Locked

Well we're locked in and everyone else is locked out. Because more fears have arrived that are better deaths than the one awaiting me. So death is certain and our defense is metal shutters.

Brightside... With no ins or outs the record work should be easier. I'll probably still have stuff to do with people dying but otherwise no work. I just get to stay here and lament my existence and watch him as he watches me. I hope we still have alcohol cause with nothing to do I'm intent on getting as drunk as possible.

Preparing

I just finished stitching up some rather grievous injuries, and we're on lockdown?

I have no idea if I have enough supplies here.  We've been somewhat taxed lately.  I hope I have enough.

I wish I could call Jackie.  I just...I know, things have gone well, so far.  I know nothing has catastrophically failed.  But, I have a very real feeling that my skills are soon going to be taxed to their limit, and I don't really know what to do.

I just feel stress creeping into me.  I'm afraid I'll crack again, like I did after...after my first major failure.

...I can't dwell on that.  I have to stay firm.  Hopefully, these people won't need me, but if they do, I'll be ready.

State of Lockdown

Over the course of the past week, we have had the threat of Ruby Tuesday, the appearance of a Willing Doll (which Curtis tells me is no longer a problem), and now the appearance of the Choir. Two of our guests tried to go outside, only to be violently ill just stepping out the front door.

So it's time for a lockdown. We haven't needed it until now, not when the Dying Man piece was still here, but now we do.

I've locked all the doors and the windows and shut all the metal shutters that I installed when we reopened. I've brought out all of the food and water I've been stockpiling, because I am a paranoid motherfucker and I knew this day would come.

The basement is open. Any guests that are here are free to stay there for the duration of the attack. I'm not sure it's any safer than their rooms at the moment, but it may give them an extra sense of safety, so what the hell.

The cameras I installed outside are still working. They may not be soon, but at least for now, I can see what's happening. I know what's coming.

And I know it's not just the black-and-white monitor making those people's skin look grey.

More Visitors

Three more visitors just arrived. One man and two women. They looked like they were in an awful hurry to get here. (Perhaps they think we're still under some protection. Oh, well, the other guests disabuse them of that notion quickly.)

Things are still a little tense here. I think Alyssa and Curtis are on the verge of leaving -- although they keep trying to "help" and fix the stuff that inevitably breaks around them. And Sheryl is...well, I think Sheryl is okay. I haven't seen her around that much lately, but whenever I think she's left, I see her sitting in her room, staring at her creepy doll.

And now we have more visitors added to the mix.

I think I'm just tired. I need to get some rest.

See you all in the morning.

Fun Fact

I'm still alive. I know how worried you all must have been.

I'm pretty sure I wasn't infected either.

By the sex or the operation I mean. I've been bed ridden for a while though... Good thing my hiding place is within arms reach from the bed. Still I'm worried one of the guests might have spotted the card before I woke and hid it... I recovered a bit ago actually but when I tried to leave my room I ended up opening the door to see The Black Dog standing right outside my door. I'm pretty sure it was on it's way to go mess with one of Sheryl's group and it was just a coincidence but still seeing it standing there I decided to just go back to bed for another few days.

Anyways more important topics. My time out has severely messed with my job. I have no idea who's arrived or left anymore and the records are a mess. In fact I'm pretty sure I've missed out on quite a bit. Apparently Ruby's back and I have no clue how I wasn't aware of that... Guess I've been preoccupied with my own problems.

So anyways the only important aspect of this post is there are going to be no accurate records kept of the time between this post and my last post.

Thanksgiving

Sorry for not posting. It's been a bit busy this month. We've had a bit of trouble -- I'm sure Ivory has been posting about the operation done on Sheryl to remove the Red Cap from her blood. I'm still not sure if it really worked or not, as I haven't seen much of Sheryl around lately.

We had Thanksgiving yesterday. It was the traditional Thanksgiving for the Raw Youth Hostel: pizza. If it's just us, we'll get two pizzas; since we had a number of other runners staying, we got a total of six pizzas. And one salad, for anyone who was vegan. Oh, and a shitload of beer.

The dinner was fine, nothing particularly notable happened. I have to say, though, that the hostel seems to be bouncing back from its bad reputation -- we've gotten a lot more runners in here this month than I expected. We're still having trouble, though: Ruby Tuesday still lurks outside and I have heard sightings of the Black Dog.

During Thanksgiving, however, I noticed one runner, a young woman in a hoodie, was being very careful about covering up her arms. I got a few glimpses of scars, indicating that she was Scarlet-marked. I didn't want a repeat of the last time the Scarlet-marked came here, so I decided to talk to her, but she wasn't here this morning. She had left. Which, I guess, is good. We don't want more trouble.

Nerves

I have a major operation to perform soon.

I must replace all of the blood in a person.  Sheryl.  It's my task to replace as much of her blood as I can with untainted blood.  If this works...we may have a way to save others like her.  However...there's no way to tell if it will or not.

I'm not sure how I feel about performing this operation.

I've been doing better, but...  I had a rather tense conversation with Alyssa the other day.  The outcome was very confusing and very troubling, and to be honest I'm not sure if it made me feel better or worse.  There was some catharsis in it, though.  I suppose that will have to do.

The transfusions start tomorrow.  I should get some rest.  I haven't been sleeping the best lately, I want to be in my best possible form.

I hope this works.

Blood donation.

So I'm gonna be donating some of my blood to help Sheryl and her buddies.

Yes Sheryl the bitch I was just complaining about in my last post and all my previous posts since she showed up. So why am I helping her out?

Well  a number of reasons.

No one regardless of how much of a bitch they are deserves to be the plaything of one of the creatur- Ahahahahaha... I couldn't finish that statement...

Nah the real reasons.

One: Hopefully if I do this thing her and the others will leave sooner.

Two: Nothing I do could actually make life worse for me so why not just do whatever.

Three: I was paid in advance for services rendered. Regardless of how much of a dick I might seem I'm honorable and if I've already been paid I can't change my mind.

