I did promise that journal entry, didn't I? I sure did. I haven't got much in the way of news, otherwise. Jessica's rampage hit the papers and the television, like I knew it would. Surprises me that investigations haven't turned up this very blog yet. I'm doing my damnedest to hide the thing, God knows, but there's only so much a man with limited computer knowledge can do...ah well. Here's that journal entry I promised you(and Jessica, for that matter.)
April 21, 2011
I haven't heard from Marc in since that stupid fucking party.
I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Carter's made it pretty clear, since she took over, she won't suffer people who are too chickenshit to do the work she has us doing.* It's not like before, and I thought sometimes that it was bad before. Now I wish it would just go back to the way it used to be.
*Chickenshits. Chickenshits, chickenshits, chickenshits! B'GAWK! Can't fucking stand sniveling cowards. What do they do all day? Why do they have the gall to insist that I'M the crazy one? You imbeciles...you think to yourselves, 'My god, I could stab that person, I hate him so much'...but you don't do it!! You never do it! You desire, you want, you crave, and yet you JUST DON'T GO OUT AND DO. That's fucking crazy....
But Marc was a good guy...my best friend, really...we got in this shit together because we grew up together*, and to think that he might be dead because he didn't want to chop up a little girl and fucking feed her to that freak**...that's just a little too much for me to handle, honestly.
*I don't remember any "Marc" in my little Bradley's life....
**Nom, nom, nom! [There is a scribbled little drawing of Jessica, making a cute 'hungry' face.]
It used to be a lot of drugs. Now it's kids. We still run a shit-ton of the drug trade in New York, that hasn't changed, but Carter thinks we could stand to bring in a lot more money than we are. So she's got us stealing kids off rich motherfuckers, and taking in the ransom money. Some of those kids get sent back in one piece...but lots of them don't, even when we get our money.
Hell, right now she's got me and a couple of other guys hiding out in this little abandoned house, after that girl from the "party" died because her parents didn't cough up any money for their kid.. We're gonna be getting in a little brat of our own, Carter's been saying, sooner rather than later. She's got her eye on a couple, and when she says the word "go" we're supposed to grab one of 'em...
man, if the police ever got hold of my notebook, they'd be all over our asses in a millisecond. Not like they don't know we're out there. I hear rumors that Jessica's thinking about getting a guy or three on the inside of the NYPD*, which is actually a pretty smart idea. Keeping them off our trail is getting to be a chore, with the way that bitch runs things.**
*Reminds me of a meeting I need to get to with one of our police friends! Wish I had someone to remind me of meetings more often...[Considering the timing of when she would have been writing these annotations, I have to wonder if this particular entry was what inspired her to hire me as a 'personal assistant'. I could be wrong, of course. Just speculation.]
**Such naughty language! Little Bradley's potty mouth must come from his father, I have no doubt...only I don't remember his father ever being around for him, the poor little thing.
Still, things are peaceful* ...for now. I thank God for the quiet. Sharing a place with a couple of guys, just me, this guy Gavin I used to smoke with, and a few more...it's helping, I guess. I didn't think anything would or could, after hat stupid fucking "party."
*[Jessica has scribbled out the word 'peaceful' rather harshly here. In fact, the only reason I know the word 'peaceful' is what lies beneath the scratch-marks and the tear of her pen through the page is because she's written 'FUCK PEACEFUL' above it, along with 'TERRIBLE', 'no-good', 'miserable', 'exhausting' and 'decaying quite nicely'.]
There you have it. There's a story developing here, I think. In a lot of these journal entries, Bradley writes very candidly about the way Jessica operates. The writing's a lot more fiery and rebellious than those first couple of blog posts leading up to his death. It's a mess, though. There's so much material to sift through, I'm having a hard time putting the pieces together in a proper timeline. From what I can tell, though, a lot more went on in that house he and Gavin shared than just ransoming a kid...
As an aside, I'd like to point out that we do a lot less kidnapping as of now than Jessica did when she first took over the operation. That was when she was doing the work on her own. She did get those guys set up in the force that Bradley mentions hearing rumors about...later, she hired Andre, and he suggested we cut down on the kidnapping. Lots of rich people with little morals of their own means Jessica had a lot of people trying to put a price on her head. Hell, that's how she met Andre in the first place.
But I'm rambling, so I'll leave you to whatever it is you crazy, blogging people do every day. I've truly got no idea when I'll find the next piece of the puzzle, chronologically, so you may not see any more journals for a while. Ah well.
-Mr. Flint
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Friday, February 21, 2014
Business as Usual Part I
Did you miss me?
Of course you didn't, and I didn't miss you. If truth be told, I could go my whole life never writing another word on this blog, and it wouldn't bother me in the slightest. It probably wouldn't bother any of you, either, if I never showed up to write a single word more on the subject of Jessica Carter. But unfortunately, Jessica Carter would most certainly be bothered if I never wrote another word about her.
Don't get me wrong. She's not vain, or proud, or egotistical. Not the way normal people are. Jessica is...she's the id. You kids know what the id is, right? That primal side of the psyche, manifesting through subconscious, against the will of it's host body...? Nah, you probably haven't got a fucking clue what I'm talking about. But trust me, that's Jess. She's The Joker without a Batman. She does things, because they come into her head. So when she has a thought, it's almost as though she can't help but perceive it to be true, because for her the distinction between reality and her mind is nonexistent.
Funny enough, this is also why she makes such an effective boss.
The dinner meet-up with Michael went about as well as I could have hoped for. Jessica played nice, we got ahold of Michael's resources as part of our operation, and afterwards I managed to procure the dinner Jessica actually wanted for her.
Yikes.
No, see, the reason you haven't heard from me in a week is because Ms. Carter decided she wanted to celebrate a certain holiday as only she could last Friday. We spent the evening going out on what she lovingly referred to as a "date", but she insisted that there was nothing between the two of us. Which there isn't. And it wasn't like any date I'd have ever gone on if I had any choice in the matter at all. But I didn't. Ah well.
Jessica has a way about her, I'll admit...but I'm not one to romanticize this stuff. She spent the night killing and eating her way across half of New York, and mentioned that her rampage was intended as 'a most loving letter to one still living, out there in the world somewhere, his heart all to pieces.' Her words, I shit you not. She can be surprisingly eloquent when she wants to be. Hell, she's trilingual, if you can believe it!
After that, she had me make some arrangements for travel, and I spent the better part of this week cleaning up as best I could in the wake of her murder spree. I suspect that her serial rampage has put her on the cops' radar once again, though. Not that they won't know who it is. They always do.
So that's why you haven't heard from me, and that's also why Part II of this post is going to go up tomorrow night. Part II is going to be that next entry in Bradley's journal I promised last week. For real this time. I swear.
-Mr. Flint
Of course you didn't, and I didn't miss you. If truth be told, I could go my whole life never writing another word on this blog, and it wouldn't bother me in the slightest. It probably wouldn't bother any of you, either, if I never showed up to write a single word more on the subject of Jessica Carter. But unfortunately, Jessica Carter would most certainly be bothered if I never wrote another word about her.
Don't get me wrong. She's not vain, or proud, or egotistical. Not the way normal people are. Jessica is...she's the id. You kids know what the id is, right? That primal side of the psyche, manifesting through subconscious, against the will of it's host body...? Nah, you probably haven't got a fucking clue what I'm talking about. But trust me, that's Jess. She's The Joker without a Batman. She does things, because they come into her head. So when she has a thought, it's almost as though she can't help but perceive it to be true, because for her the distinction between reality and her mind is nonexistent.
Funny enough, this is also why she makes such an effective boss.
The dinner meet-up with Michael went about as well as I could have hoped for. Jessica played nice, we got ahold of Michael's resources as part of our operation, and afterwards I managed to procure the dinner Jessica actually wanted for her.
Yikes.
