Reset: The Third; Vincent

It has been a very long time since I've been settled in.

I hit the road for a while, a very long time. A few months ago, things got very heavy. I'm still sorting it out. But I never forgot this. The purpose that I created for this. To tell the stories of people who weren't so lucky, people who haven't gotten away. But I think that may have put me into danger. Let sleeping eyes wake up, watch me. Remember.

I haven't had the time to sit down and explain, I know. It's been hard. Really hard. But I feel like I can stop for a little bit. I can try to tell what has happened to me. I'll try. I'll try to start from the beginning, hard reset. But this won't be anyone else's story. This one will be mine.

It's late. Too late to start what's happened over the past few months. But I want people to know I'm safe. To let them know I'm still running, doing my best to stay alive. But He never sleeps. He never rests. He is always there. Waiting, knowing. Following. Planning, plotting, proceeding as scheduled. He encircles us, entrances us. Waits for us to make that one slip-up. Well, I did. I messed up. And I almost payed for it.

We can't win through skill. All we have on our side is luck. Sooner or later, it has to run out. But for now, my luck holds strong. That sounds silly, when I read over it. All of our advancements, all of our achievements. And they mean nothing. Not for people like me. All we have is luck. All we have is chance. A coin flip. Heads, you live. Tails...

Alright. Enough. All I know is that I'm here, not saying where. He might be watching. He may just be waiting for me to slip up, to say that one detail that lets him swoop in again. Dammit. This had seemed like such a good idea. But the past catches up to us all.


The third person I was going to tell the story of was Vincent. He was the mousy kid, real quiet. I met him a few weeks after Allison got hauled away. Right off the bat, I knew who he was. Not in a 'I recognize you' kind of way. But in the way he was ragged, run down, haven't-slept-in-days tired. Sitting the back of the greyhound, turned away from the window. I recognized him like I recognize my reflection anymore; a shell that is fueled with fear and desperation.

He was sitting there, back of a bus on the way to some shithole in Texas. Thousand mile stare. And me, in my grand stupidity, reached out to him. Sat in the seat across from him and gave him a look, a nod. Whispered "Running from something?" Like I was being all secret and clever, like if he was just running from a bad home or something that he'd just spill his guts and I would be able to disengage. But he said nothing. He looked through me. These dead brown eyes just piercing me, cutting into the window behind me. Eyes that follow you no matter where you go.

He said yeah. Real quiet. This voice made of glass, cracked right down the middle. He was just... empty. Hopeless. And me, just getting over Allison, was feeling like I could save him. I didn't even know if he was actually running from Him and I knew that I was going to be trying to keep him safe.

It was only later on, when he was scribbling furiously away in some beat-up checkered composition book that I knew he was like me. And that was when I told him I knew. That I knew everything he was going through. And that together, we would be safe.

Call me R, the fucking liar.

Apologies for the Delay

Sorry, it took longer than I thought to get around. I promise that I'll have a more in-depth explanation of things later today or tomorrow.

Travel

I have to leave today, so don't expect a post for a day or two. It's been a rough day, I'll explain later.

I made a twitter for when I travel, I'll keep everyone updated. I'll try to post again when I make it to a rest stop, I just need to get far away from here.

http://twitter.com/RunnerOperation

The Second: Allison

Allison was the first runner I ever hid with. We'd run into each other from time to time, share a feast of a dollar menu McDonald's and then go our separate ways. She taught me a lot, not about Him though. No, she taught me about surviving everything else out here. 

"Shave regularly, go to a gas station or rest stop and wash your face and hair. Have a good change of clothes in a plastic bag. When you need money, just put 'em on and go wash dishes for a night or two. Work means food and transportation. It means food. It means life."

Her exact words, I still remember writing them down like she told me to. I still remember her long brown hair and her piercing gaze. She might have been a real go getter, if it weren't for the circumstances. She was way smart and creative. Beautiful, for someone who didn't take regular showers and lived outside most of the time. I remember nodding dumbly to her advice too. I remember thinking that she'd never get caught.

For a while, we'd just meet up if we were near each other and move on. We'd keep in touch as we drifted. Call each other if He showed up. I think it was comforting, knowing that she was out there. Still fighting, surviving. Survival stories seem to beacon of hope for us. 

But traveling alone is dangerous. Not just because of Him but everyone else. She had called me, told me to meet her in Chicago. Alli was shaken up and I questioned her until she told me the entire horrifying story. She'd been attacked late at night. Not by Him, no. Some guy roaming around with a goddam inferiority complex and a knife had jumped her. I'll spare you the rest of the details. This isn't an episode of Law and Order.

The truth of it all is that we run for safety. It's like this giant game of release, we're all running away and trying to find safety in some city. He always seems to find us though. So we keep running. Because it's the safest thing that we can do. And every night, you don't know if you'll be sleeping or not. Every night, you don't know if He'll give you the drop. Just peer around a corner, stare up at you from an empty alley and tilt that terrible vicious head of His. And you can only imagine what he wants. You can only imagine what will happen when He catches you.

But people, He isn't the only thing we're afraid of. Just like Allison, ask any runner and they should have some horror story about the incredibly mad world we all live in. Just in the past two years, I've;

-Been jumped five times

-Two of those times I was mugged

-Been held at knife point

-Been threatened with a gun

-Had things stolen from me as I slept

-Been chased by the police

Point is, there are a lot of ways to die on the run other than Him.

