Log from January 15th:
I am Scarlet-marked, though I deserve nothing but punishment. I am the first of her marked that she has found in months; as such I have been blessed by her and given the task of spreading her word. I am the First Priestess of the Mistress.
Now that she is here, she has brought with her a revolution. I am in the centre of the revolution.
Fear nothing, fellow marked. She shall dominate through deviation.
Bear the red.
We haven’t encountered anyone of note for days. If it weren’t for the zombie-commuters, I’d wonder if we were in the Empty City.
Actually, I haven’t ruled it out. They might just be figments of my imagination.
I’ve been having more nightmares lately – again, possibly a present from the Grotesque. I’m flattered by the interest, but I’d really prefer to be left alone to get a good night’s sleep. Sleep is the only time I get to pretend to be a normal person. Closing your eyes and blacking out for a few hours – really simple in theory, right? So why the fuck can’t I have one thing that’s simple?
Jack’s a bit moody today, too. Well, as moody as a kid his age can be. Personally, I think he’s put out that it’s milder weather today, but the fact that we still aren’t mobile is probably a large contributing factor. Poor kid is stuck all alone in the car while I run off and look for signs of fuckery.
The only thing I can think to do is head to a library.
Friday the 13th. Spooky day, right?
In actuality: dull.
Jack loves the book though. We spent most of last night reading it. Bunch of rhymes, mostly, and he doesn’t seem to care that half of it is basically ruined.
The following was written in the form of a booklet. It looked as though children wrote it in crayon and illustrated with entirely unrelated pictures, but for the most part, it was readable.
THE BLIND MAN BEDTIME STORY
There was a man, and he was blind
But really, not a man
He has a book that has your mind
Or, how your mind began
The Analysts will take a look
At what Collectors bring
Scribes put data into books
They all keep it running
If you don’t fit within their ranks
It’s doubtful you’ll survive
To Grandfather, we give our thanks
For building the Archive
If you’re afraid of getting old
You’re ours already, dear
We won’t leave you in the cold
- That’s a different FEAR.
The children from a couple days ago were outside. Just lurking, it seemed, not far from my car.
They didn’t do anything. They just stood there, for hours.
When they left, they left a plain notebook behind. Only the first page wasn’t blank.
The following was on a sheet of lined paper, torn out of a notebook.
THE COLD BOY BEDTIME STORY
There once was a boy made of frost
Who saw little kids sad and lost
The Children of Cold
Were his to remold
And we all joined the Court at great cost
Someone left us a gas tank.
No idea who. I know they weren’t Scarlet-marked.
If they were marked, there would have been blood in the snow.
We’ll be back on the road and headed downtown within an hour – we’re giving Razzie some time to come back to us. He ran off some time last night. If he doesn’t wander back soon, we’ll just have to take off and leave the poor pup behind. He’ll catch up to us later. He always does.