What kind of payment you may ask... Well if you've been paying attention you can probably guess.

No not money.

I'll give your simple minds a few seconds to work it out.

I'm sure you're all reading this with stunned faces now so let me explain why I'd be willing to accept such a payment even though I hate her.

She's a bitch but she's an attractive bitch.

I... Am not exactly handsome. Especially now a days. I don't sleep much or pay much attention to hygiene issues. So I'm not ashamed to say that if I get that kind of an offer from an attractive woman I don't care much who she is.

Like I said can't get worse.

You know what I love?

Ingratitude.

Of course I'm being sarcastic.

I'm sure all my adoring fans out there in The blogosphere (What can I say Record Keepers are like Rock Stars to these people) saw my little conversation with Sheryl shortly after the death?

Well I'm not normally one to air my grievances in public but she is really getting on my nerves now.

After her outburst got slapped down by my obviously superior argument me and her didn't really talk. Which was all good with me and now she's bedridden and I haven't even had to see her around. Seems perfect.

Get this though! Apparently after we were nice enough to take her and her buddies in and try, obviously not hard enough but still, to save her friend she's repaying us by not paying us. That's right she has not paid any of the rent for her or her friend's stay since the whole reappearance of Ruby, Sal was talking about earlier. If I was in charge I'd of kicked them out after the first failure to pay but I guess Sal is a better but less financially minded man than I and he hasn't kicked them out yet. She probably thinks that with her friend's death and her problems she can get away with things like this.

Well listen here. This is not a charity. It's a business. We run because people are willing to pay. It's not like we charge much. I mean all our clientele are penniless runners and they all manage to pay. There is no excuse at all for you to not pay what you owe.

You're preying on Sal's good nature and it sickens me.

The Worst Doctor

I have just advised an alcoholic patient to continue destroying herself rather than stop altogether.

Yes, it may be healthier for her to wean herself off slowly, especially given the circumstances, but I can't help but to second guess every decision I make lately.  I've not been sleeping well.  Fortunately, I've gone from spending all my time studying to simply sobbing.

Sal has tried to speak with me.  I've brushed him off.  I brushed everyone off that hasn't come to me for help.  I know, yes, I'm not the first doctor in history that has ever lost a patient.  I know Blair won't...probably won't be the last.

But what if I told Sheryl the wrong thing?  What if this is a huge mistake?  What if my advice...what if it kills her too?

I've spoken with...a friend, about this.  She says I'm being too hard on myself, and maybe I am, but aren't doctors supposed to be on a higher standard than others?  We take peoples' lives into our hands.  Aren't we supposed to work hard to be worthy of that task?  Am I still worthy of it?

I don't know.  I don't know what to think anymore.  If I can lose so much confidence in myself over losing just one patient...how can I persist in a job like this?

Cremation

Did you know that, with the proper legal permits, an open air pyre is actual legal in Colorado? In Creston, a group actually performs 12 "open-air cremations" a year.

Of course, this won't be out in the open and it isn't exactly legal. As I stated before, I've known a few lone wolves - included one man who built a crematory in his shed in order to burn the bodies of servants he killed. He ended up going a kind of crazy and threw himself into the crematory one Sunday morning.

I've only used it a few times before - usually for cases where a runner dies and his friends don't want any police involvement.

And tonight I'm going to have to light it up again and watch the flames burn hotter and hotter.

And then we'll say goodbye to Blair.


Addendum: I'm slightly worried about Ivory. Last time I saw her, she had bags under her eyes, like she wasn't sleeping. I knocked on her door and she barely noticed me, so intensely was she reading her book, one of those big, thick medical textbooks.

I'm try talking to her some more, but I don't really know how I can help anyone these days.

Trouble With a Capital T

Ruby's back. Probably because of our lack of protection. I've seen her a few times now, just sort of waiting outside, sitting on benches and at street corners.

And that's not all. Alyssa and Curtis and their friend Sheryl are still here. I'm giving them leeway, because their friend died and I know how hard it must be for them. Still, I have a troubling feeling whenever I see them, especially Sheryl and that creepy doll that she sometimes leaves around. And Alyssa broke one of the doors, I think.

In any case, as long as they don't bring any trouble, I'm letting them stay.

No Sleep

Been catching up on reading instead of sleep - don't think I can sleep on a night like tonight anyway. In any case, I found that our guests have their own blog and I've been getting to know them through their words. It's somewhat strange, getting to know a person after they are dead. Like discovering a treasure you know has been destroyed.

I almost wrote 'destoryed' there. As if, instead of dying, they had just been taken out of the story...

Another dead person and how the hell does one put a horse on a record?

So a bunch of new people showed up.

Normal occurrence...

Except we don't know what they're running from so have to makr them all down as unknown which means special precautions.

One of them was like incredibly injured and died shortly afterward so had to add them set up the precautions and then remove them which as I've mentioned in the past is a huge pain in the ass...

and lastly one of them is a fucking demonic horse.

I don't even know.

Probably secretly a fear gonna murder us all but for some reason Sal is totally fine letting it in here.

Whatever again as said before increases in danger really hold no worries for someone constantly on the edge of death.

Oh I should probably say something for the dead guy... girl? Whatever... Oh yeah that was another little record keeping problem. The dead one was some androgynous freak and it's name was of course equally androgynous. So for gender I had to put it as who fucking knows. Course now I can put it as dead so it doesn't matter anymore.

Right I'm not really hurting the opinion of me as a heartless bastard am I?

Um... It's always sad when someone dies to these monstrosities...

I'm sure this thing could have led a happy and long life otherwise or whatever...

There you go I'm covered.

Mourning

Why does death hurt us so much? Why does it tear us up and leave us ragged?

I didn't even know their name until Ivory told me. Blair. I saw the sadness in her face as she told Blair's friends what had happened and the next minute one of the women - Alyssa, Ivory said her name was - just jumped on her. I pulled her off, but I know that feeling. The feeling of wanting, needing to hit something, anything at all, to transfer your pain to someone else.

