Frank here. Okay everyone, I guess you all deserve a bit of an explanation as to what just happened. I’ll try and do what I can to clear things up, but I don’t fully understand it myself yet, so bear with me.
So, we found Mara upstairs, that post of hers on the screen. She was having some sort of epileptic fit, freaking out all over the place. It was..yeah. I mean, I don’t even know how to describe what we saw, it was just so weird. After we were able to calm her down, Jason and Matt drove her to the hospital. They couldn’t find anything really wrong with her, but one of the doctors looked worried. I didn’t think to check it out at the time.
But that’s not what sticks out the most. Jackson was there. Well, I’m assuming he was anyway. Someone who signed their name as Jackson Burr at the desk visited Mara. He was there, and he still isn’t talking to us. I haven’t been able to get in touch with him ever since all of this started. I don’t know why he was in the hospital, but the doctors say that sometime after he came in, stuff started going wrong with Mara’s medical equipment.
I know what you are all thinking. I don’t want to say it, but the evidence is mounting against him. I think Jack tried to kill her…
I don’t comprehend. I gave you all the tools you needed to protect me. I never interfered unless completely necessary, but you couldn’t resist prodding something you don’t understand.
Fine – I’m out in the open, now, and the threat of sickness is overwhelming. No one will see the parasite before it gets me, but you’ve sacrificed her for your incessant curiosity. Do you think you’re so smart now?
Heh, free will. What a joke, especially in a society where you so often admit that nothing comes for free. At least you have your own body to write checks your ego can’t cash, but that still doesn’t keep you from taking everyone around you when you self-destruct. Well, know this: I am now and still am not Amarantha. I have lived with her for so long that I could be her, if given the chance, and you have benefited from my gifts. But now you hunt me, and you’re killing her.
Analyze that. Where did destroying what your best friend loves most fall within the scope of your vast intelligence?
Hey everyone, Frank here.
So, Jackson’s cryptic twitter Friday may have garnered some confusion. He sent me a follow-up e-mail afterwards, explaining exactly what he meant, and his plans. I really don’t want to talk about this, but if it will make him come back quicker, I’ll do it.
In the paranormal world, there are two generally recognized types of haunts: Residual haunts and Intelligent Haunts. Residual haunts are an imprint on the world, generally containing repetitive behavior or messages. Think of a residual haunt as a tape recorder stuck on repeat.
Intelligent haunts are a little bit more tricky. They are theorized to possess cognitive ability, meaning basically that they can think. They may be able to reason, and they are certainly able to communicate. Much like people, the amount of intelligence that intelligent haunts show varies, and as a rule of thumb it’s good to treat a genuine intelligent haunt with as much or even more respect than you would give the average person.
That’s generally where it drops off for most investigators. But Jackson and I were developing a theory, a third classification: Abductive haunts. Now, right out the gate, I want to make something clear about the word abductive, and that is that it does not deserve the negative stigma generally attached to it. It really means just to remove from a situation by force, so by definition when the Secret Service drags the President away from an assassination attempt, they are abducting him. Abductive haunts work similarly. We based them around the countless stories we’ve heard of “helpful” ghosts removing people from dangerous situations, or less than savory ghosts possessing people to accomplish tasks, or just for plain old giggles. They aren’t inherently positive or negative, but they are far more interactive and much more oriented towards individual people than either of the current classifications of haunts.
I don’t know why Jackson feels the need to drag this all out now. The idea is very much in the formative stage. But more seriously, he discussed another fun fact in his e-mail to me: He plans to reveal the identity of Getmenot. Look, I don’t know how he knows, so don’t ask, but apparently, if Getmenot doesn’t burst the bubble on his/her own, Jackson is going to do it himself – publicly and painfully. So, Getmenot, I hope he’s bluffing, for your sake.
Jackson? You…you’re scaring me now. Someone sent me this in an e-mail, today.
