We made it almost 200 miles away from the county. We didn't know which direction to turn. I wanted to go towards St. Louis while Blood wanted to go towards Chicago. I decided to do what she wanted to not piss her off. Also, she got really sick all of a sudden.
About 100 miles out she had to stop and throw up into a garbage can next to a Sunoco. She's running a high fever and we have to stop every ten miles or so because she's so sick. And apparently there's painful cramps as the muscles in her legs and feet are visibly knotting up. It's still going on and I'm worried and I have no idea what to do... but that's not what I'm going to talk about.
What I'm going to talk about is what I saw when I got to Chicago.
We're basically staying under a bridge in Chicago, surprisingly well populated with homeless people, and about ten miles from the Belvidere Oasis, basically a small mall of restaurants and tourist stores suspended over the highway which has food and gas. Sadly I can't use my credit cards anymore, but I'm about to get to that.
But the first thing I need to talk about is the McDonalds incident. We walked in because- at this point- we were too near the city to make a fire and we were running low on canned food as it is. We walked past the friendly statue of Ronald McDonalds, up a row of all empty booth seats and to the purple-and-green counter. I don't know why I remember everything up to the color of the booth, I guess... you notice more when you're just staving off death.
I ordered a small hamburger and some fries and a Coke and Blood just ordered some fries and an orange juice. Blood said she was feeling sick again, so she went over to the other end of the restaurant and into the ladies' restroom. I paid the eight ninety-five for the meal and walked over to a booth. It wasn't for a full five seconds after sitting that I noticed the statue of Ronald McDonald was gone.
I jumped up and ran over towards the two restroom doors opposite each other and kicked open the ladies' restroom door. Other women lay sprawled and crushed on the floor as a giant statue of Ronald McDonald was trying to choke Blood to death in front of the sink. Blood was trying in vain to hurt the mannequin, and she did manage to bash it in the head with the sink and mirror itself. I also tried prying the statue off of her and only succeeded when it backed up into a pool of blood from one of the other dead bodies. I took the pistol out of the concealed holster and fired three times into its chest at close range.
It wasn't made of the same material as the other mannequins and it broke open and caved in. Blood then rushed in and used the same tactic she used on the blank mannequin- stomping on its chest until it was unable to move.
We nervously walked out as the cashier and manager both yelled and chased after us.
I can't use my credit card because now the police think that one or both of us was responsible for murder, theft, and- of all things- vandalizing their beloved clown mascot. We also can't use the car anymore as it was found at the scene and we have to stay hidden for a good long while and probably dine with the homeless until it's safe enough or until the police start rooting through the underpasses.
Jesus, how did my life get to this?
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Escape
Sorry about the interruption. I'm going to keep it short because it's a bitch to blog on a phone.
I heard the crash outside, clicked the Publish button before finishing the last post, and went outside to see the commotion. There was something in the fireplace and Blood was there staring at it as the rest of it fell down from the chimney. It was a porcelain doll thing, split into jointed pieces that fell into place one. It had no face or any features whatsoever- it was a completely blank white mannequin.
It gurgled or something then went after Blood. She reacted and used branches on it but it didn't work. It just kept coming and slammed her against the wall. She kicked at it but it did nothing. I don't remember who was screaming, but I grabbed the towel rack from the bathroom wall and whacked it over the head as hard as I could. It cracked open so I hit it again and again until there was nothing above the neck stump but white powder. Then it got up and attacked again. Blood was really angry at this point. She knocked it to the ground and curb stomped the joints in its arms and legs until it was nothing but a porcelain torso. We rested for a minute and I told her we had to go and she nodded as another mannequin came from the fireplace and two burst through one of the windows. I put on my pack and she put on hers as the wall with the saplings of black blood suddenly imploded into some kind of rift? I never saw it clearly but it opened up to something other than the bedroom on the other side of that wall and three tree people stepped out and charged the mannequins.
We made our way out the back window, Blood only agreeing to come along because the mannequins were after us. We went a few miles, and made it to Jameson Ridgeway Toyota. Most of them were porcelain replicas or covered in weeds but there were three in the middle that were okay. We jumped into one, Blood hotwired the car and we drove off.
We're sitting at a truck stop sixty miles out. We ate some canned corn and siphoned some gas from other trucks on the far end of the rest stop. I don't know how long it's going to take to be free of them.
Anyways, that's it so far.
I heard the crash outside, clicked the Publish button before finishing the last post, and went outside to see the commotion. There was something in the fireplace and Blood was there staring at it as the rest of it fell down from the chimney. It was a porcelain doll thing, split into jointed pieces that fell into place one. It had no face or any features whatsoever- it was a completely blank white mannequin.
It gurgled or something then went after Blood. She reacted and used branches on it but it didn't work. It just kept coming and slammed her against the wall. She kicked at it but it did nothing. I don't remember who was screaming, but I grabbed the towel rack from the bathroom wall and whacked it over the head as hard as I could. It cracked open so I hit it again and again until there was nothing above the neck stump but white powder. Then it got up and attacked again. Blood was really angry at this point. She knocked it to the ground and curb stomped the joints in its arms and legs until it was nothing but a porcelain torso. We rested for a minute and I told her we had to go and she nodded as another mannequin came from the fireplace and two burst through one of the windows. I put on my pack and she put on hers as the wall with the saplings of black blood suddenly imploded into some kind of rift? I never saw it clearly but it opened up to something other than the bedroom on the other side of that wall and three tree people stepped out and charged the mannequins.
We made our way out the back window, Blood only agreeing to come along because the mannequins were after us. We went a few miles, and made it to Jameson Ridgeway Toyota. Most of them were porcelain replicas or covered in weeds but there were three in the middle that were okay. We jumped into one, Blood hotwired the car and we drove off.
We're sitting at a truck stop sixty miles out. We ate some canned corn and siphoned some gas from other trucks on the far end of the rest stop. I don't know how long it's going to take to be free of them.
Anyways, that's it so far.
The Plan for Escape
I now have a dozen cuts on my face and arms from multiple sources, and we haven't even made our escape yet.
Blood isn't happy with the prospect of leaving the Willow. I tried again to explain to her that those things outside don't care about her whatsoever, and then she screamed at me, yelled that I was lying, then pulled out a box cutter and attacked me with it. Branches also started poking through her skin and those cut at me, too. Eventually I wrestled the box cutter out of her hand and kept her away from the front door long enough for her to get tired and rest.
I patched myself up as best I could using as few materials from my first aid kit as I possibly could and- here I am.