The man - Ivory said his name was Curtis - he's just standing there, not speaking, not moving. I know that feeling, too. Not wanting to move at all, not even breathe. Not wanting to feel a thing. Comfortably numb, as the song goes.

It's not death that hurts us, I think. It's not the concept of dying, since everyone and everything does it. It's the emptiness that accompanies it. A lacuna, a void, where some song has been silenced and there's nothing left to fill the hole in our hearts.

I watched Alyssa until I knew she wasn't going to attack anyone else, then I slipped away and out the door and into the night.

I hadn't said the Kaddish in years, but there I started to say it. And then I stopped, because I saw something. Against the darkness, it was barely visible, but I could still see it's red eyes. I could hear its panting, so much like a real dog.

It silently gazed at me and then turned away and it was gone.

I said my prayer in silence.

Nothing

I

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

I should have been able to do something.

The patient, Blair, was brought to me in ragged condition.  Xe was...on death's door, and had been for a very long time.  That xe was still alive was...was a miracle in and of itself.

I should have

There must have been something I could have done.

Xe had been mutilated.  Xir body was...flayed, almost to the bone in places.  Foreign objects had been...inserted, plants allowed to grow within the body.  Rooting into the flesh.

I tried.  I worked as hard as I could.  But, in the end, I failed.  Xe couldn't hold out, not against that kind of injury.  Xe was strong, but...sometimes that isn't enough.

I wasn't skilled enough. If I'd known more, if I could have done something more...if I had a team, or better equipment, or better knowledge or more experience.

But I don't.  I didn't.

I failed Blair.

Xe's dead.  Xe died on my operating table.  Not enough blood.  Too much shock to xir body.  Any number of things that already should have killed hir long before I began the surgery.  They were too much.  Too much for xir.  Too much for me.

Xir friends...haven't taken it very well.

The young man, Curtis is...doing nothing.  He's just...numb.  Empty.

The young woman, Alyssa attacked me.

She knocked me to the ground.  She hit me over and over.  And I let her.  Because she's right, it's my fault, it's all my fault for not being better at this.  For not finding a way to save xir.

Sal pulled her off of me.  She reacted negatively to being touched, but...she stopped attacking me.  Came to her senses.

Part of me wishes she hadn't.  A black eye and a bruised lip don't seem like a fair trade compared to what they've lost.

I can't deal with this.  I just

I'm going back.  To my textbooks.  To my old lecture notes.  To anything.

I need to be better.

I have to make myself better.

I have to not fail the next Blair.

More Guests

So we have four more guests: two women, one man, and one severely injured individual that Ivory is taking care of right now. Oh, and a horse. Yes, it's been that kind of night.

I don't really know what else to say. What else to write. I've been kind of in a fog since we reopened the hostel (heck, I've been in a fog since the Judas incident), but their appearance just sort of pulled me out of that and into the moment. Because, honestly, when's the last time you've seen a horse?

I kid.

In any case, I hope their friend makes it. They look pretty sad already.

I'm obviously still here but you already knew that.

In fact not only am I still here but I spent the downtime updating the records.

Course the record update consisted entirely of everyone is gone but still.

I'm not happy about that Sal. Did you really have to shut this place down? I mean yeah I get it but there's no where safer than here even without the protection. Closing this place down just sent a bunch of people back out into the cold unforgiving world.

Most importantly me. Luckily I foresaw this event and stayed in the area.

Actually even more importantly you let a whole bunch of them get away without paying.

Horrible way to run a business.

But yeah back now. Few people coming back which means my job and stress are back as well. The bureau by my bed is again filled with... Rosters.

Anyways the point is I'm back.

Return

A part of me wonders why I've come back.

It's a small part, but it's there.  A nagging sensation, telling me to give this up for good.  Telling me to pack my bags and flee back to med school while I can, to a proper internship like my parents believe I'm working at.  Somewhere I'll never be held at knifepoint.  Somewhere monsters will never come to murder my patients.

But only a small part.  There was never any doubt.  Jackie's told me that much was obvious.  She says I live to help.  That I was born to sacrifice myself for others.  And maybe she's right.

Whether we are protected or not, these people need my help.  I will give it.  I knew this could be a death sentence coming into the job.  I won't falter now that it's actually going to get difficult.  There are always more lives to save.

There are always more stories to tell.

Starting Again

The others returned to work today. I think they looked somewhat relieved to still have jobs. Ivory, I think, looked hopeful. And everyone's just kind of avoiding talking about what happened. I think right now, that's for the best.

We've received a few guests. Runners still need a place to sleep, a roof over their heads, food in their stomachs. We can still help them.

No incidents yet. Perhaps there will be later on, but right now all I feel is relief. Relief and a bit of dread - dread in knowing that this won't last. It can't.

Something will eventually happen. All we can do is minimize the damage.

Here We Go

I got out of the hospital about a week ago. I still have my arm in a cast. It itches like hell, but the bones were reset and I'll heal fine. Physically, that is.

Mentally, I don't know. I've stopped reliving the events in my head, I've stopped trying to figure out what I could have done differently. The fact is, what happened happened. I can't change a thing.

The police had my office closed off while I was in the hospital - "still an active crime scene," they said. I had John ask everyone who was still staying there to leave. They didn't need to pay their bills, they just need to get out.

I stepped back into the building today. The windows were shuttered and the rooms were empty. The police finally took down their crime scene tape and my office had been cleaned out, like nothing had happened there. Like no one had died in there.

Do I dare reopen the hostel? Without the protection of the Dying Man piece, we could be swarmed with Them. They could eat us alive for all I know.

But if I don't reopen, what do I do with my life? Do I go on the run again?

I remember my father telling me one summer afternoon, "There are no rewards without risks, no life without risks. You got to embrace the pain, son."

So here I am. Risking everything again.

I've pulled open the shutters, aired out the rooms, and put the sign out on the front door.

We're open for business.

Another change to the records.

Screw that Matthias guy.

