Sunday, 13 November 2011

That's It, I'm Moving

Okay guys, this is it. I am fed up with all this Slender shit that is going on outside my house, and in my neighbourhood. It's been around a month since I last posted here, and I am very sorry for that, but quite honestly  you wouldn't have posted either if you had been here. To be honest, it's not because I'm scared, though I am. I just need a new place to think and rest

This all started on a sunny Sunday, like any other, except that I decided I would go to church. Why not go to Church and perhaps pray for my survival from all of this. I felt silly in my suit and tie, sitting among people with a similar purpose, but no concept of why I was really there. Perhaps it was comforting to believe that there was a higher power that could influence my fate, but once again I was the cynic. What did God have to do with any of this? Why would he have such a creature wandering the earth if he was so benevolent and kind and the rest? No, if there is a God, he or she is looking down at all of us and laughing as we struggle through everything that life has to throw at us. As we run from our fears and worries. Well I was tired of running. As I sat in the church, filled with people who praised a unfair and cruel god, I decided to take fate in my own hands.

I walked home instead of driving, my first move as my own man. It was bright, and kind of warm for mid fall. I didn't even need a jacket. As I approached the front of my house, I saw someone in a hoodie leaning against the wall of the house next door. There was no doubt that this was a Proxy, my proxy, due to it's unnatural stillness. There were few options, and I picked the craziest one I could think of. I no longer cared simply about living. To leave this plane would perhaps be a blessing rather than the curse I believed it to be. I made a beeline straight to my Proxy and stared it right in the face. "Hello there." I said with all the confidence I could muster, which was very little because I have no confidence in me. The Proxy stared at me, and said nothing. Quite honestly, I think it was confused at this moment. I decided to carry on, because at that point I had already opened the door, and walking away would just be rude.

"Well...I would like to request that instead of the whole rigmarole of a sham of a chase, you would just kill me now please. My life has no meaning and I would much rather just die without the hassle of having to go elsewhere." I said in a gush of words, that probably just confused the poor creature even further. "Uh...I suppose it is really at your convenience and all..." I trailed off and then the Proxy turned to me, it's voice much higher pitched then I was expecting.

"This is NOT how this is supposed to go!" It railed at me, throwing it's hands up in the air and shouting. "You are supposed to hide and cower and hope..." It yelled and I shrugged. "I was at church" I pointed out, gesturing to my clothes. "Not the point" It continued. "You are supposed to run and I am supposed to chase. You're supposed to be broken and beaten and die all alone, but" and then it stormed off, leaving me to stand in the street alone with everyone staring at me like a mad man.

I must leave you here for now dear readers. It appears the Real Estate Agent is at my door and I have to greet him properly and explain all the damage in the area and how this is a perfectly nice neighbourhood, save for the homicidal maniacs and the Eldritch Abomination that is trying to stalk and kill me. I'm sure that will go over perfectly well and I will find a ready and willing renter who wants such a location while I scurry off to some apartment in a quiet, yet friendly, part of town and wait for this all to blow over. I shall post again a little later friends and fellow...well I suppose you are called Runners, though I have no intention of running, and neither should you.

Stay Safe, what ever your "Safe" is

Monday, 3 October 2011

I don't know

I'm lost. I don't know where to go, don't know what to do, and seem to keep walking head first into the same wall as I pace the tiny hall between the stairs and my front door. It was a few days ago that my need to go outside first manifested, all because of one, sad, realization.

Now I was surfing the Internet, as I often do in my lack luster days, seeing as I haven't been to work in a very long while, and proxies prowl outside my door. So as I made my way to one of my favorite sites, an add came up for a black evening gown, and before you say anything, I know I am a male and that evening gowns shouldn't catch my interest, but this one was different. The plunging neck line that showed ample amounts of cleavage and the way that it was supposed to contour the lines and curves of the body...well it really drew me in, and that's when I realized it.

