FEBRUARY 29, 2012

Log from January 15^th:

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.

January 11:

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.

I know.

Stupid idea.

January 13:

Friday the 13^th. 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.

January 13:

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.

January 14:

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

January 15:

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.