Inferno-Part Three

     I've been losing time at a terrible pace.  How long has it been since my last update?  When I woke up this morning, I was at the edge of the woods about a mile from my motel.  I think I was sleepwalking, but one can never be too sure.  I haven't seen him in the past couple of weeks.  I haven't seen him, but I can feel him watching me and that is almost worse.  If there's a bee in the room, one wants to see it.  Every flicker in my peripheral vision, every shadow that crosses my window, every sudden noise as the motel rooms settle.  And it is so cold all the time, so very cold.  Whenever I wake up, there are small icicles or frost spiderwebbing across the window panes.  This is California; it's not supposed to...

Happy Valentine's Day

     Some of you may have noticed my absence this past...has it been a week?  I'm not really sure.  It's been surreal; time has been passing as if in a dream.  The rest of the comic will be posted tomorrow and the days following; I have been delayed in drawing them due to my new hectic schedule. 
     When I last posted, I was staying at a motel around Larkspur.  It was a decent place, but the light switches never worked when I tried to use them.  I stayed there a short time only, wanting to stay ahead of my paranatural pursuer.  I didn't get very far.  I started receiving the "gifts" the morning after arriving at the  second motel.  Little bags of gore, dead rats mostly, tied sometimes with the sinew of the unfortunate doner. Each one was gutted completely, no intestines. They would be on the nightstand when I awoke.  No matter where I fled, they would always be there in the morning.  It has been busy moving about, and I do hope you will forgive my silence. 
     There was a special "gift" today, albeit I doubt it had relation to the holiday.  Upon waking, I was relieved to find no trace of a bag in my room.  My mood changed when I opened the blinds.  As it is February, the trees outside had yet to put on the trappings of spring but they were not naked.  The collective intestines of each small animal I had been sent festooned the branches.  It is interesting to note that I have not seen him since my unfortunate departure, the details of which I'll present through the comic.  Suffice it to say that I did a stupid thing, and...I suppose I'm marked now, not that I wasn't before.  But since then, I have had no respite from the oppressive sensation of being watched, especially when I sleep.  The dreams are almost too much to handle.  I don't want to hear her scream any more, nor feel the long-dead grasp of her small hands at my throat.  I've finally refilled my medication.  It's a type of anti-hallucinogen that suppresses my dreams and balances out my serotonin levels to reduce the anxiety that causes the hallucinations.  I'm not pleased with the results.  Everything, wake or sleep, moves at the pace of a rosy fever-dream.  I think I've been loosing time.  I should call my doctor and see what to do about that side effect...
     Today was the day Margot died, ten years ago.  I think that was the occasion for the "gift".  It was her voice on the phone, and I've been getting calls over the hotel lines...
     I think...I think there is something I am not remembering, something buried under a protective layer of ice in my subconscious, something churning just beneath the surface now.  Should I try to remember?  Is that what he wants?  Maybe it's better if I just let it drown in the deluge of years...

     It's funny.  None of the light switches work here, either...

Inferno-Part Two

     I don't know how fast I can crank these out.  I'm in a motel for now, and haven't seen him since yesterday (the day of the subject of these comics), but after what happened, I don't think I can stay here for too long.  I'm already making arrangements to leave.

Inferno-Part One

    
     Today has been quite an adventure.  I only have time to upload the first part, and the motel's scanner cut a bit off the right side.  Ah well, I'm lucky the motel had a scanner at all. 

Hen To Pan

     We now take a break from your regularly scheduled self-central blogging to bring you a song dedication.  This one goes out to The Community at large, with special regards to one Avalesca Farrell-Conquest of London Librarian fame.  One of the things that most impresses me about you guys is how close-knit a community you are.  Everyone goes through their hours of darkness, but everyone else is right there with love and support.  I know I am a newcomer to all of this (I rather feel as if I am butting into someplace I don't belong), but I want to add my own Warm Feelings (tm) to the mix.  Cheesy, I know, but there you go.

Many hearts to you all,
~Ouroboros.
One is the All

Playdate

     0-737-2867 Called again.  I thought I'd blocked the number yesterday, but it still got through.  Checking the numbers against the corresponding letters on my cell phone gave me a chuckle.  But the message is worrying; the little girl's voice almost definitely belongs to Margot.  How is that being achieved?  I'm going to guess an excellent bit of mimicry. 

There is a tone of tense apprehension to this day.  I am waiting for the other shoe to fall.

It Only Makes Me Laugh

Delia’s head was in the refrigerator.  I was going to get a bottle of tea and there it was, staring forlornly up at me from the crisper.  I turned around and caught a glimpse of him at the window.  It was then that the police knocked on my door to interview me.    

You may wonder why I’m not more perturbed by this.  The thing is, aside from the initial shock of things. I’m not really that afraid.  Anxious, yes.  But since the anxiety disorder stopped being a problem (and even during its hayday, on occasion) I’ve always faced stressful situations numbly as a challenge to overcome.  I can freak out after everything’s all over.  Whether ‘over’ consists of escape or death, I don’t know.  Quite frankly, I intend to live a while but I wouldn’t be surprised if I died.  It’s happened to stronger people than me, after all.  Whatever happens, happens.

I closed the door to the fridge and let the cops in.  They weren’t there long.  I had a Tell-Tale Heart moment where I was convinced that the fridge door would magically spring open, or the officers would smell something off, but I managed to not look at it once.  I answered all of their questions, and they left.  As the door shut, one of the officers asked me to “Give us a heads up if you hear anything.”  When they were gone, I collapsed with laughter.  I really don’t know if it was the terrible, unintentional pun, or a form of stress-release, but I’ll take it.  I checked the refrigerator again, and Delia’s head was gone.  Of course.  I expect he might use it to try to incriminate me again, but I’m not going to crystal ball. 

Things do seem to be escalating. I have yet to see a corporeal Hallowed/Proxy.  I’m expecting things to get violent soon.  Call it ‘justified paranoia’.  If that becomes the case, I have a few things hidden away in a varnished wood toolbox.  I’m not banking on their success, but it’s better than nothing.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to put on some Oingo Boingo and get my homework done.