No, see, the reason you haven't heard from me in a week is because Ms. Carter decided she wanted to celebrate a certain holiday as only she could last Friday. We spent the evening going out on what she lovingly referred to as a "date", but she insisted that there was nothing between the two of us. Which there isn't. And it wasn't like any date I'd have ever gone on if I had any choice in the matter at all. But I didn't. Ah well.
Jessica has a way about her, I'll admit...but I'm not one to romanticize this stuff. She spent the night killing and eating her way across half of New York, and mentioned that her rampage was intended as 'a most loving letter to one still living, out there in the world somewhere, his heart all to pieces.' Her words, I shit you not. She can be surprisingly eloquent when she wants to be. Hell, she's trilingual, if you can believe it!
After that, she had me make some arrangements for travel, and I spent the better part of this week cleaning up as best I could in the wake of her murder spree. I suspect that her serial rampage has put her on the cops' radar once again, though. Not that they won't know who it is. They always do.
So that's why you haven't heard from me, and that's also why Part II of this post is going to go up tomorrow night. Part II is going to be that next entry in Bradley's journal I promised last week. For real this time. I swear.
-Mr. Flint
Thursday, February 13, 2014
I Hate Meetings
Seriously. They are a pain in my back side.
Doubtless, my humble audience took note of my week-long absence. Jessica and I had business to attend to, so unfortunately, the next entry in Bradley's journal isn't ready for the world just yet. More than likely, it will go up tomorrow night. Things are settling down for us. That meeting on the south side went...well, south, frankly.
We met up with this Michael bloke down south, surrounded by warehouses and dank little office buildings. The area was mostly abandoned. I know that more than a few homeless people squat in those warehouses, which is why it's generally safe to operate from there without worrying about the police nosing in on business.
Jessica doesn't have much good sense, if you ask me, to be going in with this guy. I don't like the look of him. He's quiet, pale, with the sort of attitude only the real killers have to them. Only brought a handful of guys with him down south. He's not like Jessica, he's very well put together, but I think there's no soul under there.
Not to imply that Jessica has anything even remotely approaching a soul. She doesn't. She is an animal, though, while this guy seems more machine than anything else. He gives me the willies.
Anyway, from what Jessica tells me, she's been collaborating with Michael on a few projects...moving money around, mostly...the details will become my problem when she deigns to let me in on them later. He's fairly small-time, but his resources and a couple of his connections are very useful. From what I understand, he runs a printing press for counterfeit cash, which is something Jessica is interested in putting to use. I don't blame her, but I think we could find better guys to do the work for less somewhere else. Oh well.
Somehow, the police got wind of our little meet-up, though. Things got very nasty very quickly, and many bullet holes were made. Many teeth holes were also made, by Jessica, naturally. I had never seen a cop literally shit himself before Jessica charged one of the SWAT guys head-on. The stench was awful. She tackled him to the ground before he had a chance to get a single shot off and tore him to bits, the poor bastard.
That must be how she keeps our boys in line. I wouldn't have believed it was possible, but Jessica has this way about her... men with guns may as well be deer in headlights once she starts after them. I think mostly, she scares people so bad because who would be crazy enough to charge someone with a loaded gun?
Jessica Carter. That's who.
We're supposed to have dinner with Michael on Saturday night, to make up for plans falling apart this first time around. Should be much more relaxed than the shady dealings in dark alleys. I hope there aren't anymore fire-fights. I'm too old for this crap. I'm working on getting some of our boys to look into whether or not it was one of ours that leaked info to the cops. One of Michael's guys has been harassing us about it. I'm just about to blow his head off myself, I'm so sick of the guy. But oh well.
So, as I said, I don't have the next journal entry ready, but if I'm lucky there will be time for that tomorrow night. If I'm doubly lucky, there will be absolutely nothing of interest to report about dinner with Michael on Saturday. I'm not looking forward to convincing Jessica to eat normal people food.
-Mr. Flint
Doubtless, my humble audience took note of my week-long absence. Jessica and I had business to attend to, so unfortunately, the next entry in Bradley's journal isn't ready for the world just yet. More than likely, it will go up tomorrow night. Things are settling down for us. That meeting on the south side went...well, south, frankly.
