Sunday, July 15, 2012


She's let me go.

I don't know what happened. I've read the account here and...I remember that happening. The strings wrapped themselves around her and she...she became something else. She became the Wooden Girl.

I don't know how, but she did.

I could feel the strings wrapping around me again. I knew I wouldn't be able to move or talk or even blink unless she decreed it.

But she just let me go. I felt this searing pain and then I was back at Shady Lawn. In Grace's room.

And there was Grace. The Wooden Girl.

"Why?" I asked.

"We had a deal," she said. "You saved Grace instead of yourself. Grace was saved." She took a bow. "And now you get to go. I always keep my promises, after all."

I sank to my knees as the strings withdrew. "What about-" I stuttered. "What about the others? All the ones that were eliminated or saved? What about them?"

She looked at me. I tried to see a glimmer of Grace, but I couldn't see any expression behind that mask.

"Any who got away, I'll let go," she said. "Any who stayed...they are mine to keep. Goodbye."

And then she was gone.

I don't know what to do now. But I know what Grace would want.

I've let all the patients out of the building, all the ones that were left. I taken all the files that were in Dr. Beakman's office. I'll probably mail them to the FBI in the next few days.

And then I started pouring gasoline around. One of the patients helpfully provided me with a match.

We all watched as Shady Lawn burned.

I don't know what's going to become of me. I don't know where Beakman went or if he'll be arrested. Probably not.

Bad people are never punished. And the good suffer and become twisted.

I'm going to leave this place and never come back. I'm going out and never stopping.

And if one day, I meet Grace again?

I'll beg for forgiveness.


Tuesday, June 12, 2012

She's gone.

After you guys solved the last riddle, I wondered what they were going to do. I mean, the riddles all have something to do with my..."punishment," right? The smoke led to a fire, the cupcakes led to those razor-bladed unicorns. And now that the answer was "light," I wondered what the heck  was going to happen to me.

It was worse than I anticipated. The next morning I woke up blind.

How the hell they did that, I have no idea. I couldn't see a thing. I had to call 911 and when a doctor looked at me, he said that it was a case of "conversion disorder resulting in somatoform blindness" - what they used to call "hysterical blindness."

This wasn't psychosomatic. This was real. I couldn't do anything. I was in the hospital for about a month and then...then it went away. I could see again.

I went back to Shady Lawn immediately.

It was worse than when I left. The building itself looked...diseased. And it was so quiet. The hallways were dark, since the lights had been broken. The "P"s and "E"s that had been painted on several doors were smeared. I checked in on some patients and they all looked asleep. I couldn't see any other doctors or nurses around.

And then I checked Grace's room and saw that she was gone.

And in her place was a note:


And two files.

Patient 1: Grace Smith

Condition: Dissociative Identity Disorder

History: Ms. Smith came to us after a psychotic break. In her childhood, she would imagine herself to be another person, "Karen," with a brother named "Derek." "Karen" would take all her bad memories away, while "Derek" would provide an escape from loneliness. As she grew up, "Karen" became "Kevin" and her mind began working through her problems, eventually "killing off" Derek. This proved too much for her fragile psyche, however, and "Kevin" took over completely. We have successfully dealt with the "Kevin" persona and brought back Grace.

Patient 2: Robert Zanetti

Condition: Low self-esteem

History: Mr. Zanetti came to us for a job and we have provided him one as an orderly. He suffers from extremely low self-esteem - despite having a degree in English, he has instead worked a series of menial jobs. But perhaps we can put him to good use.

I...I'm supposed to choose between Grace and myself?

How? How am I supposed to do that?

Sunday, May 13, 2012

The Next Riddle

A sticky note with a riddle was left on Grace's door this morning. I woke up (not sure how I fell asleep to begin with in that fucked up place..) to find patient files dumped in my lap and a very grumpy looking Mr. Bun glaring at me. Fuck, those stitches are creepy..

The riddle:

Wzzv ez esp mprtyytyr, mlnv ty esp oljd hspy Rclnp hld hszwp lyo Vlcpy hld detww ty stotyr. Espcp, jzf htww qtyo jzfc dtxawp ctoowp. Dzwgp ez xlvp esp Zcopcwj awlj zynp xzcp. Tryzcp zfc xpddlrp, lyo xzcp htww otp.

