#bendyman

[mifsudvisions]

Fuck you Petey. Go back to 4b and pet your dead bird. 🤣😂😄😄😄😄 #getbent #bendme #bendyman #crunkadelic https://www.instagram.com/p/BsBir99nP-C/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=17l6w7y15zck1

[skeletripe]

The Fear Mythos Sucks: Exhibit 1

The Fear Mythos is a project originating from TV Tropes that is an attempt to make a Lovecraft-style horror mythos. Because the average TV Tropes user has no concept of pacing, atmosphere, theme, tone, or dialogue; the result is a stupid, cliched mess with not one iota of original or interesting thought or storytelling. Despite the total lack of credibility outside of the incestuous community, they proceeded to spam the series on TV Tropes, set up a wikia, and other stupid fandom stuff for a mythos that nobody really was talking about in order to  call attention to it, kind of like astroturfing but pathetic.

Eccentrically Bored is one of the first stories. It’s told in blog form like some of the early Slenderman stories, unlike those stories, this is dull and stupid and poorly written.

New Blog Ahoy! 'Sup bitches? Name's Joey Steward. I can already tell this guy will be as likable as a case of armadillo leprosy. So, I was just laying around, doing nothing, and realized that life is really damn boring. So true maaaaannnnnn So, in an attempt to spice up my boring, boring life, I decided to start a blog, so I can post about my life and have a good laugh. I'm not sure how sharing my boring life with other people will help spice up my own life, but hey. A lot of people are bloggers, so there's got to be something to it, right? Maybe it'll give me some kind of meaning or something. I don't know. Look, if you're going to tell a story in blog or diary form, at least make your character's thoughts and words interesting. The only characterization this guy has so far is "vapid and bored." Jonathan Harker was an interesting protagonist even though he wasn’t as important in the overall story because he was interesting and did interesting things. Anyway, I hope to post some more stuff this week, and tell you all about my AWESOME ADVENTURES! Till then, Joey out. OH MAN, ARE YOU FEELING THE EXCITEMENT? This is why Troper literature sucks, it’s simultaneously self aware and braindead. The Fear Mythos uses common horror tropes and archetypes without any understanding of them or why they’re frightening. Valentine's Day. Blegh.

DYING ALONE! 

Traditionally, single people are supposed to bitch and moan about being alone when Valentine's Day comes around. I'm going to refrain from doing that. I do, however, reserve the right to bitch and moan about the ubiquitous presence of the color pink. I really hate that color. It is a terrible color. This story must ascribe to the Eli Roth school of character development. Have him blither about shit nobody cares about for twenty minutes so we look forward to him getting machete'd by the killer. Hating the color pink is not a character trait. Mr. Steward is a skeleton of a character. He has just the barest hint of a personality and nothing fleshing him out. 

The diary format is best used to add amtosphere by giving you a very intimate look into the private life of the characters, Johnathan Harker’s diary showed him at his most vulnerable, spending the night in an isolated castle with only the fearsome Count Dracula. House of Leaves followed several people as they were swept up in the downward spiral of madness catalyzed by Zampano’s manuscript. Joey Steward’s blog is a load of fucking nothing. Anyway, posting this from my laptop at school, which I got for Christmas (the laptop, not the school). My resolution just randomly changed so that everything on the screen was JUMBO SIZED and then it changed back to normal a few seconds later. Now that is what I call really effin' weird. This had better pick up soon, because snail foreplay is more exciting than this. I'll be at work tomorrow, so don't expect much. Seeya! Fuck you. Heard a noise So I heard a noise outside, looked out my window, and didn't see anything. A few minutes later, I heard it again, like a scratching sound, and checked outside. Nothing. And then I heard it again, and went outside, and it was really cold and some dog was out in the front yard. It saw me, barked and then ran off. I went back inside and was bothered by no more noises. RIVETING! Seriously, this writing is fucking inexcusable. It’s dry, dull and completely charmless. It doesn’t have the color of any sort of vernacular, it doesn’t describe anything in any sort of acceptable detail. It reads like a rough plot outline someone who bang out to get the actual story started. That's Messed Up So check this article from the Virginian Pilot. Now that is some messed up shit right there. For those of you too lazy to check, basically they found a teenage girl washed up on the beach, dead. But she wasn't drowned. The body was covered in bruises and a lot of her bones were broken. The working theory is that she was beaten to death and dumped in the ocean. The mafia claims yet another victim. What the hell is wrong with people that they'd do something like that? I'm sorry, but that's just sick. You know what else is sick? Writing dull horror stories! This bit paints Joey Steward as an imbecile. The passage is written in the tone you’d expect from a Facebook comment. This shows more of the vacuous mindset this story came from, this story is told through the internet and the worst ‘what the hell’ form of murder is a beating followed by disposing of the body in the river.That’s pedestrian for a mob hit and the average person hears of worse shit happening every day. 