I have never been on a date.

That's right. Not once in my life have I EVER been on a date.

This had to be remedied! There had to be someone who would go on a date with lil' ol' unremarkable me, wasn't there? There was hope that someone would be desperate enough to do what no other woman (or perhaps even man) had even dared to try. So I signed myself up for a dating E-Harmony or something to that effect, but before I even started looking for matches it was over. Those websites lie people. They say that they can find a match for anyone, but after inputting all my information, all that came up was that there was no one out there in the whole, wide and vast Internet for me. Of course, I couldn't help but get all depressed for a few moments over this news, but then the speaking bottle of Tylenol Ones on my desk reminded me that where there was a will there was a way, and I reminded it that I had no will, and then it yelled at me to get my fat arse moving and actually do something.

And I found nothing wrong with this.

I took the advice the bottle had given me, and I orderd the dress, and a mannequin to wear said dress, and some roses, and some candles, and a few romantic CD's, and lots and lots of booze. I dressed my mannequin up in all the finery I bought her, leaned her akwardly against the chair at the table set for two, and started to woo my, unwilling, inanimate, victim. With enough rum and fine whiskey to kill an already dead cat, I think the night was pretty successful.

Let me know what you think!

Tuesday, 20 September 2011

Lack of Sleep

Perhaps it's lack of sleep that leads me in writing this. All my fears and insecurities, well I suppose you've pretty well got a handle on that. It's not that hard to figure out. I feel like I'm drowning, slowly letting the water rush into my open mouth and down my throat to plug my lungs. My pulse pounds in my head as my blood rushes to my brain, never stopping. It's like a drum, thump thump, thump thump, over and over until it would drive me mad. It will never leave me alone, I know that now, and perhaps would be I a fool for believing that I can escape the fate of all those that came before me. I have a new path though, a new way of maybe surviving all this, though I no longer hold any regard for the life that I hold within my beating heart and rushing blood.

I am tired of all that goes on outside my door. The accidents, the mishaps. There are too many coincidences in this part of town, and I want nothing to do with it. As soon as I get the paperwork to close, I'm moving houses and hopefully I will have no worries of his goons on my doorstep, though that would be wishful thinking. Even though I am moving, don't think of this as running or trying to hide. No. I refuse to give up my life just because some abomination wants to kill me. Go ahead if that's what you really want Mr. Slender. Kill me and don't leave a body. Make me disappear into the night because it's not like there is anyone who really cares if I'm gone. No one relies on me for anything other than to be the existence that is just as easily forgotten as unpleasant paperwork.

So as I sit here at my desk, bottle of rum in one had and a bottle of coke in the other, I wonder if this is what life is really about. I wonder if this is what God's plan for me really is. Will I be one of the ones who fall quickly from grace, destined to live in the shadowy nether regions of the spiritual life, or will I be tied to this plain of existence for years to come. Really it's all in God's hands now. I can't see myself surviving this onslaught of Myth and Superstition, yet, perhaps today I will be one of the lucky ones.

Sunday, 18 September 2011

Late and Travel

I'm sorry this post comes so late, but I've been busy. Not that kind of busy that I was working all night and just didn't have time to get online busy, yet I applaud myself for actually getting off my butt to do this.

I took a trip to Holland. You heard me right. The land of Illegal drugs and Red Light Districts that would knock your socks off, but that's not what I went for. I arrived in front of the Cirque Du Soliel European Headquarters with little more than a backpack full of clothing, and a key that had been tucked into my father's diary. I had to confirm all that he said in the book, because I sure as hell wasn't going to just blindly believe something like that. It was certainly a hassle to try and get these guys to let me in. The old gym hadn't been used in years and there was some sort of shady reason that the Cirque people didn't want to tell me. Also the Russell family appeared not to exist, but there was a look on their faces as if they had seen a ghost while they looked at me.