We met up with this Michael bloke down south, surrounded by warehouses and dank little office buildings. The area was mostly abandoned. I know that more than a few homeless people squat in those warehouses, which is why it's generally safe to operate from there without worrying about the police nosing in on business.
Jessica doesn't have much good sense, if you ask me, to be going in with this guy. I don't like the look of him. He's quiet, pale, with the sort of attitude only the real killers have to them. Only brought a handful of guys with him down south. He's not like Jessica, he's very well put together, but I think there's no soul under there.
Not to imply that Jessica has anything even remotely approaching a soul. She doesn't. She is an animal, though, while this guy seems more machine than anything else. He gives me the willies.
Anyway, from what Jessica tells me, she's been collaborating with Michael on a few projects...moving money around, mostly...the details will become my problem when she deigns to let me in on them later. He's fairly small-time, but his resources and a couple of his connections are very useful. From what I understand, he runs a printing press for counterfeit cash, which is something Jessica is interested in putting to use. I don't blame her, but I think we could find better guys to do the work for less somewhere else. Oh well.
Somehow, the police got wind of our little meet-up, though. Things got very nasty very quickly, and many bullet holes were made. Many teeth holes were also made, by Jessica, naturally. I had never seen a cop literally shit himself before Jessica charged one of the SWAT guys head-on. The stench was awful. She tackled him to the ground before he had a chance to get a single shot off and tore him to bits, the poor bastard.
That must be how she keeps our boys in line. I wouldn't have believed it was possible, but Jessica has this way about her... men with guns may as well be deer in headlights once she starts after them. I think mostly, she scares people so bad because who would be crazy enough to charge someone with a loaded gun?
Jessica Carter. That's who.
We're supposed to have dinner with Michael on Saturday night, to make up for plans falling apart this first time around. Should be much more relaxed than the shady dealings in dark alleys. I hope there aren't anymore fire-fights. I'm too old for this crap. I'm working on getting some of our boys to look into whether or not it was one of ours that leaked info to the cops. One of Michael's guys has been harassing us about it. I'm just about to blow his head off myself, I'm so sick of the guy. But oh well.
So, as I said, I don't have the next journal entry ready, but if I'm lucky there will be time for that tomorrow night. If I'm doubly lucky, there will be absolutely nothing of interest to report about dinner with Michael on Saturday. I'm not looking forward to convincing Jessica to eat normal people food.
-Mr. Flint
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Questions
I don't have an update ready to post tonight. Formatting these things is awful, let me tell you. And anyway, Jessica and I have been busy. More on that later. Right now I'm curious as to whether the format of future journal entries should be tweaked or not. Would including Jessica's annotations as foot-notes at the bottom read better? Is the current format okay? Should Jessica's comments stay where they are, while mine end up being at the bottom?
Comment on this post to let me know...still trying to iron out the kinks of this whole chronicler business...
-Mr. Flint
Comment on this post to let me know...still trying to iron out the kinks of this whole chronicler business...
-Mr. Flint
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
"Party Time"
So, the first entry Ms. Carter posted had a date of April 4th, 2011. The closest I can find to that in this mess of papers on my desk is April 16th, 2011. There may be missing entries, but I don't think there are. Bradley was rattled by what he writes about in this one, I think it took him a while to put it into words. The penmanship's a lot shakier. Ah well. Presented to you here is the next entry in Bradley's journal, annotated by Ms. Carter in red, no italics. I've included red asterisks in the original text to indicate which part of Bradley's story I think each of Ms. Carter's comments are referring to. Sometimes she's drawn helpful arrows, sometimes she hasn't. Ms. Carter is fickle like that, so some of my asterisks are more accurate than others, I'd guess.
(Can you tell that she's insisting I refer to her as 'Ms. Carter' right now? Because she is.)
April 16, 2011
She said she was gonna 'host a party'. What a fuckin' joke.*
*NO JOKE KIDDO NO JOKE
Not really like any party I've ever been to. Nobody had any fun. I didn't have any fun.