 But that guy in near Chicago, that was Allison's breaking point. She couldn't go it alone anymore. From that day on, we ran together. And I got to admit, it wasn't so bad. You know, apart from the homelessness, the supernatural stalking, and the rest of it. We'd comfort each other, pool our money. We could eat better, travel in just a little more comfort. We could take turns taking watch as the other slept. There was just a little more security against the world. 

With her, I didn't feel so empty from the running. She'd make up little jokes or songs, try to keep me cheerful. She treated me like my sister did when I was real little. Reading over that, it just sounds absurd. I can't help but imagine her saying "Did the big bad Slendy Man hurt you? I'll beat him up. I'll kick his ass back to wherever he came from." It sounds just like her.

It didn't last though. We parted in Philly, a real bitter-sweet ending to our time together. There weren't any goodbyes. We'd been on a roof for the night, I had left to pick up some food and when I came back the lights of a cop car distracted me. I was hit in the gut with a wave of fear, a disabling terror that He'd come for her. The door to the building opened and two cops escorted her out. She smiled at me before they put her in the back of a car and drove away.

It was devastating. She'd asked me to stick with her, to protect her. We'd been together for three months, just about, and I was finally finding some of that warmth I'd lost. I'd told her I'd be right back with her Snack Wrap and fries. She'd laughed and told me to hurry back. Then she gets carted away. There was nothing I could do about it. I'd failed. I'm not sure what happens after the police take you away for trespassing. But I know that she kept a journal. Those damn journals. If I was a cop and I read through one of those, I'd haul whoever wrote it to an asylum.

I just hope that wherever she is, she's well. And out of His eyes. 

The First: Josh

Disposable cellphones are great things. You have to be alone while running, if you want to be truly safe, but you can still keep in contact with people that you meet. Before anyone asks, no. I'm not going to give my number out. I've done that before and it never ends well for a number of reasons. People can track you and this kind of life makes you paranoid. Hell, I'm hesitant even to talk about these things. But it doesn't do me much good to keep them locked up in my head. They'll do someone some good, hopefully. 

I said before that this isn't my story. I said that it's for the people who never had the chance to tell their stories. And I think that the first story I should tell is Josh's.

My sixth month of running is when he got a hold of me, I think it was at least. A friend had gone missing and he was out for answers. I'd given out my number freely back then and I guess that his friend had it. If you want foolish, that's it right there. So Josh called me. There's something about only calling yourself R that makes you stick out in a contact list. He asked the normal questions;

"Who are you?"

"How did you know Abraham?"

"Do you know where he is?"

"Do you know why he's was acting so strange?"

 Naturally, I told him to stop. Alright, so it might have come out more like "I don't know who the fuck you are. Leave this alone, leave me alone."

I was pissed. I was pissed that he was calling me to tell me another was gone. An acquaintance I'd met online when I was careless was dead. Anyway, I told him to piss off. Not to save him, we all know that once someone starts to look into this stuff, I mean really look into it. Enough to call strangers to ask if they knew a missing friend. Once you start doing that, they don't stop getting deeper and deeper into this hell. 

I even told you guys to stop, and here you are. See? Good advice is never taken.

He kept calling, he'd found journals. What is it with the journals anyways? If you want a singular way to convince people you're mad. That you've lost it all. That you are loony toons, keep a journal. Go ahead. Draw Him over and over. Write SEES ME over and over until you feel secure. Take that stupid symbol from that youtube story, and draw it on every page. It's not like it really means anything out here. There's no power in it, I don't think so anyways. 

Sorry, that's all off track; he kept calling. 

"What's with these symbols?"

"What's with the spider in a suit?"

"What's with all this shit?"

I never answered him. Don't answer someone if you're under the impression you can save someone. The less they know, the less He notices them. The less they really mean anything to him. But Josh, he couldn't stop searching. He found his answers else where.

I was in Pittsburgh, sitting on the roof of some hotel when I got the call.

"What the fuck?! Who are you?! What the fuck was that?!"

It's a common question. What is He?

My answer? I don't care. He is bad news. He is like a tumor, a cancerous growth that just follows you and follows you, slowly taking away your will to breathe, to sleep, to live. He's death. The only important thing is that. So I told Josh to start running. Never stop for too long. Survive.

I said that some people say staying high works. Some people think that drawing that symbols wards him off. Some people say this, some people say that. I told him what I knew. I gave him everything that was ever given to me.

It was three days before he called again.

"I... I don't know where to go. He's still there. Always there. Just watching, waiting. I was gone, counties away. And I just... Woke up in my bed today. Like nothing had happened. What... What do I do?"

This is about the point that you stop listening. This is the point you see the futility in caring. All this running, it makes you cold after a while. Sometimes surviving means killing your empathy.

Josh asked for advice. What should he do? Where was it safe?

I answered; Big cities, rooftops. Get up high.

But sometimes the Big Bad Man gets his tendrils in you, running isn't enough.

I wish I could tell you that he still called. But that was the last call I ever got from him. 

I'd like to say that he's running. I'm convinced that's only wishful thinking though.

And I Will Testify

If  you are here looking for a personal tale of heroism and valor, you're in the wrong place.
If you're looking for sympathy, you're in the wrong place.
If you're looking for survival tips, you should ask that one kid.
I've nothing for you here. Just stories that aren't mine.
If you're here for a lesson, these stories are the best I've got to give.

If you want a quick one;
If this is some blog you stumbled upon, leave. Just stop reading. But I'm guessing that you found this place on your own, because you searched just right. Because in the face of this terror, we just want to understand what we are up against. That requires research, that requires a story. That requires the testimonial of those still around to give something.

And I will testify for those that can't.