Such little work when he arrived so of course he makes up for it with his departure. One dead, 2 injured, 2 departed and a whole bunch of special notes in the margins.

Oh right he also sort of doomed us all by removing our protection and he you know killed someone and hurt a couple of people.

On the bright side with the dying man gone this place is now no less dangerous and no more dangerous than anywhere else in the world so visitors might start coming again.

"You're just as likely to die out there as in here but at least in here there's free rooms and board and a chance to make friends."

We should put that on a sign somewhere.

Anyways as per usual no matter what changes I'm not leaving.

No point in going somewhere else to die when I can die in comfort right here.

Oh and best wishes to Sal with the broken arm and all.

Get better soon.

Damn

He looked different. I should have noticed it sooner. He looked different. All I was thinking about was "How do I get him to leave without causing a panic?" I should have noticed.

He wasn't wearing a cast on his arm anymore. I don't know how he took it off. I don't particularly care. His arm looked...discolored. That's when I noticed, but by then he was too close. I should have ran to the office then, should have grabbed the box and run.

But he was too close. He grabbed my arm and said, "Where is it?"

"What?" I asked. I was trying to delay, trying to figure out some way to get him leave.

He twisted my arm until it hurt. "Bring me to it." He looked into my eyes and I finally knew Matthias was no longer in the driver's seat.

I brought him to the safe. But I had one ace up my sleeve. Just one chance.

"Open it," he said.

"Key's in here," I said and opened my desk drawer. And I pulled out the gun I kept there. Last resorts and emergencies. That's what it was for. Last resorts and emergencies. I pulled it out and pointed it at him.

He smiled. I don't think I'll ever forget that smile. It was a smile of a man who doesn't care about anything, about living or dying. A man with nothing to fear.

He was faster than I thought. He grabbed the hand that held the gun and then pulled it back until something in my arm snapped. I cried out and then felt his hand over my mouth.

"The way I see it, you have two choices." He leaned closer. "Let me into that safe or Let. Me. In."

You can read about what happened after here. I don't particularly feel like writing about what happened. About Maggie.

Matthias might blame himself for what happened. But I know: it was my fault. It was all my fault. I should have just forced him to leave. I should have moved the box as soon as I knew. I should have...fuck, I don't know. I should have done something, rather than the nothing that I did.

We called the cops. We had to. James and I needed a hospital and Maggie...Maggie was dead. There was no cleaning this up.

Cops finished talking to me thirty minutes ago. I said a guest went crazy. Stole some money. After all, there were witnesses.

I'm going to try and sleep now, but I don't think I can. I don't think I'll be getting much sleep at all now.

fuck

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking fucking fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking fuck fuck

The Dilemma

So usually I skim over my comments to check to see if anyone has any questions. Last week, I decided to skip reading comments, however, because I thought it would just be, you know, "traitor" and other things of that intent.

Finally, this morning, I decided to check the comments and see one from our dear friend Proxiehunter (the misspelling in his name is due to being concussed at the time, he assures me). It is from this comment that I am informed of our other visitor -- the one currently residing in Matthias. The Dying Man fragment known as Judas.

(And as a sidenote: how ironic is it that after I reveal my little secret, a Dying Man fragment shows up that's named after the most famous traitor of all? Or am I misusing the term "ironic"?)

When I found this out, my immediate reaction was to try and get Matthias out. Unfortunately, for most of the day, he has locked himself in his room, and when he comes out, it's nearly impossible to get him to go anywhere.

I could force him out. I could try breaking the lock. But then the remaining guests would ask why. And if I answered truthfully, they would panic. And if I didn't, they would get suspicious, check this blog, and still panic.

So, the way I see it, I have two options: wait and see what Judas does, if he does anything at all.

Or I could move the box. Just until Judas is gone. Would that work? Would They descend upon this place like locusts if I took away the box just for a day?

I don't know. I don't want to find out.

A few more days. I'll wait a few more days. And if he doesn't leave, I'll move it then.

A little free time.

I've been extremely busy since Sal let loose his little secret.

Tons of people pouring out of here in fear and disgust over this revelation. Which of course left me having to account for all of their exits.

Plus a few of the crazier runners who had been avoiding us before now find us interesting enough to grace us with their presence so yeah I've been a little overworked.

Yeah more than usual even...

As for my thoughts on the whole thing?

Well like Sal said I'm not really bothered but not for the reason he says. In fact quite the opposite.

He thinks it's cause I know that's all that's protecting me.

Wrong. I don't mind because I'm not safe no matter what so one more huge risk isn't much of an upset for me.

I've been working here under the shadow of death since day one and I'm not going to flee just because the shadow got a bit darker.

Doomed is doomed no matter how doomed you are.

So yeah.

At least the new stranger was easy to add to the record.

Just had to add one name no record of what he's running from no extra information or addendums to add just a name and a room number. Easiest record I've had to keep so far.

Actually with the dry up of new people once I get the records straightened my job should be a lot easier.

That's kind of a depressing thought actually.

Talks

Well, I guess Albert's talking to me now. We had a chat and, well, he's staying. For now, at least.

The unconscious guy's name is Matthias, by the way. He woke up earlier today and we talked a bit. He had a similar 'haunted' look, like others I've seen, though his looked less haunted and more...I don't know. Uncomfortable.

Ivory talked to me some more, though still about medical stuff. She's off buying some cream to give to Matthias -- he's got a nasty rash on his side. I wanted to ask him how he got it, but held off - a lot of runners really value their privacy and I didn't want to scare him into leaving.

Anyway, I guess things have somewhat settled down since the revelation. I still got some cold shoulders from our remaining guests, but that's too be expected.

A Little Trust

“Yet man will never be perfect until he learns to create and destroy; he does know how to destroy, and that is half the battle.”

I was wondering why it felt like people were suddenly being cold, and the guests were leaving in a hurry. I'd heard some stuff that made me shudder, then I read the blog, and now everything is a little clearer.