Patient 1: Ruby Walsh

Condition: Trichophagia

History: Ms. Walsh started eating her own hair when she was in her early teens. It became something of an obsession with her, culminating in an operation where a trichobezoar had to be removed from her stomach. As a consequence, Ms. Walsh insists that that her head be shaved every month.

Patient 2: Lee Smith

Condition: Paranoia and hypochondriasis.

History: Mr. Smith was admitted to the hospital in 2003 for a herniated disk. During his stay in the hospital, he became increasingly paranoid that he was being observed and that the doctors were administering various diseases to him. Subsequently, he was deemed mentally unfit and transferred to the psychiatric department and subsequently to Shady Lawn.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

No, I'm Not Dead

Grace isn't doing so well..

They've shipped off half of the fuckin' inmates here. Every other cell is just empty, rotting from the inside out with claw marks up and down the sides. Some blood's splashed around theatrically, but I'm not sure what's blood and what's paint. Why would there be paint? Because the bastards, the Misfits, have been fuckin' around with us in their off time and throwing the paint around to make us think there are victims nearby. If someone's wounded, we're supposed to at least try to help them. These days, though..

We don't go past a hallway or two on our own without going in doubles, never coming or going without a group when we leave to go home. Matty's tires were slashed a few days ago. When he bent over to look at the damage, he got a switchblade between the ribs. Someone thought that was REALLY funny. Since then, well, we're a bit more careful. More jaded. None of us dare to stay home after what happened to my apartment.

I'm rambling again. Fuck, I've been afraid to post, afraid to even look at this blog. I just sit on my rusty little folding chair outside of Grace's room, checking on her on the hour, looking around nervously. Hoping I won't get singled out again. So long as I'm her "Guardian", I've been able to avoid getting hurt. The drawback, though, is that I haven't been able to save anyone. No riddles left for me means, well, I don't know.

I'll figure it out. I think they're fucking with us now..

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Uh, guys? A little help here..

I found Grace last night, slumped over on her bed and unconscious. She was bleeding from the mouth, the blood was everywhere. There shouldn't have been anything in the room for her to harm herself. I.. I panicked. I started screaming, calling for help and the doctors on staff to come look at her. I grabbed a blanket off the chair by her bed, wrapped her up and held her while we waited for somebody to hear us. I know I wasn't supposed to, I know I probably messed up a "crime scene" or some shit. I didn't care.  Dammit, she was shaking and she looked sick to boot. When I looked closer, I figured out where all the blood was coming through. Her bottom lip was bitten through, though I have no clue if it was deliberate or not. She looked so miserable. I just had to hold her. I'll probably get some kind of a meeting with Dr. Beakman later over it.

She's.. okay now. She's in a room a little farther away from the others for now, and I've (so far) been assigned to look after her until we know more about what's going on. I'll still have my rounds, but it's been strongly suggested that if I want to "protect" her so badly, then I need to try a little harder to do so.

Teofilo's door has a giant blue P on it. As with all the other times, no one will talk about it.


There was a riddle waiting for me when I got home from all this insanity, with another two patient files beneath it. I suppose this is serious time. 


Patient 1: William Hogarth

Condition: Suffers from intense paranoia and delusions

History: Once worked in criminal justice. Following a string of gruesome murders, he was arrested by the police. Hogarth maintained that he did not kill anyone, and that a whispering monster had done it. Because of his belief, he was institutionalized. After about a month, he was transported from England to the United States, and placed under Dr. Beakman's care in Shady Lawn Sanitarium. He has begun to slowly recover from his condition.

Patient 2: Jasper Oakley

Condition: Comatose. Repeats words that people say and responds to stimuli via attempted mimicry.

History: Father of two children. His wife died in a car accident last year. Reportedly, he became an alcoholic soon afterward. Entered into his comatose condition around the beginning of the year, after he was found unconscious in a lake, where it is believed be tried to drown himself.

Saturday, April 28, 2012


One of you solved the riddle while I was at work. Thank you for that. I'm sorry for not responding sooner. I finally hauled my ass in to work. Proxiehunter, to answer your question, some of the doors now have giant red "E"'s on them. The rest of the staff have unanimously decided to ignore them. I even tried directly asking people about them, to no effect. No one will admit they're there.

Forgive the terrible pun, but it's beginning to feel like a madhouse in here. The crazies (fuckin' Misfits) are running around doing whatever they want, while the rest of us are stuck trying to do our jobs. Cleaning up after their messes, letting Grace into random rooms and sneaking her out after curfew to go on wild goose chases. Why? Apparently if we don't, Dr. Beakman brings us into his office and "talks us into helping."

