....Dust to Dust

I probably should have seen this coming.

I mean, it seems logical thinking back on it.  But maybe some part of me hoped for it.

This is Gray.  Alone.  Kor's gone.  I mean, not gone, he's still in my head right now, but he no longer has a physical form.  It's just the one of us.  Like always.  

The plan worked, I guess, so that's the plus side.  I'm out of my kitchen.  The factor I did not account for is the fact that starting a fire inside my house may be a bad idea in the long run.  It spread from the body to the walls and that was about when I felt the loop break down.  I don't know how I knew, I just felt something change in my chest like a loosening of a muscle I didn't know I was clenching.  And then The Kor's body vanished.  And the air got a less fuzzy quality to it, like I was seeing the real world not a perfectly copied replica.  

Oh, and my friendly buzzing is back.  Though not so bad that I'm curled up in the fetal position like before.

So I was out of the loop, but my house was also kind of on fire.  I grabbed my backpack and threw in a few things and ran out and now I am posting this while watching the last of my life burn to the ground.  It's kind of a humbling feeling, realizing how little my life amounted to.  A pile of ashes.  Fifteen years and I'm back to square one.

The current total of my life possessions are the clothes on my back, a jacket and hat, my phone, my laptop, a bag of goldfish crackers, a change of underwear, a knife, a picture of my mom, an old pack of gum and the backpack that carries it all.

You know what?  Screw it, I have no dignity left to preserve.  My stuffed rabbit Dorian too.  Yes, I still sleep with a stuffed animal at fifteen and yes I made him a priority to grab as I escaped from my burning house.  Call me a girl or a baby or whatever.  I don't care.  I figure that in the future I may want something to guard against nightmares.

And, yes, if you were wondering, He is here.  He's standing in the forest behind my house (can I still call it my house?) just kinda watching me.  At least He's giving me my personal space.  Oh, He vanished.  I feel bad for whoever He's off to pay a visit.  No sign of the proxy who made the loop.

It's so cold here.  It became the dead of winter outside in what seemed like a couple of hours for me.  I wish I had been able to grab some gloves.  Winters are always killer up here, but this one feels especially cold, even so close to the fire.  Up here?  This is so stupid.  Jessica found me despite how careful I thought I was being.  Maine.  I live in Maine.  And it's cold here.  I'm cold.

Oh no, now all the bad guys know where I live.  Well come and kill me if you feel like it.  I don't really care.  Maybe Kor cares, but it's me right now, and I don't care.

I better start walking.  It's a long way into town and I should find somewhere to sleep before it gets dark.  

Timeless Gray

Um.  Happy New Year I suppose.

That is so strange to say.  I thought...I mean, Jessica found us on December 13th.  I know that.  I know....I guess I don't know.  I don't know anything anymore.  I can't trust anything either.  We can't have been in here more than a couple of hours, but from what I've been reading on other blogs it's been weeks.  Weeks......I guess I missed Christmas.

I hadn't thought I'd live until Christmas when I started this blog.  I told Malcolm that I thought it'd be nice to live until Christmas but now that I have I kinda just feel empty.  Why am I alive?  Did...Did He really save me?  Or was it like Craft said, that I just wasn't important enough to bother killing.  That makes sense.  I mean, what am I?  I'm a rat in a cage.  I'm a worm that lost its heart and still manages to squirm.  Why why why why why.

Sir Fracture suggested that it was the loop maker that saved our lives by putting us in here.  Maybe that's true.  But I can't help but feel like this is some kind of torture.  Trapped in here.  Staring at my mom.  Smelling.....We were going to get a tree.  No, I was going to run.  Kor had decided, had made a plan to run.  We wouldn't have had Christmas together anyway.  Or gotten to watch the ball drop on TV.  And we won't ever again.  Cause that's what dead means.

It was all so easy.  So fast.  So fragile.  I didn't think it'd be that easy to cut through flesh and bone and muscle but it all slides so easily.  It all went so fast.

I'm such an idiot.  Making that list of things that are wrong.  I can't list out what's wrong, everything's wrong.  This world is wrong.  I'm wrong.  This is not my kitchen and the me sleeping over there on the floor is not me and the blood leaking from the walls can't be real and this can't be my life.  Weeks I've been sitting here crying and covered in blood.

I knew we all ended up this way.

I don't know who did this, or why they decided to trap us inside this dimensional box, but whoever it is must hate me.  Or else they would have just let me die.

Merry Christmas.  Happy New Year.  By the time this goes up, I guess it could very well be Valentines Day.  I don't know anymore.  I don't know anything.        

