#jane's interviews.

[hyperfixatedandthinking]

Jane’s Interviews: Natalie Ouellette

Interview #073  26/05/2019 Location: ███████████ Time: 11:41 PM

“-so we’re just talking?” “Yes, just talking. I’ll ask a few questions and then be out of you and your… roommates’ hair.” A rustle of clothing is followed by the sound of couch springs creaking. “Cool… Never been interviewed before.” A hum that is almost drowned out by the sound of an AC unit rattling on. “Ah- shit. Should I switch that off?” “No, it’s fine. Please, let’s start.” “...You’re the boss. Don’t come back bitching if you can’t hear shit when you play it back.” Another hum. The sound of papers being rearranged. “Thank you for agreeing to talk to me.” “You’re welcome. But really, I should be thanking you… Letting me see your pretty face up close in the comfort of my own home. What a privilege.” “...Please state your name and date of birth for the audio recording.” “Okay, uh… You’re not going to the cops with this, right? This is a… weird passion project?” “No. I’m not going to the authorities… If I did, I would most likely end up in jail, so…” A laugh. The sound of shifting against the fabric of the couch. “Yeah, I get that… Wouldn’t want you arrested, would we, pretty?” “...Please focus.” “Boo. You’re no fun. Fine…My name is Natalie Ouellette. I was born in… ‘93? Or ‘92, I can never remember. And I’m a Gemini-” “And what is your relationship to Jeffrey Allen Woods?” Silence lasts several seconds. Then, a snort is heard, followed closely by incredulous laughter. “Oh my god… This is about that fucker? Really? Why is everyone so obsessed with him? He’s a bum-” “So you know him?” “Course I do. I let him crash on my couch and when I woke up he’d stolen all my shit.” A chair creaks, Jane’s voice is much closer to the recording device than it was previously. “Recently?” “No- No, fuck no, gorgeous. It was ages ago… Like… Ugh, I dunno. 2013? Yeah, must’ve been 2013, because Tobes was living with me.” “Tobes?” “Just a guy- Not a guy, but a guy. He’s my… friend. Kinda. I haven’t talked to him in a while…” “And he was staying with you when Jeffrey was?” “It was one night, he looked so miserable I felt bad… Wet cat routine. Can’t believe I fell for that shit.” The AC rattles. Natalie groans. Rustling resumes, followed by footsteps and Natalie’s faint yelling. The AC humming ceases. Natalie returns to her seat. “Sorry. Fucking thing’s been on it’s way out for months… What were you asking?” “You were recalling when Jeffrey, and I quote, ‘stole all your shit’.” “Oh, yeah. Asshole. He stole a bunch of stuff, like, mostly medical. Figured it was for his face… Shit was gnarly. Fresh.” “He is a grotesque looking individual.” “I know, right. All bug eyed and shit… Ugh.” Silence resumes. The sound of movement is faint, coming from another room. “...He was here in 2013. Do you know if he left the area? Do you have any clue as to where-” “I’m gonna stop you right there. I don’t know him. I never knew him, we didn’t even talk to each other, pretty. He crashed on the couch, stunk up my pace, and left. That’s it. Sure, there’s been a couple sightings, but I don’t do that shit anymore. Not like he does.” “Not like he does?”

“Yeah… I get paid. They tell me who to take out and I do it, then they hand me the cash and I keep my head down. But Jeff… That crazy fuck kills whoever he wants to. Any state, any gender, any age. It’s fun for him. He likes the news attention, the gimmicks, the rumours. Fucker has a fanclub, did you know that?” “I did. I know everything.” “Course you do, pretty… This is a passion project after all.” Jane’s laugh is small and distorted, accompanied by the sound of a chair being repositioned and a file being opened. “I have one more question and I’ll be out of your way.” “Shoot.” “...What do you know about the Tall Man?” All sound ceases. Fabric rustles once more, Natalie begins pacing. “Nah, I can’t help you with that… Not my thing.” “Not your thing?” “I don’t see shit. I mean, I do, but not the ‘man in the woods’. You should try someone else.” “But you know of him.” The pacing stops. The sound of a chair dragging across the carpet is accented by Natalie’s sigh. There is silence for a moment, then a soft shift. Fingernails tap on a hard surface. “Listen, pretty-” “Jane.” “Jane. You don’t want in on this. You really don’t. It’s a whole can of worms and bullshit you’re better off not involving yourself in-” “So there is something happening. Something to do with the Tall-” “Don’t say his name. Don’t bring that shit here.” Jane huffs. The nails stop tapping. “Didn’t take you as the superstitious type.” “I’m not, it’s just-” A thud against a hard surface. The recording skips slightly with the impact. Natalie’s voice is calm but stern. “-know what the hell is happening in those woods. I don’t know what batshit crimeboard you’ve got going on in your head, or how you've managed to link me to all this crap, but I haven’t got a clue. Okay? No idea. Not one.” “But you know about Jeffrey… and the Man?” “Everyone knows about the man.” “Why?” “I don’t know. Mass psychosis? Chemicals in the water? You figure it out… You’re the detective. Leave me out of it… It’s bad enough I had to sit through Tobes muttering about it for months-” “Your friend? He knows about the Man?” “I- He says he does…But he’s nuts. And I mean that with love, Toby’s fucking insane. He has been for years, he won’t tell you anything that makes any sense, pretty.” “But he’ll tell me something?” Natalie sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, he’ll tell you shit.” “Do you have a way to contact him?”

End of recording.

Just in case anyone is confused (like me while writing this) our lovely Jane has a theory that Slenderman/ the Tall Man is some sort of conspiracy that a load of people have pulled from to excuse their murders. Like 'the devil made me do it' type of thing. But as she talks to more people, she's realising that... Maybe he's not just an excuse. Either way, she doesn't want to let go of the idea that Jeff is a thoughtless killer, so she's trying to rationalise it in her own weird way. Make sense? idk.

[hyperfixatedandthinking]

Jane’s Interviews: Liu Woods

Interview #064  03/05/2019 Location: ███████████ Time: 09:32 AM

Movement. The sound of someone shifting, followed by fabric rustling and a loud sigh.  “Do we have to do this again? It’s pointless, Jane. It never goes anywhere and you know that-” “Please state your name and date of birth for the audio recording.” “You know my name. We’ve done this a hundred times-”  The sound of a groan cuts off the voice, it’s accompanied by the squeak of a chair.  The man’s voice is further away when he begins speaking again.The sound of pacing accompanies his answer. “Liu Woods. I was born on April 18th 1989. Happy?” “Overjoyed. What is your relationship to Jeffrey Allen Woods?” The pacing stops. “...He’s my little brother. But you knew that, and you know all my answers, because, as I’ve said already, we’ve done this before. This is pointless-” “How much younger than you is Jeffrey?” “You don’t have his birthday memorised?” “Answer the question.” “Nine years. Nine years and eight months if you really need me to be technical.” “And how long has it been since you last saw him?” Silence spans around ten seconds. During this time, the pacing resumes. “Seven years… Give or take. It’s blurry in the middle.” “Why?” “Why? I dunno, maybe cause I was in hospital getting my guts put back in, Jane. You would know, you were there.” Silence again, this time much longer than the last. It’s broken by the sound of movement, a  rummaging that spans several seconds and is interspersed with Liu’s muttered complaints. Something is set on a hard surface. “Do these documents look familiar?” “You brought my fucking medical records? Jane, what the fuck-” “I’ll note that as a yes.” “Yes. Obviously. They’re mine, they’re supposed to be in my… How did you-” “Your landlady is a very sweet woman.” The sound of papers shuffling grows louder.  “You were stabbed… Thirteen times, is that correct?” “Jane, you-” “Is that correct?” “...Yeah. Thirteen…” “And you experienced a combination of first and second degree burns to your limbs?” “Yeah…” “And this has led to severe permanent disfigurement and disability?” “That’s dramatic. My face and hands are a little fucked up, but I don’t think-” “You have an ileostomy bag, you’re missing almost three fingers, and you can’t move the left side of your face. Take it from me, you pass the criteria for both categories with flying colours.” A loud sigh is followed by silence once more. The sound of papers being rearranged is accompanied by a tap running. The water stops. Footsteps return. A glass is placed on a hard surface. “Fine. Yep. I’m disabled and disfigured, what’s your point?” “Jeffrey Allen Woods attempted to murder you on the night of August 15th 2012. I want to know why.”

