Fragment

(This is the first part of Chapter 1. My chapters tend to be on the lengthy side- sorry.
Oh, and it's from Jeff's POV. Because for some reason, I think I can insert myself into the mind of a Creepypasta/ Serial Killer with no ill effects.)

I watched her slip out the window, a shadow in a world of shadows. It was clear that she had done this a thousand times, from the way she fell on her feet lightly without a single wobble to the way she started off immediately in one direction, no doubt in her posture or movements. She was dressed in all black, which made it slightly difficult to track her as she wandered down the dark street and ducked into a pitch-black alleyway. Well, pitch black for anyone but a Creepypasta, but that was because we were the denizens of the night. The darkness was our home, our shelter. It welcomed us with the warmth of a mother greeting her child. I moved within the shadows, allowing them to embrace me in a way that no human would ever know. No human, it seemed, but her. The shadows welcomed her eagerly, and I could almost feel their bloodlust. She was up to no good- but then again, none who embraced the night so eagerly were ever up to something good, unless you lived in Gotham City and knew the Batman. 

Thinking of the comics I used to love as a kid brought back memories. Play out front in the street with my brother, Liu- he would be Batman, I would be the Joker. Sometimes the girl next door would join in as Catwoman. We all loved the comics; it made playing that much more fun. Though, now that I thought about it, I often got carried away. Even as a little kid, I’d had a sadistic streak. Nowadays, though, it assimilated itself as the feeling- an unbeatable urge to rip someones throat out and bathe in their blood. The high I got from killing was unrivaled by any drug, alcohol included. It was a rush that I couldn’t get enough of. But this girl… while I’d had the original intention of killing her, her behavior fascinated me. I was curious- what would a teenage girl from an orphanage be doing out and about at eleven at night, wandering down streets in dark but somewhat revealing clothes?

She was pretty in a plain way- pale skin, almost as pale as mine, which had evidently been kissed by more moonlight than sunlight. Her hair was long, dark, and thick, tied back in a braid that ended just below her shoulder blades. Even though she wore fingerless gloves, I could tell that her hands were calloused- evidently, she did a lot of manual labor. She walked with purpose, in a way that made the few men out and about stop and stare. She wasn’t physically pretty, no- but her very presence was powerful. This was a girl who knew who she was, a strutting peacock flaring its feathers. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.

One of the men, a tall but rather round one who had been staggering out of a bar with a group of what seemed to be his friends, noticed her walking by and, with an eagerness rivaled only by me, broke away from his protesting buddies and followed her as she turned the corner into a dark, dead-end alley.

“Hey, li’l la’y, wha’ ya doin’ in a pla’ li’ thi’…” He slurred. She turned to face him, and that’s when I caught her eyes- a dark, bottomless blue, a kind of blue one would usually find in a pair of colored contacts. But she was an orphan- there was no way she’d be able to get her hands on some colored contacts…

Her eyes triggered another memory- I used to have those eyes. Big, blue eyes that had girls falling over me in middle school. ‘They like blue eyes. You’re lucky- my eyes are the color of mud.’ Liu would often tell me. I didn’t see it; but it didn’t matter anymore. My eyes were as black as the shadows that I lived in, a void that swallowed everything they scanned. The whites of my eyes had long gone red with irritation, and even now the burning from exposure was only just bearable.

The drunkard moved closer, and suddenly there was a shift in the way the girl stood- she became a little less proud, her back slumping slightly and her legs bending at the knees, classic signs of fright and submission. The man instinctively saw it, and lunged, his hand reaching for her breasts-

But, quick as a flash, the girl raised her own hand, parrying him away, and used his momentum to swing him past her, into a pile of filthy trash cans.

“Rape is not acceptable in any situation. I should kill you for trying to touch me.” She said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was harsh and filled with unwavering cruelty. Her eyes flashed with violence. The drunkard picked himself up out of the heap of crap and gave her a similar look, before charging again. This time, she let him overtake her, and he fell onto her and immediately, clumsily set to work taking off her clothes. She did nothing save reach into her front pocket and drew out a knife; and as he set to work massaging her breasts, she held it to his throat.

