I have not always been bound to a wheelchair, I wasn't born with a disease that rendered my legs unable to walk, instead I'm the cause of my own handicap, and rightfully so.
Why there were so many memories hidden away in my mind I don't know; there are many things I don't know and things I can only speculate about, only at rare occasions can I give straight answers. Alice must have played a part in unearthing these mnemosynes, though exactly what it was that triggered their re-appearance I cannot pinpoint, they just came to me slowly one day after I had seen her. Gradually they appeared until everything seemed so obvious.
It happened about thirteen years ago towards the end of December. I was young back then, too young to drive on my own, but I was under the influence of alcohol. Without going into details as to why, I drove through the forest and as my vision was blurry I couldn't see the little girl in front of me, but although my senses were distorted I was able to hear a shrill scream and the most god-awful, high-pitched noise I had ever heard, only to have my field of vision bombarded by shadowy illusions moving to and fro across the road and amongst the trees; and, of course, Him. It was a brief encounter. I went unconscious and when I woke up I was lying in a hospital, covered with scratches and bruises, barely able to move a single muscle. Soon I was informed that I would be unable to ever walk again.
Despite having been intoxicated the night before I remembered the little girl, but since I was unsure whether she had been a spectre or not I asked one of the nurses if they had seen her. The lady answered yes, there had been a little girl named Alice lying on the snow beside the road, sleeping soundly like an angel.
The accident and the presence of the girl have always remained clear in my memory, but the visions I had that night and the girl's name eluded me completely until just recently. I don't know whether this is because of any injuries I sustained from the accident, or if it's because of the shock... or simply because my brain decided that it was unnecessary to keep these things in mind. What is more curious, though, is why this happened. Why did the Slender Man appear and seemingly save Alice, while hurting me so? Ever since this first encounter he hasn't showed himself until just now - not that I'm aware of - quite a while after I had become friends with Alice. Did he suddenly think it necessary to give me a warning by simply appearing in front of me? I have yet to be hurt nor have I received any other threats, and it seems like he is not one that is above attacking or torturing people whether it be physically or mentally. Perhaps I shouldn't say too much, as I can still be the next victim in line.
Sunday 19 February 2012
Tuesday 14 February 2012
An Introduction
If you've reached this blog, chances are you're already a follower of Alice's or Mary's blogs, or at least that you've found out about this place because of them. I'm Andreas, Alice's friend, and I haven't had the strength to make this blog until now - I haven't had much strength to do anything.
It's hard to know where to begin, but as a wise man once said: Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop.
In December, Alice's old home burned down with her father still inside. The details are nearly non-existent. They tried to find out the cause, and when they didn't find any evidence of a natural cause they suspected arson. Everyone with relations to the family were questioned, even me, at the beginning both Alice and me were the prime suspects. At first, it seemed like they deliberately denied the odd way in which her mother had died earlier last year... they knew about it but didn't mention it, yet after a while they had to realise that this, too, might be something unexplainable just like the spontaneous combustion. Whether this phenomenon is the cause of these deaths or whether it actually exists or not is up for debate, but there's no doubt that Alice's parents died of unnatural causes.
And now for Alice herself. Of course I noticed that she seemed less than well many of the times when we met - but since I knew of her Schizophrenia, I never believed that I was able to help her, and I also knew of the other things going on in her life, how bad she felt over her mother's death, the feelings of guilt plaguing her every day, and despite the ugly things she would say about her old friend Mary, it was still apparent that she lamented the outcome of things. When I found both hers and Mary's blogs and read through them, I felt a pang of horror and guilt, myself... Had I not remembered or experienced certain things, I would have simply chalked everything up as "Schizophrenic drivel" and surely, a lot of what she wrote in those late nights were most likely just that, but no one can be sure exactly how much is true and what is not. I don't even think that Alice herself was sure. I'm not a psychologist by any means, but a lot of the things to be read in her blog seem to be far removed from that disorder - or if it is not, the insanity she was experiencing was of another kind, heavily amplified by her Schizophrenia; for example, I'm not sure if writing in third person is something characteristic of people having Schizophrenia. Perhaps if one were to say that her Schizophrenia was the cause of all the things she saw, and the cause of the man she called The Tailor, one could say that it brought on this secondary, much more serious insanity, but we know better. It was he who took advantage of it and planted the seed of madness.
She would tell me how she was fine, and being a fool I believed her, and even if I almost tried to force myself into her house at times, (do you know how hard it is when you're bound to a wheelchair?) it was all in vain. Perhaps it was only good that I was kept away from her, otherwise the madness might have spread to me as well. Maybe it's already too late for me. In either case, even though she managed to fool the majority of the people in her surroundings she was unable to fool me, yet I couldn't do a thing for her in the end. Everyone else was more or less unaware of her condition, and whenever they did notice things they sighed, saying how it had to be troublesome to have a second personality. The amount of their ignorance both sickens and angers me, but I don't believe they could help it - I don't believe they could help that they couldn't... see. I guess I should have tried to help her somehow, at least be with her, but it felt like she was trying to protect me. I'm not sure if my choice was the right one.