“Why?” A laugh sounds. It lasts an uncomfortably long few seconds. “Oh my god. Why? You think I know why? You think I know and I haven’t told you after nearly a decade? Are you kidding me, Jane? Is this what this is all about? You think I’m hiding something?” “You never told me about Jeffrey’s defense. You never told me about the Tall Man.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Liu’s voice is distant again, but now slightly raised. The pacing has resumed.  There’s a flurry of movement and the scrape of a chair. Jane’s volume has also increased. As she speaks, she begins mimicking the voice of a pubescent boy. “You do. On record when he was fifteen in that juvie, he said, and I quote, ‘I told Liu but he doesn’t believe me. No one believes me, but he’s there. He’s always there. He’s always watching me-’” “He was fifteen and schizophrenic.” “He was lying. It’s an old urban legend. A Tall Man who stands in the forest in the north of the city. He was planning an insanity plea. Him and five other murderers across the state-” “I think you should leave.” Footsteps move towards the recording device. The sound of papers being shuffled is violent. “He said it, a month before the murders, he said ‘He’s getting louder, he’s talking to me. He wants me to do things. Bad things. Bad things I don’t want to do.’ That is almost word for word what Toby Rogers said before he burnt his house down two years before Jeffrey did anything. He planned it in advance. Did you know that? He was planning to kill you while he cried on your shoulder. He was going to blame it on a ghost that some disabled kid came up with-” “Get out of my house, Jane.” “You have to listen to me, Liu. Just listen to what I’m saying-” “No. No, I don't have to. I’m not doing this shit again, Jane… I can’t… I won’t.” “Wait- Shit- Don’t press that-” End of recording.

First (technically second) oneshot... How do you like it? I thought the recording style would be quicker to write since I've got like five to do! Hope it made some sense, I'm so tired that words didn't look real about halfway through lol. Jane really thinks she's connected the dots 😔

[hyperfixatedandthinking]

Jane’s Interviews: Toby Rogers

Interview #074  30/05/2019 Location: ███████████ Time: 06:21 PM

The sound of someone whistling, melodic, well rehearsed. The creak of a couch follows, along with a muffled thud. “You want- want some coffee?” “No, thank you. I had some earlier, I’m good.” “That’s handy given I don’t actually have any… Dunno why I offered. Felt- felt polite. My partner's always gettin' on my ass for- for fuck's sake- for bein' 'impolite to guests'...” "...I'm sure they'll be happy to know that you've been a very good host so far." Silence spans a few seconds.  “...Are you okay to answer a few questions?” “Yeah, sure. Shithead- Start whenever.”

“... Please state your name and date of birth for the audio recording.” Another series of thuds, this time growing in intensity and spanning nearly ten seconds. They then cease abruptly. “Full government name or just…?” “...Whatever you’d prefer.” “Vague, thanks. I’ll go full government. My name’s- name’s Tobias Erin Rogers… I was born… 1994. November 15th… I’m pretty sure it was the- it was the 15th. Coulda been the 14th though. One of the two-” “And what do you know about the Tall Man?” All mumbling halts. Silence spans several seconds, broken only by the hum of cars outside. “...What do you know about Him?” “Not much.” “Tell me.” “... I know that he’s an urban legend, something parents made up to stop their children from wandering in the forest, getting lost… I know you told Natalie Ouellette that he made you stab your father to death nine years ago… That you told her that he watches you, and he talks to you… And that Jeffrey Woods made that exact same claim when interviewed about his mental state whilst being held in a juvenile detention centre back in 2012.”

