Typhonia told me to kill Russell, and I almost did.
I'd repeated the cycle. Followed him. Watched him. Broke things he loved. I left notes. Wrote chalk messages on his house, on his driveway. Washed them all away when he went looking for the vandal, or when he went inside to call the police. They thought he was crazy.
He started failing. Started skipping classes. Started losing sleep. He became paranoid, lashing out at his friends. He was eventually sent to the guidance councillor. She reassured him. She fucking made that horrid, horrid boy, who beats people he deems "lesser" for fun, feel better about himself. She made him calm down. Set him up with a therapist. I was at a loss. He started to improve again, started to get that old, confident swagger back. He even slammed me into a locker, just for fun.
I couldn't just let that stand, could I?
I picked out a mask, a nice one too. Skeleton, full-cowl, latex moulded. I can articulate the mouth when I speak. Pulled on a hoodie, went to Russell's house at night. Put an envelope underneath the door mat. Then I stood outside his window for somewhere close to an hour, tapping the glass.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap.
Taptaptaptaptap.
Tap. Tap-
I couldn't make out everything that went on inside that room; I mostly noticed Russell, sleeping soundly under a pile of dirty sheets. He jolted upright, hair sticking up at odd ends. There just enough moonlight to savour the moment. His sleepy expression melted away, leaving abject terror as it fled his face. He chased me through the neighbourhood; I even let him keep sight of me, for about 10 minutes. Been running this area for a while. Know the ins and outs. He'd left his door open. Fiddled with the bolt for a while, so it wouldn't close properly. Pulled the envelope out further. Then I hid and waited.
He was freaking out. Called the therapist; I guess he really liked my artwork (self-centered prick, it was all about him, after all) because he screamed something and waved it around while on the line. He was going to bring it in. So, I slipped in, took the envelope. Ah, that was a good night.
It all went sour the next evening, because that was when Typhonia told me to kill Russell.
I actually waited there, for a good three hours, ready to ram a knife in his chest. But each time I did it, I kept remembering all the times he'd beaten me. And this was worse, wasn't it? He wouldn't go quietly. This would be death. You don't come back from that. Dead is dead. Dead is gone. And so I did something really stupid. I thought I'd go back and say no, that I'd ignore Typhonia, even though Typhonia loved me so much and had only ever tried to help me and protect me, so Typhonia had to punish me for being so stupid, for hurting her and for hurting myself. Typhonia was very sad that she had to do it.
After a week, the skin started to grow back, and the bite marks and the tearing looked less bad. I bandaged them up, and I knew what I had to do.
That jackass still hadn't fixed the bolt. He was out, then, at another therapy session. I grabbed everything he had, laptop, camera, photos, the lot. I left the door wide open. I left a trail of notes, easy enough for him to follow. I stopped at a little clearing in a trail; they'd tried to build a park here, once, and the pavement remained, cracked and overgrown. My gloves smell like gas, but it was worth it when it all went up. By the time he got there, it was dark, and the fire was burning low.
Russell brought a tire iron. He looked worn, thin, haggard. Some crazed glint of desperation caught the firelight, trapped it in his eyes. He screamed loudly, bellowing and demanding that whoever was messing with him come out and fight. He was a man nearing the end of his rope. He was ready to use that tire iron.
It didn't matter, of course. I was waiting. Hidden amongst the overgrowth, dark and welcoming in the soft, night breeze. The leaves and blades of grass hissed softly as they dragged and scraped against one another, a choir of small, quiet serpents. I knocked him over, slammed his head into the pavement a few times. I drew the knife. Blackened steel, catching none of the stars and their radiant gaze. I held it over him for a few minutes. I hesitated. I still didn't understand what I had to do. I didn't understand why Typhonia wanted me to kill him, I didn't see how this was what was best for me...
And then my teeth clacked, and my brain rattled in my skull. I fell over. Russell had gotten hold of the tire iron again. I raised my arm just in time, stumbled forward just enough to save my face and lessen the blow. Another sunburst of pain blossomed there, raw and pulsating. He raised his arm again to swing, caught up in a frenzy. The same frenzy I'd seen him beat someone almost to death in.
I panicked.
I stepped forward.
Russell let out a yelp, gurgled.
I felt something warm running over my glove.
Russell slumped forward, almost touching me.
I pulled the knife out.
And at last, Russell was gone.
Typhonia was so happy. Typhonia knew I finally understood that he was truly bad, that he needed to be stopped. Typhonia embraced me again, and all the pain and exhaustion slipped away. I'm going with her now. Typhonia tells me I've earned my reward, as her familiar. I'm going to go with her and I'll be happy and free and safe and loved and I'll fix the other bad people too, so there won't ever be another Russell out there to hurt anyone again. Typhonia knows how to spot them, how to tell them from normal people, so Typhonia will tell me and I'll kill them, I'll kill every one Typhonia shows me need to be killed, and then Typhonia will love me and I will finally be able to say someone cares---
[Silas' journal ends here.]
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