Hey. It's Jason. I went back to my apartment last night. It was... well. It was wierd.
I walked in the door, and everything was just the way I'd left it: trashed. Nothing odd about that. I walked the apartment, just to make sure, but it was like no one had been in the apartment. I mean, I should have seen some sign the cops had been there, but nope. Guess they're just good. lol.
Then I went back and tried the door to Alex's room. It still had the mark on it from a week ago. The fucking Operator symbol. Can I just say, I've never understood the point of it. Marble Hornets never really explained it, and I've seen so many blogs try to, that I've given up. I don't see what it is expect a sign that ol Slendy's gonna start creeping on you. Apparently, my stalker's a fan. I guess that's one thing I know about him.
Anyway, I decided to try the door to Alex's room again. Apparently the police ha been in there, cause it was unlocked now. So, being the crack sleuth I am, I decided to go in.
... there aren't many things in this world that frighten me anymore. I had a rough childood, A hard time in school. I watched my uncle wate away from a debilitating disease. It's kinda hardened me to the world. I'm a tough nut to crack. But what I saw in Alex's room... it freaked the holy piss out of me. From Floor to ceiling, on all four walls, were these drawings. Pictures. Pictures of death, and mutilation. Of things thatshould never see the light of day. Of people in Africa, blighted by plauge. Of Children being fellated by their mothers. Of all sorts of creatures, animal and human, being ritualistically slaughtered. The drawings were simple stck figures, just with horrible disfigurements: Multiple limbs, and hols in their chests. And the eyes. Horrible, detailed eyes staring down at me from all over the walls. And there, right in the middle of the room: A garbage sack, tied with a purple twisty-tie. Just sitting there on some newspaper.
I should have left right then. Gone with my gut, turned, and run scrreaming from that place never to reurn. But I didn't. I couldn't. I needed to find my friend. So I walked up to that bag. I could smell it now: Death. Not the band, thepure stench of decay and rot, muted by the bag. Flies were buzzing around it. Then I opened it. Something... spilled out of the bag. It was just a rush or red fluid at first, then came chunks and lumps of meat mixed with fur. Something alive had been killed, mutilated, thrown in that bag and left for me to find.
I uked. I puked fucking hardcore. Then I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I grabbed some ofthat shit of his walls, grabbed whatever I could got in my car, and drove as fast as I could away.
That was two days ago. I've been driving in circles ever since. I'm at an Internet cafe in Wyoming writing this. I called Jake, told him to let my boss know that I was taking a leave of absence. I'll probably get fired, but I don't care aymore. I'm going to see Sheila's mom. Maybe whatever she has from her would haelp me find Alex. Maybe Alex is with her. I don't know. All I know is, I can't stay in Seattle right now. I'll ry and update you guys the next chanceI get. Please, I'm open to suggestions, and comments. I need help.