“...Sounds about- fuck you- about right, yeah.” “All of it?” “Yup.” Jane’s voice is slightly hoarse when she next speaks. The scrunching of paper is audible. “... What is your relationship with Jeffrey Allen Woods?” “Know him in- in passin', I guess. We’ve got a couple mutual friends, a couple mutual enemies…” “Were you in contact with him before the night of  August 15th 2012?” “...That’s a little spec- specific... No. I met him in… 2013, back when I was-” “Crashing on Ouellette’s couch. I know.” “I wasn’t crashin’- I… I paid rent!” “It’s not important. If you weren’t in contact with Jeffrey then how did he access your hospital files?” “...He has my hospital files?” “Yes. He quoted you, that’s what I just told you.” “Okay… Wait- Why do you have my hospital records? Ain't that against some law?” “Your file is open to the public. Has been for three years, ever since you were legally declared dead." “...Huh.” Papers are rearranged quickly before being slid across a hard surface. Silence follows. “...Listen, lady, you’re doin’ what you can but… I- I ain’t seein’ a quote.” A frustrated sigh. The scrape of a chair as it’s scooted across floorboards. “There. Right there.  ‘No one believes me, but he’s there. He’s always there. He’s always watching me and telling me to do things, to hurt people.’” “Not really a quote… More just a - just a statement. Pretty run of the- of the mill.” “That’s almost exactly what you claimed two years earlier while being treated at ████████ Hospital.” More rustling of papers. “‘He’s following me. I can see him and no one else can, he keeps whispering for me to… do bad shit.’” “...Yet again… Not- not really a direct quote on Jeff's part, is it?” “But it’s the same excuse.” A laugh, one which continues for almost ten seconds before a thud cuts it off abruptly. “You think it’s an excuse?” “...What else would it be?” Silence. A car alarm begins somewhere on the street outside. “The truth.” “...The truth? You mean to tell me that Jeffrey’s fictional stalker is real? That the Tall Man is… real? That he drove both of you to killing your family?” “You say- say that like you don’t believe me… And for the record, I didn’t- didn’t kill my family. I put down a - a fuckin' animal.  The car alarm is switched off outside. Papers being reorganised fills the quiet. Jane hums. Toby mimics the sound several times. “Okay... Okay. You put down an animal, I didn't mean to offend... But you have to understand, you have a history of experiencing… hallucinatory episodes. And sometimes human minds can lose track of what’s real and what’s not. It's perfectly natural to get confused... Especially in your circumstances.” The couch springs shift once more. Toby’s voice is noticeably closer as he speaks. “I know what’s real, Detective. I’m not some fucking nutso who stares at walls and screams that the- the stars are falling. I know He’s real. You might not believe me- me, but no- no one does if they ain’t seen Him. He- shit- He watches everything. He controls everything, Jane. Huh-. He whispers, makes everything shift. Shows you shit then crawls into your brain, puppets you around like a kid drag- dragging a fuckin’ blankie 'round a playroom.”

A hand hits a hard surface. Jane makes a sound of surprise. “He finds the minds that are weakest, takes ‘em over then hollows ‘em out. Makes them kill, makes them violent, towards others… towards themselves.” The couch springs creak. Pacing footsteps begin. “Why?” “Oh, good question. Y'know, after a decade, it slipped my mind to question Him! I'll- I’ll ask him next time before he shoves his- his hand up my ass and makes me a damn homicidal sock puppet.” The only sound is the thud of feet against wood. For a moment, it changes to boots on tile, then returns to floorboards once more. “...I think I should go. You’ve been... very helpful-” “He makes husks outta people… He’s gonna make a husk- husk outta me one day. Shit- …He always does when we run outta uses. It’s what- It’s what he did to them, it’s what he does to everyone he chooses-” The pacing stops. “...Tim.” “Who?” “...He's a friend. You should talk- talk to him… He knows more than I do, he's seen more than I have...” “...Where can I find your ‘friend’?” “Don’t- don’t worry ‘bout it. He’ll find you… He’s good at that, f-finding people. He found me a while ba-...” A tone of static begins to build, faint at first, but it slowly starts to attempt to drown out both Jane and Toby’s voices. “Toby? Toby, what's wrong? Did something-” “Shh.” “What?” “Shh.” Movement, fast feet on floorboards. The sound of a curtain being drawn harshly. Jane’s voice is a whisper. “What is it? What’s happening?” “I told you shh… Just listen.” Silence. Static. “...Do you hear that? He’s whisperin'.” “...What?” “Be quiet… Listen close- closer… There. There, you hear that?” “No. I’m sorry, I don’t hear anything… I think I should-” The static grows louder, replacing the audio with several seconds of uninterrupted dead air. “-Hear it… Do y-...Hear Him?...” “-should go, Tob-... Thank-... -aving me.” “-ait… -ould be waiti-... for you-” Footsteps, louder than before. Running. Fractures of a slamming door and a fist pounding on its surface. "-Jane!" The static screeches. End of recording.

Toby interview, yay! Probably not very clear from this, but Jane thinks he's completely insane. She doesn't believe anything he's saying, not even with literal proof in front of her 😔 Is my pacing bad? Yes. Ignore it, thanks. Anyhoo, hope you liked it!

[hyperfixatedandthinking]

Jane’s Interviews: Helen Otis

Interview #077  03/06/2019 Location: ███████████ Time: 03:08 PM

A quiet hum of voices, the clink of cutlery and crockery are just loud enough to be heard over the sound of a car engine running. There is no movement for several seconds. “Please state your name and date of birth for the audio recording.” “You have a script… How endearing. Helen Otis, 2nd of January 1994.” “Helen?” “That is most people’s reaction, yes.” “I apologise, that was… rude of me.” “It’s no problem. Twenty five years has acclimatised me to people’s oddness surrounding my name… And my very existence for that matter. But that’s unimportant.” Fabric shifts against wood. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Ms Arkensaw… You’ve made quite a name for yourself.” “...In a good way, I hope.”

“In a way. Good or bad, that’s up to personal perception.” Fabric shifts. Jane gives a small hum to clear her throat before speaking. “And what, if I may ask, is your ‘personal perception’ of me?” “...I think you are a very, very committed woman. And I think you’ve made an awful mistake in pursuing the leads that you have.” “So I’ve been told.” “Repeatedly, if Tobias is correct in his recollection of your interview. Liu, Natalie, and Tobias all having told you to turn away, and yet… here you are, waiting to be found by a man who's seen more than you could ever comprehend.” “Tim.” “Tim.” “You know him?” A beat of silence, punctuated by the tinkling of a spoon hitting porcelain as it stirs. “He had me institutionalised when I was a child.” “...Oh.” “Don’t look so tragic, it was necessary. I only wish he would’ve visited… Wards are rather lonely.” “I can imagine.” Helen hums in agreement. “He was good to me, for the most part. He would smoke indoors though, that alone drove me to the brink of insanity.” “Bad habit.” “Disgusting habit. It clings to everything, rots you from the inside out…” “You take your health seriously?” “No. I take my art seriously, art that has been ruined far too many times by the lack of care others give to their bodies. The effort it takes to prevent coagulation in thickened blood… It’s a waste of my resources and my time.” Jane clears her throat in discomfort.

