#katala

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#katala #philippinecockatoo

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FULL STORY: ALL PARTS (links to them) part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 The end!

The new life was going smoothly, but with its own oddities. There is a place for a more or less comfortable existence, there are enough supplies in the hut. But Katala was alarmed that he often woke up not in bed, but nearby in the forest, stained with blood and all sorts of rubbish, with blurred memories of what had happened. Also, even when awake, he did not always act rationally, without the ability to control his impulses. He often had the same headaches as when he last remembered a Slenderman, to whom everything seemed blurred. It was after them that there were usually sudden attempts to attack mushroom pickers (whose location he could not know in any way, the legs themselves led to the desired goal), then tame the mongrels and set them on lovers of night walks, or use throwing knives not only to slice a half-rotted croissant, but also to attack troublemakers. Along with these outings, Katala pocketed new supplies of cigarettes, clothes, and small items. For example, an eye patch to hide a prosthetic. On the bandage, Katala drew his favorite figure eight. Katala also found a lot of stray animals that were hanging around close to populated areas. At the sight of dogs, "Rico" was constantly on the tip of my tongue, I wanted to shout, call them out like that. This doesn't happen to other animals. "The dog who owned the keychain probably meant a lot to me. I can't help but want to name every mongrel Rico. I can't stop dragging them into the house... I have a feeling that they will help me remember who I was." The smell of the dog filled the hut, seeping into the walls. Eventually, Katala moved to the sofa to sleep with the dogs: short-legged crossbreeds of dachshunds and shaggy breeds settled at the feet, and large ones next to them on the floor. His love for dogs helped him maintain his desire to live, and gave him hope to remember who Katala was before meeting the Slenderman. But it also ruined him. At the age of thirty-one, after nine years of such a life, Katala died of rabies on his way to his hut after another attack on a man. The end. (links for all parts here)

Dew on the grass, the peaceful chirping of birds and the weak rays of the sun made their way through the crowns of coniferous trees. Body ached and resisted the slightest movement. The worn jacket was now tattered and looked like it had been taken off a homeless man. Although... In other ways, Travis was one now. There was no railway nearby, near which he ran at night. Travis was deep in the woods, and he couldn't remember the way home, or even what the house looked like... Travis hadn't even noticed how far he'd run. And that tall slender man... What did he do to him when Travis' brain just shut down? And why is the only thing in head is that faceless silhouette? Everything was in its place in the pockets and bag, but the meaning of these things was lost... "Who am I?..." It's a banal question, and it's terrifying when you can't even say your name. He began frantically turning out his pockets and looking at the things in them. The keys were very ordinary, probably from the house... A silver keychain in the shape of a bone with the inscription "Rico", most likely belonged to some dog, but not to him... An almost burnt leather cover with the signature "KATALA"... That's probably his name. It's weird, but it sounds good. There was a roughly crossed-out line next to the large signature. "It looks like I made a lot of mistakes when I signed it. Or maybe I hid his last name and patronymic from prying eyes? I can only see the middle of the crossed out, but I can't make out what's there... Hack-... Hus-... Hrras-... Okay, I'll be just Katala for now. The things in pockets were useless except for a folding knife. The sight of the blade sent a chill through Katala's body, the reason for which he could not understand. You can't sit on the forest floor forever, you have to do something. Walking along the trails was surprisingly relaxing and inspired pleasant feelings, which were dulled by the lack of memories. Head is in a mess. A few hours of walking led to a secluded wooden hut in the middle of the forest. Katala instantly opened his folding knife and crouched down, creeping closer. The piercing eye instantly focused on the target: an older man came out onto the porch, lighting a cigarette. As if by someone else's will, Katala instantly pounced on the man. He cut his throat and killed him. A quick, quiet death. The ridiculous shorts were replaced with man's jeans, they were cut off for Katalas' height with the same knife. Good boots didn't hurt either. They're a little too big, but there's nothing to choose from: anything is better than walking barefoot on injured feet. Having dragged the dead owner into the nearest bushes (there was nothing in his pockets except cigarettes and a lighter), Katala began to inspect the building. There was a lot of useful stuff in the hut, so Katala didn't leave it. After inspecting the rooms, supplies, and fancy knives, Katala get a holster with throwing knives and went out for a smoke. Surprisingly, Katala didn't even think about the smoking process until the very end: his body seemed to be doing a routine thing out of habit. part7 (links for all parts here)

The quiet days gave way to a rainy week. The heating in the apartment was turned off for non-payment of utilities, so Travis threw the first jacket with a fluffy hood over a turtleneck sweater (shorts complemented this image very much, no one remembered the existence of pants). Light rains turned into downpours with rolling thunder. Each lightning strike hit Travis's already shattered nerves and mind, causing tremors and screams to increase with each passing second. The whistling of the wind outside the window resembled the screeching of tires on asphalt, they were already close… A sharp push — a knock on the door. Are they breaking in? Are they here already? The sudden light that enveloped the room blinded his only eye, reminding him of the light of a flashlight in his face that very day. Their mutterings and hoarse threats, which were no longer understandable because of his own screams, were fresh in my memory. The sound of raindrops on the glass turned into a deafening noise and ringing in the ears, causing a headache. A creak there, a knock here — the body reacted to every rustle, patience was at its limit. The last straw was another lightning strike that lit up the room with a deafening crack. With a desperate scream and sobs shaking his body, Travis rushed out of the house. There was no target, his bare feet were rushing with unprecedented speed in an unknown direction on the wet asphalt. Street after street, tree after tree… Eventually, Travis ran out onto the soft ground through the thickening trees, where the railroad passed nearby. He used to use this road to get to his house near Piney-Woods, and now it looks like he's going to do the same thing, but on his own two feet. Every memory of walking with Rico barking, of playing in the club, of trying to make a damn flight in the flight simulator encouraged his exhausted legs to run on. Wet leaves and dirt flew into his face, his feet were almost torn to the point of blood from rocks and debris, disheveled black hair stuck to his forehead, covered with rainwater and sweat. Time has lost its meaning. Dark trees flashed, tall figures between them, and rails illuminated from time to time by lightning strikes. The headache made him whine, and his legs began to stumble… Silhouettes flashed through the trees one after another, but one of them was special: a tall man with pale skin without a face. As it began to approach, Travis vomited from a headache, his legs gave out completely: his body went limp and collapsed to the ground. This time Travis passed out without screaming. part6 (links for all parts here)