Religious Gray

I wasn't allowed back into my church after I was released from the Hospital.  I guess I should have realized that, seeing as I'm the one who burned it to the ground.  No matter how "cured" I get people won't forget what I've done.  What I am.  Just another barrier between me and Them.  Like I needed another one.

They rebuilt it while I was away.  The parents of the kids who died had a big fundraiser.  They also donated some to mental health research.  To help kids like me, they said.  Victims of circumstance.  There's a statue out front of my dad and the two kids.  A little garden and a plaque.  I don't know what it says, I'm not welcome there.  I pass by it on the bus each morning.  Why do I sit on that side, by the windows?  I think it's some form of penance.  Or self torture.  Every time I see that statue I remember why I deserve to suffer.  But now that The Kor's back he looks at it too.  Each morning we watch it pass by together, and I feel his rage.  He still hates our father.  And it's reminding me that maybe I should hate him too?  But I don't feel any anger.  He's the fire, I'm the smoke.  

He tells me that he would burn that church down again and again if it would save me from our father.

I don't know if I'm thankful for that or scared by it.  A little of both, I suppose.

I believe in God.  But why did He make me broken?  I prayed a lot, in the Hospital, and I asked Him that.  Of course He can't respond.  I just want to know why I'm like this, half a person.  I was whole at first, was it my own weakness that ruined God's creation?  Or was I a failed attempt.  A mistake.  Have you ever thought that maybe this monster that follows us is an agent of The Lord to reclaim those that were never supposed to be born?  I think about that.  It seems like divine punishment.  I know why I would be punished.  I stare the statue down every day with the other half of my soul looking through my eyes.

Today He was there, right beside it.  As if He knew that it was the beginning of my unraveling.  The loose string He will pull on and pull on until I come undone.  I am already halfway broken.  Too many souls in one and yet not enough.  A wrong person.  God's wrecked creation.  Soon to be recalled, broken down into my components and recycled.

Maybe when my souls are in hell, the clay of my body can make something that actually contributes to this world.     

That is what I pray for.

I don't know what I'm writing.  I'm tired and it's late and I shouldn't still be up.  I hope all of your tomorrows are brighter.

Past-Tense Gray

I'm new.  Really really new.  I know people don't generally last long in this situation so it's a pretty continuous cycle of faces, but I've only even heard of Him for a few months.  So I'm not that up to date on all the blogs that are here.

There must be hundreds!  It's incredible and very very sad.  All these people, all doomed or dead already.  So many I've read about and watched disappear, so many I have yet to read.  I am nowhere near done reading all the blogs, or knowing what the current events are of all the people still alive and rolled up in this mess.  I try, I'm working my way through them as fast as I can, and considering that I spend all my time curled up in the corner of my room, I have nothing better to do.

What I'm trying to say is, maybe there's just a logical explanation for this that I was not aware of because I'm out of the loop.  For what you ask?  Well, I get back from being inside my own head to check out my blogger account and see that I have a new follower.

Morningstar.  With that same weird picture of the guy who looks like the Les Miserables cover girl as his avatar.

Morningstar psycho-killer proxy Morningstar.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure that at the end of his blog he was kinda...dead?  Isn't he supposed to be dead?  Now, I don't think there is cause for alarm, there's probably a reasonable explanation for all this.  Then again, logic seems to have flown out the window these days.

Why would he follow my blog though?  I'm below a nobody.  I'm nothing he would care about.  I guess this post is more for the general knowledge of it than for any concern on my part.  I'm not worth targeting, especially by someone important enough to bring back from the dead.

I guess that's the public service announcement done.  I'm going to go huddle in the corner of my room rocking back and forth now.  Oh wait, I'm already doing that.

Stay safe everybody.  I'll catch you later. 

Failure Gray

So I promised a 'what happened' post and here it is.  But I guess to fully explain all this I should probably start from the actual beginning and explain about The Kor and all of that.  He's here now, in my head, just like old times.  I can hear him when he's awake in there, just like he can hear me if he's in control.  He's asleep now though, which is why I'm posting.  I don't feel like having his commentary on what I'm going to put here.

The Kor is an alternate personality of mine that was formed when I was seven.  My dad wasn't very nice to me for...extenuating reasons.  Most of which were his fault.  I don't want to get into that.  It's hard to type with just one arm and I can see this getting long.  I'll just leave you with this: my mom is 31 and I'm 15.  If my dad was alive he'd be in his 50's.  Do the math.  I didn't even grasp what an asshole he was back then, I just wanted him to come live with the family, help my mom out financially.  My mom refused to blame him.  He wasn't exactly receptive to my criticism.