So... I have to come up with a plan. Blood obviously isn't going to comply with anything, no matter what I tell her. One of the things outside- probably the Willow- has some kind of control over the poor girl. Pheromones? Like a drug or something? Maybe, I don't know, but I'm going to have to find a way to either convince her to come with me, or (my God I sound horrible just saying this as a possibility) taking her by force, and keeping her away from those things outside whether she wants to stay away from them or not. It sounds horrible, but those unnatural abominations outside is a much worse alternative and I think most of you would agree with me there.
So, while Blood's still passed out from overexertion, I'm going to try to figure out the escape here.
Supplies:
Plan:
The only thing I have to do now is tell Blood about someth
Blood isn't happy with the prospect of leaving the Willow. I tried again to explain to her that those things outside don't care about her whatsoever, and then she screamed at me, yelled that I was lying, then pulled out a box cutter and attacked me with it. Branches also started poking through her skin and those cut at me, too. Eventually I wrestled the box cutter out of her hand and kept her away from the front door long enough for her to get tired and rest.
I patched myself up as best I could using as few materials from my first aid kit as I possibly could and- here I am.
So... I have to come up with a plan. Blood obviously isn't going to comply with anything, no matter what I tell her. One of the things outside- probably the Willow- has some kind of control over the poor girl. Pheromones? Like a drug or something? Maybe, I don't know, but I'm going to have to find a way to either convince her to come with me, or (my God I sound horrible just saying this as a possibility) taking her by force, and keeping her away from those things outside whether she wants to stay away from them or not. It sounds horrible, but those unnatural abominations outside is a much worse alternative and I think most of you would agree with me there.
So, while Blood's still passed out from overexertion, I'm going to try to figure out the escape here.
Supplies:
- Two hiking packs, one small (my older son Phillip used to use it) and one large both in good condition.
- Eight or twelve water bottles.
- Ten canned goods- two peaches, three corn, two peas, three ravioli.
- One can opener.
- One first aid kit, running low on gauze, burn cream, and butterfly bandages, but still fully stocked with other bandages and salves as well as stuff for stiches.
- One hunting knife
- One 9mm pistol with 73 rounds
Plan:
- Wait until the Doll and the Willow are occupied fighting each other.
- Slip out the window in the back of the guest bedroom.
- Try to make our way through the middle line of the house for three miles or so.
- Find a car- there is a car dealership nearby and there may still be a working car.
- Get out of the county and don't stop until both of those things are far out of sight.
The only thing I have to do now is tell Blood about someth
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Gathering Armies and Hatching Plans
The Willow is at my door. I hear her weep and I hear her branches rustle at the walls. It's driving me insane but I can't cope with her terms. Not at all. It started when I was just finishing up with the last post. God, I saw her face. ...she doesn't have a face. It's not that it's just a layer of skin, no... it's not even there. Only parts of the nose and cheeks remain but most of it is a black, endless spiral. A vortex that drew me in then tortured my soul with hatred and dejection. I could only barely draw my eyes away from it long enough to close the curtains.
I asked Blood who that was. She said, "Mother," in an eerily choked whisper. She didn't make a move for the door. Neither did the Willow. I wondered why. The tree people that flanked the Willow were staring at me with faces scarred with self-injuries and wrinkled in contempt of me. Neither of them had eyes, just blackened weeping pits. Blood called them "the Criers", couriers and guardians of their mother.
The saplings created by the black blood from Blood's wounds started growing. I think the Willow might use them somehow. It's been almost two days and four hours ago Blood told me what the Willow wanted.
"Mother wants me returned to her so she may fight the Doll without worrying."
I asked her if it would stop the weeping.
"Nothing stops the weeping."
I said okay.
"And she wants something else too."
I could feel the inevitable answer but it hit me by surprise even though I was prepared for it.
"She wants you. You've survived an encounter with the Doll and you've shown yourself to be betrayed and depressed. Mother can help you. She can be your mother too."
I shook my head, gave her a glass of orange juice and told her I'm not going.
"Then I'm not going either. Mother doesn't like only meeting a negotiation in the middle- besides, you're a nice person and you deserve Mother's embrace."
I shut the door on her. It hurt. It's been a few days stuck in here and we've started talking about stuff. Hell, I even dusted off the old Scrabble and Clue boards and started playing those. But we are running out of orange juice, and while I have a good stockpile of canned goods and water (I... I enjoy having backup food in case of emergency) it's not going to last forever, while the Willow probably *can* last forever. Oh God, what do the Willow's tree people drink? Her tears?
God.
To make matters worse, the screeches and skitters that I all-too-horrifyingly remembered of the Doll came back, and the moans and shrieks of the porcelain statues out there grew to a full fortissimo. Blood shot upright and started shivering. I consoled her while the Doll skittered around and even ducked its face into the window. It tapped on the glass, but surprisingly nothing more. Now that's strange. I know the Willow and her servant tree things might be polite enough to negotiate, but from what I can tell the Doll is a "torture-everything-and-fuck-hospitality" kind of creature. So this surprised me. I had about three guesses, and one included the idea that the Willow was holding the Doll back. Maybe as a ploy to bully us out to her, or maybe to keep it away from us because- oh fucking God I hope not- maybe the Doll wants us just as much as the Willow does.
So that's it. Two armies of eldritch creatures are at my front door arguing over who has first pick. It couldn't get any worse. But I thought of something. And I told Blood. When she asked why I told her what I thought about the Willow. I said that the two would eventually start fighting and if they're too preoccupied killing each other then they won't notice our escape.
Of course, Blood refused. Not only did she refuse, but she almost went over to the door and opened it. I saw through the paned windows the faces of the Doll and the Willow both looking towards us as she neared the doorknob. I pulled Blood away. She screamed and kicked at me and yelled at me. "Why would I do such a horrible thing?" I tried explaining that the Willow is as evil as the Doll thing and that she would be dooming us both to suffering in self-loathing for all eternity but she just laid down on the couch and cried. And I realized how horrible I was being. I know that the choice I made was probably the right one, but it hurt to think that I might be the fault for Blood's misery.
But... I don't know. What do you guys think? God... was I this horrible to Danny? When I look back I could have just let him be a normal kid. He had Edvard's Syndrome, yes, but he really wanted to fit in but I pulled him back. God, maybe my wife was right. Maybe the Willow is right. Fuck, maybe my own mom was right.
...goddammit I can't think about that right now. Philosophy and emotion can be saved for later. For now we have to find a way out alive.
I asked Blood who that was. She said, "Mother," in an eerily choked whisper. She didn't make a move for the door. Neither did the Willow. I wondered why. The tree people that flanked the Willow were staring at me with faces scarred with self-injuries and wrinkled in contempt of me. Neither of them had eyes, just blackened weeping pits. Blood called them "the Criers", couriers and guardians of their mother.