Fuck I gotta write this down, I know I've got to write this down but I don't want to. I don't even want to think about it ever again. But if I don't, I'll go crazy trying to keep it inside. My mom* was big on expression. Always said it would ease a troubled mind and soothe a savage soul. Not sure if it'll do either of those things anymore.
*THE BITCH IS AN IMPOSTER. you can't trust her little Bradley, no no no. She may have been big on a lot of things but she's old and grey and dead and you're alive. You're a living fucking thing! Living things should not take advice from dead things [text gets too bunched up to read after this.]
I still jump every time the phone rings. She called...a week ago, I think?* She called up a bunch of us, sounded very excited about something. We got invited to this party...only it wasn't a party at all.** She had us meet her out at one of Joshua's old places, a little house in the middle of nowhere we used to take fucks who hadn't paid up money they owed for lessons. One of those places.
*Rock-a-bye Bradley, when the phone rings. When the phone rings, his bowels will fail. Then Bradley will cry like a BIG FUCKING BABY!!!
**that's ridiculous of COURSE IT WAS a PARTY! all of my parties are the height of fashion, very chic, very "in". I have always wanted to hold parties like these. No one ever wants to come so I make them come! when I first started having them I set them up aaaaall by myself. Don't remember this one, because I wore the theme out....
I remember the smell, mostly. It was so strong the minute I walked through the door. Hell, as soon as Derek opened the door it got nasty. He swore and ran off back to his car. A couple of us got brave, or stupid, enough to go check out what the hell it was. That stench was decay, is what it was. I'd smelled it before, knew it immediately, we all did. And there was so much blood...[scribbled out text. I suspect this was Bradley's doing, rather than Ms. Carter's.] Fuckin' everywhere. Like I've never seen this much blood in my life, and I have fucked guys up real bad before.
She'd rigged some kind of intercom system up all over the place.* I don't know how the fuck she did that, but her voice came in loud and clear over these little stereos plugged in in every room. Don't know how she got that hooked up, don't care. It was fuckin spooky, is what it was.
*I did it myself! Took several hours and lots of screaming.
The next thing I know, she started giggling like some school girl. She tells us all 'Go upstairs, my little ducklings, I have a surprise for all of you.'* I know I was pretty convinced we were about to get killed. Most of the guys there that night were. But somehow she knew we weren't moving, because she started screaming pretty loud** about how we weren't going anywhere and how she'd kill us all if we didn't. We high-tailed it pretty fast after that. Fucked up bitch.
*I'll be honest...I'm no good at surprises. It's all well and good to see the look on the person who is being surprised's face, but it takes patience that I haven't got to lay in wait and not be gratified immediately. IT'S NO FUN. When I was little I used to smash the little bunnies in our backyard with bricks...catching them was always so hard. They were very hard to surprise. So I learned how to surprise that way. But I still don't enjoy it. It's been so many years....so many dead bunnies....once, I even managed to surprise some policemen who were trying to catch me! That was almost fun! But seeing their brains all over the walls and the floor after I smashed them with bricks was the most fun part. Not the surprise part.... [Note: This entire paragraph was written out on a sticky-note Ms. Carter stapled to Bradley's original work. The fact that it goes into Ms. Carter's views on surprises are what lead me to conclude it was intended to refer to this particular section.]
**I FUCKING HATE SLOW-POKES. HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE THEM
...that little girl...that poor little girl...
That's what the 'surprise' was, it was a little girl tied to a chair in one of the rooms upstairs. She couldn't have been older than twelve. so gruesome. it looked like someone had cut her open at the belly, let her intestines fall out. I couldn't move, none of us could. Shit was fucked up. I've seen some bad things but..... she was still alive! Who the fuck does that to a twelve year old girl!*
*Oh, I know who! Me! It's me! The answer is me! [There is a doodle of Ms. Carter raising her hand in the margin.]
