Filename: STALKER.TXT

 <<transcript intercepted @ 21:01 on 12/14/12>>

<<process_DCRYPT active in memory.>>

[The entire transcript of E's (Presumably standing for "Enigma") normal commentary was garbled plaintext. Despite my best efforts, it would not decode to anything meaningful, nor did it seem to be encrypted with any sort of cipher. All I really got out of it was that this file's name is apparently "STALKER.TXT". Either E really didn't want someone to read this particular note, or his message was corrupted. - Willow]

<<opening attachment: STALKER.TXT>> 

The Stalker

I am the shadows.
I am close, yet still so far,
Far away enough
That you will never see.
Not until I wish it.

I am the forest.
I act as its tall trees do,
Cloaking myself with branching arms,
So perfect a disguise.
That you will never notice.
Not until I let you.

I am watching.
I see you without any eyes,
And note your wary motions,
Hearing your frightened footfalls on
The twigs and leaves below.
Are you lost, you poor thing?

I am fear.
I am that subtle nervousness,
The paranoia in your chest,
That creeping-crawling feeling
That spiders down your vertebrae.
You aren’t alone tonight.

I am dread.
I am persistent and relentless,
A dark and heavy presence
That cannot be escaped.
You run, but cannot hide.
You never can from me.

I am terror.
I alone can hear your screaming
I alone watch as you quiver,
As you beg your gods for safety
That never comes to you.
Turn around, lost child.

I am behind you…

<<end transcript.>>

Filename: LASTNIGHTMARE.TXT

 <<transcript intercepted @ 21:01 on 12/14/12>>

<<process_DCRYPT active in memory.>>

"This poem came from the files of the same person who wrote "ANXIETY.TXT", and was written in several levels of XOR-encrypted Binary. For some reason, she really did not want anyone else to read it - perhaps to spare them from a similar fate to hers. - E"  

<<opening attachment: LASTNIGHTMARE.TXT>>

Last Nightmare

I have seen fear.
It cloaks itself in deathly black,
Like the shadows that it comes from.
It camouflages its treelike self
In forests shrouded by fog.
It is subtle.
It is patient.
It has no eyes, yet sees you,
And has no mouth, yet devours.
It looks at first glance like any man,
But a close look tells you it’s not.
It spreads doubt, seeds paranoia,
Reaps tragedy, and feeds upon dread.
It follows you, a relentless stalker.
It is skinnier, taller, faster than
You ever could imagine;
Its many arms comfort and horrify you,
Reaching out for you like branches.
It is everywhere.
You cannot run.
You cannot hide.
And you cannot escape.
Once it has you in its sights,
It will never lose you again,
It will never leave you any peace,
Never,
Not until it has you trapped,
Not until you’re in its grasp,
Not until it owns your mind
And soul
And has consumed you whole.
I have seen fear,
A slender, pale stalker,
And it has finally come for me.

<<end transcript.>>

⊕⊕

0011 0110 0011 1000 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0111 0011 0101 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0110 0011 0110 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 1000 0011 1000 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0110 0011 0111 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0111 0011 0011 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 1001 0011 0100 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0110 0011 0110 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0110 0011 0100 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0111 0011 0010 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 1000 0011 1001 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0110 0011 1001 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0110 0011 1000 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0110 0011 0111 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0111 0011 0100 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0110 0011 1000 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0110 0011 0100 0010 1100 0010 0000 0000 1101 0000 1010 0011 1001 0011 0011 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0110 0011 0110 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 1001 0011 0101 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 1000 0011 1001 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0111 0011 0110 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 0110 0011 0111 0010 1100 0010 0000 0011 1000 0011 1001

0011 0001 0011 0011

Filename: THATNIGHT.TXT

<<transcript intercepted @ 18:30 on 12/10/12>>

<<process_DCRYPT active in memory.>>

"I am not entirely sure where this transcript came from. That is, I don't really recall the name of the person I interviewed in order to get it, but I do recall it was another young woman, perhaps in her twenties. She was quite agitated and urged me to get the interview over quickly, and ran off in a hurry as soon as she was finished. I can only hope she's managed to find safety, or that she's alive at all... - E"

<<opening attachment: THATNIGHT.TXT>> 

 

The darkness fell too suddenly that night.

The streetlights flickered on my way home from the play recital, an eerie dance. There was no moon out, only gathering thunderheads. It looked like rain. And I had to walk home in it.

