it's quiet. too quiet.

I'm sorry I haven;t been posting lately I just don;t know what to talk about I haven't seen the Slender Man for a while now not since that time on the highway and it's really bothering me for some raeson... i don't knowl All I know is that thias is WORSE than being stalked by him.

I don't know what's going to happen next and it's worrying me and I'm afraid for myself and for my sister and for my family and oh my god why did I even come here.

I'm just a murderer a filthy murderer. And what's worse is that I casnt even post this because I'm so ashamed...

---

Alright, it's been a few days since I typed that up and I think I'm a lot more calm now. Hopefully calm enough. I don't know, how can I be calm?

My apartment complex burned down. Yes, you heard me correctly. Burned. To. The. Ground.

It took a while for me to stop being a self-pitying wreck and get myself together, but once I did, I realized it might be a good idea to get out of my house. This place was going to be my grave if I didn't, after all.

Oh man. That thought is way more true now that this is over.

So, I grabbed coffee. What else could I do? Besides, caffeine has that nice quality of just making you feel better. I imagine that whomever the hell burned down my house (I imagine proxies?) wasn't expecting me to leave or something.

Anyway, I got back some amount of time later (it couldn't have been more than an hour) and my apartment was gone. Ashes. Ashes everywhere.

I dunno what to

oh fuck

"Now what we have here is a failure to communicate."

Today, my sister showed up on my doorstep. I didn't tell her or my parents my new address. That was disconcerting.

My sister is thirteen. She's also full of herself. We'll call her V. Here's the conversation we had:

Dante: What are you doing here?

V: I wanted to visit my sister. What's so bad about that?

Dante: How did you find this place, anyway? I'm not listed in the phone book...

V: It's called the internet, oh-brilliant-one. There are websites that list an awful lot of information about people.

Dante: And those sites also require credit cards, if I recall correctly.

V (shrugs): I stole Dad's.

That is my little sister. Isn't she such a nice soul?

So, I rolled my eyes and invited her in, and asked her why she'd showed up here. Turns out she was worried about one of her friends who had been acting strange lately. She suspected drug use and after hearing the description, I agreed. It sounded a lot like cocaine abuse from what I remember from all those "DRUGS ARE REALLY BAD" health classes, with some other stuff as well. This, children, is why I stuck to weed.

My sister is a decent person, as you can see, when she isn't being a self-centered brat.

I'm a bit worried, though, about the family communication that happened today. I haven't seen the Slender Man since I arrived here, so maybe that's a good sign? Still, though, I don't want my sister to become infected because of me... Hell, I don't want her to become infected at all.

Regards,
Dante

Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday. I can't be sure.

My mother didn't. I'm sure someone's did, but my mother definitely did not die.

At least, if she did, no one told me.

The waiting. It's the worst part, you know. I haven't seen the Slender Man since that incident on the freeway, but I feel like he's there. Waiting. Watching. He could be right behind me and kill me before I finish this post and I wouldn't even know it.

I'm becoming a paranoid, I think. I'm worried. I hate waiting. Can't you just show up already, Slender Man? I feel like I'm being played with. Toyed with. Like he enjoys watching me squirm, the sick bastard.

DIDN'T YOUR MOTHER EVER TEACH YOU TO NOT PLAY WITH YOUR FOOD?

... Maybe I need to go to a doctor and get some Xanax or something. No, wait. Doctors. They could be under his control. I could be sent to a mental institution crazy home loony bin or something where he would drive me fucking crazy and then there would be bags bags of my organs and blood and organs and no one would ever know what happened to me and and and...

Okay. Calm down, Dante. Chill out, be zen. This is what he wants you to do, to freak out. I can't play his game.

Still keeping my hourly journal, like how Jekyll advised. Before he... You all know what happened with him. I don't want that to happen to me. I don't want to turn out like that...

So I can't let him. I can't let the Slender Man win. I have to live, live for everyone I've killed so far, just like Maurice said. Because if I don't, then he wins. And I just can't let that happen.

Regards,
Dante

P.S. Did you know that Viktor Frankl found that people who are religious tend to live longer in hopeless situations? Maybe I should pray. I'm not keeping Shabbat right now, of course, and HaShem knows I've broken kosher more times than I can count. Maybe I should.

But then again, one can't force themselves to believe.

A matter of building bridges

...And then burning them? Wait, no, wrong quote.

I'm sitting here in my apartment now. My new one, in Texas, not the old one in California. I dunno if I'll be able to go back to college next semester, but I would really like to. It is a nice school, after all, and I would like to obtain my PhD before Slender Man kills me.

Really, Slender Man, I had two years left. TWO. YEARS. I've been in school for 20 years already, could you cut me some slack?

Speaking of the Slender Man, I haven't seen him around lately. Maybe Corpus Christi is too hot for a suit right now? In any case, I'm wary, and keeping my eyes open. And attempting to avoid my family, as Glass recommended (oh man, Glass, I'm so sorry man. that's just... crazy).

Regards,
Dante

P.S. Have any of you managed to finish your schooling while being stalked by our anorexic bffl? No? Dammit...

EDIT 6/9/2011: Holy shit I can't even spell my own city's name right.