Gear

I met with the girl on Monday, at her workplace. She gave an address. Small apartment, loads of books and empty beer bottles. Honestly, whoever this chick is, she's a mess.

The apartment smelled like alcohol. We sat at a bunch of boxes of books that served as a table. I recorded the conversation, I figured that at some point we might want to refer back to it?

"What's going on?" I asked her.

She laughed, "Straight to the point, eh? You live in a cursed town, it's possessed. The, heh, 'Coptic' Church doesn't worship any god."

"Devil worshippers? Really?"

"Heh. No, worse. Worse than that by far. Worse than Scientologists even. None of that exists. This creature they worship has many names, though I like to call it "the Gentleman." I don't know what it is, nobody does, not even the bloody experts-- don't matter what they say. It's an old god, it's an ancient monster, it's the very essence of nothing, it's the anti-life; the only true god that there is. He's either been here forever or since 2007. Could be our fault or part of the universe, we don't know. Sometimes he kills people. Sometimes he just watches them go mad. He can't speak, but he sings," She took out a cigarette at this point, and lit it. I coughed, and she ignored me. There was a long silence, "The Gentleman-- the Sl&nspnowrap/noreturn;kgend<i>ercritical-- is an unstoppable beast of contradictions, and even if you think he didn't for you, he always wins.

"Are you crazy? This is--"

"Nuts? Bullshit? Mad? Of course it is. The world is built on madness. I tried to fight it, I really did. It doesn't work."

"Is that why you punched Lucy?"

"She deserves worse, knowing what she does to her kids. She deserves worse." She seemed to be trying to scare me at this point, and I wasn't letting it happen.

"More conspiracies? Really."

"Yes."

"Well, thanks for your help," I lied. Seriously, she was pissing me off! What was I supposed to do? I asked her.

She just said "Run. Run or die."

"You're not running," I said.

"He was never interested in me properly. Though he's waiting. Getting closer every day. It's not going to be soon, but I'll wait my death with baited breath. I don't even matter anyway, and it was stupid for me to ever think I did."

I thanked her for her time and left. I'm just more confused now. The next train up to Malkirk is next Monday, something went wrong with the tracks. I'll go back then, I suppose, though I don't really understand what I'm supposed to do any more...