The description of the murder is similarly colorless and banal. Bruises and nothing else. Blunt force trauma can manifest in a lot of horrific ways and this idiot goes with the least interesting thing. Hotline Miami was disturbing because when you struck a mobster with a blunt weapon, their bones were broken in gruesome ways, arms being bent backwards, heads being caved in, and that game was in a low-res art style and it still had detail to it. A competent writer would have added some sort of detail to get the mind going like “They could see from the how badly the rib-cage was broken because one side of her chest had caved in. “ “He face was a swollen, twisted mass and they needed dental records to ID her.”  In other news, I have to go get ready for school. Seeya. Work Work sucks, but since I work at a construction site, it's also pretty cool. ...OK, sorry, that didn't make much sense. This is bullshit. A real blog would not be this dull. I’ve read real blogs, they’re full of events, funny things people said, memories of loved ones, venting about a frustrating day at work. Joey Steward has literally not talked about anything interesting. He mentions the start of something interesting but it never follows up. Anyway, what I mean to say is, expect some pics of the jobsite soon. Fucking die in an industrial accident you vapid shit. Weekend! Oh thank God for the Weekend! I'm so tired from work and school and shit. By the way, you know that girl I mentioned before? The one who washed up on the beach? They figured out who she was apparently. Turns out the body didn't drift here from some place far away-- she was a local. So now I have to deal with the fact that there may be a killer nearby? Great. Now we have someone to root for. Again, this could have been interesting but it’s so  brief and artless and dull that it doesn’t even register as bad writing. This is barely a story. Another One So, it seems there's been another death like that girl from before, the one that washed up on the beach. This new body was some kid that was dumped near where they found the girl. Same injuries as she had, too. The police suspect a serial killer. You don't say! I would have thought they'd suspect a ballet dancer! That's... pretty freaky. I mean, on some level, a part of me is kind of interested, like "Oh, hey, a real life serial killer", but on the other hand... a real life serial killer. Like watch your back and be very careful. I'm glad I don't live that close to the beach. These entries follow several days, several days and fucking nothing has happened yet. Joey Steward might as well have spent several days in a bomb shelter masturbating to paint swatches for all it did in the narrative.

Allergies... Ugh. I woke up today with a huge headache, a stuffy nose, and a bad cough. The cough and headache have since gone away, but the stuffiness remains. Must be allergy season, creeping up on me. Seems kind of early this year, no? You know it's bad when the first sign of evil is a fucking cold. Jonathan Harker’s first clue that shit was not right was when Dracula owned no mirrors and climbed out the window and down the castle wall like a fucking lizard. Dracula was written a century ago and it so completely eclipses the Fear Mythos I might as well be comparing Black Sabbath to the Insane Clown Posse.