“You know, I was thinking of letting you live. But seeing as you’re not going to stop, not going to listen to the voice of reason screaming in your head to stop, I think I’ll have to kill you.” And in one movement, her knife sunk into the side of his neck, penetrating his Jugular between his spine and his windpipe. It was evident from the way he froze and the way he started gargling on his own blood that she had managed to hit all three vital points, with one stab. Grunting with the effort, she pulled out her knife and was instantly coated in the blood that sprayed from his neck. She waited, patiently, becoming more and more drenched in the mans blood as he took forever to die. When he did stop breathing, she wiggled out from underneath him and, with a strength that no teenage girl should have, effortlessly picked him up and unceremoniously dumped him in a trashcan.

His friends came running around the corner just as she finished cleaning up and immediately noticed that a) she was covered in blood, and b) their friend was nowhere to be seen. Putting two and two together was not difficult for them. “What the fuck did you do to Bill?” One of them demanded.

The girl looked at them with a bored expression. “I put the trash out. I’m surprised you didn’t ever correct this sort of disgusting behavior. Actually… I’m not. I’m sure you also participated- after all, you are all disgusting males with no sense of self-control.”
Two of the three advanced in anger. The third, who was obviously both the scared one and the sane one, got out his phone and dialed 911. “Get me the police- my friend’s just been murdered by a psycho girl!”

The girl, meanwhile, put away her knife and charged towards one of the alleyway walls, effortlessly running up it and gripping at the bottom rung of the fire escape. She wasted no time pulling herself up the ladder while the two men worked as a team to follow her, one lifting the other up to catch the ladder. The one that was up turned to pull his buddy up, but he shook his head. “I’ll slow you down- look, she’s getting away! You’re wasting time- I’ll give the police a description.” Satisfied, the more agile one set off after the girl, who had managed to get to the roof. I followed. I was an observer, not an accomplice- I wanted to see what she would do in the event of being chased by the police.

I was impressed, initially, by her endurance- obviously she wasn’t one of those girls who just sat behind a computer all day and did nothing in the way of athletics. This girl leaped from roof to roof, hopping over obstacles or using them to her advantage. There was little doubt that she lost the man in the first few minutes of the chase, after she got on top of a door that admitted people onto the roof and used the height to get herself to the lower but farther roof across from her. Without the height, I doubt she would have made it; thing was, she landed crooked, and I heard her cry out in pain as her ankle contorted gruesomely. It was broken, without a doubt. Her pursuer didn’t notice that she was on the other roof; the wall that would have protected idiots on the roof from simply walking off the edge hid her from view as she crouched low and tried to twist her ankle back into place, biting on her bottom lip so hard it drew blood as she tried to keep from screaming.

I perched myself nearby, on the wall, and watched. The two of them didn’t see me, since the shadows clung to my form and made me just another part of the night. In short, if I didn’t want them to see me, they didn’t. It was as simple as that.

I fully expected her to get up and get moving the moment she knew her pursuer had lost her. I didn’t expect a… colleague… to intervene.

As usual, his entrance leaned towards dramatic- the mist, the sudden drop in the temperature, the shadows growing. And then he appeared. Tall, thin, wearing that stupid suit of his.

Slendy.

What? I’ve got no respect for the guy. He possesses mundanes and uses them to do his dirty work. That’s what a coward does. And besides, he’s on the opposite side of the war. He and Zalgo had been fighting it out for ages, Zalgo with real ‘Pastas and Slendy with his Proxies.

Wait… proxies…

This girl was a fucking Proxy?!

Slendy knelt next to her, causing her to scoot away and shoot him a dirty look.

“Oh, now you come. I was wondering if you had forgotten about me. Though it would make sense you wouldn’t give me further instructions until my mission was complete.” She hissed. Slendy, as usual, didn’t reply, instead wrapping a hand around her foot. She briefly cried out, but when he removed his hand the foot was back in place, with no sign that it had ever been twisted.

“What are my orders?” She asked. A tentacle grew from his back and touched her forehead. Her eyes glazed over, her face contorting in a frown. Then the moment was over; the tentacle briefly brushed a loose hair out of her face before retracting into his back.