That was when The Kor was born.  Made?  Whatever.  He took the hardships for me.  We worked well together then.  He just dealt with all the pain that I couldn't handle.  But I didn't realize how far he would go and he burned down my father's church killing him and two of my classmates.  He said that it was to protect me.  I mean, I think he really does believe that he's just trying to help.  But it did land the both of us in a hospital for the criminally insane for eight years of our life.  Where I was cured, I guess, if you consider getting rid of him a cure.  I'm not a hundred percent sure I do.  Either way I was released after he was gone for three years straight.

Though he's back now, that's self-explanatory.  And I have this feeling that He doesn't like him too much.  The Monster I saw through The Kor's eyes was not the Monster that looks at me.  And while The Kor was posting that last time the computer started freaking out and he turned around and The Slenderman was right there behind us, in my room.  I had never seen him that close before.  Though I complain because I'm weak, He hasn't actually done anything to me directly.  Other than the mental stress and the slendersickness, He hadn't done anything.

Well I could never have imagined the fear and pain.  He was not smiling anymore.  He didn't waste a second with staring like he is sometimes prone to do.  Those tentacles were out and then we were across the room hitting the wall left arm first (which is why this message comes slowly through one-handed typing).  I really thought I was going to die there.  The Kor was still screaming insults at Him through the blood he was coughing up and I was screaming for him to stop inside our head and I thought that was it, He was going to end us.  But instead he reached out (God, his arms go on forever, don't they?) and he touched our forehead and I felt The Kor get shot back.  I can't really describe how that feels, but suddenly I was back in control and The Kor was broken or something and I could feel his pain and my head was filled with screaming and I don't know if any of it was mine, but I must have been making some noise because my mom came bursting in and I was crying on the ground with my arm all wrong and surrounded by blood and now I'm in the hospital.

The Kor is slowly pulling himself back together and swearing for all he's worth.  I'm sure he's in a lot of pain, or whatever he could possibly feel, I don't know how we work.  I don't even know if he's what he used to be.  From what I've read being around Slender makes preexisting mental conditions worse.  I guess I'll find out.  Or maybe we won't.  I don't know why I'm alive now, but I am teetering on the brink of losing everything that means anything, and it seems like He takes his prey as despairing as possible.  So I'm not long for this world.

My mom wanted to know if I was being bullied.  She had found some of my notebooks, and she wanted to know if I was adopting this Slenderman stuff to try and cover up for other things.  She started researching about it.  She started researching about it.  I am a failure.  I just wanted her to be safe.  But I guess that we're both going to die painfully now.  I'm a terrible person for thinking that it would be nicer to do it together.  I'm stuck in this hospital for a while.  I'll probably post again.  Or not, if I'm dead.  Either way, I've lost any small amount of hope I had.

There is no way to escape this fate.             

Worse Than Worthless Gray

I'm back. Me. Gray, I mean. If you don't believe me...well I guess then you just don't. There's no way I can convince you, and it's honestly probably not worth the effort it would take. Especially considering how hard it is to type right now for me.


None of you were really all that worried about me, or about The Kor I guess since he was typing when his post cut off, but I'm glad that you didn't. I'm not worth a single passing thought. I'm a terrible person, and everything bad that's going to happen to me is all my fault. It's all because I'm so stupid and useless and completely unable to protect anyone.


One person. That was all I wanted. To save one person. I had no lofty ideas of being any kind of hero, no ambition to help anyone. I just wanted to be a little better than the pile of shit that I always am and I can't even do that! Even when I hide in a corner I still manage to fuck it up somehow. Why can't I have even a little happiness in my life? Am I being punished by God? Can't I just die knowing that I didn't doom anyone else.


My mom knows about it all. All of it. She doesn't believe it but it's only a matter of time. I figure I should tell the whole story, but it's late and I'm tired and my arm hurts and I just want to sleep. Besides, I bet that no one will want to read this blog anymore anyway. I'm just a sinking ship that will bring anyone I love down with me. That's all any of us are. The starting point from which the infection spreads. Every one of His victims represents four more in the future. What will we do when it is too late to stop the sickness?



I don't know what I'm rambling about. It's hard to type with one arm. I'll post more of the story tomorrow. Good night.

Isolated Gray

So much of this experience is spent alone.  It's probably the reason so many of us make blogs.  To reach out to others, feel like we're part of a community.  Feel like we're not going crazy alone inside our own heads.  No offense to any of you, but I still wasn't a hundred percent sure that this wasn't all some crazy invention of my mind.  The blogs and everything, that I'd wake up still surrounded by white padding and doctors who spoke in soft voices.  I mean, there was nothing to say it wasn't true, but after yesterday?  I think I'm ready to believe.