Body parts strewn all over the floor around her. Not her's, I'm pretty sure, 'cause there were arms and hearts and....all kinds of fucked up shit.* There was a collection of buckets on our side of the room, and she... Her voice over the speakers told us to cut the girl up. Told us to tear out whatever organs we could find, in tact or in pieces, she didn't care. We had to put them in the buckets, load them up into a truck outside, and...
*No humans were harmed during the making of this journal. Except for all of them. Each and every one cut up by your's truly! I'm very good at it. I took my time with each one...carved beautiful blood and meat sculptures...[Illegible scribbling. Looks like 'open the doors to Heaven'?]
The whole time that little girl was crying and begging us to just kill her or return her to her mommy. One of my friends, he refused to do it. he went downstairs, got in his car, and left. Haven't heard from him since. I hope he got the fuck out of town. There was a guy in the front seat of the truck. He must have been one of ours, I don't see how he couldn't have been. I remember the look in his eyes though...scared. So scared.
We did it, though.* At least she died quickly. But I've never felt so fucked up in my life. Maybe I'll buy a plane ticket, move somewhere and never look back. I could do it.**
*She tasted so sweet, like a pear!
**No he couldn't. He didn't. He won't. NEVER. WON'T LET YOU.
I don't know what else to do.
There's your answer, Sanna. That's what one of Ms. Carter's 'parties' is like. Not exactly my idea of a good time, but eh, different strokes for different folks. Right?
Anyway, I've found the next entry in Bradley's journal already, but it's getting late and I'm an old man who needs his sleep. Next post will go up tomorrow, if I'm feeling up to it and Ms. Carter and I aren't busy. I've got to make sure she makes it to a meet-up on the south end of town some time in the afternoon, so we'll see how that goes. A couple of people need punishing, Ms. Carter tells me.
-Mr. Flint
(Can you tell that she's insisting I refer to her as 'Ms. Carter' right now? Because she is.)
April 16, 2011
She said she was gonna 'host a party'. What a fuckin' joke.*
*NO JOKE KIDDO NO JOKE
Not really like any party I've ever been to. Nobody had any fun. I didn't have any fun.
Fuck I gotta write this down, I know I've got to write this down but I don't want to. I don't even want to think about it ever again. But if I don't, I'll go crazy trying to keep it inside. My mom* was big on expression. Always said it would ease a troubled mind and soothe a savage soul. Not sure if it'll do either of those things anymore.
*THE BITCH IS AN IMPOSTER. you can't trust her little Bradley, no no no. She may have been big on a lot of things but she's old and grey and dead and you're alive. You're a living fucking thing! Living things should not take advice from dead things [text gets too bunched up to read after this.]
I still jump every time the phone rings. She called...a week ago, I think?* She called up a bunch of us, sounded very excited about something. We got invited to this party...only it wasn't a party at all.** She had us meet her out at one of Joshua's old places, a little house in the middle of nowhere we used to take fucks who hadn't paid up money they owed for lessons. One of those places.
*Rock-a-bye Bradley, when the phone rings. When the phone rings, his bowels will fail. Then Bradley will cry like a BIG FUCKING BABY!!!
**that's ridiculous of COURSE IT WAS a PARTY! all of my parties are the height of fashion, very chic, very "in". I have always wanted to hold parties like these. No one ever wants to come so I make them come! when I first started having them I set them up aaaaall by myself. Don't remember this one, because I wore the theme out....
I remember the smell, mostly. It was so strong the minute I walked through the door. Hell, as soon as Derek opened the door it got nasty. He swore and ran off back to his car. A couple of us got brave, or stupid, enough to go check out what the hell it was. That stench was decay, is what it was. I'd smelled it before, knew it immediately, we all did. And there was so much blood...[scribbled out text. I suspect this was Bradley's doing, rather than Ms. Carter's.] Fuckin' everywhere. Like I've never seen this much blood in my life, and I have fucked guys up real bad before.