“I don’t understand. The power, the self-control… why did you give me this? Why me?” She asked as he turned to leave. He paused, momentarily, before turning around to face her and touching her forehead with another tentacle.

“That’s not an answer. But if you insist on being vague, I suppose I cannot argue. I am a tool, after all- nothing more.” She did not say this with resignation, but with a power, a bite that would have made most mortal men recoil. This dog, it seemed, was on a very thick leash, and for good reason. Her eyes burned with a fire that drew me as a moth would be drawn to a flame. Who was this girl, a girl who could have such an attitude with a creature that many worshipped as a god, and for good reason?

The tentacle retracted. Slendy made no move to hurt her for her insolence. Instead he retreated into the fog, disappearing.

“Asshole.” She muttered, before looking straight at me.

“I can see you.”

That simple sentence nearly made me fall off the wall. And that would have been a very long way down. Not to mention Jack would have cracked jokes about it for ages if he caught wind of it.

“N…no you can’t… that’s impossible…” I stuttered, stunned.

“Apparently the impossible happens on a daily basis. If you’re not going to kill me, would you at least stop stalking me?” She got up from her hiding spot just as I caught the sound of police sirens.

“No can do, dollface. You’re interesting, for a Proxy.” I admitted with a smirk. She rolled her eyes.

“It’s Rosa. Now piss off.”

That made me mad. “Do you want me to fucking end you?”

“Go ahead. I’ve beaten a few Pastas. They were mostly minor ones, though. I don’t think I’d be able to win a fight with Jeff the Killer. You’d be too strong.” She started for the wall, analyzing the alleyway that laid below it, before hopping over it. With the grace and skill of a gymnast, she managed to hop on the windowsills and land safely. I simply fell, not wanting any theatrics. Falling like this wouldn’t hurt me- very little in the way of simple physics could hurt me. Unless it was a ‘Pasta using those physics against me. Then I’d be screwed.

I landed in a roll and took off after her. She hadn’t wasted any time to sprint off, in an effort to get away from me. As the cop cars turned the street corner, however, she ducked into another alleyway, which fed onto another street.

Thing was, she wasn’t headed back to the orphanage. She was heading away from it.

“Where the hell are you going? You don’t wander when the big players are out and about, you know! Not all of them are as generous as I am, you know!” I called after her. She didn’t listen; there were more men on this street, so she once again threw up the ‘I’m the best bitch in town and I know it’ façade. Which was starting to piss me off more than intrigue me. All eyes turned to face her- men in lust and interest, women in jealousy. It was surprising that someone so plain could hold so much attention. 

(So yeah, comment if you want to. I'm interested in what you guys have to say.)

SO I'm thinking about doing something idiotic...

Just a question-

If I posted a fragment from a Fear Mythos/Creepypasta (crossover?) story I'm working on, would anybody be willing to read it, or comment on it?

It's based around the (mis)adventures of Rosa, an orphan who just happens to be one of Slenderman's three Elite Proxies (The other two being, of course, Masky and Hoody. It's practically a given.). She's given a set of abilities that far surpass the other Proxies, gets privileges (Such as, but not limited to, mouthing off at her boss) and is an overall very strong character in a world where such people are generally the Fears themselves.
and then it all goes to hell.
She goes down with it, make no mistake. She loses her statues as a Proxy and all of the benefits that came with it; she loses bits of her sanity as time goes on, due to the fact that the world around her is complete and utter Chaos; and while she manages to weather the storm for a while with the aid of a certain soft-hearted Creepypasta and a certain Jerkass Creepypasta who's often seen by his fans as a Draco in Leather Pants, she eventually loses their support too. 
For those of you who don't believe me when I say that Jeff the Killer's a Draco in Leather Pants-

From this link.

