Friday, January 28, 2011

Going to the city went well. Or at least, I'm still not in jail.

I think that's just about the only good news.

Looking through the records, I found sixteen Marys that could have lived here in the late seventies and early eighties. After that, I might as well have tried looking for a needle in a haystack. Without a last name and a present-day appearance, I'm up creek without a paddle.

On recommendation, I tried looking through Methodist files, both on and offline. If there was a Mary, her record had been gone lone ago, because I could not find a single one. No Marys anywhere. Not in this area, anyway. Or at least, I'm not finding her record anywhere from this area.

I search and I search, but I continue to have no luck, and I'm just continually getting frustrated. Dead end after dead end. It's like I'm just running around in circles. I think I find a lead, and then before I know it I'm right back where I started. I've never felt more helpless in trying to solve a case in my entire life. Just once I want a fucking break. Is that too much to ask? Just one break so I can keep some people from dying just a little while long-

Alright, I'm back. My throat started bothering me mid-rant, so I figured I'd just get up and take my medicine in the hopes that it would cool me down just a little bit. It tastes like shit, and my throat feels like it's on fire for a few extra minutes, but eventually it cools down and I relax.

Some people walk away from a fight carrying all sorts of scars. Bullet scars, knife scars, scars from bits of gravel that slapped him in the face at high velocity. Some have scars on their chest, some on their back, some wear theirs right on their face. Some try to hide them out of shame or some personal reason; others openly wear them as symbols of pride.

I have two scars. Neither of which are visible. Neither of which I'm proud of.

My throat.

And my mind.

My throat feels like it's constricted every moment of the day. My windpipe feels like there's broken glass in it. My larynx feels crushed. My voice is not really my voice anymore; it's just a low, raspy croak that is more than I can muster most days. Other days, all I can do is whisper. Long monologues usually result in a coughing fit. Even short sentences put me in pain. I feel like I'm massaging my throat constantly, trying to make it less irritated. The medicine provided to me by my contacts is really the only thing that helps it. Even that's not permanent.

My mind...well, I really don't think I need to explain that one. You've all seen the examples of that. Saying things that don't make sense. Ambiguous one-liners. There was a period of time that I had a constant laughing fit. I developed a twitch in my head that still hasn't entirely gone away. Paranoia. Delusions. Random moments of schizophrenia, or at least, I suspect there was. I don't really know for sure. I'm not a shrink.

Eventually I got better. During those years as a kid that I couldn't sleep, my mother found a way that helped a little. She would read me nursery rhymes and old children's poems. Goldilocks, Little Red Riding Hood, Three Little Bears, Humpty-Dumpty...all those old stories that kids grew up with. Reciting them puts me at ease, for some reason or another. It took me a while, but eventually I got there.


Not completely, though.

...Alright, well, I've ranted just a little bit too much. Point of the story, there's no Mary. Not the one I'm looking for, anyway. Or if she did exist, she dropped off the map a long time ago.

God damn it...


  1. In the last post, I commented about how you should try using an aging software to see if you can determine what Mary would look like now. Ava was kind enough to post a link to free software. That may be your best bet at this moment to try and find her.


  2. Why thank you Lucien, I'll repost it:


    As far as I can say about you wanting a break....

    We all do. You probably deserve more than most, but the cosmos apparently has better things to do and they probably involve vapid Hollywood actors and actresses.

    The Nursery Rhymes....make sense actually. I've found that those basic things from childhood seem to, not stop him, but they *do* afford some kind of safety. (I told my Mum the day I saw him and slept with the lights on and music blaring. I'm not even ashamed to say it. I have yet to have a visit *inside* my home.)

    ....If you were perfectly sane after going to a warehouse and fighting that bastard, I don't think a single one of us would trust you.

    Anyway, I'm rambling now. At least you're alive and still fighting the fucker.

    The Scientist

  3. Don't give up, Zeke. There has to be a lead in here somewhere. Just because the needle's in a haystack doesn't mean it stopped existing. It's just difficult to find.

    And I agree with Ava, about your sanity. If anything I think it makes you just that more badass and lovable. Somehow. ;D

    Sorry to hear about your throat...I don't know anything else that could help you. But if I think of something...

    Maybe Mary doesn't exist anymore, but something of hers might? Maybe even a relative? Of course, that also requires knowing her last

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  5. First time commenter here, wish I could do more to help. A good suggestion on how to relax is to get a decent game that lets you kill stress by blowing crap up.

    I personally suggest Just Cause 2, but that's just me.

    though I do have a question or two. I've looked through your past blogs, but I've not been able to find anything regarding it. Fisk claims that you've killed someone, and left their body in the garage. Though why an FBI agent would bother updating a blog with potentially compromising information on an ongoing case is beyond me.

    Regardless, I do want to ask one thing. Are you sure about what you saw? About what you did?

    Several other people who have gotten into this seem to be having trouble at times discerning what is real, and what is not. It wouldn't seem too impossible that you are hallucinating at times. Perhaps the person was planted by Fisk, perhaps you did kill whoever it was and simply didn't 'see' him/her.

