AlmostCaught

   They almost caught me. Voss and Wolfcatcher. I don't know how they found me. I thought I was being careful after last time.

   I was lucky to see them before they arrived. I managed to slip out the bathroom window before they shotgunned the down - no more messing around, no more taking me alive.

   I ran. They followed.
   (You know when you watch those horror movies where the young, blonde victim is running and the killer is doing a slow walk, yet always seems to catch up to her? It felt like that. It felt like I was running so fast, but they could follow me anywhere with a slowly, steady walk.)

   I found a movie theater and decided to hide in dark anonymity. One ticket for whatever.

   Still, they followed. They swept from row to row, looking for me in the dark, only illuminated by the screen. When the screen went bright, I could see their faces: Voss, with his double chin, and Wolfcatcher, with his eerie grin.

   I slipped away and hid in the bathroom. They strolled in two minutes later.

   "Do you ever get that feeling, Mr. Wolfcatcher?" Voss asked.

   "What feeling, Mr. Voss?" Wolfcatcher said.

   "That feeling of singing, Mr. Wolfcatcher?"

   "Can't say that I have. Can't hold a tune worth a damn, you know."

   "Ah, well, I love me a good song. 'Tis sweet to roam when morning's light resounds across the deep. And the crystal song of the woodbine bright hushes the rocks to sleep." As he sang, they opened all the stalls one by one, taking their time, looking around. "And the blood-red moon in the blaze of noon is bathed in a crumbling dew..." They were getting closer and closer. "And the wolf rings out with a glittering snout..." They reached the last stall and carefully pulled out daggers from their jackets. "...to-whit, to-whit, to-whoo!"

   As they stared in the stall that only contained my jacket, I slipped out of the utility closet and ran as fast as I could.

TwoByTwo

   I know who they will send after me. I met them once, in the year I helped the Gentlemen. The year of regrets and mistakes.

   We thought we found a Door. It was cold and raining and we were having trouble locating it. They said they were bringing in "experts" to help. They said that the experts could persuade locals into helping us. "They are well known for their persuasive ability," they said. They didn't lie.

   Imagine Laurel and Hardy. Now imagine Laurel and Hardy in the real world - the world away from the television, the world that can knock you down at a moment's notice. One was tall and thin, the other short and chubby. They wore suits like the other Gentlemen, but on them it seemed...off. The short one grinned too much. The tall one looked at his fingernails.

   Their names were Mr. Voss and Mr. Wolfcatcher. They didn't give us first names (none of the Gentlemen liked using their first names either, but I have the distinct impression that Voss and Wolfcatcher didn't have first names). Voss was the thin one, Wolfcatcher the short one.

   They were independant trackers. Persuaders. And, as I found out very soon, unrepentant killers.

MyHandInBandages

   My left hand is pretty much useless. The doctor said it would take months before I could use my fingers again.

   I am forced to admit that I am a runner. I run.

   A while ago, I met another runner, running from something else. He told me about it -- this creature he called the Slender Man -- and how it had no face and couldn't be killed. "We made it," he said, in a slightly crazed voice. "We made it with our minds."

   I don't agree with him. (For one, I have no idea if this Slender Man exists or not - I saw no proof, but then again, I have seen stranger things.) I don't think human minds could come up with such incomprehensible things.

  We seek order from chaos. We hope to comprehend. We are doomed to failure.

HarpSongOfTheDaneWomen

  They broke my fingers. Four fingers on my left hand are broken. They broke them without asking questions. They broke them just for fun.

  They broke into my hotel room (yeah, I didn't go back to my apartment - I'm crazy, not stupid) and grabbed me. I fought back hard - I'm pretty sure I busted one of their noses - but they clamped a chloroform rag over my mouth.

  Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie. They asked no questions. After they broke my fingers, one of them started tugging at my fingernail. And singing.

  "What is a woman that you forsake her,
   And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
   To go with the old grey Widow-maker?"

  One fingernail gone and one verse done. He started on the next one.

   "She has no house to lay a guest in,
   But one chill bed for all to rest in,
   That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in."

  I cried out for him to stop. My pants were soaked with urine. My fingers were a bloody mess. I swore I would tell them everything, every detail of what I knew. I could bring them to another Door, take them into the City itself. They could raze it to the ground for all I cared.

  The man started on the third fingernail.

  "She has no strong white arms to fold you,
   But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you,
   Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you."

There was a bright light and a Door was there. I had never seen a Door just appear before (and hadn't now, since my eyes had been closed) and this wasn't like any Door I had seen. It was tall and majestic and golden. All of the Gentlemen stared at it with awe and rapture in their eyes.

  It swung open and a great darkness consumed them. It pulled them in and shut the Door behind it.

  I sat alone and breathed and cried as the Door softly vanished away.

LowMenInDarkCoats

   They found my apartment. Broke down the door and left me a note. They still think that shit like that scares me.

  I made the mistake once of helping them. I won't do it again.

  There are different Doors. Or maybe the Doors react differently to different people.

TrottingThroughTheDark

  A week after my wife and son entered the City they found me. The Gentlemen of the Dark. They dressed like businessmen and handed me a business card that said they were from the lawfirm of Ashland & Thorn. They represented someone who was interested in my story.

  I am not stupid. When the police questioned me, I said nothing about the Door or the City. What would I have said? No. Sometimes a lie is easier.

  But they found me anyway. I must have told someone. I could have muttered it in my sleep.

  They said if they could find another Door, they could help bring my wife and son back. (Sometimes a lie is easier.) "Those who see a Door and don't go through sometimes can find more Doors," they told me. I made a mistake. I helped them.

IfYouWakeAtMidnight

  I'm going to break the rule. I'm going to talk about the Gentlemen of the Dark.

  They will try to find me. They will try to break me. I do not care.

  They track the Doors. They have people everywhere looking for them. Wondering alleyways, the symbols of the Door tattooed to their arms for quick reference, so they know if they've found one. Why look? Why the search? Why the secrecy? They answer all questions the same:

  Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie.