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I thought I saw Grace outside earlier. Then I checked her blog.

She… she actually found me. I admit, I was afraid she wouldn’t.

 

On my computer this morning there was a note. It simply read: “we are nearing the end of this mummer’s farce”.

The Lonesome Artist

The security on this computer was apparently lifted last night, and Jester left a list of addresses for me. I’ve read it all.

 

Karen. All of this was about Karen.

 

So who is she?

 

Grace and I…. when we were little, our parents separated. Our dad was Magro. He wasn’t on very friendly terms with our mother, but she still let him visit us sometimes. Whenever he came over, he would immediately hug Grace. Always Grace. I was merely an afterthought. He brought presents for Grace. He never brought them for me. As far as he was concerned, Grace was his only child.

 

But whenever he came over, Grace didn’t act like herself. She as like that sometimes. She’d act differently, and insist that her name was Karen, and then, after a few hours, she’d be Grace again. Mother and I would ask her about Karen, but she’d just look confused and ask us “Who’s Karen?” I think dad knew. To this day, I don’t know if it was Grace or Karen who was his favorite.

 

When we were about eight, back in around 1989,  Karen stopped appearing. At the time, we weren’t sure what had happened, though mom and me had figured out that it was an alternate personality. But mom decided to just let the issue drop. She told me never to bring the issue up again, since she didn’t want to upset Grace. Life went on.

 

Two years ago, I met Karen again. I was visiting Grace, and we were in the middle of talking about something when suddenly she just gave the strangest look. Like she didn’t know who I was. And then she smiled and said “Hello Derek. How are you?” I was, obviously, confused. We were in the middle of a conversation, after all. And then, I asked, very cautiously, “am I still speaking to Grace?”

 

She said no.

 

She told me that her name was no longer Karen. That she hated that name now. She sort of looked down at herself, and… well, she seemed sad.

 

Transgenderism. Karen hated being a girl. As she grew, she had realized that she identified herself more as a boy (and from this point on, I’ll respect his wishes and refer to him as a male, he is, after all, my brother, in a way). He changed his name to Kevin.

 

We had a long talk, Kevin and I, and he asked me if I remembered Mr. Motley. Of course I did, he was Karen’s imaginary friend when we were little. Kevin shook his head and told me to be careful. That Mr. Motley was real, and that no one refuses him.

 

And then he asked me not to mention this to Grace. I agreed.

 

How did I not make the connection between Jester and Mr. Motley sooner? It’s obvious now. This is Jester’s revenge against Karen. His revenge for Karen refusing to leave with him.

 

Grace, I’m sorry I never told you. I was worried. I’m sorry. But please, stop following the trail. Let me die, just stay away. Don’t give that bastard what he wants.

Too good to last

Well, I woke drugged again and all the new stuff that arrived last week is gone.

 

Damn.

Wow

Sorry. The internet was down the last few days, so I had no opportunity to thank you.

I have no idea what you people did, but seriously, thanks. A few days back I woke up at around 2 pm with a headache and no memory of the night before. Last time I woke up like that I had been drugged and lost a finger, so naturally I panicked a bit.

But… nothing bad happened. There’s just so much stuff here now. An oven was installed. The closet was filled with new clothes. I have a TV now (but some channels are blocked– I think the local ones). I have… just wow.

My only concern was the note on the kitchen table: “Cheat Code Activated: You have seven days to enjoy this”. This happened last Thursday.

Sorry there haven’t been many posts. Apparently, once something’s been selected by you guys, Jester keeps me stocked up on it– which is why there was a whole bookshelf full of books sitting in the main room when I woke up yesterday. I’ve been engrossing myself in them, since, you know, nothing else to do (wordpress is the only site I can access).

 

Today I read the entirety of Terry Pratchett’s Small Gods, which was very amusing, and the entirety of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, which was… eh. Also, is it just me, or did Gatsby seem kind of stalkerish?

 

I haven’t touched The Puppet Empress since I found that message in it. I’m afraid of what else I meant find.

The Puppet Empress

I started reading that book, The Puppet Empress. It’s… disturbing.

 

There’s a chapter that talks about the Empress’s Fool. It’s like this weird song about how he danced around the world and all the children who smiled were given prizes, and all the children who didn’t smile were made to smile. There was a drawing of a bloody knife beneath that particular passage.

 

And someone had written something in red ink over the drawing. I don’t think it was part of the original book: “Your blood knows me.”

Dish and dogs

Oh hey, a dishwasher. Now I can wash my silverware. And nothing else. Because silverware are the only dishes I have.

 

Oh well, at least I won’t have to use dirty forks anymore. Sorry I flipped out yesterday.

 

Oh, and Latent Moths? I looked at it. The damn dog creeps me out. I’m not sure what came over me– maybe it was the stress, maybe I just needed an outlet, maybe I was so desperate for there to be a way out through that dog– but I cut it open. There was a plastic capsule inside it with a bit of paper in it.

 

On the paper was written the following: ” E-Ty-Fi-Th-O—Fi-Th-Fit-Fo—Et-S-E-TO-Fit—FO-Et-TTh-Fit—Tw-Ft-Fit-Fi-Se ”

 

…Yeah. I have fucking idea what that means.