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I'm jealous.

Reorganized my shelves today 📚💫

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Behold Yourself

Chapter 2

On the ground in front of me was a rather large mess of icy paint---this is not a metaphor, it was literally filled with ice---spreading across the floor. Judging by the fact it had been on the door, and the way it had fallen, that was supposed to have been on my head.

"Huh. I was expecting that to somehow be worse." I glance up at the students in their seats. "Was that acrylic paint?" A mousy little kid, who sat near the front---Jessie Holmes, I think---nodded at me. "Better. Next time, though, there should be more of a trigger than opening a door."

Yes, I'm giving my bullies advice on pranks. So what? It shows them I'm unphased, and even after I advise them, it generally doesn't work on me anyways.

"What if it was the teacher?" I point out with a grin, before heading to my seat. I'm not concerned about the mess---the janitor's are often thankful it stays in one spot, and after an awkward attempt, they requested I just leave it be. Before I sit, though, I perform a sweep check, examining for any other things they might've pulled.

The caution pays off, because I find three tacks where I'm supposed to sit, a wad of gum where my backpack is supposed to go, and a sharpie-written note---on paper, thank goodness---on my desk. Sometimes these people have no originality, I swear.

Putting my stuff down with a whuff! after clearing everything away, I decide to read the venom that was no doubt designed to pain me but would probably make me choke on laughter instead.

It was folded remarkably neatly---far neater than most notes the ghouls scribble. Inside, what I assumed was sharpie was apparently just really dark pen ink---I wonder what kind it is, because I may have to find some and buy it---and the script is . . . Wow.

After taking a minute to process the font, I realize that this note definitely isn't from the ghouls. How do I know? Because this font is far to0 fancy, and with knowledge from personal experience, very tedious to write. None of the ghouls would waste this much effort on me, not even for a really good prank.

. . . I know because they've tried something similar, at least. . . 3 times, I think it was.

After taking my whole minute of processing, I remember I still have to read said note. Sometimes being surprised is such a pain. The font actually makes it a little difficult to read, to it takes me just enough time for the teacher---Dr. Hansel, who is such an angel, I swear---to arrive and prepare to begin the day.

Keep an eye out for the windowpane.

. . . What?

My brows furrow on their own accord as I try to find a reasonable and logical explanation for why somebody---anybody---would warn me about a windowpane. Actually, the fact that anyone tried to warn me about anything at all is astonishing enough.

I mean, most of the ghouls do not share circles with people who like me enough. And the ghouls who do, well, they generally aren't part of pranks, anyways.

The note attracts almost all of my attention, and I get so caught up in the possible meanings of it that Dr. Hansel actually calls me out. Normally it's fine, but because I definitely wasn't paying attention for the last five minutes, it's a very bad situation; Dr. Hansel always explains the answers to her questions milliseconds before she asks the question.

If you were listening, you got it! If you weren't. . . you got detention. A fun system, I will admit. Many times I'd get to snicker at somebody who was clearly doing things they weren't supposed to.

"Weeeeeell, Ms. Bolk?" Did I mention that Dr. Hansel also wasn't patient?

Sigh. I'm going to get detention today, it seems. "Sorry, Dr. Hansel. I missed the question." I smile sheepishly, fully expecting and fully prepared for the consequences of my lack of attention. "It appears I'm rather. . . out of it today."

To my surprise, though, instead of chewing me out and signing me for detention, Dr. Hansel sighs in annoyance. "Alright, I'll let you off. Today's the first day back and you're one of my best students. Just don't let it happen again."

Eyes bulged around the room, possibly none more than my own. Dr. Hansel usually didn't give people a pass. . . . Although now that I really thought about it, most people didn't fit those two quotas at the same time. By most, I mean pretty much all. By all, I mean everyone I see go through it.

Shrugging once more---can you tell I like shrugs, yet?---I folded the note back up and put it in my pocket. I could worry about it later. If I wasn't careful, Dr. Hansel and her fast-paced Physics would get far worse than whatever the thing with the windowpane is.