I also keep flipping my phone open and looking at that glitched up picture I mentioned last post. For some reason, I like it. I guess the glitches made it look neat? I don't know. Maybe I'll post it to this blog later. ...And my headache's coming back. I need to go lie down for a while. Spoiler warning: The headache is caused by Slenderman. You knew this would be Slenderman because this story is so predictable and unoriginal you know exactly what’s going to happen before reading any of it.  The Glitched Picture Can't sleep. Head is throbbing too much. I keep just looking at this picture. The camera screwed it up really badly, but I feel like there's still something there. I don't know. I can't really explain it. I just feel drawn to this picture somehow. Anyway, here it is: I need to go take some Nyquil or something. I'm seriously tired, but my head just refuses to let me sleep. And this damn picture, staring at it in the dark is really straining my eyes. Slenderman stories are like those 'Where's Waldo?' pictures. The picture itself is nothing interesting. Just a stupid Slenderman photoshop. Why does this exist? This story does nothing original, it does nothing well, it does nothing interesting. As awful as The Room was, it was an entertaining, interesting awful. A Little Self Reflection My head's cleared up, though I've still got the sinus issues. Anyway, some of you... five... follower... people may be wondering why I never mention anything about going out with friends or anything like that. Well, I guess it's that I just don't make friends easily. I don't know why. I just don't really connect or click or whatever with people. You know, there have been stories that made a solitary, lonely character interesting, like The Life Of Oscar Wao. This is not one of them. To make a lonely or solitary character interesting you have to develop them past their solitude. Oscar Wao was a lonely romantic whose turbulent life and family history drove him to comic books and this lead him to having a warped view of the world but also a strong sense of justice. Robert Hamburger from the Realultimatepower is a tragicomic figure who uses ninjas as a means of escape. Joey Steward is just a vapid dipshit. Oh, I had friends in high school, but then we graduated, and colleges and shit... they all moved away to attend schools out of state, and I stayed here, in boring old Virginia. Yeah, I admit it. I get pretty lonely sometimes. Maybe that's why I decided to start this blog. Gives me something to do to take my mind off things. My life is incredibly boring and my existence incredibly lonely. But maybe, just maybe, this blog can give me some sort of purpose. Well, I guess "purpose" is the word I'm looking for. I don't know. It's kind of hard to put in words. So basically I'm a socially retarded 19 year old virgin with a blog. How compelling right? Ha. Humor makes it easier to live with myself. Slenderman needs to hurry the fuck up, this is getting seriously pitiful. Um. Gas Masks? Just looked out the window and saw some guy in a hoodie out in the street. The weird thing is that his hood was up and he was wearing a gas mask. No friggin clue why. It freaked me out at first, because it looked like he was staring at my window, but then he just turned and kept walking down the road. I must be getting paranoid. With that serial killer on the loose, and my lack of any good sleep recently, I'm jumping at everything. Still though: why a gas mask? Because tropes.That is the real reason. The idiot writing this knew that bad guys in gas masks was a trope and put it in because its a trope. They did not think about why gas masks are creepy looking or what the imagery brings up. Absolutely no thought was put into this fucking thing. What. The. Fuck. I got home from work, checked my email, and someone sent me a link to this video: Here's the video. Look at how cliche it is! Whoever did this, it's not funny. Go fuck yourself. You now have the world's lamest stalker. Paranoia? Today is Ash Wednesday, and my mom insisted that I meet her at church to get ashes on my forehead. So after mass, I drove home, and that's when my head started throbbing again. This was different from the last few times though. The pain was more intense, and I had trouble concentrating. I was seriously afraid that I would black out at any moment and get into a crash. Anyway, there's this playground near my house, and I was I was passing it-- going real slow and careful-- I noticed a weird man there. He was wearing a business suit, and he was just standing there. Children were running all around him, but he seemed completely unfazed. I couldn't get a good look at his face, but I swear to God he was watching my car. Using Slenderman is so lazy. It's like how the bad Silent