Tuesday, March 27, 2012

A New Goal

James is gone.

I suppose that this comes as a surprise to precisely no one, after his last message. I wish dearly that I had been there to help him when he awoke, to do something to change his mind. I do not know what he was talking about when he spoke of the price that Thaddeus paid, though I can guess.

If what James said about The Archangel swimming in his veins is true, then the Eleventh Plague that Thaddeus inflicted him with is nothing less than one of the entity's alternate forms. This is... troubling, to say the least. Is it a true disease, with varied modes of transmission, capable of spreading from person to person without their knowledge? If so, then there may be no way to combat it. Or is it more like a venom of some sort? I hope for the latter, and the fact that it had to be inflicted upon James by Thaddeus' knife-wound would seem to indicate that. But it is not concrete enough evidence to reach a conclusion.

And then there is the matter of Thaddeus' allegiance. From James' last message, it would seem that he serves The Rake. And yet he possesses, or at least possessed, the ability to inflict upon others the torment born of The Archangel. What does this mean? And what message did he have to pass on to us? He has not contacted us again since leaving that comment, either via the comments here or through the mirrors.

James, on the other hand, has been busy. Or, more accurately, I can only hope that it is James, and not The Rake itself, that is responsible for our latest troubles. We are still incapable of leaving the hospital, with Aqualung stalking the hills outside. But someone in here with us has begun murdering the patients.

Surgical implements actually make for quite useful tools of murder, it seems. Three of them have died during the past few days. And each of them has had the word "surrender" written on the walls of their room. I am sure that I do not have to say what was used in place of ink.

I have my gun at the ready, as does Phillip. If Thaddeus has changed his mind, then we have no real out at this point. We are going to have to run, and keep running as we did before. We will have to hope that we stumble across some way to save Miss Waterman, or some way to end this claimed "war" over myself without condemning the world to the mercy of one of these entities.

But, right now, we have something more pressing to deal with.

James, if you are still reading this, I am very sorry for what we have to do now.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

not the same

i can see it all

i dont want to see it but i cant stop my head is on fire and the world is melting around me

the piper tore down the walls around my mind and the music is flooding in and there are new walls now, walls of noise all around the things i shouldnt think and new hallways leading to places that i really dont think should be there

i can see how to get to the city but we cant go we have to leave her there the piper is waiting for us

theyre building the wall again theyre putting her in perfect isolation because they know what shell do to get out

i have to focus


Yes. My name is James. I'm in this hospital bed. I can see the keyboard. I can form coherent thoughts if I try.

It's slow. Every word is like swimming through molasses. The thermometer says my temperature is 106.5. I should probably be dead. There are ice packs all over me.

Painkillers. Ibuprofen. Don't know how long it's been since my last. Taking them anyway. Back in half an hour.

This is what it's like to be Thaddeus. To be me, now, I guess. Oh god please don't let this be permanent. I can't stand it. Seeing everything like this. Seeing everyone. Everything. All the Fears. All they do. Why they do it. Everywhere I look, they're looking back at me. The Angel, in that plague-doctor mask. It's everywhere in here. It's everywhere everywhere. It's a place and it's a law and it's almost human and it's a disease swimming in my veins and it's the knowledge eating through my brain and everything I see now I see through it.


LB and Phil are gone. Christie's gone. The Angel has her. But it's not the same way it's got me. Or Thaddeus. It's holding her. Keeping her there while The Cold Boy and The Wooden Girl have their fun. Because it knows what I'm willing to do to get her back.

Thaddeus did the same thing, after all. That's why LB is the only one. Because he did what he had to do to get the person he cared about back. I can't even hate him for it. How can you hate somebody who loved another person as much as he did? To be willing to do that? He's not... I can't hate him. I pity him. I'm disgusted by him. By what he did. Selling out... everybody. To the Angel. By bringing it the kid. All because he knew what it was doing to the person he cared about most. He knew the price. And he accepted it. And he paid it. He's still paying it.

Oh god I'm scared. I don't want that to be me. But I can't leave her there. I can't. Even if it means I have to do... that. I can't.


I think you knew I was going to say that, didn't you? That's why you're here. Perched on the end of my bed like you have been every night since Thaddeus stabbed me. Hiding in the spaces nobody else can see, because they don't have the Angel swimming in their veins. Waiting for me to tell you what Thaddeus told you. Whispering your little words of encouragement. Scratching messages on the mirrors. Telling Thaddeus where to find us. Keeping him breathing and healing his wounds when he should have stopped moving years ago. Because you know the price I'm willing to pay to free her.

Would you like to see Christie Waterman free again, my friends? All you have to do is follow The Worm.

Good evening, Rake, Your Honor. 

Tuesday, March 13, 2012


The city's made of white bricks. There's no sky. The only people are memories, perfect and unchanging. I'm alone in here except for the memories and the two of them. There's no way out but there must have been a door there when I came in.

And nothing ever changes.

I'm fighting but there's nothing to fight for any more. There's nowhere to go.

Monday, March 12, 2012

No Way To Slow Down

Thaddeus did not contact us again immediately after leaving that comment on my last update. He left us to wallow in our helplessness, forcing us to watch as James' condition continued to deteriorate. And, of course, to look out of the windows of the hospital and see the fields stretching out beyond. The city that I spoke of in previous updates never existed. Even in reading my own words, I can remember nothing of it.

Most of the hospital staff never existed, either. Only a few nurses and a single surgeon remain, having lost all memories of their homes and thus losing all reason to leave the hospital. They, like us, have spent the past few days in something of a helpless stupor, powerless to provide all the care necessary to save the lives of their patients. The hospital is full of the corpses of those whose attendant physicians have vanished, whose records have been erased, who require special treatment that we do not have the capability to provide. There is no more room in the morgue.

And, outside, ceaseless, the silence howls.

Over the past few days, I have come to notice something more that has been happening in this hospital. The usual graffiti is there, as it always is in places like this if you know where to look, marking the building with the sign of The Archangel and claiming it as a place of death and the loss of control. After all, there are few situations wherein one has less control over their lives than when one is lying in an intensive-care ward and waiting for the final embrace. James is in this situation now. I think that this might be what Thaddeus was referring to when he spoke of truly embracing The Archangel: the complete and utter loss of control over your life, being forced to place yourself entirely in another's hands. The Archangel is, after all, control. Every prayer sent up in desperation, every declaration that the speaker has surrendered themselves utterly to a higher power, is a surrender to The Archangel, though they do not realize it.

But I am getting off-track. This is hardly a new thought, for me.  What I have noticed here that has drawn my attention in ways that other hospitals have not is the existence of other markings. The signs on the backs of the mirrors have returned, scratched into the glass as before. This time, however, the message has changed: HE SEES HIS CHILDREN JUMPING OFF AT STATIONS ONE BY ONE.

Before, I failed to grasp the real meaning of the message. This time, it is obvious. Miss Waterman, James... both are, in their own way, beyond my ability to help. Even Phillip, lost in his bewilderment, is beyond my reach. One of these beings realizes this, and is taunting me in my helplessness, mocking my desperation and my inability to find a solution.

But I have not given up yet. Thaddeus has stated that he can "show me", if I like. And, right now, I have no other options. James' fever has been hovering around lethal levels for the past few days. We are running out of medicine, food, and all the rest.

Thaddeus River, I accept your offer.