It took about three days, but they finally let me take a look around. As I approached the old building, a feeling of apprehension clenched in my stomach. What if everything that my Father had written was true? What if all this stuff about Proxies and Slenderman was actually real? I couldn't think of that. I couldn't possible believe that any of this could possibly have roots in reality. I slotted the key in the old lock and turned, pushing open the door. The smell that came over me made me gag. It was like rotting flesh and unwashed blood that flew into my nostrils like a particularly annoying fly. There was the hum of insect life as I stepped in closing the door behind me and flicking on the lights in the dark room.

There it was, the sea of blood. Not cleaned in the years since my father had done it, and as I stepped in a puddle, I realized that the blood wasn't dry. My head was spinning. This wasn't possible. There was no way that the scene would stay so intact. The laughing came from high above. Insane. High Pitched. Like a child who was almost ready to cry their heart out, but was holding it all in. I couldn't take it.

I turned and ran.

And so here I am. Back home safe and sound, the key tucked far under my pillow along with that damn work of fiction. I refuse to believe what I saw. It's not real. It's not there. There is no such thing as Slenderman. There are no such things as proxies. This is all lies meant to scare me into running and hiding or fighting some figment of my imagination. I will not give in. I will not be scared of the bumps in the night, because they are nothing more than regular things in my normal life.

Thursday, 18 August 2011

It's A New Day

It's a new dawn and I find myself admiring the sun through my bedroom window in my rum induced stupor. It's nice to feel good after all that's been happening. My new best friends are named Bacardi and Coke, but I couldn't bring my self to really care about that, and the sad fact that brings about. I pulled out the CD's and just wallowed in my own pitiful-ness, watching as the hoodie clad things surrounded my house, lurking outside the doors and the windows, waiting for me to show my face, but I wasn't about to give them the satisfaction. I lit the candles, listened to Barry White, and sat in front of the fireplace all night long, singing along to my favourite songs.

Then I had to wake up from my pleasant dream because hell just isn't going to leave you alone when you find yourself smack dab in the middle of the flames, and I literally mean flames. Some retarded Hobo found it fit to start a fire in an abandoned house two doors down from mine, and I suppose it was probably to keep warm for the night, but the problem is that the whole structure was made of wood. Talk about trying to smoke someone out. This intrusion into my farce of normalcy was unwelcomed and I promptly walked upstairs to my room and threw my security blanket over my head. This action was accompanied by my screaming, and the sentence "THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING". Rest assured that it was actually happening but I refused to leave my smoke encrusted house and now everything smells like fire and burning, but thems the breaks.

I don't see why I put this humiliating stuff on the internet anymore, other than the fact that I believe this is entertaining, and perhaps it will make one or two people laugh. I shall continue this waste of effort simply for the fact that, I really have nothing better to do. Hiding in my house and crying myself to sleep, clutching my trusty rum bottle to my chest is well and good, but in the end, I think it might be nice to have some friends.

 but what if I can't make friends?

Tuesday, 16 August 2011

What a Day

Sorry for the length of this, but hell....I think this is justified!

Let me start off by saying that last night wasn't fun. I was expecting to waste away my evening with my bottle of delicious rum, and end up passed out drunk on the stairs, making my way to bed. I must say that it turned out quite different from the way I planned. Instead of my nice, comfy stairs, I ended up with my security blanket wrapped over my head as I spent the night in a Jail Cell that I'm pretty sure smelled like piss and death.

Let me start at the beginning. I went to my liquor cupboard to find my lifeblood, other wise known as my magical bottle of rum, only to find out that my drinking habits are not only killing my liver, but leaving me woefully short on the mystic substance of my desire. In a major life crisis, and a long debate with my walls, I decided to take the trek down the street to the store to buy myself a little more of the good stuff, like a good little junkie. I quickly armed myself with the shower curtain rod, that had hit me in the head earlier in the morning when I tore down the blasted object to give Slender one less space to hide, and hopefully deter him from popping in for a visit while I am sitting on the toilet, and threw my security blanket over my head, like a warrior dons his armour. I was ready for battle...or so I thought.