The saplings created by the black blood from Blood's wounds started growing. I think the Willow might use them somehow. It's been almost two days and four hours ago Blood told me what the Willow wanted.
"Mother wants me returned to her so she may fight the Doll without worrying."
I asked her if it would stop the weeping.
"Nothing stops the weeping."
I said okay.
"And she wants something else too."
I could feel the inevitable answer but it hit me by surprise even though I was prepared for it.
"She wants you. You've survived an encounter with the Doll and you've shown yourself to be betrayed and depressed. Mother can help you. She can be your mother too."
I shook my head, gave her a glass of orange juice and told her I'm not going.
"Then I'm not going either. Mother doesn't like only meeting a negotiation in the middle- besides, you're a nice person and you deserve Mother's embrace."
I shut the door on her. It hurt. It's been a few days stuck in here and we've started talking about stuff. Hell, I even dusted off the old Scrabble and Clue boards and started playing those. But we are running out of orange juice, and while I have a good stockpile of canned goods and water (I... I enjoy having backup food in case of emergency) it's not going to last forever, while the Willow probably *can* last forever. Oh God, what do the Willow's tree people drink? Her tears?
God.
To make matters worse, the screeches and skitters that I all-too-horrifyingly remembered of the Doll came back, and the moans and shrieks of the porcelain statues out there grew to a full fortissimo. Blood shot upright and started shivering. I consoled her while the Doll skittered around and even ducked its face into the window. It tapped on the glass, but surprisingly nothing more. Now that's strange. I know the Willow and her servant tree things might be polite enough to negotiate, but from what I can tell the Doll is a "torture-everything-and-fuck-hospitality" kind of creature. So this surprised me. I had about three guesses, and one included the idea that the Willow was holding the Doll back. Maybe as a ploy to bully us out to her, or maybe to keep it away from us because- oh fucking God I hope not- maybe the Doll wants us just as much as the Willow does.
So that's it. Two armies of eldritch creatures are at my front door arguing over who has first pick. It couldn't get any worse. But I thought of something. And I told Blood. When she asked why I told her what I thought about the Willow. I said that the two would eventually start fighting and if they're too preoccupied killing each other then they won't notice our escape.
Of course, Blood refused. Not only did she refuse, but she almost went over to the door and opened it. I saw through the paned windows the faces of the Doll and the Willow both looking towards us as she neared the doorknob. I pulled Blood away. She screamed and kicked at me and yelled at me. "Why would I do such a horrible thing?" I tried explaining that the Willow is as evil as the Doll thing and that she would be dooming us both to suffering in self-loathing for all eternity but she just laid down on the couch and cried. And I realized how horrible I was being. I know that the choice I made was probably the right one, but it hurt to think that I might be the fault for Blood's misery.
But... I don't know. What do you guys think? God... was I this horrible to Danny? When I look back I could have just let him be a normal kid. He had Edvard's Syndrome, yes, but he really wanted to fit in but I pulled him back. God, maybe my wife was right. Maybe the Willow is right. Fuck, maybe my own mom was right.
...goddammit I can't think about that right now. Philosophy and emotion can be saved for later. For now we have to find a way out alive.
Answers Recieved
I'm back. She opened the curtains and was looking outside the- ...just... my God. It was terrible. But... no... I'm not going to talk about it. Answers. I was going to talk about the answers. Yes. Answers first, ... that nightmare outside later... honestly... I didn't get any clear-cut answers, but I think I have the jist.
Jacob Mills (Me): "Hey. What's your name?"
Blood (Her): "I need no name."
Jacob Mills: "Oh that's silly, everyone needs a name."
Blood: "The names of the suffered past are banished in the brighter present."
(Okay, honestly, what she said came off as serious cult shit and... I worried. This little girl has suffered so much that... this must be the cause of some emotional trauma.)
Jacob Mills: "Okay then... can I call you Blood?"
Blood: "Blood?"
Jacob Mills: "Yeah, Blood."
Blood: "Call me what you wish, just do not call me a sufferer's name."
Jacob Mills: "Got it... so... do you know... well... anything about what's going on out there?"
Blood: "A war of ideas and pain is being unleashed upon your town, conceived by the Pallid Horseman."
Jacob Mills: "...a war of ideas?"
Blood: "Apathy and cruelty versus... empathy... and compassion... and..."
(She looked close to faltering, if not breaking down. I changed the subject.)
Jacob Mills: "So... those two guys back a day or two ago... who were carried off by the... by the doll thing... did you know them?"
Blood: "As much as I know all my brothers and sisters under the Willow's care."
Jacob Mills: "...what happened to them?"
Blood: "They've been taken to a place of suffering for all eternity."
Jacob Mills: "...so there's no way they can be saved?"
(The way she said it creeped me the fuck out. It was so final- it sounded like she calmly doomed two colleagues to painful searing death.)
Jacob Mills: "... do you know what's behind the weeping?"
Blood: "Mother."
Jacob Mills: "Mother?"
Blood: "Mother."
Jacob Mills: "Do you mean the Willow?"
Blood: "Yes. She is my mother now."
Jacob Mills: "What about your real mother?"
(Blood looked at me... and there was a mix of hatrid and... something else in her face.)
Blood: "The Willow is my real mother. The one with the sufferer's name was an illusion of pain and misery that has long since p-passed."
At that point, I knew I was hitting a raw nerve, so I asked her if she wanted some water or orange juice and let her sit down. And now here I am, typing. ...I guess I got the jist of it. The poor girl must have been hurt in some way... maybe by the doll thing or maybe by her family or even by both... and the eldritch tree lady... the Willow... she took the girl into her (cult?) (family!?) (army?) gathering and brainwashed her with the black blood. The doll thing works differently than the Willow and the two are at odds somehow. That much I got from the landscape-
oh God the landscape... how do I describe it. I imagine a blank canvas. Imagine one side of the canvas is black and the other is white and they meet perfectly at the center. No overlap. No grey. Just one side of the town was perfectly sterile and clean and so fake as to seem like a fine china sculpture. Everything seemed fake and toylike and surreal. The other side was hyperrealistic and natural, but so dark and foreboding that it chilled me to the core. Covered in weeds and trees that weren't there before. Roots covered and overtook almost all the houses and the sidewalk, with only a small stretch of road in the middle visible. On the porcelain side were... people... perfect white figurines stuck in natural and unnatural poses. Some were contorted into horrible shapes with the anguish tattooed on their sleek white faces, and some were calmly going down the road midstride. I thought it was beautiful at first but then I saw a man trip over from what I assumed was the Willow's side and into the doll thing's side.