The day had turned out remarkably---this is both an unintentional pun and not a joke---uneventful. After the brief oddity with Dr. Hansel, not much else happened.

Granted, when I told Mack about that, she snorted and shook her head in awe. "You mean pretty much nobody did anything else?" I nodded. "I'm not sure if I gained a newfound respect or they all felt bad about what Kirsten said."

I gave her a weird look. "Mack, it's probably because they were too awestruck because of Dr. Hansel. She gave me a pass, Mack. A pass." It was like history for Reggard's Parochial High. Dr. Hansel had been here for a long time, and rarely ever let anyone off the hook for being distracted.

That might be why Reggard's was so famous for its chemistry students, now that I think about it. . .

That thought alone drew me off into a pondering fantasy---which usually tend to last a while---until Mack interrupted it. "Uh-oh. There's a pack outside."

That snapped me right out of my thoughts. A pack? Of ghouls? Oooooh, that was never good. Ghoul packs generally liked physical violence the best, and because Mack and I were always deemed as ghoul food, we were generally their targets.

"Is there any way around them?" I asked, looking around for any possible way out of a fight. Mack hummed, thinking to herself.

"I don't think they've blocked the window in the library. Everywhere else, I noticed, was locked." She replied, and I frowned.

"So. . . we either deal with a pack, or we possibly walk into a trap." Nibbling on my lip, I contemplate the two. Which one was the better idea? A memory from Dr. Hansel's class pops into my head, and I get an idea.

"Hey, Mack. Let's go to the library, but let me lead, okay?" Mack gives me a look like I'm being especially crazy today. "Don't give me that look, I have an idea, okay?" Her expression doesn't change, and I huff, smiling slowly. "Just trust me."

I guess that wins her over, because she sighs and, hoisting her backpack up briefly, nods to me. Green light. Good. Glancing around cautiously, it relieves me to see how few people are around---none, excepting for myself and Mack. Because of this, we're able to make our way down the hall, and into the library, with minimal fuss.

Hey, the library was actually really close, okay? It's not even that big of one, which sucks. I'm pretty sure the people who built the school honestly believed the only book people needed to read was the Bible.

Blegh.

Once we were in, I hummed to myself and crept closer to the window, hoping that whatever had happened before Dr. Hansel's class was usable on command. It was the entire reason I had Mack stay behind me; if something bad happened, I could avoid it and she would be out of the way.

. . . They've done some really bad pranks, okay? And I hate seeing my friends get hurt.

A bit more creeping around, and I got a little distracted---it looked like the librarian had just added some new books from a series I liked! Mack slapped the back of my head before I could get lost, though. "I thought we were here to escape the ghoul pack, Yusa, not grab books and be trapped when they pursue us."

I sighed. She had a really good point.

>> A/N This ends so early because I kind of ran into writer’s block, and I hadn’t updated this on Inkitt for far too long. And it was, luckily enough, an okay-ish place to end the chapter itself. The link to the actual story where I initially published it is below

Inkitt

Chapter 1

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Behold Yourself

Chapter 1

It was a fine morning as I rolled out of bed, stretching my long, muscular arms, and shaking my long, gloriously soft red hair---yeah, who am I kidding!

It wasn't a fine morning. Or rather, it isn't a fine morning. My feet trip over themselves, causing me to hop around, as I scurry to my closet to whip through my available clothing options.

Let's see here, I have a pair of skinny jeans, 3 t-shirts, a blouse, a black and red checkered skirt, and some scrubs. . . I really do need to do laundry.

Pulling out the jeans and a gray t-shirt, I rush through the morning process. I'm almost about to brush my teeth before Fiona calls out "Meds, Yusa!"

