Yeah, so it has been...two weeks since I last posted? Well listen to a story all about how my life got flipped turned upside down and I'd like to take a minute just sit right there I'll tell you the story of how I lost a week and a half of my life!
So the day after my previous post I walked back to the graveyard. I had gotten some kind of result before, so trying it again seemed like the best move. Now, I think I mentioned before that I've been putting that symbol everywhere I could, and this includes using sticky notes with it drawn on in pen to post in on my scary excursions. When I returned to the graveyard, I didn't see anyone, but I did get a reaction. My note had been drawn on with a sharpy. They used the symbol as an "O" in "STOP." I usually carry a pen with me, so I wrote on the note "Bring it on motherfucker." Now, you're probably reading this thinking, "Wow Roy, you've always had the suicidal impulse to taunt Cthulhu, but this? Really? You're not being cool, you're being a goddamn idiot!" That is all true. If I'd been thinking clearly I probably wouldn't have written anything at all. But try to see it from my side: I've spent the last several months trying to find my best friend in the world, who I've known for ten years of my life, and who's stuck with me through thick and thin. And now I've found a message written by someone who is helping that tall piece of shit keep him away from me. I was beyond angry. How dare they pull this bullshit? How dare they not only screw with my friend, but with hundreds if not thousands of people across the world; killing, infecting, or 'persuading' all who stumble across them? I wrote my response in a fury, and while I'll be the first to admit it wasn't a smart idea, it felt right at the time.
So the next day I walk back to the graveyard carrying my driver. You know, the golf club? Shut the fuck up it's the closest thing I have to a weapon! So anyway, I walk up to the note sticking to the ground. I see there's nothing written in response to my response, so I yell out, "Where are you, you proxy son of bitch? I thought we were gonna fight or something?!" (Again, that was a terrible idea. I have an anger problem, so sue me.) Then I hear something. The sound of shoes crunching leaves as they fast-walked to me. I turn around, and see someone. The guy was a couple inches shorter than me, about average height or a little under. He was fucking ripped though. Seriously, he had largest biceps I have ever seen with my own two eyes. He was wearing a wife-beater (Does that make me his wife? HONEY STOP HURTING ME!) and jeans. I didn't get a look at his face, and guess why. That's right! He had a mask! Really though, it was the laziest mask I have ever seen. It was like a paper-mache face shaped half-circle with two dots for eyes and a neutral mouth. How much does Slendy pay you guys? Can he not afford a uniform? Really, you guys would be way more intimidating if you had a standardized uniform. Nothing too fancy. At least have some sense of consistency! Moving on. After chuckling a bit at the silly cheap mask, it hit me. I mean that both metaphorically and literally. Metaphorically I realized that what he had in his hands was an aluminum baseball bat, while literally it was slammed into by stomach. Have you ever had the wind knocked out of you? I have. Freshman year some douchebag punched me right in the solar plexus, which was the closest I came to fighting until this hear event I've been describing. It hurt. I couldn't breathe, I had no air in my lungs, and the pain from my abdomen was staggering. The same thing being done with a bat is, well, excruciating. I mean it. So I collapse to the ground, grabbing my stomach as I struggle to get some gorram oxygen. Then I see another person. All I saw was his shoes and pants. The shoes were black, expensive, and polished to a shine. I felt kinda bad that he had to walk and dirt and leaves with such nice shoes on. His pants were dress slacks, and while not as nice as his shoes, was still much better than any clothes I've ever worn. Then he spoke. He said, "Please stay out of our affairs. Your friend is gone, and if you do not stop being a nuicance, my friend hear will be back, but this time with a gun. Learn your lesson kid and stay away." The voice was deep, and it sounded like you favorite uncle chastising you for breaking a vase. (That is not me admitting guilt to broken pottery belonging to a relative. You're silly.) Then I saw out of my periferal vision the bat swinging down onto my head.
I woke up yesterday in the local Chico hospital. My parents and sister were there, along with some of my friends. Apparently I suffered a concussion and internal bleeding. I was lucky that I got to the ER so fast, because if I hadn't I would have likely died. They got to me quite quickly, because they got an anonymous call as to my location and injury less than a minute after I lost consciousness. I'm back at school now, typing this up at the library. (No, the laptop is still broken. I should be fixed in about a week.) I'm still mulling over the offer. It seems like they'll leave me alone if I stop, especially because they easily could have killed me but saved me instead. I could live a normal life and get my degree in Astronomy, and move to New York City to work with my idol Neil DeGrasse Tyson. But if I do that, Annex will be all alone. I have to think about this more. Bye.