I saw the man get covered in a bubbling white substance and I realized with a sickening horror what was under that porcelain shell. And then I heard them all moaning form under their form-fitted coffins. Oh God...
hang on I have to check on Blood. She's calling for me.
...half of the trees in the Willow's side are gone... and the sound of weeping is at my door.
Jacob Mills (Me): "Hey. What's your name?"
Blood (Her): "I need no name."
Jacob Mills: "Oh that's silly, everyone needs a name."
Blood: "The names of the suffered past are banished in the brighter present."
(Okay, honestly, what she said came off as serious cult shit and... I worried. This little girl has suffered so much that... this must be the cause of some emotional trauma.)
Jacob Mills: "Okay then... can I call you Blood?"
Blood: "Blood?"
Jacob Mills: "Yeah, Blood."
Blood: "Call me what you wish, just do not call me a sufferer's name."
Jacob Mills: "Got it... so... do you know... well... anything about what's going on out there?"
Blood: "A war of ideas and pain is being unleashed upon your town, conceived by the Pallid Horseman."
Jacob Mills: "...a war of ideas?"
Blood: "Apathy and cruelty versus... empathy... and compassion... and..."
(She looked close to faltering, if not breaking down. I changed the subject.)
Jacob Mills: "So... those two guys back a day or two ago... who were carried off by the... by the doll thing... did you know them?"
Blood: "As much as I know all my brothers and sisters under the Willow's care."
Jacob Mills: "...what happened to them?"
Blood: "They've been taken to a place of suffering for all eternity."
Jacob Mills: "...so there's no way they can be saved?"
(The way she said it creeped me the fuck out. It was so final- it sounded like she calmly doomed two colleagues to painful searing death.)
Jacob Mills: "... do you know what's behind the weeping?"
Blood: "Mother."
Jacob Mills: "Mother?"
Blood: "Mother."
Jacob Mills: "Do you mean the Willow?"
Blood: "Yes. She is my mother now."
Jacob Mills: "What about your real mother?"
(Blood looked at me... and there was a mix of hatrid and... something else in her face.)
Blood: "The Willow is my real mother. The one with the sufferer's name was an illusion of pain and misery that has long since p-passed."
At that point, I knew I was hitting a raw nerve, so I asked her if she wanted some water or orange juice and let her sit down. And now here I am, typing. ...I guess I got the jist of it. The poor girl must have been hurt in some way... maybe by the doll thing or maybe by her family or even by both... and the eldritch tree lady... the Willow... she took the girl into her (cult?) (family!?) (army?) gathering and brainwashed her with the black blood. The doll thing works differently than the Willow and the two are at odds somehow. That much I got from the landscape-
oh God the landscape... how do I describe it. I imagine a blank canvas. Imagine one side of the canvas is black and the other is white and they meet perfectly at the center. No overlap. No grey. Just one side of the town was perfectly sterile and clean and so fake as to seem like a fine china sculpture. Everything seemed fake and toylike and surreal. The other side was hyperrealistic and natural, but so dark and foreboding that it chilled me to the core. Covered in weeds and trees that weren't there before. Roots covered and overtook almost all the houses and the sidewalk, with only a small stretch of road in the middle visible. On the porcelain side were... people... perfect white figurines stuck in natural and unnatural poses. Some were contorted into horrible shapes with the anguish tattooed on their sleek white faces, and some were calmly going down the road midstride. I thought it was beautiful at first but then I saw a man trip over from what I assumed was the Willow's side and into the doll thing's side.
I saw the man get covered in a bubbling white substance and I realized with a sickening horror what was under that porcelain shell. And then I heard them all moaning form under their form-fitted coffins. Oh God...
hang on I have to check on Blood. She's calling for me.
...half of the trees in the Willow's side are gone... and the sound of weeping is at my door.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
The Town's Gone To Hell
I can't take her to the doctor. They can't explain the black blood that's escaping her. I've tried bandaging them all up myself, but they've started leaking through, and they've been staining my walls. And the stains spread. And where the stains spread... what seems like small black-leaved saplings grow out. In any case, I bandaged them up, gave her a glass of water, and tucked her into the couch. I'm going to try to find out who she is.
Dammit. I thought these... fucked up things- first the Willow and now... and now there's this white porcelain thing that I can't even wrap my mind around... they've gone too close to our children.
Hell, even the Sweat and Tears plant-people were only 16 or 17 at oldest, and they looked... it's like if you knew they were still 16 or 17 but they seemed to age with stress and enhanced feelings of resentment and pain to the point where they seemed ancient in their youth. Sorry if I'm getting a little- poetic, here... but still I saw the strain that those things had on them and it's not healthy. This girl's suffered enough. There are two different kinds of cuts- the foremost ones are hundreds of little jagged wounds like she's been stabbed with broken glass; some are still open and seeping, some almost scarred completely. The other ones seem to be burn marks. I don't know what could have made those and I don't want to think about it.
I'll ask her questions later.
And I don't know what's been going on in the town. The curtains have been drawn and I stayed to myself today but the things I- heard- outside.
I heard the weeping. The weeping came in from one side, sounded like it waited at the front door, and then there were three knocks. Then after another minute or two, the sound faded away again. I also heard screams. Anguished, human screams. Fires. Police sirens and radio squawks. Ambulances. And things less than human.
I'm not taking a look outside until it's absolutely necessary. I think whatever's outside will take away all the sanity I have left, and I'm only clinging to a small thread of it as it is.
Just... Jesus Christ I know this isn't a nightmare. I wish I could wake up and these creatures would be gone, this girl would be completely fine, the screams and the chaos outside would silence and the world would be all good again.
Feh. That would be like asking for my children back. Impossible.
...she's waking up. I'll be back and when I speak again I'll hopefully have some answers. Just some peace of mind- I'll never be sane again but I'll at least know some of it. And... and I'd like to know.
Jacob Mills, signing off.
Dammit. I thought these... fucked up things- first the Willow and now... and now there's this white porcelain thing that I can't even wrap my mind around... they've gone too close to our children.
Hell, even the Sweat and Tears plant-people were only 16 or 17 at oldest, and they looked... it's like if you knew they were still 16 or 17 but they seemed to age with stress and enhanced feelings of resentment and pain to the point where they seemed ancient in their youth. Sorry if I'm getting a little- poetic, here... but still I saw the strain that those things had on them and it's not healthy. This girl's suffered enough. There are two different kinds of cuts- the foremost ones are hundreds of little jagged wounds like she's been stabbed with broken glass; some are still open and seeping, some almost scarred completely. The other ones seem to be burn marks. I don't know what could have made those and I don't want to think about it.