She'd rigged some kind of intercom system up all over the place.* I don't know how the fuck she did that, but her voice came in loud and clear over these little stereos plugged in in every room. Don't know how she got that hooked up, don't care. It was fuckin spooky, is what it was.
*I did it myself! Took several hours and lots of screaming.
The next thing I know, she started giggling like some school girl. She tells us all 'Go upstairs, my little ducklings, I have a surprise for all of you.'* I know I was pretty convinced we were about to get killed. Most of the guys there that night were. But somehow she knew we weren't moving, because she started screaming pretty loud** about how we weren't going anywhere and how she'd kill us all if we didn't. We high-tailed it pretty fast after that. Fucked up bitch.
*I'll be honest...I'm no good at surprises. It's all well and good to see the look on the person who is being surprised's face, but it takes patience that I haven't got to lay in wait and not be gratified immediately. IT'S NO FUN. When I was little I used to smash the little bunnies in our backyard with bricks...catching them was always so hard. They were very hard to surprise. So I learned how to surprise that way. But I still don't enjoy it. It's been so many years....so many dead bunnies....once, I even managed to surprise some policemen who were trying to catch me! That was almost fun! But seeing their brains all over the walls and the floor after I smashed them with bricks was the most fun part. Not the surprise part.... [Note: This entire paragraph was written out on a sticky-note Ms. Carter stapled to Bradley's original work. The fact that it goes into Ms. Carter's views on surprises are what lead me to conclude it was intended to refer to this particular section.]
**I FUCKING HATE SLOW-POKES. HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE THEM
...that little girl...that poor little girl...
That's what the 'surprise' was, it was a little girl tied to a chair in one of the rooms upstairs. She couldn't have been older than twelve. so gruesome. it looked like someone had cut her open at the belly, let her intestines fall out. I couldn't move, none of us could. Shit was fucked up. I've seen some bad things but..... she was still alive! Who the fuck does that to a twelve year old girl!*
*Oh, I know who! Me! It's me! The answer is me! [There is a doodle of Ms. Carter raising her hand in the margin.]
Body parts strewn all over the floor around her. Not her's, I'm pretty sure, 'cause there were arms and hearts and....all kinds of fucked up shit.* There was a collection of buckets on our side of the room, and she... Her voice over the speakers told us to cut the girl up. Told us to tear out whatever organs we could find, in tact or in pieces, she didn't care. We had to put them in the buckets, load them up into a truck outside, and...
*No humans were harmed during the making of this journal. Except for all of them. Each and every one cut up by your's truly! I'm very good at it. I took my time with each one...carved beautiful blood and meat sculptures...[Illegible scribbling. Looks like 'open the doors to Heaven'?]
The whole time that little girl was crying and begging us to just kill her or return her to her mommy. One of my friends, he refused to do it. he went downstairs, got in his car, and left. Haven't heard from him since. I hope he got the fuck out of town. There was a guy in the front seat of the truck. He must have been one of ours, I don't see how he couldn't have been. I remember the look in his eyes though...scared. So scared.
We did it, though.* At least she died quickly. But I've never felt so fucked up in my life. Maybe I'll buy a plane ticket, move somewhere and never look back. I could do it.**
*She tasted so sweet, like a pear!
**No he couldn't. He didn't. He won't. NEVER. WON'T LET YOU.
I don't know what else to do.
There's your answer, Sanna. That's what one of Ms. Carter's 'parties' is like. Not exactly my idea of a good time, but eh, different strokes for different folks. Right?
Anyway, I've found the next entry in Bradley's journal already, but it's getting late and I'm an old man who needs his sleep. Next post will go up tomorrow, if I'm feeling up to it and Ms. Carter and I aren't busy. I've got to make sure she makes it to a meet-up on the south end of town some time in the afternoon, so we'll see how that goes. A couple of people need punishing, Ms. Carter tells me.
-Mr. Flint
Monday, February 3, 2014
Mayhem and Monsters(but mostly just monotony)
Well, ah, fuck it I guess.
She wants the story told, and she asked me to tell it. And honestly? I'm not about to argue with her.