Hill games shoehorn Pyramid Head into everything. OG Slenderman was scary because he appeared near children and capitalized on the childhood fear of adults and the adult fear of child predators. Slenderman’s very appearance was specifically meant to remind you of how strange men used to scare you as a kid. He was the stranger at the edge of town your mother warned you about. He’s only here because he got popular and like all popular things on the internet, stupid people ruined it. The headache was starting to let up when I got home, but for some reason that guy in the suit had me terrified. I called up the police, and I tried to tell them everything. The guy in the suit, that fucked up video, even the Gas Mask dude. I told them I was being followed, but I'm not sure if they actually believed me. Fucking cops. Isn't it their job to look into stuff like this? How could they just brush me off like that? I think it's because they're working on catching the serial killer you mentioned earlier you ungrateful shit. What is the cops going to focus their resources on? A person who killed people or a stalker one asshole is complaining about? Anyway, about an hour later, these two government types show up at my house. Introduced themselves as being part of some weird organization with a name I can't remember. SMC? MSM? ...SnM? I don't know. They asked me a few questions about the suit and the video and Gas Mask. I answered as best I could, and offered to show them the video, but they just shook their heads and told me they wouldn't see what I saw. The fuck does that mean? My name is right there in the video! Oh fucking hell, this story is bringing the men in black into it. They just left, and my parents are concerned. They offered to find me a psychiatrist, since those agents said I may be suffering from paranoia. Maybe I am just paranoid. Ever since those murders started, I've been jumping at everything. Actually, come to think of it, it's only been since the headaches started... This story is so vapid and artless it’s frustrating to read. It’s like anti-thought. Feeling Fine I visited a shrink today. Told him everything. He didn't believe me, though. No one ever believes me. Showed him the video. He didn't see my name. No one sees my name. He gave me pills. Said they would help. I took them. They help. No one ever gives me things anymore. No one wants to be around me. I don't think I understand people very well. I make them scared and uncomfortable, or maybe they make me scared and uncomfortable, so we never get along. These aren't the words of someone on medication. These are the words of a man who's been lobotomized. All my friends left and went away so no one ever wanst to be my friend anymore. That makes me sad. I don't like to be sad. I like to be happy. Do you like to be sad? The pills keep the sad away. I like the pills. This is only how fucking idiots think anti-psychotics work. I don't think I care anymore. I don't care that I don't have any friends. Sometimes when I'm lying in my bed I hug a pillow and pretend I'm hugging someone. I never hug people. I don't get along with people very well. But I don't care anymore. This is just sad. I don't care that I'm alone. I don't care that even my family thinks I'm weird. I don't care that theres been another murder. I don't care that people think I'm crazy. I don't care that I have to take these pills. I don't care that an empty face is in the window. I don't care about the video. I don't care that Hes watching me. I don't care. I feel fine. This really isn't off to a good start. The Slender Man Whatever it was the doctor gave me, it really messed me up. I don't even remember typing out that post last night. But there's something in it that really bugs me. What is the empty face? I've been doing some research. Went to Google, looked for men in suits, stalking, "empty face", stuff like that. Anyway, I came across another stuff about a so called "Slender Man", some kind of creature that looks like a man in a business suit, but with no face, who stalks people, drives them mad, tears out their intestines... Inspires thousands of mediocre creepypastas. It all sounds like a bad horror story, It is. but I'm not so sure. Is that what's happening to me? That video mentioned a "Großmann"-- "Tall Man", along with an image of what these blogs and articles refer to as an "operator symbol"; His symbol. As crazy as it sounds, I think it's real. And whatever the Slender Man is, it's following me. One thing I don't understand: what is the Archangel? I remember one of the blogs I found where the Slender Man was referred to as "the angel of death"-- are they the same thing? Is it just another name? Too many questions. Not enough answers. I'm scared. I need to take my medicine.