I'll ask her questions later.
And I don't know what's been going on in the town. The curtains have been drawn and I stayed to myself today but the things I- heard- outside.
I heard the weeping. The weeping came in from one side, sounded like it waited at the front door, and then there were three knocks. Then after another minute or two, the sound faded away again. I also heard screams. Anguished, human screams. Fires. Police sirens and radio squawks. Ambulances. And things less than human.
I'm not taking a look outside until it's absolutely necessary. I think whatever's outside will take away all the sanity I have left, and I'm only clinging to a small thread of it as it is.
Just... Jesus Christ I know this isn't a nightmare. I wish I could wake up and these creatures would be gone, this girl would be completely fine, the screams and the chaos outside would silence and the world would be all good again.
Feh. That would be like asking for my children back. Impossible.
...she's waking up. I'll be back and when I speak again I'll hopefully have some answers. Just some peace of mind- I'll never be sane again but I'll at least know some of it. And... and I'd like to know.
Jacob Mills, signing off.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Blood, Sweat, and Tears
They cornered me on my way back to the school before the weekend clean-up. There were three of them. I noticed a thick trio of oak trees in front of someone's house. I realised as I was passing by that I pass that house every day and just yesterday there were no trees there.
Then they retracted their branches and showed their faces. It was hideous, warped, like nightmarish pieces of modern art. The black stuff
(VITAE)
was pouring out their eyes and nostrils as they shambled at my car and fixed their roots to the back wheel. Then one reached out with branches and grabbed me out of my car and lifted me in the air. I knew, somehow, that they were the ones who ripped apart Lorri's mind.
I noticed, later, that they were each leaking the black fluid out of different areas. One was bleeding profusely out the eyes, bulging out the sockets. I called this one Tears. One was leaking small rivulets down the pores, and I called him Sweat. One, just a young twelve year old girl, had a profusion of gashes. Her name is Blood.
Blood, Sweat, and Tears.
They lifted me in their branches and I was struggling to break away. They were chanting something about the Crier in Black and I overheard snippets such as "give him vitae and let her comfort" and "her branches will soothe" and other sorts of unnerving, cult-y things. However, they didn't get a hundred feet from my car when I heard the tinkling. It was like glass, and it made them retract their branches and dropped me. The one girl, Blood, was shaking terribly, and was glancing from side to side. Then that thing came.
It wasn't the crying woman in the school. It wasn't the tree. The clouds darkened and everything grew surreal. Everything seemed so fake. So shiny, so endearing, but it was cut through with the horrible idea that the world around us grew inorganic. Indifferent. Cold and glassy. When the world seemed like a sculpture made of fine china, it came from down the street. It was flexible, and it moved by arcing over itself and bending over. Moving in dreamlike strides and arcing its spine like it had none, it moved its head towards us. It was the half-shattered face of a porcelain doll.
It moved on Sweat like a cheeta. It began sprouting sharp porcelain daggers from its hands and began cutting and cutting and cutting. It stood over and tore all the protective bark off and then it went at the face. The screams went on and then it pounced on Tears. It went for the eyes first and they burst in black vitae. Then it began cutting that creature as well. It cut everywhere, drawing deep gouges. Then, after it finished its fun with both of them, it took their hair in its hands and dragged them off, still lithe as a tiger as it faded away and the world resumed its normalcy.
The remaining tree-thing, the little 12-year old girl, Blood, collapsed.
She's here now, at the house. She seems to be suffering from some kind of concussion but how, I don't know. It would be best to ask questions when she wakes up, get her something to eat then get her out of the house. But the thing is. I've seen the cuts on her body. They looked about as sharp and crooked as the porcelain glass jutting out of that doll-like thing's hands. Some were old, seemingly over a year old, and others were fresh, and barely closing at all, still bleeding the black substance.
Well, I have to get off now.
Then they retracted their branches and showed their faces. It was hideous, warped, like nightmarish pieces of modern art. The black stuff
(VITAE)
was pouring out their eyes and nostrils as they shambled at my car and fixed their roots to the back wheel. Then one reached out with branches and grabbed me out of my car and lifted me in the air. I knew, somehow, that they were the ones who ripped apart Lorri's mind.
I noticed, later, that they were each leaking the black fluid out of different areas. One was bleeding profusely out the eyes, bulging out the sockets. I called this one Tears. One was leaking small rivulets down the pores, and I called him Sweat. One, just a young twelve year old girl, had a profusion of gashes. Her name is Blood.
Blood, Sweat, and Tears.
They lifted me in their branches and I was struggling to break away. They were chanting something about the Crier in Black and I overheard snippets such as "give him vitae and let her comfort" and "her branches will soothe" and other sorts of unnerving, cult-y things. However, they didn't get a hundred feet from my car when I heard the tinkling. It was like glass, and it made them retract their branches and dropped me. The one girl, Blood, was shaking terribly, and was glancing from side to side. Then that thing came.
It wasn't the crying woman in the school. It wasn't the tree. The clouds darkened and everything grew surreal. Everything seemed so fake. So shiny, so endearing, but it was cut through with the horrible idea that the world around us grew inorganic. Indifferent. Cold and glassy. When the world seemed like a sculpture made of fine china, it came from down the street. It was flexible, and it moved by arcing over itself and bending over. Moving in dreamlike strides and arcing its spine like it had none, it moved its head towards us. It was the half-shattered face of a porcelain doll.
It moved on Sweat like a cheeta. It began sprouting sharp porcelain daggers from its hands and began cutting and cutting and cutting. It stood over and tore all the protective bark off and then it went at the face. The screams went on and then it pounced on Tears. It went for the eyes first and they burst in black vitae. Then it began cutting that creature as well. It cut everywhere, drawing deep gouges. Then, after it finished its fun with both of them, it took their hair in its hands and dragged them off, still lithe as a tiger as it faded away and the world resumed its normalcy.
The remaining tree-thing, the little 12-year old girl, Blood, collapsed.
She's here now, at the house. She seems to be suffering from some kind of concussion but how, I don't know. It would be best to ask questions when she wakes up, get her something to eat then get her out of the house. But the thing is. I've seen the cuts on her body. They looked about as sharp and crooked as the porcelain glass jutting out of that doll-like thing's hands. Some were old, seemingly over a year old, and others were fresh, and barely closing at all, still bleeding the black substance.