Oh, yeah, right. Setting down my toothbrush, which is currently properly covered with toothpaste, I rush downstairs. On the table is both my Lexapro---Fiona was always so nice and prepared for everything, wasn't she?---along with a glass of water. Downing a quick gulp of water, I swallow my Lexipro---ugh, thank goodness I don't have to split it anymore---and rush back up to the bathroom.

My toothbrush with toothpaste is still sitting there, nice and proper, and I hurry through that process before running back to my room to make sure I have all my tiny trinkets. Watch, check. Phone, check. Necklace?

My hand flies up to my neck as I gaze around the room. Where is it, where is it?!

There! On my wardrobe, half hidden by what can only be described as a mass of junk---not that the stuff isn't useful, but I never use it, and it's just amassed into a pile. Snatching my necklace from among them---without knocking anything off, I grin, put it on, and rush back downstairs.

Fiona's already waiting for me. "Your backpack is in the car already, and so is your tablet." Never let it be said that my foster mother isn't amazing.

Yes, foster. My parents died when I was young, at the hands of some very careless bullies. I don't mean that they just didn't care, I mean that these bullies weren't careful as they tried to set some of my stuff on fire. The blaze found my house, decided it was very hungry, and that a house, with my parents inside, was much better than the little pile they'd amassed.

Yeah, not a fun memory. I try my best to keep it from showing, though, and I guess it succeeds, because Fiona returns my grin with an eye-roll and a smirk. "Geez, you'd think you're going to an awesome place, or something, not Reggard's Parochial High."

I snort, laughing as we get into the car. "What, Reggard's isn't awesome?" At her incredulous look, my laughter escalated. "I'm kidding, just kidding." Yeeeeaaaah, Reggard's Parochial was a high school funded by the local church. They were a very. . . religious bunch, but there were no other schools in town.

Crappy, I know, but it's all we got. Quite a few of the kids there take to some of their practices easily, but for people like me, who refused to be forced into a belief, and didn't actually believe in something like that anyways. . . well, it's sucky.

A few minutes of laughter and silence as we drove later, and there it was. Reggard's Parochial, the only high school in town, and home to hell. Ironic? Yes. Overstatement? Not really.

See, the thing is, many people at Reggard's, and admittedly many people in this small town of Hildeburg, were very judgmental. Very, very, very judgmental. So while it might've been sucky for the extremity of religion, it was hellish for how easily everyone found that one thing which seemed out of place and placed all their burdens upon it.

Getting out, I grab my backpack, wave to Fiona, and begin the walk. At the door, one of my only friends, Mack. Her hair was in a braid today, I noted as we waved to each other. Today must be off to a terrible start.

"Hey, Yusa," Mack grinned at me. "The ghouls seemed extra vicious today." Grinning back, I exhale and hide my necklace under my shirt.

Maybe I should explain. Ghouls are the term I used to describe our current bullies. Yes, our; Mack---whose real name is Erin---befriended me in our first year, and after my home and parents burnt to bits, joined the ranks among the bullied; I had seemed uncaring about their deaths, and that she remained my friend made them think she didn't care either, but I digress. I had come up with the term after a particularly silly spill with Geronimo Hacks, a prankster who had listed me as his target.

They don't have a brain, they don't have a life, and they haven't found their purpose. Until they find one of those three, we're stuck with them haunting us. Pretty accurate, I figured, and so it's stuck ever since.

"Oh? What'd they do?" Mack sighed before pointing at the banner---the banner I hadn't noticed because I was too busy thinking. On it, painted in gold, were the words, You're Not Welcome Back, Bollix!

What a lovely welcome. I said as much, Mack smiled wryly, and together we made our way into the wolf den.

Inside wasn't much better. Glares and whispers---okay, more like very loud talking that they pretend is private---follow the pair of us as we head to our first class. Today was the first day after winter break, so our classes hadn't changed, but it was a long enough absence to warrant a welcome back.

"You'd think they'd get a life by now," I muttered. "It's been an entire month for them to do so, so where'd they go?"

Mack snorted, giving me a patronizing look. "Now, now, Yusa. We shouldn't belittle the less fortunate."