Now there was no incident on the way to the store, except for the crazy stares as I hurried down the street, rod clenched tightly in my hands and blanket pulled tight over my head. I checked my surroundings thoroughly, glaring off who ever I thought could possibly be a Proxy....though I think some hipsters got on the wrong end once too many. I finally made it to the store, bought my five bottles, and tried in my haste to make it back to the relative safety of my bunker as quickly as my legs could take me, when suddenly knocked on the back of the head...

And the bitch stole my rum.


Off she ran with me screaming like a banshee, waving my shower curtain rod and threatening to kill her. This is when the cops decided it would be a good idea to patrol the street. I was promptly pepper sprayed, disarmed, and thrown in the back of a squad car, presumed to be a illegal alien because my wallet was in the bag with the rum. After everything was said and done, I was thrown in the tiny cell to cower in the corner and cry that "he" was definitely coming to get me.

Three things:
1. That bitch stole my rum
2. Who the hell was that guy who came and bailed me out with the excuse that I was a paranoid schizophrenic who forgot my medications, told me to be careful after we were outside, and just so happened to recover my wallet
and 3. Did I mention that THE BITCH STOLE MY RUM?!

Sunday, 14 August 2011

Why Did I Do It?

Why? Why on earth did I invite unspeakable horror into my home? Why did no one tell me that it was a FUCKING BAD IDEA?!

What good is this community huh? I started reading about all these irrational people who are on the run and I LITTERALLY INVITE Tall, Dark, and Slender to come haunt me. Even my family history can't save me. I can't sleep, can't even walk down the street without checking over my shoulder for the faceless man. The pale, featureless face haunts me everywhere I go....and the shower curtain sitting across my tub now seems like a really bad idea.

To recap, A few nights ago I called upon the powers that be to bring Slender Man to me so I could laugh in his suit wearing presence. That turned out to be a retarded decision, and I wouldn't blame you for questioning my intelligence. I wasn't expecting for a figment of overactive imagination to show up outside my window. Yesterday was another peaceful night, and I was curled around my bottle of rum, ready to pass out from my drunken stupor, to notice something flickering in the light of the bustling city just outside my window. It goes to say I was startled by what was staring at me....or rather the lack of what was staring at me. Tentacles thrashing in the rain, an ethereal, guttural, screeching, distortion coming from his very presence.....I should have worn my brown pants to bed.

Ever since then I have seen his minion crouching outside my windows, waiting outside my door for me to make a mistake and set one foot past the threshold. What they don't know is that I am ready for the nuclear war in this bunker of a house, and eating canned food won't bother me for as long as I have to wait for all of this to blow over. Maybe I shouldn't have been playing with fire in the first place, but what is the fun if you're not going to get burned, or burn down the house you are playing in and half the neighbourhood along with it? Somehow I think all of this will turn out wonderfully, and I will live a nice long and eventful life, right guys?

I'll live right?

Friday, 12 August 2011

Sleepless Night #1

I'd hate to say I am afraid, because I don't believe I am, even if I am jumping at every creak and groan. I attribute that to the fact that the house next door is already a disaster waiting to happen and could well...fall at any moment.

Since the last time I posted nothing has become clearer to me. I spent my whole day on the internet looking for others like me...but it just seems like these people are, to be frank, awesome. I am far from the desired subject to fight this "Slender Bug", but it seems like everyone just pussy foots around the issue. I am not quite sure if it is lack of sleep that leads me to write this or perhaps it is my perverse death wish that makes these words flow from my finger tips. So here, with the hesitation of a thirteen year old that wants to look cool in front of his friends, but knows mommy and daddy will hate this decision, I come out with the very thoughts I believe that everyone wants to hide.