Well, I have to get off now.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Investigations
I decided to take a chance and visit someone today. Peter Lorri was the previous caretaker and he went mad. And there was no tree when he was hired only about four years ago. I took all freeways and direct routes over on to the hospital. I don't want to stick near the forests. I don't trust the trees. When I walk by them, some of them rustle at me. Some of them fall over in the path in front of me. I don't trust the trees anymore.
Anyways, I went to the Greyson Mental Institute looking for some answers. The outside was grey. Painfully grey. Bleak and without thought or emotion. I guess it makes sense, considering some of the patients. They probably don't want them over-emotional.
In any case, I was met with Dr. Masque. I basically told him what I was here for.
"So, Mr. Mills, you say that you're here to question a poor, defenseless delusional man?"
I asked him what Mr. Lorri's mental illness was.
'A few things. Schizophrenia, auditory hallucinations, disassociative identity disorder... may I ask why you wanted to see him?'
I told him part of my situation. I couldn't tell him the whole thing. He'd have me committed here as soon as possible, or pester me into admitting myself. Whichever came first. I also told- a small stretcher. I told him it was for a chance to get into the journalism field instead of the janitorial business. He decided to allow it after about thirty minutes of conversation.
We walked along the empty, completely square, completely clean hallways. Some orderlies were passing by, gave me a quick glance then went on doing their work. The same work I do- except with some security-type activities, should the need arise.
When we entered Peter Lorri's room, the doctor originally didn't notice anything wrong. He shined a light into Lorri's eyes, and checked his pulse when he realised that Lorri was awake, but not conscious. Then he checked the back of Lorri's head. "...he's been lobotomized."
I asked him when did he get scheduled for lobotomy. He replied that it wasn't their handiwork. He then invited me to see the stitches. The stitches of web and bark. I could see the marks where branched, bony fingers tore open the flesh and skull. There was still a sharp, pointed small thorn lodged in the back of his head.
Dr. Masque ushered me out of the room. I heard the police sirens coming from far off as soon as I was about a block or two away. I don't know what happened to Lorri. The local news is still investigating the incident, trying to figure out who, how, or why. What is known is that the victim recieved a full frontal lobotomy, making him into a blind deaf-mute. ...it's terrifying to think about it. I'm going up against some psycho creature I can't explain that can have me rendered a vegetable with just a word.
But maybe this thing doesn't exist.
This thing can't exist.
The tree was uprooted from somewhere and placed somewhere else.
The lobotomy was caused by some environmentalist nutjob.
The three children's disappearances were probably some kidnapper or pedophile.
But a living creature with black, bleeding eyes?
Impossible.
Anyways, I went to the Greyson Mental Institute looking for some answers. The outside was grey. Painfully grey. Bleak and without thought or emotion. I guess it makes sense, considering some of the patients. They probably don't want them over-emotional.
In any case, I was met with Dr. Masque. I basically told him what I was here for.
"So, Mr. Mills, you say that you're here to question a poor, defenseless delusional man?"
I asked him what Mr. Lorri's mental illness was.
'A few things. Schizophrenia, auditory hallucinations, disassociative identity disorder... may I ask why you wanted to see him?'
I told him part of my situation. I couldn't tell him the whole thing. He'd have me committed here as soon as possible, or pester me into admitting myself. Whichever came first. I also told- a small stretcher. I told him it was for a chance to get into the journalism field instead of the janitorial business. He decided to allow it after about thirty minutes of conversation.
We walked along the empty, completely square, completely clean hallways. Some orderlies were passing by, gave me a quick glance then went on doing their work. The same work I do- except with some security-type activities, should the need arise.
When we entered Peter Lorri's room, the doctor originally didn't notice anything wrong. He shined a light into Lorri's eyes, and checked his pulse when he realised that Lorri was awake, but not conscious. Then he checked the back of Lorri's head. "...he's been lobotomized."
I asked him when did he get scheduled for lobotomy. He replied that it wasn't their handiwork. He then invited me to see the stitches. The stitches of web and bark. I could see the marks where branched, bony fingers tore open the flesh and skull. There was still a sharp, pointed small thorn lodged in the back of his head.
Dr. Masque ushered me out of the room. I heard the police sirens coming from far off as soon as I was about a block or two away. I don't know what happened to Lorri. The local news is still investigating the incident, trying to figure out who, how, or why. What is known is that the victim recieved a full frontal lobotomy, making him into a blind deaf-mute. ...it's terrifying to think about it. I'm going up against some psycho creature I can't explain that can have me rendered a vegetable with just a word.
But maybe this thing doesn't exist.
This thing can't exist.
The tree was uprooted from somewhere and placed somewhere else.
The lobotomy was caused by some environmentalist nutjob.
The three children's disappearances were probably some kidnapper or pedophile.
But a living creature with black, bleeding eyes?
Impossible.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Old Files and New Epiphanies
I've been looking through the files kept at the local library.
This was from 2008.
"Tragedy struck the small town of Hardingville as they mourn the disappearance of three children. Jess, Cain, and Luke Thatcher, ages 12, 9, and 4, were discovered to be missing at 3:28 PM...
...upon inspection of the woods, they found the torn remains of the shirt last worn by Cain thatcher...
also found amongst the woods were the remains of animals, mainly blackbirds such as rooks, crows, and sparrows, found eviscerated at various areas, even found hanging by their feet from an old willow tree."
This was from five months ago.
"Warren G. Harding High School- A Cuckoo's Nest?
Previous custodian for the first and second floors of the esteemed Warren G. Harding High School (noted in the 2010 surveys to be the 5th most well recieved high school in Indiana), Peter Lorri, age 36, was admitted to the Greyson Mental Institute for the Emotionally Unwell, led by Dr. Theodore Masque...
he has frequently claimed to be seeing messages carved into the walls. However, upon further inspection, no signs of any carved messages have ever been found on any walls reported...
...among his custodial works are the second floor male restrooms, teacher's lounge, and rooms 102-119, rooms 210-225, and the garden."
...then I saw the picture with the article, and it was taken in the garden.
THERE WASN'T A WILLOW TREE.
It was taken only five months ago, and the willow tree I saw in the garden just yesterday would have to have been there at least ten years or more to even be that size...
...the fuck have I gotten myself into?
This was from 2008.
"Tragedy struck the small town of Hardingville as they mourn the disappearance of three children. Jess, Cain, and Luke Thatcher, ages 12, 9, and 4, were discovered to be missing at 3:28 PM...
...upon inspection of the woods, they found the torn remains of the shirt last worn by Cain thatcher...
also found amongst the woods were the remains of animals, mainly blackbirds such as rooks, crows, and sparrows, found eviscerated at various areas, even found hanging by their feet from an old willow tree."
This was from five months ago.