I don't think my point could be any stronger.
The first chapter is currently under the scrutiny and editorial pen of K (who I would trust with writing my will if it came to it).
(It'll probably come to that.)
 And the sweet one's Eyeless Jack. personally, I've always seen him as sort of kind (relatively speaking) considering this- he could have killed his victims and had at all of their organs, including the ones they would have needed in life- heart, lungs, liver, uterus (mention that because, unless it's a surgery performed by a very skilled surgeon, most removals of the uterus end in death of the patient due to internal bleeding and trauma to the organs around it ((it's nestled snugly between the intestines and the bladder, two organs you really don't want to damage)). It's no wonder Jack the Ripper killed his victims before taking theirs.), and, most importantly, the brain. Instead, he opts to take one of their kidneys, while they're asleep, and leave no trace except a neat row of stitches. following this headcannon, the one guy who allegedly did die from EJ woke up in the middle of surgery, freaked out, and moved around while that very sharp scalpel was still inside of him.
moron.
EJ (that's his name from now on, get over it) defines himself as neutral in the war between the Fears and the Creepypastas over our universe (which is gushing with victims and entropy, which both the Fears and the Creepypastas need to survive). Jeff's Zalgo's lieutenant- against his will, since he's the most widely known of the Creepypastas (as far as I can tell, at least...) and has an easier time spreading fear and chaos than most of the other Creepypastas (and that chaos isn't always derived from fear, either. his mobile harem seems to cause it wherever they go, too.)

That's the gidst of it. I'm trying not to spoil much, but I'll tell you this, and let you make of it what you will-
Rosa is most definitely not a Mary Sue.
 the universe I have placed her in does not bend to her will.
she is not worshiped by the other characters.
she is no more capable as a Proxy than her fellow Elites.
She is, in fact, very weak and vulnerable when she loses her Proxy status, and because of this she subsequently heavily relies in EJ and Jeff to protect her and help her when she's in a tight scrap- and Jeff only complies because Zalgo told him that he could keep Rosa as his immortal pet and torture victim if she dies of natural causes. EJ does it because he genuinely likes Rosa as a little sister.
She suffers from things like starvation, dehydration, and PTSD during her tenure as a regular person in a world that has been completely been overrun by the entities she used to serve and the ones she used to fight with every fiber of her being. at the end of it all, she's exhausted, alone, and perfectly willing to die without regretting it.
She doesn't have a mysterious source of income- she works as a prostitute and an information broker in the daytime, and often loots her victims when working as a Proxy. College? She earned a substantial scholarship to the local community college for her excellence in athletics, particularly Martial Arts and Track and Field, as well as her (hard earned) excellent grades. between studying for College, her jobs as a prostitute and an information broker, and her Proxy work at night, she's often suffering from sleep deprivation.
Oh, and the director of the orphanage she's staying at (it's set in the future where orphans can't leave the orphanage without being adopted, fostered, or with the expressed permission of the director) likes having his way with her every once in a while, which only adds to her list of problems. as well as the usual consequences- she often has to drop a pay-per-session class at college to pay for an abortion, or treatment (or cure, it's set in the future after all) for yet another STD that he's transmitted to her that could get her fired from her job as a prostitute (which is often the source of the STDs, too).

because of all of this, Rosa's very cynical, sarcastic, and serious all of the time- unless she's trying to screw with someone for information that she can then either report to Slenderman or sell on the black market. Pragmatism is practically her lifestyle- whereas other teenagers her age (she's nineteen) have all sorts of high-tech, updated gadgets with the latest features, the only electronics she has are an old radio that hasn't stopped working in the entire time it's been in her possession (which is her only reason for replacing anything) and a laptop that was made in the 2000s (the story is set circa 2050, so expect a few new technologies to crop up once in a while) that's chipped around the corners and sometimes displays the Blue Screen Of Death. (She 'persuades' the robotics professor at the college to fix it when it does that.) She has no phone, no video game platforms, no car, no motorcycle (although she's taught herself through observation how to hotwire and operate one), and no television set. She doesn't put much faith into the vague hope that someone will come and rescue her when things get bad, mostly due to the fact that no one ever does.
She has no social life, due to the fact that she perpetually views the people around her as sheep being herded by the various cruel shepherds that are the Fears and Creepypastas. because of this, she's shunned by the people around her- and even, at times, bullied by her fellow college kids who are both jealous of her grades (despite her background), and disturbed by her 'freakish' behavior.

So yeah, that's Rosa. Definitely far from the Mary Sue territory. I tried as hard as I could with her on this issue. If you have any suggestions, do advise. if it's flames, I'm going to go get the fire extinguisher.

She's not kidding about that. 