Hi, you can call me Mr. Flint. I work for a monster, too. And to be honest with you, aside from the screaming, it's not all that horrifying. I've heard plenty of screams over the years. These ones aren't so different. I just deliver messages, most of the time, anyway. It's not so bad.
Apparently I'm going to be the scribe for one Jessica Carter from now on(and no, I won't be referring to her by the late Bradley's term of endearment, 'The Monster' unless she explicitly asks me to. It's hard to argue with a woman who regularly eats eyeballs off forks.)
So what does that mean for this blog?
First off, it means a lot more coherence. Jess has asked that I continue transcribing Bradley's journals here(yes, she is still convinced that he was her son) for all the world to see. But I can put the pieces together a lot faster and a lot more cleanly, despite the fact that Jess has taken a big red crayon to a lot of what he wrote. Apparently, there are a lot of stories recorded by Bradley that she wants told. She's only just shown the loose sheets of journal paper to me, so it's going to take some time to compile things in the right order. Especially since she's scribbled out some of the dates. I think she just enjoys intentionally obfuscating things.
Second, I'll be able to give you a better read-out than she will on what's going on right now, on a day-to-day basis. Jess has taken me on as a sort of errand boy slash personal assistant, so I spend most of my time in close proximity with the crazy kook. There's a lot she gets up to, being a mob boss and all- and yes, she is exactly that. I'm not sure whether she has the capacity to explain all of it. She's smart, but in more of a primal, instinctive sense than a 'sit down and contemplate the mysteries of the universe' kind of way. Writing things down as they happen, accurately, is not exactly her strong suit. As you've all seen.
I know this blog hasn't been active for a few months now. Pretty sure it was bugging Jess that she hadn't kept on with the story. Which is odd. But she hired me to write the rest of it down, so it must have been important to her somehow. Not really sure if there'll be an audience for this, but...eh, whatever, I don't care.
Next journal entry goes up tomorrow. Gotta go see a man about a debt.
-Mr. Flint
She wants the story told, and she asked me to tell it. And honestly? I'm not about to argue with her.
Hi, you can call me Mr. Flint. I work for a monster, too. And to be honest with you, aside from the screaming, it's not all that horrifying. I've heard plenty of screams over the years. These ones aren't so different. I just deliver messages, most of the time, anyway. It's not so bad.
Apparently I'm going to be the scribe for one Jessica Carter from now on(and no, I won't be referring to her by the late Bradley's term of endearment, 'The Monster' unless she explicitly asks me to. It's hard to argue with a woman who regularly eats eyeballs off forks.)
So what does that mean for this blog?
First off, it means a lot more coherence. Jess has asked that I continue transcribing Bradley's journals here(yes, she is still convinced that he was her son) for all the world to see. But I can put the pieces together a lot faster and a lot more cleanly, despite the fact that Jess has taken a big red crayon to a lot of what he wrote. Apparently, there are a lot of stories recorded by Bradley that she wants told. She's only just shown the loose sheets of journal paper to me, so it's going to take some time to compile things in the right order. Especially since she's scribbled out some of the dates. I think she just enjoys intentionally obfuscating things.
Second, I'll be able to give you a better read-out than she will on what's going on right now, on a day-to-day basis. Jess has taken me on as a sort of errand boy slash personal assistant, so I spend most of my time in close proximity with the crazy kook. There's a lot she gets up to, being a mob boss and all- and yes, she is exactly that. I'm not sure whether she has the capacity to explain all of it. She's smart, but in more of a primal, instinctive sense than a 'sit down and contemplate the mysteries of the universe' kind of way. Writing things down as they happen, accurately, is not exactly her strong suit. As you've all seen.
I know this blog hasn't been active for a few months now. Pretty sure it was bugging Jess that she hadn't kept on with the story. Which is odd. But she hired me to write the rest of it down, so it must have been important to her somehow. Not really sure if there'll be an audience for this, but...eh, whatever, I don't care.
Next journal entry goes up tomorrow. Gotta go see a man about a debt.
-Mr. Flint
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