I hadn't heard from her in a while and I was worried, so I went to her place only to find the door unlocked, the house silent, and the bedroom floor covered in blood. Again I had to be questioned, but they found no evidence to support their claims. On the bed lay a pair of large scissors, like those of a gardener. They analysed the blood to the best of their abilities, but then they said that it wasn't blood. It had all the qualities of blood, looked like it, acted like it, was just like it in every way, yet it corresponded with no known blood type. Needless to say, it wasn't Alice's, but who else could it belong to? The rest of the rooms looked fine, no signs of struggle. On the surface it looked like a normal home, but when they dug around they found disturbing things. Sadly none of it seems to have helped the police in their investigation and since she had no other relatives, I got a hold of some things which I plan to write about in the future.
This blog will mostly deal with Alice. The things I experienced while she was alive, and the things she left behind. Next time I post here, I plan to write about the distant past.
It's hard to know where to begin, but as a wise man once said: Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop.
In December, Alice's old home burned down with her father still inside. The details are nearly non-existent. They tried to find out the cause, and when they didn't find any evidence of a natural cause they suspected arson. Everyone with relations to the family were questioned, even me, at the beginning both Alice and me were the prime suspects. At first, it seemed like they deliberately denied the odd way in which her mother had died earlier last year... they knew about it but didn't mention it, yet after a while they had to realise that this, too, might be something unexplainable just like the spontaneous combustion. Whether this phenomenon is the cause of these deaths or whether it actually exists or not is up for debate, but there's no doubt that Alice's parents died of unnatural causes.
And now for Alice herself. Of course I noticed that she seemed less than well many of the times when we met - but since I knew of her Schizophrenia, I never believed that I was able to help her, and I also knew of the other things going on in her life, how bad she felt over her mother's death, the feelings of guilt plaguing her every day, and despite the ugly things she would say about her old friend Mary, it was still apparent that she lamented the outcome of things. When I found both hers and Mary's blogs and read through them, I felt a pang of horror and guilt, myself... Had I not remembered or experienced certain things, I would have simply chalked everything up as "Schizophrenic drivel" and surely, a lot of what she wrote in those late nights were most likely just that, but no one can be sure exactly how much is true and what is not. I don't even think that Alice herself was sure. I'm not a psychologist by any means, but a lot of the things to be read in her blog seem to be far removed from that disorder - or if it is not, the insanity she was experiencing was of another kind, heavily amplified by her Schizophrenia; for example, I'm not sure if writing in third person is something characteristic of people having Schizophrenia. Perhaps if one were to say that her Schizophrenia was the cause of all the things she saw, and the cause of the man she called The Tailor, one could say that it brought on this secondary, much more serious insanity, but we know better. It was he who took advantage of it and planted the seed of madness.
She would tell me how she was fine, and being a fool I believed her, and even if I almost tried to force myself into her house at times, (do you know how hard it is when you're bound to a wheelchair?) it was all in vain. Perhaps it was only good that I was kept away from her, otherwise the madness might have spread to me as well. Maybe it's already too late for me. In either case, even though she managed to fool the majority of the people in her surroundings she was unable to fool me, yet I couldn't do a thing for her in the end. Everyone else was more or less unaware of her condition, and whenever they did notice things they sighed, saying how it had to be troublesome to have a second personality. The amount of their ignorance both sickens and angers me, but I don't believe they could help it - I don't believe they could help that they couldn't... see. I guess I should have tried to help her somehow, at least be with her, but it felt like she was trying to protect me. I'm not sure if my choice was the right one.
I hadn't heard from her in a while and I was worried, so I went to her place only to find the door unlocked, the house silent, and the bedroom floor covered in blood. Again I had to be questioned, but they found no evidence to support their claims. On the bed lay a pair of large scissors, like those of a gardener. They analysed the blood to the best of their abilities, but then they said that it wasn't blood. It had all the qualities of blood, looked like it, acted like it, was just like it in every way, yet it corresponded with no known blood type. Needless to say, it wasn't Alice's, but who else could it belong to? The rest of the rooms looked fine, no signs of struggle. On the surface it looked like a normal home, but when they dug around they found disturbing things. Sadly none of it seems to have helped the police in their investigation and since she had no other relatives, I got a hold of some things which I plan to write about in the future.
This blog will mostly deal with Alice. The things I experienced while she was alive, and the things she left behind. Next time I post here, I plan to write about the distant past.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)