There. I said it. Now I just have to wait for the horrible monstrosity to descend upon me. I can't see why everyone is so scared. Slender Man is just a figment of everyone's imaginations and can't hurt me, or anyone else. All these people on the run are just paranoid of bumps in the night or delusional and need to be in a mental hospital, on stronger medication than a normal psychiatrist can give. The diary that was left to me from my "dad", which I still can't prove is either fake nor real, is for some reason keeping me up at night, and I am finding it in my constant thoughts. There is more to this hoax than there seems to be, and I WILL find the answers behind it.

Tuesday, 9 August 2011

And So It Goes

Now I am sorry to all those who watch this blog....Which is no one, and to my one commenter, The computers over here refuse to let me comment back to you. I would hate to make anyone feel as ignored and set aside as I have alwas been and continue to be.

On another note, a couple weeks ago I'm sure you heard of the bomb that went off in New York City. The house next door had the foundations damaged and my house shook so hard that well, I legitimately thought there was an earthquake and holed myself up in my bathroom. I didn't come out for a week and I must tell you that the Bathtub is far from comfortable. After finally coming out to see the light of day, and nearly getting lead away in handcuffs because the police actually smashed my door down to drag out the fugitive they thought lived there, I noticed a small and unexplained package in the mail box by the aforementioned door. Taking it out of the brown packaging, I noticed in all my brilliance that it was a note book, or to be more politically correct, a diary/memoir/who really cares about this anyway.

In reading the writing, something remarkable happened....Do you hear me? REMARKABLE!

Who would have thought that something interesting would happen to little, ol' UNREMARKABLE me.

In conclusion to my outburst, someone left me my father's diary. Jacob Timothy Russell, the man I always believed to have left me and my mother for some better family that was less boring, didn't quite leave at all. It's like the world ended and came back in different light, and that's not just because I've taken to having a glass of Rum in the morning instead of the usual coffee, or that I stopped going to work and no one has even remotely noticed any form of absence. It shouldn't affect me so to know that my father died, and left me here with all the love that he could possibly muster and named me after two of his best friends who turned into his closest family and now some horrible, inescapable, oddity is after my life....okay, maybe the last bit should but that's not my point.

I now know I am being hunted, but by what I can't tell you, and I hardly know how to describe what this Tall, Dark, and Slender guy is all about. Still, all I really do understand is that I'm supposed to watch my back and be afraid of the shadows in the corner of my eye.....I wonder how all this will turn out.

Thursday, 21 July 2011

Casual Fridays

I have always wondered what "Casual Friday" actually meant, seeing as I haven't had a life coach since my mother died and I don't know what casual clothes really are. I figured it was kind of like a Halloween for office workers, where they dressed up in costumes and tried to impress their bosses with their creativity. Perhaps I was lucky that no one really noticed what I did until now, or maybe I was just that weird guy that is in every office across our fair country, and everyone talks behind their backs, and keeps them around just to laugh at them standing around the water cooler. Now today of all days I got sent home. Me, the man who has never missed a day of work for his mother dying in the hospital or for the flu that should have had me flat on my back in bed, got sent home.

Now perhaps the gangster costume was a little too much, with my pants at my knees and an over long shirt, but it at least gave me a little bit of personality for god's sake....not that there is a god (or maybe there is but I'm not one to judge). In any case, my boss showed up at my desk, for the first time in well, since I started, and demanded to know why I was dressed in, I quote, "Such a ridiculous fashion". Now I am polite to the core, and believe me when I say I took no offence to his sharp and offensive tone, and calmly replied, describing all that I knew about the mythical "Casual Friday". Apparently that didn't go over very well...because here I sit at home, after my boss demanded I leave, and not come back until Monday. Well at least I will have a weekend off for once in my life, not that I really ever had to go in on weekends at all.

Now for another question to my adoring non-existent public........