... So that's where you've been.

Sorry, I got bored of just listening to Minerva drone on and on and on about how Lucius is bad news, I shouldn't be drooling over a guy with no body, blah blahblah blahblah....

Right. And I'm a fairy princess. what's your real reason for assimilating here, and blocking my attempts to delete your text?

I'm bored as FUCK, what more do you want from me?

I'm sorry, this post is going to have to end here.

Creepypasta/ Fear theory

I've read quite a few blogs, and done a bit of side research in my spare time on the topic of physics and Creepypastas. I've come up with my own, semi-complicated theory to explain their 'power'. I give you permission to use it (I encourage you to use it as long as you credit me with the theory, and send me a link to your story, which I might be then in the mood to edit so you can understand the theory better).

The Theory

basically, The Fears and the Creepypastas both have their separate universes. some of the Fears are so influential on the cosmic scale that they've created their own dimension- Slendy has the Path, the Convocation the Bleak Shore, just to name the two I can think of off the top of my head (and then there's the City, which is in and of itself a completely different universe). These dimensions 'bumped' into ours, and fused in some areas. remember this- I'm not in my College's offered physics class, so bear with me here. I'm taking a little artistic license here.

No S**t. 

Shut up Dementia. let me work.
These Universes have become stuck to ours, in a sense, and their denizens are fueled by our Chaos. our entropy levels, if you will, make them stronger. Say, Slendy decides that he's going to burn down a neighborhood. a few Runners and/or people who knew what he was lived in that neighborhood when it burned down, and so to add insult to injury, he would have his proxies spray paint the operator symbol all over the place. just to drive home the fact that it was Him who did it, not some freak accident. not only would panic, chaos, death, destruction, and overall mayhem ensue, but the Runners/ Knowledge sponges would, in a way, spread the word that He had been behind it. which would spread belief of him and strengthen him through the Tulpa effect as well as through the Chaos. Fun.

for another example, let's use Jeff. (Though this would be a bad example- his rabid/ mentally retarded fangirls would probably tone down the chaos a bit. just a bit...) Say he decides on a whim to terrorize a college dormitory. (like mine, for example. we've got quite a few parties going on here at the moment.) He shows up, screws around, makes a few corpses, and causes general mayhem, which would only increase his strength and power. He'd be getting high not only off of the rush of killing people, but the rush of power that it subsequently caused.

Jeff loved doing that. Though college dorms weren't really his place to hang out. 

Yes, thank you Dementia for giving us that little tidbit.

Speaking of 'Pastas...

That guy was back. And he looked an awful lot like Jeff. I swear it's him. 

It's not Jeff, Dementia. don't get your hopes up.

but what if it is...?

Then I'm screwed even if I do start to sleep with my favorite Desert Eagle underneath my pillow, safety off and magazine fully loaded with bullets. and a baseball bat to boot. My dormmate doesn't really enjoy the fact that I'm so paranoid, but since she usually stumbles back here either drunk or with a hangover, she's never much in a mood to complain.

Oh, that brings me to theory #2-

They can't fucking die.

Yes, I uncensored that for a reason. I've got a sailor's tongue, but that cuss seemed necessary.

Basically, if they're drawing their very power from our entropy levels, then they can't die. because we as a species (and the earth as a complete system) are usually in complete turmoil, always looking for something to blow each other up over or revolt over. As it is, that energy sustains them, and keeps them going. it also explains why almost nothing seems to work against Slendy- he's got nothing to fear from us, because he can't die. He's just a little camera shy, and must have a thing against being caught in the act. or maybe that's an act, to spread around the Operator symbol, something that immediately brings him to mind and spreads belief in him.
as I can attest to. someone decided it would be funny to decorate one of the campus corridors with the Operator Symbol after seeing it underneath my dormroom window. It wasn't against the rules- we'd been decorating the campus for Halloween, but still... I freaked.

A few others freaked out worse than she did. I think they're Runners.

How many times must I tell you Dementia... these theories are for creatures that don't even exist! You lot don't exist! Jeff doesn't exist! Slendy doesn't exist!

You've got a lot to learn about the universe you live in, Mother. 

don't call me that! it makes me feel old.

mother...

f**k you.