This has been sitting as a draft for the past couple of months. I don't like updating with "nothing." Hence the inactivity. Consider this my bi-monthly check-in.
Yeah, the title says it all. I'm mostly posting here to remind anyone reading this (a grand total of 5 people as of this writing) that I'm still out there.
About my meeting with Noctis. It went a little something like this.
I had been going to the church across the street for a week hoping to... well to be honest, I didn't know what I was hoping to find. Maybe there was a secret base under the church. "To the Noctis cave! nananananananana, Slenderman!"
I'm sorry, that was stupid.
Anyway, the only people who seemed to want to talk to me were people who were quite eager for me to become a member of the church. Now, I always get uncomfortable when the subject of religion gets brought up. My parents were raised Catholic, and they've told me some horror stories of tyrannical nuns and priests who'd try and swindle poor people out of what little money they had. Growing up in Orange County, a place known for being full of right-wing nuts and mega church zealots, also helped cement the bad taste that religion leaves in my mouth. No specific examples, just growing up in a neighborhood full of the sort of Ann Coulter spewing, angry, mean spirited people like that will make you quite bitter. Where was I? Oh, yeah...
So a week goes by, and I begin to see a pattern. One guy keeps coming in, sitting in the ninth row, and he pulls out, of all things, a King James bible. This is in a Catholic church, mind you! He's also got a seeing eye dog with him. His bible, however is not in braille, nor does he seem to be actually reading it, just holding it up to his face.
Well, after re-reading some of my older blog posts, I begin to realize that I have seen this guy before! I was waiting in line for a funnel cake, and this guy was behind me, giving me the willies. Also, his seeing eye dog looks a lot like the dogs Gwin had with him, slim, black, and very... I suppose austere would be a good word to use. Well, I wait for a day when it's just the two of us. And seeing as I'm awful at trying to talk to people, I decided to hit it up with his dog fist with a nice scratch behind the ears. Almost immediately, he says, "Her name is Tiamant."
"And yours?" I ask.
"Let me guess, you were sent here by a guy in a mask."
"Be careful around that one."
"I have been."
"No, you haven't," he chuckles. There's a pause. "Well, what do you want?"
"Like my name?"
"Yeah, sure, anything!"
"Word of advice, don't call us, we'll call you." He stands and goes to the door, but pauses and looks back.
"The name's Marduk. M-A-R-D-U-K, for your blog. Not that I read it, as you probably figured."
"We'll be needing you very soon, Mr. *****." he said as he walked out the door.
I've been trying to come up with some sort of witty conclusion to this post. The best I can do is a confession. Ever since the day at the Scary Dairy, I haven't been able to sleep. I'll have a micro nap here or there. They're very disorientating. Time randomly skips forward 15 minuets at a jump, and suddenly, there's a puddle of drool on your desk that you don't remember being there before. The worst part about it is, I'm starting to see things. Things that I know aren't there. Shapes and movements in the dark mostly. And I can't even find the nerve to walk down the hall with the lights off anymore. Childish as it may I've found my old trusty-dusty nightlights to be quite handy. And on those long sleepless nights, I've been spending my time looking out the bedroom window. It's been unnaturally foggy these past few months. I can see shapes, silhouetted in the streetlights. I know I'm not hallucinating these ones. I don't know who they are.
I do know that I have a mask and baseball bat near my bed at the ready.