Cupcake

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

Odd

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.

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. -_-