You may remember that I have been expecting some paint.  From Rain or Snow Services.  Well, last night they came.  Jeresy and Maritza showed up at my house.  At my house!  I know that I sent in the request, but a part of me still doubted that it would ever happen.  But it did!  I have the paint in my room right now.  They were worried about being able to pose as my friends from high school cause apparently they're much older than me, but I think that it all was fine.  It all went great.  Surprisingly great, actually.

They showed up in the late afternoon and were very nice to my mom.  I appreciate that guys, if you're reading this.  You'll always be welcome in our home if you're in the area or need a place to crash.  Though my house isn't really on the way to anything.  Still.  You're both welcome.

Miss Maritza was very good at acting, she seemed to have come prepared with an entire fake backstory.  It was very impressive, I honestly wasn't expecting them to care that much.  Or try that hard.  Mr. Jeresy was also very kind, if a bit less talkative.  I could tell they were trying their best to complete their job to the best of their ability.  They were even kind about the state of my room.

My room, as I'm sure anyone reading this has begun to realize, looks like a can of paint exploded all over it.  I don't know if I got across the extent of it, but it certainly doesn't look like anything a sane person would create.  Even the ceiling is nearly black from the layers upon layers of words.  Maritza and Jeresy were the first to see this room besides me.

Maritza told me that she's primarily a psychology focused doctor, and I saw her start to go clinical as soon as she saw my room.  Or maybe that's just how she usually is when she's not putting on an act for my mom.  Malcolm had told me that maybe I should discuss it with her, what I'm going through and she could help me out, but in the end I couldn't do it.  These people were already doing so much for me and there was so little I could give in return, I couldn't ask for more.  They doubtlessly have more important things to worry about than the mental well-being of a soon to be dead kid.  Even still, Miss Maritza gave me her email address without me asking for it.

Humans can be so kind, I couldn't help myself from crying.  I didn't ask, but I guess I assumed that the two of them are hunted, just as I am.  If you are, Maritza, Jeresy, you don't deserve this life.  

My mom made us all dinner, it was the only payment I could offer.  They, especially Jeresy, seemed happy to have it.  It was.....it was wonderful.  My head has never felt clearer.  I got to pretend I had friends.  It certainly made my mom happier, thinking I was beginning to fit in.  I had a really great time.  If I wasn't lying about everything I said in relation to my "friends" it would have been just like I had a normal life.  But I've given up on normalcy.  Nothing will ever be normal again.

But I can let myself have this fleeting moment of it, like a daydream or a passing vision.

They headed out shortly after.  I suppose that meant my daydream was broken.  Back to everyday life now.  I came out of this experience with the paint I needed to slap a temporary bandage over the ugly secrets scrawled out on my walls.  And with a bit of restored faith in humanity.  

Rain or Snow Services is a wonderful company.  I pray that they can bring their help and compassion to many people in need.  God knows they have saved me.  In more ways than just giving me paint.  I hadn't realized how long it's been since I've been able to connect with another person.  Malcolm was there for me when I fell into this world, and now his people have saved me again.  They have brought me hope.  I cannot thank them enough.  

May they be blessed wherever they travel.

And so for the first time in a long time, I believe that tonight I could have good dreams.  Goodnight wherever you are, Miss Maritza, Mr. Jeresy.  Malcolm.  I hope you have good dreams too.             

Monochromatic Gray

I like fall. Even with the fear of trees that I know this experience should have drilled into me, I still am heartbroken by the beauty of fall. So much of this world is monochromatic. Endless green in summer, endless white in winter. But it is the transitions that are the most bursting with color and the most fleeting.

It is these momentary colors that we notice. The leaves setting the branches ablaze, before falling to the ground and becoming little more than trampled garbage. The sunset bleeding out across the sky, desperately trying to hold its head above the water. The hummingbird, with such a little, quick-beating heart that it lives in constant peril of death.

I bet that if you held a hummingbird in your hand you could feel its whole body shake with the beating of its heart. It is alive, violently alive.

I would like to hold a hummingbird in my hand before I die. I think that would teach me something about the world, help me understand a universal secret. The dying are the most desperate. Screaming out to be noticed, scrambling to accomplish as much as possible. I think it is the living who should be so desperate. They have the chance to change themselves based on what they learn, while the dying just die. That is why the world can never move forward. People learn the most important secrets only as soon as it is too late to pass them on.

I am here and soon will be gone. But I don't have brilliant colors. Maybe I should paint my skin the greens and blues and burning red of the hummingbird. And then I'll be reminded of the beating of my heart every second that I live. And when I fall, I'll fall out of the sky.