I'm skeptical. I know the people that work here, and some of them wouldn't be helping ICP rejects run around making the situation worse on the rest of us. I think maybe he has something over the staff's heads or a way of convincing them.. I don't know. I haven't been called in. I HAVE gotten a few mutterings about pushing you guys to solve the riddles faster so we'll get a break at work. To whoever answered the riddle last night, thank you so much for doing it while I was at work. I wasn't looking forward to another fire.

I opened a supplies closet only to have a cascade of rainbow colored My Little Pony dolls fall on my head. It wouldn't have been so bad, maybe even funny if it weren't for the razor blades stuck in their sides. You heard me right. The damn things cut me pretty fucking deeply. Some were decapitated, itsy bitsy little nails were shoved in a few of their hooves, and most were covered in fake blood. At least.. I think it was fake blood.. I never thought ponies could be horrifying until I saw about thirty of THOSE fall on me.

What do ponies have to do with "cupcakes?" Is this some kind of punishment for the players not choosing an inmate to Protect? For my not wanting to play? Or is Jester just the creepy little bastard we all think he is, and this is just another pointless game while he wastes our time. He HAS to have a point here.. what is it? AND WHAT THE HELL DOES IT HAVE TO DO WITH PONIES?! Ugh. Fuck this.

The riddles have been solved, and I'm off of work and about to crash. Players, please do me a favor and choose which inmate you want to save.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

The Envelope

I decided to open the envelope when I got off work. Yes, I keep stalling, and I know it'll probably bite me in the ass. At least I'm trying. I want to help these people, I really do, it's just.. I'm scared, ya know?

The riddle:

Fyflr'e r qfnfv xcgt 8 tvjpmbfm bz zu. Yvsyu jragmy tdrc iaq tvjpmbf ynoy. Ubrdv jm ffzmf bzv docorly bz kiy cxruy. Uan jm gtzt jbejjvyq?

And the file:

Patient Name: David Manson-

Condition: Kleptomania

History: David Manson began to steal things from his classmates at a young age, and hoard the various objects under his bed. When he reached adulthood, he became a career thief. He was captured and institutionalized three years ago.

I'm keeping my phone on me from now on, to respond to this and keep track of all this.

And, oh, I should probably mention the rule from Jester's blog: We only have two days to solve this.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Where there's Smoke...

It was a trap. The whole damn riddle, the ease of solving it, the answer, his waiting until I was home? The clown wanted to prove a point, apparently. He didn't want to be like the Minstrel, his stupid fanboy. He wanted "us" (the players and I?) to be more careful about how we solved the riddles this time. I don't know if there could be more than one answer to each riddle, or he's just a dick, but he proved his point.

I went to sleep after Amandel posted the answer to the riddle. No encoding, the riddle itself being one you could Google and find (trust me, I did it before even Amandel posted.) I figured it would just mean we'd get another riddle quickly. I was wrong once more. I woke up to get ready for work around nine and stumbled into my kitchen to grab a bite to eat before I showered. I wasn't even finished with my food before some motherfucker firebombed me. When I say firebombed me, I don't mean I lifted my head and smelled smoke or some romantic shit like that. A freaking Molotov cocktail smashed against the wall near my head, followed by another by the fridge and one by the stove. I didn't stop to check for more detail than that, sorry.

I ran out of there as fast as I could, in my pajama pants and not much fuckin' else. I came out hacking and wheezing only to see a big, hulking brute of a man staring me down. He hadn't even bothered to leave after he threw the Molotovs, or hide. He just stared me down, a scowl twisting the thread sewing his lips together into an even uglier grimace. He scared the hell out of me, to be honest. I backed away from him to go get in my car and call to trade shifts with someone else from day shift. I finished the call, opened the door to my car, and laying in my passenger seat was a plain white envelope with my name on it.

I'm... hesitant to open it, especially after this incident with my flaming apartment. What should I do?

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Riddle #1

Jester left me a note, one I tried to ignore and keep from posting. I thought if I didn't post it, maybe he wouldn't hurt anyone. Maybe he would wait with his "Eliminations." I was wrong.

Now we have to hurry solving the riddles he's leaving me. They are the "salvation" of the inmates involved, though I don't quite know how yet. I'm so sorry, I'm not sure what to do besides post what he left.

