house I was living in was a death trap. A "safe" place to hide, but only if I never went outside. Multiple times seemed to show that that was His aim, that He wanted me to stayed holed up inside. To write more music obviously. You don't need to go anywhere to write music. So then, it would be counterproductive to make me want to run away from home, right? I don't know. Every time I try to think about it, I just give up. It's too confusing. Too troublesome.

And then there's another question: will I write more music? That too remains to be seen. Sure I can't exactly carry around a piano with me. That's just look silly. No, but I do have means to write songs digitally, right on my computer (which I, of course, took with me. I'm a blogger. I have to have my priorities straight). So I guess we'll wait and see.

The place I'm at is nice, wonderful actually, but I can't stay longer. The idea of going somewhere new is strangely exciting. Until the money and food run out and it gets dark.

She's still looking at me.

What do I do?

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Delicate Dream, Fragile Season

It hurts.

It hurts, but I'll tell you anyway.

It was a couple days ago. Or was is a couple weeks? Was it yesterday? Did it happen at all? I'm not sure which, but that's not important. I had just arrived home from school, exhausted, unhappy, and very much distracted. Maybe that's why I didn't see her at first. But we met each other soon enough. Her standing in the middle of my kitchen and me distraught over seeing her standing in the middle of my kitchen. How did she get in here? What was she planning on doing? Why was she still wearing such a laughable mask?

"Oh hey. You're home early." Why is she so calm? She's breaking and entering, so at least try to act like it matters. Not that she really needed to react, I was emotional enough for the both of us. I took the opportunity to tell her to get the fuck out of my house. Don't get me wrong, I'm usually much more polite than this. But not only did her and I not have the best track record, I very well couldn't stand the idea of this despicable person inside my home, invading a private and safe place. This is a place for me to hide, not for you to come and find me.

She ignored my demands. "Please don't be upset. I have something important for you. Something to tell you." she said in her infuriating tone of voice. What was it about her voice that made me despise her so much? Was it because even then I could sense something very...wrong with it? She took a few steps forward, her black dress shoes clacking against the floor. What was that she was holding in her left hand? Something small and black and silver and shiny. A box cutter?

There's only so much a person can handle. Especially a small and weak person like me. I can't cover my ears and ignore you. So it's time to do something about it I suppose. I rushed forward, punching her in the chest and ripping that stupid mask off her face.

I wasn't ready.

To see her.

Or her face.

Her true face

That god damn FACE. STARING at me. GRINNING like a smug little idiot.

She has no right to wear such a face. Just seeing her, just looking at her, I knew. I can't let this thing live. No

I grabbed the nearest thing my hands could find, a rolling pin resting on the kitchen counter. I struck her across the head and she fell to the floor. She didn't so much as make a move to resist. Her smile was unchanging, unflinching, as if to challenge me.

Are you really going to do what I think you're going to do?

Hit hit hit her again. have to wipe away that fucking smile

It still won't go away. I still see it

I pulled a knife from the block. I knew she was already dead, anyone could see it, but it didn't matter. Even in death she was still looking at me. with that face

I stabbed her face. ripped it to pieces again and again and again

I must have run that thing through her head at least 100 times. each blow carving lines in it's flesh, tearing it apart. some one was screaming. Was it me? No. I didn't make a sound. Only my frantic breathing. Wasn't thinking anything. Maybe one thing, but I've forgotten it by now. Just destroy it. I can't let it live. even if it's dead I can't let it live

The next sound to reach my ears was a metallic clatter as the knife fell to the floor. I spent a lot of time- I don't know how much- just sitting on the floor, that thing directly in my sight. Why? Did I think it was going to get back up? No. There was hardly anything left. I was there a long time. Doing nothing.

Then, without really thinking about it, I stood. I removed my horribly stained clothes and took a shower, standing motionless as I watched the little red trails snake towards the drain.

Afterward, I went about the surprisingly difficult task of making everything I've ever cared about fit into one bag. Too bad there's not room for a piano. It's not going to get much use anymore. Not from me.

It was inevitable. I had to get food, so I had to see the thing again. It didn't bother me as much as I know it should have. I made an awful mess. There was a fleeting thought of what my parents would think when they saw this. With any luck, I'd be far away by then.

One last thing. I rinsed off the knife and slid it into my bag.

And I left. Not a difficult decision as it pretty much had already been made for me. I just want to get far away. From that thing. The thing that still watches me with it's sickly sweet smile on it's face.

My face.


Thursday, March 10, 2011

I Saw the World Turn White

Nothing special to say. Just want to post here before I forget.

No good song ideas right now.
Well, except one.
As stated before, I refuse to write it.

I keep listening to my music.
All the time.
Not a lot else to do.

I wonder what they think of me.
All I do is sit around in my room with my curtains closed and my headphones on.
I get my homework done so how can they complain?

Still feel awful. It has to get better soon. It always does.
Maybe not this time.

Still wearing a smile. Everything's okay. Just nod politely.

I don't want anyone to worry.
I don't want to go to the hospital again.

Don't worry.

It will get better.
I hope.