Update

Sorry for leave you all hanging there. We're fine. Well, relatively.

The lockdown ended a few days after the last post. Surprisingly, there was only one casualty on our side: a runner named Sandra Kirkpatrick was killed by the Choir. Some of the other runners, the ones that participated in the pushback (recounted here) ended up with bruises, some cuts, but nothing major. They were also all given a full spread of anti-virals and anti-fungal medication, the best I could find, since I don't want any of them coming down with a severe case of greyskinness.

There is also good news and bad news.

Good news: Ruby Tuesday is dead. She was apparently controlling the Greyskins and when she died, they all collapsed. Her body (and all the other bodies) were taken into custody by some agents from the SMSC (they always come after, never during an attack, don't they?).

Bad news: the reason Ruby Tuesday is dead is because Sheryl absorbed her Red Cap-ness. That meant the surgery, the transfusion, it was all for nothing. I didn't see Sheryl in the aftermath. I think she realized what had happened, so she didn't want to be around other people. She just left.

A lot of other runners have left, too. Having two major Fears attack us at once (three if you count the dead Doll we found on our property) did not help us. And yet...I heard one group of runners, as they left, say that we were able to fend off the Fears, like we were valiant heroes or something.

The truth is, we didn't do anything. I locked us in to keep Them out, but I knew it was only a stopgap measure. And it didn't even work. If it hadn't been for Sheryl, there probably would have been a lot more casualties.

So wherever she is, I hope she finds peace.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"...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.