Contagious Gray

I had to walk home from school today.  Some bullies stole my math notebook that I need for homework and decided to play keep away with it.  That kind of thing doesn't usually happen to me, mostly just being ignored and stared at as I pass by in the hallways.  Whispers and pointed looks, you know?  I'm used to that kind of thing.  Most people aren't brash enough to approach me directly like this.

I was honestly more worried that they would open the notebook and see what I had drawn inside and become infected.  Even idiots like that don't deserve the disease I could give them.  It's bad enough me still going to school.  Like leading the piper to the children.

So I jumped around a bit until they got bored of my tears and dumped my notebook in the trashcan.  By then it was far too late to catch the bus.  My English teacher offered to drive me home.  I like to think the sentiment would be there for any student with tear streaks down his face clutching a dirty notebook, but I know that the teachers have been instructed to handle me like I'm fragile.  I can tell in the way they look at me, and speak in especially soft tones.  As if I would break with words.  They're not worried for me, they're worried about me.

I don't blame them though.  I turned the ride down.  I lied that I lived close enough to walk.  I put everyone here in enough danger by existing, the last thing I want to do is get closer to anyone.

I only just got home now.  I'm tired and my head hurts.  And the whole way home I saw Him with His terrifying somehow-smiling lack of a face.  I live in the middle of a forest, it's only a matter of time.

The best I can do for the world is to hide myself away from it.  They deal with the most contagious diseases with quarantine, right?  I wonder how much longer I'll be able to keep going to school.  Even now it's only for the semblance of normalcy.  It doesn't mean anything anymore, I have no future to prepare for.

It doesn't matter what you know when you're buried, everyone's the same kind of dead.  It's only a matter of time.    

Unconsciously Gray

The drawing situation is getting worse. I close my eyes for a bit and when I open them again (what I think is seconds later) I've doodled all over my skin, my notebooks, my bedroom walls. Operator symbols, crude drawings, words sometimes. Usually about darkness, but sometimes about fire. I even snapped out of a nap yesterday to find myself gouging something into my desk with my pencil. I woke up too soon to try and figure out what it was going to say.


It started with “let m”. I have some pretty good assumptions of what it was the beginning of, but I'm trying not to think about it. The less I remember how screwed up I am the less scared I am. But that's basically a lost cause at this point. I'm both too screwed up and too scared.


I should start being less obvious about it, though. The last thing I want is for any of this to reach my mom. If she saw my graffiti covered room she'd send me back to the Hospital. Or she'd start trying to understand me. She's big hearted like that. And the last thing I'd want to do is infect her. She heard the details of what happened to Graham from the police report, I couldn't keep her from that, but she has no idea what caused it. And if I get to choose she never will.


So I should probably figure out how to sneak some paint in to my room to cover up the most obvious things. And I should start trying to get control over myself while I'm asleep. I don't even know where to start on that project, but it's an important one. I don't want to do anything serious while I'm not myself. And I don't like the feeling that I'm not in control of my body. I've had too much of that in my life.



I just feel so helpless to stop it. Why is this happening to me. I don't deserve this. Every time I walk to the bus stop I see Him, standing there, off in a patch of trees, staring at me. And smiling. I don't know how something without a mouth can smile, but I feel His smile like burning directly on my soul. It's very hard to breathe when He is around. No one can accurately describe that feeling.

Useless Gray

I've been reading a bunch of the slenderblogs on here in the spare time I spend curled in the corner of my room and I have to say, you're all amazing. This happens to you, this horrible thing, and the first thing you all think is how to help others. You're going out and fighting, you're experimenting and learning, risking your lives to take down this monster. Or even just keeping up your courage and leaving biting comments for the slender followers (proxies?) that try and harass your blogs.

What do I do? I do nothing. I wait for death. I'm not strong or smart or clever. I'm useless, and while you all will thrive in adversity and further the cause, my death will mean nothing. I am a spark that never became a flame before it was snuffed out. I spend my time in the corner of my room in despair. I write on here not to help others but to help myself. I offer no advice. I offer no encouragement or learning. I only offer my useless self and who wants that.

Now I'm being depressing. All of you who are actually trying don't need this on top of everything else bringing you down. Maybe I should just end it now. I fear Him killing me, I fear Him catching me and killing me for Himself, but it wouldn't be so scary if I did it. I could make it painless. I spent so much of my life before now, wishing that I could commit suicide rather than do the things I did. But I couldn't then. I can now. I have a choice that I never had before, and I could take it and choose to be free.

I don't know. I am a coward. I escaped from one monster to the next. It was my fault for thinking my life could ever be anything better. God gives us all destinies, mine is not a happy one.  I blame myself.   I blame myself for existing.