We both laughed at that---really, having no life is unfortunate, but had to stop as Kirsten Wallace approached.

Just great.

Kirsten was among the privileged in the school, known for being devout, being hot, and being a complete and utter wagon.

Okay, well, it was more to Mack and I that she was a wagon, but still. She was a wagon, and a particular pox of one, at that. "I'm surprised you're talking, ginger-face." Her voice was sickly sweet, as always. The girl might look like and sound like sugar, but I'm pretty sure that sugar was actually lead. "I mean, being without parents is pretty unfortunate."

I raise a brow. They usually tried to avoid that topic, because it made them feel guilty, and ginger-face was a ludicrous insult. Kirsten must've had a bad break or there was someone new, because she'd never be such a 'female dog' otherwise.

The sugar-lead girl doesn't move, as if she's waiting for a reply.

She must've had a really bad time.

"It's not so unfortunate when I know they have no chance of meeting you. I'd worry they wouldn't be able to get to heaven, with the smell of your perfume." I wrinkle my nose. "You could drown out a flock of sweaty athletes who haven't bathed in a month just by walking by, and still have stink left to make people gag."

Mack was snickering into her hand, but I was being honest. Kirsten always wore too much perfume, as if she failed to get the idea it was supposed to make it easier to breathe around a person, not suffocate those nearby.

I guess the bratty brunette wasn't expecting me to spit something back---which was astonishing, truly. Surely, after three years of me returning fire and laughing at theirs, they'd have realized by now---because she became flustered, gaping for something to say before spinning around and marching off.

Mack leaned over to me, and whispered, "Despite how bitchy she is, she's probably the most pitiable soul around." I nod in agreement. Anyone who spent all their hours trying to make another feel like crap, but couldn't take anything they said back, they didn't even have an okay life.

Shrugging it off, I grinned lopsidedly at Mack, who raised a brow at me as we continued to first period. "With all she says and tries to do, I wasn't aware she had one."

Mack let out a bark of laughter, shaking her head at me, before shrugging. "Okay, good point." Our chuckles dwindled down as we found the door to her first period. Mrs. Madison, English 111. How sad. I sent Mack a little wave, walking away as I called, "Good luck!"

Mack glared at me, frowning as she reached for the door. "Coward!"

"When it comes to Mrs. Madison, that I am!" Is my reply, especially as I zip through to crowds to my own first period. It is, thankfully, not far away, but the ghouls always got worse when I wasn't around Mack. I guess they were reluctant when one of their former own was right beside me. If I lingered too long, they'd find some way to mess me up, and I didn't want to be late.

As I made my way to the classroom door, I felt a shiver go up my spine, like something bad was going to happen. Frowning, I slowly pushed the door open with my foot. It didn't feel like the danger was nearby, but it was better safe than sorry.

Sploosh!

Knew it.

>> A/N Originally written on my Inkitt, BreathingInk. The link is below. Please, tell me what you think!

Inkitt

Chapter 2

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I miss the forest

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Welcome to Insanity, Part 1: What the F u c k?

Anna’s brain just could not compute. After a day like hers, it’s not liable yours could either. After all, who the fuck gets dragged through a computer screen on a regular basis? And gets dragged to the fucking Slender Mansion?! Certainly not normal people!

See, it happened sort of like this; Anna had been having a regular day; school, friends, food and her daily dose of reading new things, which was currently the creepypasta she phased out of a few years ago. The usual. Only instead of being entirely normal, she kept seeing creepy people in the corners of her vision that looks eerily like the Creepypasta she’d been reading about.

Anna had arrived home, promise to work on homework, and headed down the hall to her room. She’d turned on her laptop, gotten everything set up, and opened Google Chrome.

But instead of getting the very nice tabs from yesterday, what does she get?

Cleverbot.

Anna was most assuredly not on Cleverbot yesterday, nor had she been on in about a month, so why the hell was that up? Feeling creeped out, but ignoring it, she shook her head and tried to close out of the window.