    I'm not trying to insult, mind. Just, try and second guess yourself. Double check everything, make sure the person that you're going to shoot at is in fact, who he is.

    From what I've been able to tell, and research, cameras seem to be one of the few things He who shall not be named, cannot **** with easily. He can distort it, he can ruin the picture, but he cannot hide himself from it. A simple cheap digital recorder could allow you to look through it and see if whats going on is in fact happening.

    By all means however, if it is a life or death situation, follow your gut instinct, but if you can, get that camera and double check it. Claim its for a documentary, or that you're one of those people with short term memory problems.

    Sorry for rambling on.
    P.S. Sorry about the deleted comment, fixing spelling errors and a few badly written sentences

  6. Um, hello. I may be new to this sort of thing but I'm sorry you couldn't find what you were looking for. I'm sure you see all sorts of new faces all the time, so I know this isn't anything out of the ordinary for you.

    To be honest I'm not entirely sure what to say at this point. I would ask for help, but then again what's happened is something I should handle on my own. So instead I guess my question is, can I help you? I don't really see myself as being that useful in the long run, but if you ever pass through Georgia I have room if you need a place to stay.

    It's sad, and I hate to say it, but nursery rhymes make me jump now. I wish they could be nice and simple and soothing, but these days they're rather frightening to me. Oh shoot- wait, I'm rambling about myself again. That was not the point of all this.

    Scars are painful things to carry, whether they're mental or physical. But if you let others help you then they don't feel as much of a burden like you thought they were. I've been slowly reading up on your other blog, and I'm sorry all of this happened to you. It doesn't change anything, apologies never do, but I still am.

    As for having one crayon short of the box, well, I figured most everyone in this situation is. The amount of things that people seem to have gone through and seen, it would be insane not to have some affect on your personalities and minds. I'm not looking forward to anything that will inevitably be thrown at me in the future, but when I look at you all I think that I can handle it because everyone else could for the most part. Oh, sorry, I'm looking back at this and realizing I was getting pretty dramatic and sappy there.

    I'll try and lighten the mood. I know you're unhappy with all of this, but try to think of things that cheer you up. It helps...sort of. Okay I'm going to stop typing while I'm ahead- this post is kind of ridiculous and pointless. Just...nice to meet you Mr. Strahm. My name is Cathy Delmont (as you can probably guess from my username). I hope you stay safe and be sure to take care of yourself.

  7. Ive said this oce, and ill say it again.


  8. Whatever happened at the warehouse obviously fucked him royally. He'll talk about it when/if he's ready. If something had happened there that would help us fight it, he would have said so.

    Wish I could help you out Zeke, but the best I can do right is say good luck. Bumps in the road happen, but don't give up. Something has got to give with this.

  9. Hi there I hope that you will keep fighting and defeat that bastard. I'm also commenting because I need your help. Read my blog and If you have some advice (maybe you heard about similar story ) please grant it to me... I wish you good luck Zeke.

    PS. Sorry if my English is lame I'm doing my best but i make mistakes pretty often

  10. Excuse me, but exactly why did you make a new blog?

  11. Like Zeke said, Hime. Probably also because the feds got a bead on his last one. With all the grand help they seem to be providing the Runners, it's probably for the best that he leave as few traces on ST as possible.

    Keep on truckin', Zeke. You're probably the strongest Slendervic I've ever seen, most notably because you refuse to let yourself become a victim. Your determination will be your greatest asset. Keep at it. You'll find this Mary girl, I'm sure of it.

    Not sure if it makes much difference to you, but I've got you in my thoughts and prayers, Mr. Strahm. Kick the skinny dude's arse.
    ~The Quick

  12. I find it so amazing what the human mind can do. People created this monster and they can stop it too, collective conscience is a very powerful thing. That's how you'll stop him. The only way you can.

    Also, as much as I hate to say this...I don't think there just one of him. I think all of you are being, pursued is a good word, by a Slenderman of your own making and that the others simply stay around and find new people to hunt. And the FBI is just making things far worse than they need to be. But, then again they've always been rather useless anyway. Most law enforcement is in cases like this. Except you Zeke.

    And, Zeke? It's good to see your alive and more than kicking. You too M. Been following you and M for a couple of months now and...well I'm sorry this happened to the both of you, but apologies don't make things like this better. I'm still sorry all the same though. Sorry this thing came into existence at all, really. But then humanity always has been too creative for it's own good...humans created it and they can stop it. You've just got to know that you can. Don't give up on the girl Zeke, and stay strong, all of you that are running stay strong and be safe.

    ~Selina: The Demon in Plain Sight

  13. Beware strange medications, Zeke. I know this was a month ago but still, as a student of other cases involving the thin white douche you should know that strange medications can be a very bad thing. Just be very aware of what you're ingesting.

    Also, if you're not finding ANY Marys in the area then someone is hiding something from you. Mary is a very common name. There should be someone, even someone unrelated.