I've never really questioned the way Sal's run things. I just do the work I've been given, and I get a roof over my head in return. But with a Dying Man piece around, I'm now not so sure. I've never had a run in myself, but all the stories I've heard about people encountering a Shard of Lazarus have never been good, or had happy endings for that matter. It may be keeping the Misery Makers away at the moment, but some of the stories I've heard about them make me worry. Some of our guests who have passed through here have been hunted by Dying Men before. They're all similar, yet all so different. Some of them are smart, some are mad, and some are almost human. But all are dangerous, and sometimes it's only because they've been seeking other shards to become whole again. Their endless pilgrimage of madness, built on the death of others.

I know that sometimes it's necessary to use evil to fight off evil. Sometimes, making deals with devils is the only way to get by. But it's still evil, never the less. What are their servants after all, if not people dealing their lives away for what may only be one more day of life. Whilst it might have warded off Ruby Tuesday for now, who's to say someone, or something, won't come our way seeking it out?

I guess I should trust Sal's judgement on this one. That man has proved his character after all. But something about this just makes me spooked. Not to mention the only real guest we've had recently is the unconscious stranger. It seems word travels fast these days.

The Stranger

Why do things always seem to get better and then get worse?

I met Ivory outside. She was finally able to look me in the eye. And she was about to talk to me, too. I could tell.

And then she looked over my shoulder and her eyes went wide. I turned and looked and saw it: there was a man sitting on the ground outside the hostel. Then I realized he wasn't sitting -- he was slumped, his eyes closed. Unconscious.

Ivory rushed over to check on him. He looked to be in his late twenties, dark brown hair. He looked shabby, like he hadn't shaved or changed his clothes in days, maybe weeks. Definitely a runner, by the looks of it. His arm and shoulder were also in a cast and sling.

Ivory had me help pick him up and bring him inside. We got him on one of the beds and Ivory checked him over -- plenty of scars, even a nasty one on his back, but they were all healed over. She said he had probably collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

So good news: she's talking to me again. Bad news: it was all medically related.

Well, you take the good with the bad, I guess.

Walkout

We had some of the guests leave today. Not even paying their bills. I guess my secret has been spreading around. I guess they didn't want to stay under the same roof as one of Them.

One of them, however, spit on the floor. That's just unsanitary.

Fallout

Ivory isn't talking to me. I walked into her work space today and...nothing. Not even a word. She was counting all the bandages she had left. I told her I would go out and buy more. She didn't even acknowledge I existed.

Okay, I kept a secret. A big secret. I probably would have been targeted by the Black Dog if, well, you know. If I didn't have what was in the box.

John was a bit nicer. I think it's because he knows he's only safe because of what's in the box. I haven't seen Albert yet today and I don't know if he's read the last post, so I'm not sure how he'll react.

Some our guests were chillier to me today, too. Guess some of them read the blog.

I wish I could have just kept the box, never taken it out, left it the safe to gather dust. I wish it was still my secret. But Ivory...after the incident with Ruby, she told me to post it or else she would. She told me, "No more secrets." And she hasn't said anything else to me since.

Fine, Ivory. No more secrets.

I have a fragment of the Dying Man in my office. It's what keeps us safe. It's pretty much the only thing that keeps us safe. See, back when I was running, I realized that nothing stopped them. Not bricks and mortar, not steel, not the tallest building or the lowest basement. The only thing that stopped one of them was the presence of another.

I was looking for something. I don't know what. Something to help me stop running. So I went to the Acropolis in Athens. Someplace old, someplace perhaps eldritch. I went there and I found it. A broken piece, smaller than my fist. But there this...miasma. I felt sick as I looked at it, but I knew. It would keep my safe.

I used tongs to hold it. Then I put it in a box and put that in another box. I used gloves within gloves. And then I brought it back here.

It's kind of paradoxical that something called the Dying Man is what's keeping us alive. But it is. It's a shield to protect us from Them.

I guess I'm just sorry I kept it a secret from you.

Return and Reveal

It was almost a month. Almost a month of quiet. Things were good. There were no more incidents of those weird cutters, no more appearances by Ruby, no disturbances. We had runners come and go and everything pretty much went smoothly. John kept the records, Albert mended some broken pipes, Ivory patched up some runners, and I ran the front desk.

And then yesterday I was locking up and Ivory stepped inside. I thought she had gone home, but sometimes she stays late, so I wasn't too concerned. Then I saw the look on her face and the glint of metal at her throat.

"I said I would come back later," Ruby said. She was behind Ivory holding a scalpel to her throat. She had a wicked grin, what I believe they call a 'slasher smile.' I did not doubt she would slit Ivory's throat in a second.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I've been observing you and your people," she said. "All those runners you harbor. Even if only for days, they should have been attacked here. It's strange. This place shouldn't exist - the Fears should have invaded this place so many times that you should be dead or struck with disease or mindless husks by now. You can't operate this kind of establishment and not draw their attention."

"What. Do. You. Want?" I repeated.

"I want to know why," Ruby said. "I can feel the blood thumping, jumping in my veins. There's something about this place that's making my skin tingle. I want to know why. Tell me or I bleed her dry."

"Let her go and I'll show you," I said. "She isn't a part of this. She doesn't know anything."

"She works here," Ruby said. "She lives under the mantle of this...place. Show me and she lives."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them and said, "Wait here." I went into my office and opened a false wall. No stupid picture frames with a safe hidden behind it - I had this specially installed. I entered a code, then unlocked the safe with the key around my neck. Then I spoke into the safe four words into the safe - yes, I am paranoid, but as you can see, I have good reason - and the safe opened.

I took out a small metal box and walked back into the front room, where Ruby and Ivory were waiting.

"This is why," I said. I placed the locked metal box on the front desk. Ruby looked at it with a strange confusion on her face.

"Open it," she said.

"I can't," I said. "I threw away the key long ago. But you already know what's inside. You can feel it. Can't you?"

She looked at the box and her expression melted into panic. "Where did you find it?" she asked.

