-Doc- Whisperings

Something's not right. Something hasn't BEEN right. I haven't felt right and I know that things are not right.

I keep hearing things in the walls. The House is speaking, shifting, groaning like a great beast that's waking up from a long nap. Dr. Rivers says he can't hear the sounds (Or, well, more like he gave me a funny look when I asked about it), but he's on such a cocktail of painkillers, I envy him for being unable to hear. But I have to stay sober. I have to take care of everyone. Amanda is feeling better. Dr. Rivers will feel better soon. Alex will feel better. August looks pale, but he'll be okay. Boss will be okay. Steele is his usual self. Todd is Todd. Sam is Sam. Everyone will be okay.

There's just this constant tingling on the back of my neck, and occasionally, I see an unearthly shadow from just around a corner and my hair stands on end. I want to scream, even right now. August tells me I'm not getting enough sleep, but my god, the things I SEE when I shut my eyes...the coyotes, the raccoons, once stuffed away neatly into their bags, carefully preserved in formaldehyde, ripping open their plastic prisons to shamble across the floor on their mutilated limbs. Dozens of rats burst from mason jars, splattering sick fluid across the walls and floor, all crawling towards me, staring right at me with those dead, whitish-blue eyes. I almost fear blinking. I fear blinking and I fear sound and I fear silence and I fear the lights in the ceiling and the shadows on the floor. I want to shut myself away deep in the basement until this all blows over, but the architecture keeps shifting, and I gaze down those dark and unfamiliar corridors and it's as if they will swallow my mind, leaving my body with its mouth gaping open, empty and unsure. All I can do is stare until I realize I have been staring, then continue on with my business.

I am still clean. No drugs. None at all, this is all just me, me, me. I don't know why this is happening. Why is this happening? I don't feel well, I'm going to get a glass of water and try to forget that the world is spinning around me and how much my head throbs.

The mice have gone silent. They never go silent, I can always hear them, but they're quiet. I wonder if they all died. What a fucking pity, I wanted to cut all their tiny hearts out and see what they had hidden in their soft little bellies.

-Doc- Inquiry Into the Disease Nature of Supernatural Stalking

I’ll admit, I’ve been scarce for a few weeks now. I’ve gotten a few knocks on the basement door from the others asking if I finally succumbed to the heat, and half of that is probably because I smell like something dead. However, it’s all been for a good cause: I’ve been going through records and attempting to find patterns in all of the cases I’ve handled over the past few years. Yes, I know I mentioned in my first post that I don’t offer medical services to the Stalked outside of this team, but that doesn’t mean I won’t take a look at someone if I happen to be on a delivery anyway.

I’ve been part of this business for several years, and I’ve been one of the Stalked for many more. After I performed my first few deliveries, I found myself awestruck by the seemingly endless variety of physical symptoms present within other Runners. On my fourth delivery, I started to perform physicals on the other Stalked, even accepting a medical history and physical in lieu of monetary payment if it was a freelance job. I’ve amassed quite an impressive collection of names and symptoms over the years, and I’ve begun to see patterns emerging from the murk and mystery. It’s nothing conclusive, and nothing universal. Some of the Runners display few or none of these symptoms, but the majority of cases I’ve been able to document match at least some of these criteria.

Before I launch into my explanation, I will say this: viewing this condition as a disease may be flawed, but it does make some sense. First of all, there is no hard and set definition of disease: after all, centuries ago, corpulence was seen as a sign of wealth, while today we tell an obese person that they should consider a diet and exercise program. Secondly, though I cannot define a universal set of symptoms, I can attempt to list and understand symptoms originating from a common cause. Chronic exposure to the Slender Man has been known to not only exacerbate preexisting medical conditions, but also to create new ones. If I attempted to list off every symptom I saw during every examination, you could probably find about a hundred diseases that could be blamed for only a fraction of those symptoms. Thirdly, I would claim that this disease could almost qualify as an infectious one. The Slender Man has been known on numerous occasions to find new victims who interact frequently with current ones. Though the pathogenic agent in this case is not microscopic, some manner of transmission is possible.

The most common physical symptoms I have noticed include fever, chills, joint pain, nausea, vomiting, predisposition to bruising, stomach ulcers and bleeding, fatigue, headaches, muscular atrophy, bleeding in the trachea and lungs, and bone degeneration. Many of these symptoms are also found in a variety of autoimmune diseases such as lupus. While a more controlled study into the possible similarities between autoimmune disorders and exposure to the Slender Man is necessary to draw any conclusions, I would be curious to see how patients would respond to treatments given to sufferers of autoimmune disorders. Quinine, which is usually used in the treatment of malaria, has been shown to be effective against lupus, though the precise reason why quinine works so well in those cases is still under investigation. I’ve been considering adding quinine to a few of the team members’ treatment plans to see if it helps alleviate some of their symptoms, but some of its side effects may be deadly, so I’m wary. For now, I’m going to continue to recommend non-steroidal anti-inflammatory medications (such as Ibuprofen) to deal with fever, pain, and inflammation, as well as prescription antiemetics as needed.

I’ll admit, a few weeks of pouring over old records is not enough to produce a viable hypothesis. However, if I’m right, the implications could be huge. I wish I could devise an ethical way to study the disease nature of this sickness, but try as I might, I cannot think of one. That’s just as well, I suppose: I don’t think He would give me enough time to complete and publish it.

I may need to get out of this basement for a while. Before it swallows me.