What exactly does one do on weekends? How do you have that thing you call "fun"? Is it like the casual enjoyment you get out of completing a particularly difficult task...or you should be getting out of "Casual Friday" with your obsessed co-workers? I am, in all honesty, confused and upset by this conundrum that seems to want to tear the fragile balance I have created with my own brain to keep me somewhat, I suppose the word is, sane. If anyone would like to give me the answer, then I would be in your debt... figuratively of course, seeing as the unremarkable me has nothing to give to anyone or anything.

Wednesday, 13 July 2011


Today's work was dull as always, and any other day would have seen me trying to tear out my hair in boredom. However, today seemed a little bit different in the way that I noticed just how normal everything is. I sit at the same desk every day, and pretty well all my co-workers ignore my very existence as a whole. I could probably stay over night and not even the cleaners would notice that there was some guy in the way of the below standard job that they are so used to doing. (I swear that the same ham and cheese sandwich, which had been one of my lunches, the same thing since elementary school, has been in my garbage can for around a month.) That goes to say that of course I have stayed overnight and no one noticed that anything was different, except for perhaps the permeating smell of BO that I had acquired from many days of being the first one to arrive in the morning, and the last to leave at night. So as you can see I really don't have any friends, because if you think anyone cared that I was never at home and was knee deep in work, believe me when I say that no cops were called for the missing person's report.

In any case, my actual job isn't that interesting. People drop stacks of paperwork in my inbox, like they are the most important things in the world and I just have to get them done immediately, I stamp them up and put them in my outbox so that they can be left there for two weeks. This stuff is *cough*bullshit*cough*. It's the same old thing every day and it never changes. Never. Never must last forever, especially in my line of lifetime enhancement courses. I have a whole stack of those CDs that promise to enhance your life and make you less socially awkward or something like that, but I guess you can tell how that worked out. I digress.

Now, I am sitting at home, with my cup of tea and lemon, no sugar because it could make me hyperactive, and no one would want that now would we, because even that I can only do in a mediocre fashion. Perhaps I get a small buzz and a bit jumpy, but I do better at the bottom of a bottle. It makes all my worries and cares go away, which is actually a blatant lie, but it's something I would like to believe in, because I don't actually believe in much, if you couldn't tell that already. There is no god, there is no higher power, and there are certainly no supernatural monsters and the like. Now perhaps I should be curling up in my white sheeted bed, with a navy blue comforter including the anchor accents, and crying my unremarkable butt to sleep, because nothing else is going to change today, or tomorrow, or perhaps maybe even the next day, but I think there is a better use of my time putting my head down and getting everyone else's paperwork finished for them. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to that.

This is me

Well I think the title of this post and of my entire blog says it all. I am Joseph Michael Russell, but if you call me that I may just have to break your legs, so just call me Russell, not Russ, or Joe, or anything else for that matter. I am your totally normal kind of guy, with a house and a car that blend in with every other house and car on my street, and I've been working and living in the same place since I graduated college last year. I grew up in a broken family with only my mother, and no other relatives, which is the only odd thing about me I guess you could say, and as for my dad....well we don't really talk about the dead beat. Probably went off and, oh I don't know, traded up for a better looking wife and better behaved kid, and left the test run behind. In any case, everything about me is unremarkable, nothing is special at all....not one thing makes me different from that guy you pass on the street and think, "that stiff/loser/waste of space never has any fun at all". In fact, I am that stiff/loser/waste of space because I never do have fun, I never go out, and I certainly don't have any friends.

"So why start a blog?" you may be asking, because someone like me doesn't seem to have a very interesting life to tell you all about, or even something relevant to say to the world at large, but, you see, I feel I am such a perfect specimen of mediocrity, that perhaps the world should know about someone like me and what I do in my overly normal day to day life. In any case, I am totally unremarkable, perfectly normal, and I highly doubt that anything amazing will ever happen in my lifetime. Call me a pessimist if you'd like, but I prefer to be called a realist.