"Warren G. Harding High School- A Cuckoo's Nest?
Previous custodian for the first and second floors of the esteemed Warren G. Harding High School (noted in the 2010 surveys to be the 5th most well recieved high school in Indiana), Peter Lorri, age 36, was admitted to the Greyson Mental Institute for the Emotionally Unwell, led by Dr. Theodore Masque...
he has frequently claimed to be seeing messages carved into the walls. However, upon further inspection, no signs of any carved messages have ever been found on any walls reported...
...among his custodial works are the second floor male restrooms, teacher's lounge, and rooms 102-119, rooms 210-225, and the garden."
...then I saw the picture with the article, and it was taken in the garden.
THERE WASN'T A WILLOW TREE.
It was taken only five months ago, and the willow tree I saw in the garden just yesterday would have to have been there at least ten years or more to even be that size...
...the fuck have I gotten myself into?
The Stitches are Finally Gone
The doctor said they'd be gone in two months. A knife wound up my arm. Parting gift from Sheila. I took the time to go back through my records...
...I guess I could talk about what I'm- well- talking about. That's what blogs are for right? Venting and shit? I don't know. I moved here so I could get away from my problems, but
Back five or so years ago, I was still married to Sheila. She's left a lot of scars- physical and otherwise. We met in Delaware, got married in 2002, and we had two children. It wasn't till 2005 that I found out she was a serious alcoholic, and our second kid, Daniel... oh God damn her. She took a nice, tender life away from him by drinking while pregnant. She drank so much in those nine months that it actually affected his genetic makeup, and gave him Trisomy 18- Edward's Syndrome.
Then she took what happened with Daniel out on me. She broke two fingers on my right hand. Then when I foolishly refused to fight back or defend myself, she realised I'm a good punching bag to take out all her shit on. Every time she had a problem, she got drunk and thrashed me. Then she started using blunt weapons and started breaking bigger bones.
I've tried easing her when she sobered up and realized what she did. She had help for a while.
Then I saw her go back to her old ways, and start breaking Dan's arm.
I divorced her. She somehow kept up a poker face, accused me of abuse, passed off all the lacerations and broken bones as isolated incidents (why did I keep covering up for her in the goddamn medical reports) and it was all my lawyer could do to keep the tables from completely turning onto me and getting me a long prison sentence.
In the end, she got full custody of the kids. Last I heard, Danny "fell down the stairs..."
Goddammit. I'm going to go out. I need a drink and the principal says that my loitering around the school is a little unnerving and that now the kids are making me an urban legend. "The Right Hand of The Weeper."
"Right Hand of The Weeper" my fucking ass. Like an urban legend's gonna recruit my ass for anything.
...I guess I could talk about what I'm- well- talking about. That's what blogs are for right? Venting and shit? I don't know. I moved here so I could get away from my problems, but
Back five or so years ago, I was still married to Sheila. She's left a lot of scars- physical and otherwise. We met in Delaware, got married in 2002, and we had two children. It wasn't till 2005 that I found out she was a serious alcoholic, and our second kid, Daniel... oh God damn her. She took a nice, tender life away from him by drinking while pregnant. She drank so much in those nine months that it actually affected his genetic makeup, and gave him Trisomy 18- Edward's Syndrome.
Then she took what happened with Daniel out on me. She broke two fingers on my right hand. Then when I foolishly refused to fight back or defend myself, she realised I'm a good punching bag to take out all her shit on. Every time she had a problem, she got drunk and thrashed me. Then she started using blunt weapons and started breaking bigger bones.
I've tried easing her when she sobered up and realized what she did. She had help for a while.
Then I saw her go back to her old ways, and start breaking Dan's arm.
I divorced her. She somehow kept up a poker face, accused me of abuse, passed off all the lacerations and broken bones as isolated incidents (why did I keep covering up for her in the goddamn medical reports) and it was all my lawyer could do to keep the tables from completely turning onto me and getting me a long prison sentence.
In the end, she got full custody of the kids. Last I heard, Danny "fell down the stairs..."
Goddammit. I'm going to go out. I need a drink and the principal says that my loitering around the school is a little unnerving and that now the kids are making me an urban legend. "The Right Hand of The Weeper."
"Right Hand of The Weeper" my fucking ass. Like an urban legend's gonna recruit my ass for anything.
The Garden
I decided that, after all my work is done, I'd tend to the garden.
You know what I found?
Dead crows.
Dead fucking crows, all either torn to pieces, beheaded, or with a huge jagged hole right in their stomachs. Goddammit, Weeping Willow, whoever the hell you are, if this is some kind of message, it's not funny.
And as I was leaving, I heard the sobbing... it cuts in about halfway, but I think I got most of it, save a couple of seconds at the beginning.
Decided to analyze the audio before posting... there's more than one cry. ...if you listen close enough, you can hear the cries of babies.
What. The Actual. FUCK.
You know what I found?
Dead crows.
Dead fucking crows, all either torn to pieces, beheaded, or with a huge jagged hole right in their stomachs. Goddammit, Weeping Willow, whoever the hell you are, if this is some kind of message, it's not funny.
And as I was leaving, I heard the sobbing... it cuts in about halfway, but I think I got most of it, save a couple of seconds at the beginning.
Decided to analyze the audio before posting... there's more than one cry. ...if you listen close enough, you can hear the cries of babies.
What. The Actual. FUCK.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Black Blood
I found something today. Honestly, I... I'm not sure what it is, and I don't think I want to know.
I was mopping up Room 213 when I saw the little droplets of it in the next room over, leading away. I went over to take a look and it was pitch black. It seemed to be almost curling into smoke in the air, and it reflected no light.
I stared at it for a good long while. I was reminded... reminded of the children's stories...
(SHE BLEEDS BLACK BLOOD)
But it's probably... pudding? No, it couldn't be pudding. Or it could be blood that's coagulated and dried... but that wouldn't work either.
No... it'd have to be... ...but it couldn't possibly be that either, I know that, but then I heard the sobbing. The sobbing was louder. It's got to be in my mind. So I cleaned up the substance as best I could.
(BLACK BLOOD)
and I tried my best to find the source of the substance. It seemed to stop on the stairs. What was it? I went straight home. I didn't feel like resting by the tree that day.
-Jacob Mills
I was mopping up Room 213 when I saw the little droplets of it in the next room over, leading away. I went over to take a look and it was pitch black. It seemed to be almost curling into smoke in the air, and it reflected no light.
I stared at it for a good long while. I was reminded... reminded of the children's stories...
(SHE BLEEDS BLACK BLOOD)
But it's probably... pudding? No, it couldn't be pudding. Or it could be blood that's coagulated and dried... but that wouldn't work either.