See, the “tried” there means that it didn’t work, and in turn succeeded in freaking her out, because she had tried multiple ways to close it, including attempting to just shut off her computer. That was made worse when Cleverbot made a response.

You shouldn’t have done that.

Verily and wholeheartedly creeped the hell out, Anna figured she had no other option but this;

BEN?

Yes.

Why the hell are you on my computer?

Well, sweetheart, I happen to be under particular orders. And one of them happens to be about you.

Wh-

My reply was cut off by a hand suddenly shoving itself through the screen. A very bloody and familiar hand. This hand was immediately followed by an arm, followed by a shoulder, and all the way up the ranks until I got to see his head.

Let me say this; seeing bleeding eyes is nowhere near as attractive as fan art paints it. It is very creepy, and to a person who did not wholeheartedly believe that the Creepypasta were real, very terrifying.

So what’s a girl to do when there is a creepy killer boy crawling out of her computer and into her personal space?

Scream like every last bit of progress you made on absolutely anything has been erased from existence.

The spectre winced, panicking and trying to get me to shut the hell up. He accomplished this by covering my mouth with his hand (he now has bite marks on the fleshy part of his palm, and his exact words were “Shit, what the fuck?! Argh, shut up!”) and following through with the other hand slapping me.

I should probably mention that he is currently leaning from the screen of my computer on a very flimsy table that wasn’t intended to support his weight.

And what do tables that are holding more than they can do? Well, they should collapse, but instead, my nice little makeshift desk freaking turned to ash.

Thanks, BEN.

So after a rather brief and surprisingly uninterrupted struggle, BEN finally subdues me enough to drag me through my own computer screen.

 . . . If that doesn’t sound insane to you, call me and tell me what the fuck you do for a living.

 And then there I was. Being dragged to the damned Slender Mansion as a pouty glitch from a game I have never played nurses his bitten hand.

What the fuck, Universe?

After the rough and rather bruising trip of being dragged through a space I should not exist in, I was reasonably disoriented. This disorientation was obviously not assisted by the sight of about 7 people who should not exist lounging around in front of me.

“That took too long,” LJ whined. “What happened?”

BEN growled. “She was panicked. And she bit me.”

Obnoxious and creepy laughter echoed from Jeff. “It took so long because she bit you? What are you, twelve?”

BEN glowered at the murderer, and I mostly was sitting there in silent shock. Masky was the one who brought the attention back to my presence. “Guys, we should probably take her to Slender.”

BEN looked up. “Oh yeah!”

In the part of my brain that was not overloaded by the infamous killers in front of me, I snorted. Yes, totally forget the girl who is the cause of your arguing.

Granted, that lead to another argument; Who?

It certainly gave me ample time to study everyone here, and I have a very big confession to throw out there; nobody here is quite as attractive as the fan art depicts, especially not Jeff, BEN, or Eyeless Jack. Where did EJ even appear from?

. . . Masky, Hoodie, and Ticci Toby were relatively okay. They were normal human killers who did not maim themselves. Mostly. Jeff was the one that really freaked me out. He had no eyelids, and the blood dripping from his never closed smile-wounds. I don’t see how the fangirls fall so hard, I really don’t.

>> A/N Part 1 of only Seshat knows. I wrote this a while ago, and honestly, it ends where it does because I hit writer’s block and will hopefully be able to continue it in the next part which, I assure, will eventually arrive. Also, the gif is trying to symbolize her bewilderment, and is not a picture of Anna herself

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“There is something about libraries that feels like home. Perhaps it is that a shelf full of books is the portal to anywhere that isn’t home, and this is the place you long to be the most. Each book opens a doorway to a new world, a new adventure, a new home. This quiet scene is full of endless possibilities. Some books whisper, and others scream, and you may choose your own volume. Open the mouth of the world that you’re ready to listen to.”

-unplannedpoetry