Take the kind that tastes like bitter almond. No Worries Gas Mask outside again. I think he's the killer. Killed three people. Beat them to death. Left their bodies at the beach. Splash! He's watching my window. Think he's watching me. Been standing there for fifteen minutes. Just watching. But I'm not worried. Not as long as I take my medicine. What kind of medicine makes you that passive? That's not medication, that's fucking removing the entire frontal lobe. The World in Flames He was outside again. The Slender Man. I don't know why I did it, maybe my mind was still under the pills' influence, but when I saw Him standing out there, I went outside. I walked right toward Him and stopped about a meter or two away from Him. And I asked Him a simple question: "What do you want?" When in a horror story, make sure you talk to the monster, that always works. Of course, He didn't say anything. I don't know if I expected Him too, but He moved. He lifted His arm, and I just stood there and watched as His hand melted away, revealing tendrils of complete blackness crawling forth from His body. They stretched out toward me, and their tips settled on my forehead. They were cold to the touch, and my skin felt stiff wherever they made contact, and suddenly I wasn't standing in my front yard anymore. And also make sure to let it touch you. Seriously, this asshole has the survival instinct of a donut. I was in a great city, under a black sky. All around me, buildings crumbled and fell as flames engulfed them. Ash fell from the sky, covering everything the flames did not. Before my eyes, Gas Mask floated down from the heavens to stand before me, and I swear he was smiling under that mask. I looked up to see where he had come from, and I saw nothing. Oh, I felt something. I felt eyes watching me. I felt wings flapping in the skies. I felt a presence, concentrated in the world above, but at the same time lingering all around me. I looked up into that great empty void, and a single thought filled my mind: "Enemy." This is like a really lame acid trip. It’s all imagery supposed to be creepy with no substance behind it. And then I was lying in my bed, as if I had awoken from some dream. I sat up, and I looked out my window, just in time to see Slender Man fade away into the night. And standing in front of His retreating form, I saw myself. My body crumpled when His tendrils left my skin, and I seemed to just sink into the grass below. Attacked I had a night class today, and the instructor let us out early. My car was in a parking garage on the other side of campus, so it was sort of a long walk. Anyway, after a few minutes of walking, I realized that someone had been walking behind me since I left class. Whoever it was, they were keeping their distance though, and let's face it, with everything that's happened, I could just be jumpy, so I ignored my mysterious follower. This guy really has no concept of self preservation. Big mistake. As I was opening my car door, she just ran up behind me, grabbed me by the hair, and slammed my head against the car door. I was disoriented, so I wasn't really able to fight back as she threw me to the ground and started kicking me in the ribs. YOU CAME TO THE WRONG NEIGHBORHOOD MOTHERFUCKER I managed to get my wits back around the time the knife came out. The girl stabbed down at me, and managed to get some skin off my shoulder, but I was able to roll away in time to avoid any serious damage. She kcked at me again. Got me right in the chest. Damn that hurt. But I was able to kick at her knees and scramble to my feet. She fell when I kicked her, and I managed to get into my car and get the fuck out of there. It wasn't until I got home that I realized that I recognized her. Her face had been all over the news just a few weeks ago. She was the first victim. They found her body on the beach. I was attacked by a dead girl. I was attacked by a fucking dead girl. ... That is so fucking stupid. Why did the dead girl attack him? What reason is there? If you want this to be scary, there needs to be some sort of set-up. Lake Mungo had an instance of a doppelganger and it made sense because the first half was about a grieving family trying to contact a ghost of their dead girl. Calm I'm calm now. Dead people attack. Zombies. Zombies moan and groan and tear the flesh off with their teeth. No zombies here though. Alone. Always alone. I dont know who you are C. I don't need byou. Go away. Medicine protects me. NOBODY TALKS LIKE THIS. Pills Are Lies Yesterday, I went to see that psychiatrist again. I thanked him for the pills he gave me, told them they were a big help. He just looked at me with this confused, concerned look on his face and said: "I never gave you any pills." OH SHIT SON When I got home I flushed all the pills down the toilet. Then I lay in bed, trying to push everything out of my mind. It wasn't easy. The Slender Man was outside my window again. Watching me. My hands are shaking, and I keep seeing things. I think I'm going into withdrawal. If he was smart, he would have asked to see a prescription before taking any damn pills from anyone. That’s how shit this story is, it requires its main character to be an idiot to work.