“...You have… blood preferences? That… I didn’t know that.” “Good health makes for thinner blood. Thinner blood makes for easier layering. Easier layering makes for easier painting. It’s not rocket science, Ms Arkensaw. I’m the best at what I do for the simple reason that I have perfected my technique. I’ve refined my system to a degree that would take others decades to complete, and I will not allow my professionalism to be tarnished due to the irresponsibility of the general public in regards to their lungs. So, yes. I have several ‘blood preferences’.” Jane’s next words are murmured, barely loud enough to be heard. “...And a strong anti-smoking campaign in your future...” Silence falls once more, this time accompanied by the rustling of papers. “If you’re going to ask me about Jeffrey Woods, I’d advise against it. I try to avoid him as best I can.” “Why?” “You of all people are asking ‘why’ I choose to avoid that foul smelling shit stain of a man?” “...Point taken… But you really don’t know anything? Anything at all?” Helen sighs flatly. The car nearby which was previously idling switches off its exhaust. “He is an unpleasant creature, Ms Arkensaw. Your rage is duly justified… But you should stop this hunt. You should return home to your wife, and you should try to forget everything you’ve learnt these past three years.” Silence. “Yes, I know about your wife. I know about your home, your warehouse, your… many, many excuses as to where you were skulking off to at all hours, excuses that were far too weak to be believable in any regard, and I know what you deem to be ‘the truth’.” “How-”

“Do you truly believe that no one else on the planet knows how to access public records? Or the internet? Please, Ms Arkensaw, I had hoped you’d have some common sense after all the practice you’ve had with these things.” “...Are you threatening me?” “Oh please, if I were threatening you, you’d know it… No, all I’m doing is offering a warning.” “I’ve had enough warnings.” “I agree, so I’ll give you your last.” Movement, someone standing. The sound of formal shoes shifting on gravel. “On behalf of many, I implore you to Call Tobias. Tell him to ask Timothy not to come to you. Say you’ve changed your mind, that you’re putting all of this behind you. Destroy your ‘evidence’. Forget Jeffrey. Forget everything you think you know about this city. And then turn around, walk home, close your shutters, and convince your wife that the two of you should move out of state.” “...Why? …So that he can get away with it again, keep on killing innocent people? So that you can carry on your sick little art projects without the cops sniffing around? So that you can all keep hiding behind the boogeyman instead of facing all the shit you’ve done? All the lives you’ve ruined?” "So that He doesn't find you-" "No! No, I'm not listening to this again. Just because you're all under some... fucking delusion that there's a man in the woods, that he's watching you, doesn't mean it's real. It's not real. It can't be real. You know it can't. It's a mentally ill man's way of coping with the fact he stabbed his father to death, to help him deny the reality that he was abused so badly that it broke him. It's a story that Jeffrey stole from sealed records to get a plea deal! To get away with murdering my parents! ...And you- You drain people for fun. Why the hell did I expect anything sane to come out of your mouth?" The silence lasts almost thirty seconds, completely uniterrupted. Helen takes a breath.  “...Well, I suppose you’ve made your stance quite clear.” “...I have.” “And you’ll speak to Timothy regardless of what I say next, won’t you?” “Yes.” A slow exhale. “...To cave beneath the weight of your own pride… what a horrible way to lose yourself, Ms Arkensaw.” Jane’s voice hisses in the quiet. “I haven’t lost myself. I know who I am, I know what I want. And no amount of any schizophrenic’s fairy tales are going to stop me from getting it.” A car horn beeps somewhere in the distance. “... You’re a very committed woman, Ms Arkensaw… I wish you the very best of luck.” Footsteps on gravel, fading into the dull sound of the city. Jane calls out after them. “I don’t want your luck.” The footsteps stop. Helen's tone borders on sarcastic, the most emotion they've shown throughout the conversation. “...Then may God have mercy on your soul, Ms Arkensaw." End of recording.

Two people who are both incredibly unstable having a 'who can be more stable' contest while being stalked by the entity. We love to see it.