"Greece," I said. "During one of my travels there, I found a broken piece of the Parthenon. I don't know how I knew what it was, but I did. I knew enough not to touch it. To lock it away."

"It keeps them away," Ruby said.

"As far as I can tell, yes," I said. "It exudes some sort of aura. Even in the box, in the safe. It must be a very large fragment."

"It is," Ruby said. She lowered the scalpel and Ivory rushed over to the other side of the room. "Put it away. Put it away and never take it out again."

"I thought..." I paused. Did I want to continue this? "I thought you wanted to take it."

"No," Ruby said. "All I wanted to know is why. And now I do. So put it away before it attracts any attention." I did, making sure to put the protections all back into place, then slipped the key around my neck again.

When I went back to the front room, Ivory was starring daggers at Ruby. But Ruby seemed lost in contemplation. "It protects you now," she said, "but it will cause the end of you as well. Nothing else can come from it except death."

"We'll see," I said. "Right now, it's the only thing stopping them from invading, like you said."

"What you are talking about?" Ivory finally asked. "What was in that box?"

Ruby laughed and it was melodious and sweet, yet tinged with despair. She stepped out of the front door, then turned back. Then she revealed my secret.

"The Dying Man," she said. "Inside the box is the Dying Man."

Ruby Red

She approached me again today.

"I've been watching you," she said. "I was too hasty last time."

"I'm still not interested," I said.

"Yes, I know," she said. She smiled and her lips were a very vivid shade of red. "I've noticed a lot. You don't seem to worry about much. Even when when Scarlet-marked were here, you didn't worry. You do know what I am?"

"I try to keep up," I said. "They call you the Red Cap, right?"

She smiled. "Well, right now I'm Ruby, but that's right."

"Wikipedia says you're a murderous little dwarf."

She laughed and her laughter echoed across the silent pavement and shuttered windows. "Well," she said, "perhaps I was long ago. But I think I prefer...different forms these days. Do you know what they used to call me, back in the old days? Back when they would find desiccated corpses empty of blood and assume it was some supernatural creature?" Her eyes bored into mine. "They called us a vampire back then. No silly notions about sunlight or sparkling. We were a beast to them, foreign and strange, with ravenous appetites." She licked her lips. "And they were so afraid of us. But you are not afraid. Tell me why?"

"Maybe later," I said.

Ruby Tuesday laughed again and said, "Yes, later. I believe I shall come back later." She stepped away quickly into the shadows.

She's wrong. I am afraid. Not of her, but of what she might make me reveal. That she might force me to open the box.

Heat, Water, and Tuesday

"Remember that two-legged tigers and crocodiles are more dangerous than those that walk on four.”

Well, I can't say it hasn't been hectic lately. Summer's been pretty hot this year, almost sweltering. It makes me think of Water Balloons for some reason. I wonder if those things even feel the heat, considering what they're made up of. We once had a runner here who was fleeing from them. Judy was her name. A Doctor Morcerf was treating her for depression, and gave her something to help. He gave her some Ichor, the stuff that fills up those balloons. She began to obsess over things, but eventually it passed, and soon she had Water Balloons on her door trying to take her away. To do what, I don't know. They kept coming back, day after day, even following her as she moved towns. So she did the only thing she could think of. She ran, and I'm guessing she still is, if they haven't got her yet.

Normally people open up after a while here. They'll tell their stories. Maybe they'll even laugh. But those cutters we had, they creeped me out. The was a feeling in the air when they were about, like a spark ready to be set off. And then there is this 'Ruby Tuesday', who Sal was talking about. I swear I've seen her around, whenever I've gone out. Just the other day I was coming back, when she bumped into me, wearing the same red jacket and scarf. She didn't do anything though, just looked at me, smiled, and continued walking.

I've heard a few tales. I've seen some strange things. But I have this feeling that things are gonna get stranger around here, whether we like it or not.

This is what happened.

Finally kicked out the last of those cutters. And I'll tell you why.

It is hot. Really, really hot.

So, because it was hot, I stopped off at Starbucks this morning to get some cold water, when I run into this girl wearing a bright red jacket and scarf. She can't be more than twenty-one, but she gives me this shy smile and starts hitting on me.

Now, I'm middle-aged, but I guess there are people who go for older fellows. However, there also another little, itty bitty factor that would prevent this girl from getting what she wants: I am gay.

I try to tell this girl that, but she starts telling me that it doesn't matter. I start telling her that it does.

Then she introduces herself as "Ruby Tuesday." She says that those cutters I kicked out last week? Those are her "Scarlet-marked." She says she can show me a good time. She can make me one of her "Scarlet-marked."

And so I dumped a cup of cold water over her. It seemed like she needed it.

Anyway, she was surprised by that, so I just turned and walked away. And since those cutters weren't runners, I kicked them all out. They weren't earning their keep anyway.

So that was my day.

Like Herding Cats.

So yeah if I'm going to be part of this I might as well actually write some stuff. Well record keeping for a group of runners is, as one would probably expect, not easy and in some cases downright frustrating. For instance someone disappeared recently from their room. They were labeled as missing and it was assumed something had taken them or they had wandered through the wrong Door. An hour or two after they were removed from the records they show up again and reveal they had actually just gone out to a local club to make some money. So, then I had to alter the records to show they were in fact still here and then the next day the same person actually did walk through a Door but the record was left unchanged just in case they somehow showed up again down the line. So, yes the records are not exactly one hundred percent accurate.

However I must admit this is actually a good thing in multiple ways. For one it makes what is normally a ridiculously dull and boring job... Not quite exciting but not as dull as usual. Also if someone were to say take The Records it wouldn't be a big loss since the information they get would be mostly inaccurate without proper contextual understanding of the situations occurring within.

So the most recent record related problem. This fight that was mentioned earlier and the large influx of runners lately. Larger numbers means larger amounts of strange occurrences and record abnormalities and the record will remain up in the air regarding those involved in the fight until Sal comes to a decision regarding how he wants to deal with them.