He told me he'd start us off easy, with a riddle anyone could solve.

The riddle: "I am the black child of a white father, a wingless bird, flying even to the clouds of heaven. I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me, even though there is no cause for grief, and at once on my birth I am dissolved into air. What am I?"

There was a sticky note at the top of the note. This is what was written on it, in messy handwriting:

Name: Michael Teofilo

Condition: Fregoli delusion

History: The appearance of this disorder appeared late in Mr. Teofilo's life, whereupon Mr. Teofilo began believing that everyone he ever saw was actually the "Decaying Man," including his wife and sons. When Mr. Teofilo tried attacking his family, he was admitted to Shady Lawn.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Some Questions Go Unanswered

The freakshow continues. Vayne, the self righteous bastard that works the shift right before mine, was found in that Smith girl's room this morning. His face was unrecognizable, all skin removed with muscle and bone shining with blood, his eyes refusing to close. The eyelids were gone, you see. He was "staring" at her when she woke up. The screaming alerted the still living co-workers of mine from several rooms away, or at least, that's what they tell me. I was at home sleeping off the exhaustion after another twelve hour shift. They don't bother to schedule us correctly here, and sleep.. well, sleep is difficult.

Sorry, sorry, I got distracted again. I have to pause my normally scheduled bitching to finish up what I was trying to say. I found a link on my blog after I got home from work Saturday morning. I.. didn't bother to follow the link, thought it was some punk kid  who happened to get Grace's name right. Maybe another patient of Shady Lawn's, they're forever making blogs and making up crazy shit. It's encouraged! Supposedly it helps their imagination, though the things they come up with are a bit too sick for my tastes. I don't know how they got the link to MY blog considering the fact that I never told anyone it existed.. anyway. Back to the subject.

I should have followed that link. This "Minstrel" you people have been following was responsible for Grace's medication being mixed up. If I had reported the blog to Mr. Beakman, maybe this shit wouldn't have happened. But hell, by the time I got home, "Jester" had already gotten to Vayne. Supposedly. No proof actually exists that our good doctor will admit to. It implies pretty heavily that my boss is allowing Jester's nonsense. I'm hoping this is just more made up, coincidental bullshit. The blood on that patient's walls points to the possibility of the Puppet's Game being real. If the blog's right.. Grace's stories were real.

Fuck if I know. I'll follow the blogs talking about Grace, just in case. God help us all.

Thursday, April 19, 2012


The patients have been acting strangely lately. They are either mute in fear, or shriek about some phantom doctor we don't have on staff. More hallucinations, I'd bet, but why all of them? What's causing it?

 I don't know. It isn't my job to ask questions, at least, that's what Dr. Beakman says when I ask him. I should "help our patients through this dark stage in their life."

Whatever. I'll put in my eight hours every night, and leave.

I've never hated a job so much in my life. So, I decided to make this blog.

 I'll bitch to the internet, get my troubles off my chest, and sleep well at night knowing I won't accidentally say something that could get me fired.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Evil Employer Woes

Shady Lawn is, well, a nightmare to work at. The patients are a little.. off. I mean, I know I work in a sanitorium, but this place is worse than the others. At least at my old jobs, you could reliably count on a paycheck. The doctors didn't look like horror movie rejects, and the clipboards that hung on the ends of the beds weren't blacked out like they do here. When other orderlies and I aren't crossing each other at the end of shift or from room to room, it feels like a graveyard. Our shoes squeak on the shitty linoleum, hell, we even whisper to keep from being overheard. Why do I work here? Because being broke is even worse.

The lady down in Room 104 seems sane half the time, until someone messes with her medication. Poor Grace, she didn't realize what had happened until afterwards. Hearing her mutter about Derek and Kevin was awful. Cleaning up her puke and being attacked for my trouble was even worse. Dr. Beakman, as always, handwaved everything and swore it was a simple mistake. He "happened" to throw a glance in our direction as he spoke to his nurses. There's been a paycut for everyone that was on shift that night and a stern talking to for the entire staff. I was changing a neighboring patient's sheets and could have SWORN he was smiling at her.. creep factor jumped off the scales, and I hurried to finish what I was doing. Just being near him makes chills go down my back..

At least the job pays well, right? RIGHT? Oh hell, I'm just talking to myself. Why am I even bothering. -_-