No... it'd have to be... ...but it couldn't possibly be that either, I know that, but then I heard the sobbing. The sobbing was louder. It's got to be in my mind. So I cleaned up the substance as best I could.
(BLACK BLOOD)
and I tried my best to find the source of the substance. It seemed to stop on the stairs. What was it? I went straight home. I didn't feel like resting by the tree that day.
-Jacob Mills
Urban Legends
I've been working here for about one week now. Generally, the classes tend to keep their rooms clean, and the teachers are generally okay as far as letting me in goes. I have had to settle a dispute between two sophmores. Then I get to garden.
I love the garden. It sits at the center of the courtyard of the high school, that is surrounded by benches and the ring-shaped cafeteria that surrounds the school (it's a cylindrical shape, btw).
At the center of the garden is the tree.
A tall, overhanging willow, still without buds, but it's barely out of winter at this point, so that's expected. I just sit there. I sit there and think about my life before, and how I'm so glad to have gotten over it.
But I have heard things from the kids around the school.
They talk about The Weeping Woman. Apparently, even the teenagers are so fearing of this woman that they are trying their hardest to do good to not anger her, even small things like littering, thank God. The fight I had to break up was about the Weeping Woman as well, apparently.
They say she's a woman. A woman engulfed in unnatural shadow, even in full daylight. A woman that cries black blood.
It's interesting, and kudos to this urban legend for making my job easier.
-Jacob Mills
I love the garden. It sits at the center of the courtyard of the high school, that is surrounded by benches and the ring-shaped cafeteria that surrounds the school (it's a cylindrical shape, btw).
At the center of the garden is the tree.
A tall, overhanging willow, still without buds, but it's barely out of winter at this point, so that's expected. I just sit there. I sit there and think about my life before, and how I'm so glad to have gotten over it.
But I have heard things from the kids around the school.
They talk about The Weeping Woman. Apparently, even the teenagers are so fearing of this woman that they are trying their hardest to do good to not anger her, even small things like littering, thank God. The fight I had to break up was about the Weeping Woman as well, apparently.
They say she's a woman. A woman engulfed in unnatural shadow, even in full daylight. A woman that cries black blood.
It's interesting, and kudos to this urban legend for making my job easier.
-Jacob Mills
Introduction
I came to Warren G Harding High School today. Principal Phil Tirell gave me the guidelines and a list of duties and locations I was to work in every day during certain times. He also gave me a map of the school grounds.
The guidelines are fairly simple. Don't swear in front of the children, no violence, don't bring drugs, no disrespecting staff, no vandalism, no theft, on and on and on. I'm supposed to wash the windows and clean up the floors in rooms 105-115, 210-220, and tend to the garden in the center of the high school.
He also gave me a list of teachers, those whose classrooms I tend to, and a list of students he called "problem students". I suppose that means I have to try to stop them if they get into trouble in my neck of the school.
As I was leaving, the Principal and I heard walking from down the hallway to our left, and sobs. The principal told me it was probably just one of the high schoolers, possibly going through a break up or something. But it couldn't have been. It's Spring Break, and school doesn't kick back in for four days. Furthermore, it sounded off.. it sounded... I don't know how to explain it. It sounded like two voices, each crying in perfect unison, in different octaves.
Probably anxiety. I didn't go to sleep until three in the morning and... well... I'm hesitant to say this, as the principal may find out about this blog, but... but I'm prone to hallucinations. I've had them since I was a child. Years ago, I constantly heard the sound of baying dogs all night every day for a month. And I spent three months hanging out with a friend, Charles McDowell, only to find out that there was no Charles McDowell. I've learned to live with it though.
Oh well. I don't have to report for duty until April 23rd, so I have some time just to think.
Then it's off to work.
-Jacob Mills
The guidelines are fairly simple. Don't swear in front of the children, no violence, don't bring drugs, no disrespecting staff, no vandalism, no theft, on and on and on. I'm supposed to wash the windows and clean up the floors in rooms 105-115, 210-220, and tend to the garden in the center of the high school.
He also gave me a list of teachers, those whose classrooms I tend to, and a list of students he called "problem students". I suppose that means I have to try to stop them if they get into trouble in my neck of the school.
As I was leaving, the Principal and I heard walking from down the hallway to our left, and sobs. The principal told me it was probably just one of the high schoolers, possibly going through a break up or something. But it couldn't have been. It's Spring Break, and school doesn't kick back in for four days. Furthermore, it sounded off.. it sounded... I don't know how to explain it. It sounded like two voices, each crying in perfect unison, in different octaves.
Probably anxiety. I didn't go to sleep until three in the morning and... well... I'm hesitant to say this, as the principal may find out about this blog, but... but I'm prone to hallucinations. I've had them since I was a child. Years ago, I constantly heard the sound of baying dogs all night every day for a month. And I spent three months hanging out with a friend, Charles McDowell, only to find out that there was no Charles McDowell. I've learned to live with it though.
Oh well. I don't have to report for duty until April 23rd, so I have some time just to think.
Then it's off to work.
-Jacob Mills
Finding A New Job
"Dear Mr. Mills,
After consideration, we've decided that your work experience and your experience with children is satisfactory. After a two-week review period looked over by the review board, you may officially become a member of the Warren G. Harding faculty of the Grangeford County school board.
You are expected to read the guidelines administered by the principal of Warren G. Harding High School and any violation will lead to termination of this probation period and immediate termination of all duties and pay.
We hope you enjoy your working here!
- Superintendent Richard Andersen."
That's it. I've got a job. Finally, after five long, painful years of depression, abuse, and homelessness, I can finally get back on my own two feet.
I've got a job, and I can pay rent for my apartment. I can't get a car, but work is only four blocks or so away.
I'm supposed to have my introduction to the school tomorrow.
Well, wish me luck.
- Jacob Mills
After consideration, we've decided that your work experience and your experience with children is satisfactory. After a two-week review period looked over by the review board, you may officially become a member of the Warren G. Harding faculty of the Grangeford County school board.
You are expected to read the guidelines administered by the principal of Warren G. Harding High School and any violation will lead to termination of this probation period and immediate termination of all duties and pay.
We hope you enjoy your working here!
- Superintendent Richard Andersen."
That's it. I've got a job. Finally, after five long, painful years of depression, abuse, and homelessness, I can finally get back on my own two feet.
I've got a job, and I can pay rent for my apartment. I can't get a car, but work is only four blocks or so away.
I'm supposed to have my introduction to the school tomorrow.
Well, wish me luck.
- Jacob Mills
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