There you go I've contributed.

Trouble

With a capital T, that rhymes with B and that stands for blood. Because, well, we had some blood spilled last night.

Some of the new runners that are still staying here got into a fight. Quite a few of them were those cutters Ivory mentioned. Lots of people ended up with bloody noses.

I'm not quite sure what started the fight however. I have to check with Ivory - she got in the middle of it when it started, she saw more than I did.

I kicked most of those runners out for the evening - one of our main rules is no fighting. But I'm not sure if I should permanently ban them - I don't know why they were fighting, for one thing. But still, it's making me uneasy.

Cutters?

I thought I would add a bit to Sal's last post.


We have indeed been getting a large influx of runners lately.  I'm not sure what they're running from--like I've said, I'm not one to pry.  This is somewhat...odd, though.


Many of this influx are runners with lacerations--some severe, some not so severe, most if not all of which appear to have been self-inflicted.


I guess it would make sense that runners would cut...perhaps they're trying to exert some control over their lives or bodies?  Perhaps they need some way to relieve the pain of being chased?  I don't really know, I'm more of a romantic than I am a psychologist.  It's really not my place to diagnose something like this.


Still, though, it is odd.  Why so many at once?  I've not seen this many before--sure, someone who practices self-harm comes through, every once in a while, but not any more than there should be, statistically.


I am probably reading too much into all of this.  But that won't mean I won't be careful regardless.  In this sort of work, a certain amount of paranoia is the healthiest trait one might possess, after all.

Types of Runners

I've been operating this place for a number of years now and I've seen people come and go. I have a pretty stable group of employees now, but I tend to categorize people. It's a bad habit, I know, but I can't help it. So here are some types of runners I've seen (feel free to ignore):

• The hounded: runners from the Dog. Yes, this is a bad pun, but I don't care. These runners tend to be tight-lipped and quiet, flinching away at the sight of any canine (no matter the size). Occasionally, I would come across one that would simply confess all of their sins to me upon first meeting - apparently, in the belief that if everyone knew their secrets, they could stop running. It never worked, unfortunately.
• The hypochondriacs: runners from the Doctor. Most of the ones I saw were obsessively clean, wiping everything down multiple times. And god help them if they caught a cold - although I can't blame them for that, since I've seen what the Doctor can do with the common cold and it isn't pleasant.
• The herds: groups of runners, generally running from the Boy. Nobody wants to be alone when running from that cold little kid. They tend to go everywhere with someone else - which isn't a bad idea, until you just want to be alone for once. I haven't encountered many herds, they don't generally last that long.
• The hear-no-evils: runners from the Choir. Haven't met many, but the few I have seen tried to drown out all sound with some noise-cancelling headphones. Not sure if they worked, but they just wrote everything down and ignored whatever it was they were hearing.
• The lone wolves: okay, this doesn't start with the letter H. I do have another name for them, but I don't like using it, because it only encourages them: the heroes. What are they running from? They aren't. They are chasing. They are searching. They want to fight, usually for revenge of some sort. And they always travel alone. I let them stay, because they don't cause trouble when they're here, but they always leave quickly.

There's another reason I don't like lone wolves. When a normal runner decides to stop running - when he decides that it's enough, to just stay put, he may put up a fight. He may die or even get enough energy to keep going or perhaps the thing chasing them will ease up just enough to let them live for another day. But that's for a normal runner.

For a lone wolf, it's not like that. They don't fight, they war. And the things after them won't ease up or back down. And if they break? If they become a servant to the thing they hate? They become so much worse than a normal servant. So much worse.

At least, from what I've seen and heard. From the stories runners have told me. Don't know how much is accurate, but this isn't Wikipedia, so I don't really care.

In the past few days, we've been seeing a bit more of an influx from runners. But they aren't any type of runners I've seen before. In any case, though, business is business. I shouldn't complain.

Jackie and Jill

When I first started here, I thought my work would be restricted to salving burns, stitching closed cuts, treating minor infections and the latest epidemics, and perhaps mending the occasional bullet wound. Not trivial injuries, sure, but predictable ones.

I had failed to realize, I think, that some of these runners can't go to a hospital for any reason. Either they're afraid of the Serpent and Stick, or they're wanted for some crime that they've either been framed for committing, or actual had committed--in the line of escape or otherwise. I try not to ask. My place is to heal, not to judge.

I have done many things even in my short time here that had me scrambling for some of my old textbooks. I don't really consider myself trained in all of it, but I'm starting to get the hang of having such a diverse field.

This story is one such time when I was a bit perplexed by the task at hand. Honestly, if I didn't have corroboration from Sal or physical evidence, I might honestly think I was making this up, that I'd dreamed it after a night of over-exertion.

I was in my tiny clinic, taking a nap at my desk, when Sal came downstairs and asked me if I had ever separated a pair of conjoint twins.

I asked him to repeat what he had said, and he told me a pair of twins had arrived. He said that they were running from the circus, in more ways than one. He told me that they had been in a sideshow, and now that they had been on the road for a while, they had decided that the best way to run was to be separated.

I agreed to see the patients. They were an extremely pretty pair of young women only slightly younger than I, and the instant they met me they introduced themselves with bright smiles as Jacqueline and Jillian. They were very animated as the spoke, and gave grand gestures with every phrase, usually accompanied by physical contact. I was fairly certain that if my wallet had been on me, they would have lifted it. And I'm fairly certain, if they had given it back with a bright smile, I would have apologized for making such a fuss about it.

They were also joined at the mid back, the left side for Jackie and the right for Jill. According to them, they were almost separated at birth, but there were the potential for complications--namely, the twins were joined at such a location that, especially at such a young age, had the potential to seriously damage one or both of their spines.


Fortunately, they didn't share any major organs and, miraculously, despite the potential complications they had had as a child, their spines had not fused.. Unfortunately, two of each of their floating ribs had, but that was easy enough to fix. When they were informed of this, they laughed, and each listed favor after favor the other owed, and tried to bargain for which "owed" first pick of which rib to lose.

