His Isolation

How do you explain almost dying of cold in July?

That's a serious question. Someone please explain that to me, because I can't.

You see, the thing about Runners is that if there's just one of us, we're likely to get targeted by a being calling itself Jack. It looks like a child, but it's not. It's not even human, but a creature made of ice and isolation. The Cold Boy. Jack Frost.

As I've noted, the Cold Boy targets lonely people. And I am a very lonely man.

It showed itself when I was walking down the street at night, shortly after Oliver died and too soon for me to have found another companion. It wore a yellow raincoat and a human face. It stared up at me with eyes as cold and pale as freshly fallen snow as it asked if I wanted to hear a song.

I tried to open my mouth, though I had no idea what I'd say, but it was suddenly so cold that I couldn't even do that. I just stood there, shivering, stifled by cool air.

And that thing looked up at me, and it started singing.

"One fine day in the middle of the night,

Two dead men got up to fight.

Back-to-back they faced one another,

Drew their swords and shot each other."

It sounded like an imitation of singing.

The wind grew and it started to snow, and there was nobody around but me and this thing that looked like a person.

I woke up in the hospital. Someone had apparently found me lying passed out on the ground, my body cold as ice. The hospital staff didn't have an explanation for that, and neither did I.

- Henry

The Hound

The Black Dog took him. It was the Fear hunting Oliver. It tore him apart in front of my eyes and I don't even know why.

I suppose that's the point. The Black Dog hunts those who don't reveal their darkest secrets, and I wasn't about to rifle through my dead friend's belongings to see if he'd written down what he was so guilty over.

Just writing that made me feel kind of sick to my stomach, honestly.

...You know, I think that's why the Black Dog hasn't taken me. I've already explained my guilt. It's no secret that I let Mason die, just like I let Oliver die.

- Henry

The Lurking Fear

Lately, I've been accompanied by another person Running from the Fears- those things that are out there, things like the Archangel, things that embody fear.

He says his name is Oliver. Not sure if that's his real name, but I haven't asked. If he wanted to volunteer his real name, he would.

He keeps looking over his shoulder. Not surprising, given he's a Runner like myself, but it's concerning.

He doesn't know I'm Running from the Archangel. He hasn't asked. I don't know which Fear he's Running from. I haven't asked.

There's a chance this means we'll end up getting targeted by each others' Fears, but honestly, I'm just glad to have some companionship. It's rare to meet someone who understands what it's like to be a Runner, and rarer still for them to be friendly.

- Henry

Nevermore

My brother died three years ago. It was not a natural death, the kind you can process and, with time, heal from. He was killed by a huge bald man with twin hourglasses tattooed on his forehead. I watched as the tattooed man drove a hammer into my brother's skull for reasons I didn't understand, and I did nothing.

I didn't want to just stand there and watch. I wanted to help. But what could I have done? If I tried to interfere, the man who had stood on the side of the road and waited with a hammer in his hands and broke into the car would have simply killed me too. The only thing to do was to run.

And I did. I fled, and when I was safe, I notified the authorities. And when they did nothing, I went on the run for good.

Since then, I've discovered that there are things out there that embody horror and panic and dread. The tattooed man serves one of them.

The Archangel. That's what he calls it. It's the incarnation of death and grief.

And Mason was in its way.

It's been a lonely road. Few others know about these things, save for those who serve them. The police certainly don't seem to, or if they do, they've been no help. When they were trying to solve Mason's death, before I went on the run, I told them everything. They still did nothing. A government organization called the SMSC that secretly deals with things like the Archangel's followers showed up, but if they ever figured out what happened, they didn't tell me. I had to figure it out for myself, and Mason's killer was officially ruled unknown.

They probably would've said he died of natural causes if he didn't have the hammer marks in his skull.

- Henry