Who is this irresistible creature who has an insatiable love for the dead? LIVING DEAD GIRL It is never a good sign when someone quotes a Rob Zombie song. Dreams and Cats Last night I dreamed that I was in a long hallway, and the walls were made of light and shadow, and as I walked I got less and less tired, and then I ran and I was suddenly in a field, and Slender Man and Gas Mask were both there, on opposite sides of the field, watching me. ALL DREAMS ARE MADE UP OF OBVIOUS SYMBOLISM When I woke up, there was a white cat looking into my face. I don't own any pets. The cat climbed up onto my bed, and then up to ceiling, and I saw that its body was incredibly long. It reached the ceiling and kept twisting and circling around like a snake. I never saw its hind legs. Oh fuck, Longcat's in on this too? I blinked, and the cat was gone. I'm starting to regret getting rid of those pills. Return of the Headaches I think I found what I miss the most about the pills: I never had any headaches when I took them. Now my head is throbbibg again and I know-- I just know- that he is outside my windomw again. nhe Slender MaN. Oh God myn hands won't stiop shaking. My head hurts so muych and my hands justy keep shaking. Will I ever get over this? IO just want this yo enmd. I want thiings to go bacvk tyo normal. Todayu I byumped intpo the wall becausr I thoughty there waAS and entranceway therew. I see whats not thertre, and I don't ser what ISSDS therwe.... I wanat my medicine. Dear Joey Steward, how do you type with boxing gloves on? Notes I got home tooday and I found two noets waitiung for me. Peter Chimera has hijacked this story. The first was in the mailbox. If you've been reading the commnets, then you know someone called "C" has been commenting on this blog. Well, he left me a message. He wants to meet in person. C, I understannd if you mean well, but I really am not in a modd to meet someone at the momment. The second note, well... Jehova's Witnesses are getting creative. This was on my bedrtoom door. C? Did you leave this? Stay the fuck away from me. Just STAY THE FUICK AWAY FROM ME! I'm sure this is how a lot of romantic comedies start. The Archangel I just got home from my weekly Psychiatrist visit. He gave me some medicine, different kind than last, but I'm not going to take it. Best be careful-- I'm just now beginning to calm down after that last pill fiasco. Anyway, I stumbled across a blog called brighter than a spoon, and as I read it, something clicked in my head. "There's more out there than just Slender Man"... That's another thing with this Fear Mythos, it loves to cross-reference stories. Because everyone loves a story where you have to read other stories to know what's going on. It’s so pathetically self referential and up its own ass that it’s like a project run by Luka Magnotta and Timecube Guy. What if I've been looking at this the wrong way? What if "Archangel" isn't just another name for Slender Man? What if the Archangel is something completely different? It would certainly make sense. Hell, it would explain a lot. But I can't find any information on it, besides Biblical angels, and somehow I doubt they're the same thing. Please, if anyone knows anything about this Archangel, tell me. Crystal's Story I met C today. Her name is Crystal. She's 26 years old. Seven years older than me. We met at a library at 5pm, about three and a half hours ago. She's a really pale woman, with dark, sunken-in eyes and long, tangled, unevenly cut hair. She was wearing a bunch of old clothes, and I think I saw some crust in the fabric. I don't want to know how long it's been since she washed them. Yep, sounds like a troper. We sat down at a table in the back of the library. Obviously, I can't remember the exact words of our conversation, but I'll try my best to get this accurate as possible: "So," I said, as we sat down. "You're C?" "'Crystal' will do," she told me. "I was in a library in Los Angeles when I found your blog." "They have libraries in Los Angeles?" She ignored my little attempt at a joke. "I don't know what I was looking for exactly. I guess I was trying to find some evidence of it's existence... Anyway, I somehow found your blog, and I saw the Twin Triangles on one of your pictures--" I interrupted her there. "You saw the what?" Yeah, when did shapes enter into this three-ring shit circus? "The Twin Triangles. That's what I call it anyway. It's its symbol-- two triangles, one upside down, overlapping each other. I don't know if there's some sort of official name, but the