I told them as confidently as I could that I could indeed separate them, even though I had absolutely no experience on any sort of surgery of the kind before, and only the bare minimum of supplies and volunteer personnel. I think they instantly saw through the false confidence, but they were polite enough not to mention it. Or maybe they were desperate enough not to. I could see a hint of it, in their eyes, behind the nigh-impenetrable charm and charisma. I was their only chance. I think that's the first time it hit me--I'm the only chance many of these people have. Maybe the only chance they'll ever have.

Confident or not, I performed the surgery as best I could. They still send me letters (to a PO box, naturally). Sometimes from the same city, sometimes from different cities, sometimes from different parts of the country entirely. They never tell me much, about what they've been doing, or what they're running from...but they never hesitate to tell me how grateful they are, how they've been staying safe and healthy and alive, and how much they can't wait to drop by and check up on me again.

They've never actually been back, but I hope they will, some day, and I'm glad to have met them...and made a difference for two someones on the front lines, for however long it lasts.

Guess I Should Also Introduce Myself...

“Now I'd like someone to tell me there is no drama in real life!”

Seeing as the others have done an intro, I guess I should too. I've never really done this before, so bear with me. The name's Albert, if you hadn't already worked that out. Though I guess calling me Al is fine too. What is a name anyway, if not a pack of lies and secrets created by man?

So what do I actually do? How did I get here? It's a long story, that doesn't really need telling. I've been at the hostel a bit over 2 years now. At least I think it’s been that long. I came across it one day on my travels. I call them travels, but it was mostly running my heels off, and finding the place out of the blue. I can't remember the exact details of how I ended up here. I found the place, and stuck about to help others begin to help themselves. That's the gist of it.

I do some of the odd jobs about the hostel to pay my way. Fix the wires; mend the pipes; guard the place if needed. Mostly the sort of stuff that needs doing, but nobody ever gets around to. I'm normally a night owl as well, keeping an eye on the people lodging here. My paranoid justification in doing so is just to make sure they're not sided with any of the Misery-Makers. They tend to stalk the night, and use it to their advantage. Mostly though, I just lend an ear to those that can't sleep, and listen to the stories they tell. Some times they ask me to remember their tales, and tell them to others. So I do. I remember for them, in case they ever forget.

It helps to distract me, and reminds me to live in the now, rather than the past. It fuels my reason for living, and reminds me why I'm still alive. That's all I have to say really.

Hello.

Hi... I'm John Wintrip. I was a runner who found his way to the hostel and elected to stay for a few days.

The place was comfortable and safe so a few days became a few weeks and then months and now I'm pretty much staying here permanently.

As such I've been volunteering to pay for my stay.

I worked in human resources before I went on the run so I mainly work keeping track of the people here.

Who arrives how long they plan to stay what if any special amenities they need.

Who leaves and unfortunately who dies.

Basic stuff like that.

Stories in Blood

That's how I hear most of them, anyway.  My name's Ivory.  I'm the closest this place has to a doctor on staff.


I've never been on the run from anything, before you wonder.  I've never even seen any of them.  I don't have to.  I can see it in these people's eyes.  In their wounds.  In their blood.


The other day, I saved a runner--a boy really, not even twenty.  Something had gotten into his body, and it started to eat him away, kill him slowly, from his fingers to his shoulder.  He said it taunted him in his head as it consumed him. Laughed at the pain he caused.  The boy cut his own arm off with a table saw, or so he says, and then cauterized it with his kitchen oven.  He almost died from shock and blood loss and infection, but he lived long enough to run, long enough for me to save his life.  It was a miracle.  That most of these people are still alive is a miracle.  I've seen some wounds that look like they came from some of the worst battlefields in history.  I guess they did--that's how some of the runners talk about it.  Talk about Them.


Even though I haven't seen these things, I've heard the stories about them.  I see them in the blood, in the scars, in the wounds. I have a difficult job--a much harder job than I could be having, had things gone differently.  I could be in my residency now.  My parents think I'm doing volunteer work.  Resume fodder, they would call it.  But I'm not, at least, not doing anything I could put on a resume.  I'm here helping people, fixing them practically for food and board.  I could be on my path to an actual medical practice.  But I'm not, and I wouldn't give this up for the world.


My name's Ivory.  I'm here to heal those who need it, and to tell the stories I read in their blood.

"...the house stood, and other men lived in it and were sheltered well in it."

What am I going to say here. I really don't have much to say. I should probably introduce myself, but I like making people wait. While they're waiting, I'm appreciating the time, how it ticks past one moment after the next, in a big long string of moments.

Okay, fine, I'm Sal. Welcome to the Raw Youth Hostel. (And if you mention those movies, I will kill you. Slowly.) We're in the city of None Of Your Business. It also goes by "Nunya."

What is the Raw Youth Hostel? Well, let me just quote Wikipedia here: "Hostels provide budget oriented, sociable accommodation where guests can rent a bed, usually a bunk bed, in a dormitory and share a bathroom, lounge and sometimes a kitchen. [...] Hostels are generally cheaper for both the operator and the occupants; many hostels have long-term residents whom they employ as desk clerks or housekeeping staff in exchange for free accommodation."

So, yeah, that's what this place is. Rooms are twenty-five dollars a night, less if you are actually going to work here during your stay. We do have a kitchen on the first floor and there are communal bathrooms on the second and third floor at the end of the hall.

We also tend to cater to a more unusual clientele. These people are usually on the run, not from the law, but rather from...unusual things. Eldritch things. You probably call them Fears.

We offer runners a discount, of course, and we even have someone on staff who has some medical background to help anyone who is injured and afraid of going to the hospital.

From what I've heard some runners say...they say that we're part of the underground, as if we're part of a resistance or something. We're just trying to help people, but we try to stay off the radar and we try to make sure things go smoothly (though it doesn't always work out like that). But, if they want to call us part of the underground, I guess that's okay. I guess we're part of the underground then.

Bully for us.