My feet hit the concrete softly, step by dance shoe clad step. A man stood under the orange glow of a streetlamp. I paid him little mind, though I did think his behavior was a bit odd. Who stood underneath a streetlight at night dressed in their Sunday best, anyway?

I continued on. He must be a businessman waiting for a late bus or something. An awkwardly tall businessman, yes, but seemingly normal enough.

Until I looked back five minutes later, and saw that he was gone. Until I began to feel… watched.

I ignored it and continued forward.

Footsteps. Right behind me.

I stopped, startled.

 

So did they.

I ran.

I thought I’d gotten far enough away. I couldn’t hear the footsteps anymore. I thought I was alone.

I wasn’t.

 

 An unseen hand ran its skeletal fingers down my spine. Another clasped my shoulder. Yet another ran its fingers through my long hair.

I yelped. Turned.

And saw the man.

But he wasn’t a man. Men have faces. And men don’t have six pairs of skinny, inhumanly long arms.

I don’t remember much after that. I woke up at home in bed hours later. But I know for sure it wasn’t a nightmare. It felt too real to be a nightmare.

And besides that, nightmares don’t stand, waiting, outside your bedroom window.

<<end transcript.>>

Filename: PSITHURISM.TXT

<<transcript intercepted @ 17:19 on 12/10/12>>

<<process_DCRYPT active in memory.>> 

"This piece was entered into a New Hampshire Middle School's writing contest by a young man, aged [REDACTED], on [DATE EXPUNGED]. It didn't win the contest apparently, but it was published along with other entries and bound into a book that was kept in the school library. About three days after the contest ended, strange symptoms were reported by those who had read the story, ranging from nausea, hallucinations, and chills to a general sense of doom or of "being watched". These symptoms persisted and with new cases occurring every few days, and within a month three of those afflicted were found dead outside a pine grove near the school building; the boy who wrote the story had also gone missing but no body was ever found. The remaining sufferers experienced amnesia regarding the past month's events, although they did generally show signs of a potential shared traumatic experience. No official explanation for the incident was ever given, and the case was closed immediately, with the book in question removed from the school as evidence. 

Please do not ask how I obtained the book, or the troublesome short story within. The story is long and I would rather not bore you with details. Regardless, since it is possible this particular transcript may affect the reader in unpleasant ways, I urge the employees of the Sycamore Foundation to use extreme caution while reading it. It is entirely possible the boy is one of HIS followers, and this is yet another subtle way of marking new targets for his master...
- E"

<<opening attachment: PSITHURISM.TXT>> 

Psithurism (SITH-ur-is-um): The sound of tree leaves and branches rustling.

---

Somewhere above the forest floor, the leaves rustled in the cold wind.

The tendril-like fog, cold and unforgiving, crept slowly around my feet, surrounding me. Ensconcing me. I remained silent, eyes wide in nervousness; neither whisper nor scream broke the chill morning air around me as I moved cautiously, so as not to trip on a stray root. My feet fell gently upon the leaf-strewn ground. My flashlight’s beam wavered nervously in front of me.

A twig snapped under foot, and my heart began to fill with a sudden, sick dread.

My flashlight swung upward, illuminating the trees above me. Their branching arms reached for me from their tall, black-clad figures, bizarrely human-like, but not human. Observing me silently, but with no eyes to do so.

But then, something felt… wrong.

I slowly grew more and more afraid as I stared into the dark. And then I saw it. A vaguely familiar, slender figure watching me from the trees. Suddenly, reality became a terrible nightmare for me as I felt the scream building.

He was here.

The building scream escaped as I felt the nightmare suddenly become a terrible reality for me. The figure watched as I backed away towards the trees. Slender. Vaguely familiar.

The more I saw of him, the more intense my fear grew. Everything about him felt wrong. He had no eyes to do so, yet observed. He was bizarrely human-like, yet not a human being.

The tall, black-clad figure reached for me with branching arms.

The trees illuminated themselves as the flashlight swung upward and around; as dread, sudden and sick and crushing, flooded my heart. I heard a twig snap underfoot as I ran, my flashlight’s beam wavering in front of me as my feet slammed onto the leaf-strewn ground.

A stray exposed root caught my foot, and I tripped, slowing my escape. My eyes grew wide with terror, and a cry of pain broke the whispering silence as my ankle twisted.

I screamed as his fog-like tendrils crept slowly towards me through the chill morning air. They surrounded me. Ensconced me. Cold. Unforgiving.

Somewhere above the forest floor, the leaves rustled in the cold wind.

<<end transcript.>>