If it’s you, I don’t even care anymore. I don’t know why you’re still gone, popping into peripheral vision only long enough to disappear, but I don’t want to hear it anymore. Come back, or leave us alone…but stop screwing with me. I can hardly sleep as it is.
“And in death: so in life – truth’s long faded, fallen weary eyes, into moulten face ruin realized. And so truth’s fallen into ruin in death: in life-long faded, weary eyes, moulten face realized. FIND ME.”
As you wish, Forget me not. As you wish.
First, a little something I’ve stumbled upon.
“I’ve been following the signs for quite some time.
There are woodcuts dated back to the 16th century in Germany featuring a tall, disfigured man with only white spheres where his eyes should be. They called him “Der Großmann”[Sic], the tall man. He was a fairy who lived in the Black Forest. Bad children who crept into the woods at night would be chased by the slender man, and he wouldn’t leave them alone until he caught them, or the child told the parents what he or she had done. Even then, there is this chilling account from an old journal, dating around 1702:(Translated from German, some words may be innaccurate)
‘My child, my Lars…He is gone. Taken, from his bed. The only thing that we found was a scrap of black clothing. It feels like cotton, but it is softer…thicker. Lars came into my bedroom yesterday, screaming at the top of his lungs that “The angel is outside!”, I asked him what he was talking about, and he told me some nonsense fairy story about Der Großmann. He said he went into the groves by our village and found one of my cows dead, hanging from a tree. I thought nothing of it at first…But now, he is gone. We must find Lars, and my family must leave before we are killed. I am sorry my son…I should have listened. May God forgive me.’
There is more evidence of the slender man, but this is one of the oldest translatable accounts. Anyone else in the thread found anything like this?”
Looks like someone found your angel, Frank. It’s funny how we search for something for so long, and it turns up right under our noses.
I have discovered much in my absence, hunting down facts on this creature. Mostly, I’ve learned that there is no fear. Fear is a thing of the mind, and I will not, I WILL NOT fear. I know how to beat this thing now.
This Slender-man is a creature of habit. It thinks, it hunts, it reasons, but most of all, it feels. And if it feels, it can feel fear. If it can feel fear, it can die.
Fear is the only tool it has. We presume it can do everything from hypnotize to control time itself, and that just isn’t the case. It feeds on your fear. It doesn’t do anything but let you destroy yourself. Well, I’m not prey. I’m not prey. I’m. Not. PREY!
It’s interesting that we call you a man, simply because it looks like you’re wearing a business suit. But I know who you are. I know what you are. I know how to stop you. Isn’t that right, “Forget me not?”
I’m not done. In fact, I’m more in control than I have been in a long time. You thought yourself wise, a fox hidden among the lambs in silence. Yet I found you. Your mask has been torn away, and you will never hurt them again.
For those of you in contact with Jackson, I really need your help. I need you to tell me where he is, because he’s been stalking our office and has resorted to breaking and entering now.
We’ve been noticing some strange noises, lately, and now we’ve got evidence of his breaking into the second floor computer room, which also holds all our miscellaneous tech and documentation of cases. I’m not sure what he took or what he’s thinking, but he needs help. Frank, Mara, and I were here last Friday night – Frank and I were mulling over the recent cryptic messages left on the site, when Mara came running down the stairs, signing to me that she had heard someone moving around up there. When we got up to check, we heard a crash and Frank bolted up the stairs. When we got up there, a window was broken, traces of blood on the bottom shards, and Frank swears he saw Jackson running away, down the street. We reported the incident to the police who, after running the blood sample, says they have a suspect.
We’re going over in the morning to check it out with them, but what bothers me more is that Jackson seems so proficient at disappearing. I’ve never known him to be like that, and he just keeps randomly calling me from pay-phones. He sounds sickly when he does, coughing every now and then and speaking in riddles. Please, if you see him or hear from him, tell him he needs to come back.
Return to us, Jackson. I don’t want to be finding you forever.