symbol shows up wherever it does. Those pictures you posted of that construction site... It was scratched into a wall. That's how I knew the Archangel was targeting you." We were silent for a moment, and then I asked: "What is the Archangel?" She shook her head. "I don't know, exactly. Some sort of... thing. I guess the best way to explain it would be to explain how I met it." She hesitated. "I was born and raised in Montreal. My family had me, my mom, my dad, and my older brother David. Anyway, about six years ago my brother was killed in a car accident." She hesitated again. "He was dead... I helped clean out his room, I saw them put the coffin in the ground... but he was there too. At the funeral. The cemetery. I saw him just standing there behind a tree, watching." OOoOOOooooOOO He STANDS BEHIND THINGS, spooky! There was a long pause after that. I wanted to say something, but I couldn't think of what. Thankfully, she continued before anything came to mind: "I kept seeing him, throughout the next few weeks. Standing outside my window. Walking across the street. I saw him in the mall once. He was following me. I thought I was going crazy... I never told anyone, though. Just kept it to myself. Then one night, I was at a party. I was walking back to my car, drunk out of my mind... and he was there in the passenger seat. Nearly shocked me into sobriety. Then he attacked me." It was at this point that I was reminded of my own encounter with one of the recently departed. So the Archangel possesses dead bodies to attack its victims. It was scarier when The Thing did it. Because The Thing made sense as a concept. "I don't remember much of that night," Crystal continued. "Most of its blur. Somehow I managed to get away. I guess I must gone sober at some point, since I managed to get home without wrecking. That's when I found the first note. It was written in my brother's handwriting. Had the Twin Triangles drawn on it, and said something about how I should embrace the Archangel. No capital letters either. I went to my room, locked the door and windows and curled up in my bed. I don't think I slept at all that night. It was like that for the next few weeks. Notes left at my door, my brother... and I started seeing other people too-- people I knew who had died. My grandma... My uncle... I never saw them together-- I don't think the Archangel can use more one body at a time." I interrupted her again here. "What what In the butt?" "That's what it does, or at least that's what I think it does. The Archangel... I don't think it has a physical body, so it needs to use the dead to interact with the world. Anyway, after a few more weeks of this, I just withdrew all my money from the bank, quit my job, left a few messages for the people who knew me, and ran. I managed to sneak across the border, down to the States, and I've been running ever since, taking up whatever jobs are available to me to keep the cash flowing. But the Archangel's never been far behind, so I've had to keep moving." She leaned back, and I realized for the first time that there were tears in her eyes, and she had been struggling not to cry since she'd started this story. "I don't know why it's after me, and I don't know why it's after you, and I don't know anything about a Slender Man, either. But, Joey, listen to me: you have to run. This thing won't just let you go. If you stay here, you'll die, and that thing will take your body and start parading around with it. You can come with me if you want-- just don't stay here." ...I don't feel like posting the rest of what happened. I'm sorry, guys, but there's a lot I need to think about. Why is the Archangel even doing this? I know it's supposed to be a mysterious eldritch horror, but there's a big difference between mysterious and attacking people for no damn reason. hello you have chosen joey steward to reject us we are unhappy run along find the STRANGER he can not protect you embrace the archangel This is the shittiest slam poem ever. Decision I woke up today to find that somewhat threatening post on my blog. I'd love to say my account was hacked. I'd love to say that someone had gotten a hold of my password. But I saw this. Gas Mask. Well, Archangel I guess. He was in my room last night. He used my computer to post that message. Crystal is right. It's not safe here. I've decided to leave with her. And so our bland hero is on the run. I hope he dies.

[miss-ying]

Martin Laurello known as "The Human Owl", he can twist his head 180 degrees and performed in freak shows.