Medical Record — 20 / 07 / ███

Patient name: ███ ███
Preferred name: Simon ‘Alphonse’ Apple
Reason for appointment: Psychological Evaluation & General Checkup

‘Simon’, as off ███, is 27 years of age, birthdate 19 / 08 / ███.
Male patient, however doesn’t correct staff when referred to femininely.
Unmarried, Simon did not comment on his preferences or relationship status.
5’11” - 180cm, 132lbsWhen evaluating Simon he had appeared to be incredibly disturbed.
Mr. Apple explained that he was getting many ‘visions’ and fits of mania, that he had fallen in love with some type of entity he will not disclose the name of and various other afflictions that he did not describe but eluded to.High suspicions of Severe Acute Malnutrition, Haematemesis, Melancholia, Delirium and Psychosis.Patient has been working as a journalist for many years and is known by a small number of people to investigate strange instances of paranormal activity. It’s suspected that Mr. Apple could have been possessed and an exorcism has been prescribed to alleviate the pains and remove the demonic entity.
As for Simon’s Severe Acute Malnutrition he has been ordered to eat more and even encouraged to binge eat in an attempt to restore a healthy body mass. If this does not work medication will be considered.

My Darling, ███I have not heard from you in weeks, my love. I miss you incredibly so, I know you are busy with your work and I have always adored your dedication to revealing truths and debunking lies… Yet I miss you.You were always married to your craft and I understand that, you warned me over and over that even though you loved me you would still have to prioritise what you have worked years for. You’re driven and it’s astonishing. How come you cannot write to me, however? You write every day, rather furiously sometimes, I would witness you at your desk for hours after your investigations, yet you cannot spare time for a few words with me?You used to write such beautiful letters. I saved every one. Everyone else saw this quiet, observant and intelligent man and although this is true I know who you are. Who you really are. You let me in and I can’t shake this desire I have.Do you miss our nights together? Do you recall how we danced for hours in the light of the moon, how you’d tell me about every inch of your work with incredible detail? We were supposed to marry, have you forgotten? You used to ask how my evenings were, what things I have learned and been up to - you were curious about so much more than just your work and now it appears you’ve grown… Distant. From not only me but everyone.

I spoke with your mother recently. You have not written to her either so I know it isn’t a matter of us, but a matter of you. The last we spoke you said something of ‘the most inspiring cult’ you have ever come to the knowledge of - completely undocumented yet prevalent for centuries… Is that what’s happened to you, my love?Your mother and I spoke about you. She always said you were one drawn to more strange and curious things, that you’d had many history books pertaining to witchcraft, paganism, the occult… Not to mention spirits, creatures of another realm and much more. Yes, it is strange and unwelcome - but she said you always found such adoration for these things. She described how kind you were, patient, loving… And I sure can attest to it also, although indeed more stubborn than we wished to admit. You’re excitable… I’ve had many experiences of your celebrations, how you’d pull me into dances before taking us to dinner.I hope you have not forgotten who you are. It would be elevating to hear from you soon, be letter or speech.Yours, ███.

Simon ‘Alphonse’ Apple has gone missing.

Please, look out for Simon. He is tall and slim, looking rather feminine with his longer-than-average red hair, frequently seen with leaves strewn through it. Last sighting he looked unkept and frail, his doctor attests that he will not be able to fight or survive long without help as he is malnourished and weak.Simon has very pale, pristine skin yet anonymous sources have attested to seeing Simon now severely scarred up and down his arms alongside now being stained into dark shades of red and black. It is undocumented whether or not these scars are prominent elsewhere outside of these new miraculous stains that appear present around his neck and feet also.He is likely to be seen in two outfits, before his disappearance, he had taken a liking to a pale-green trench coat that was often paired with sage trousers and leather boots. However now he seems to have changed his attire, now opting for a dark hooded-shawl and brown pants with pockets that bellow and come in around his calf’s. For whatever reason Simon has elected that shoes are no longer necessary.His mother is worried sick, any and all calls or prayers relating to Simon are appreciated.

18 / 08 / █I was a brilliant kid.Brilliant, I would say. I researched what I loved, I even graduated. Sure, daddy wasn’t in the picture anymore, but mother was.
She loved me, supported me even if my interests were frowned upon by everyone else, she did everything she could and more. God bless her but to let her see me now would be… Shameful, like seeing someone you love’s corpse. You don’t like bidding goodbye to a body, I’d rather she remember me as her beautiful baby boy than whatever this is now. But that isn’t what I want to jump into right away.Growing up wasn’t easy, we had to fight every day together. I worked a few retail and factory jobs even as a kid yet I always came back to what I truly loved - researching and investigating the strange. I would go around town, finding rumours and whatnot… Just to throw myself into danger to see if it truly was real. Of course, this is how I found out most adults enjoy tugging on the legs of little kids but this didn’t deter me. If anything, it inspired me. I was a detective and I needed to let the people know the truth about things.
When I grew older I manage to wiggle into a section of the newspaper where I would write about my investigations. It did become quite popular although ‘alternative’ and shunned by all those who were highly religious and didn’t want to hear of such demonic practices. I did get popular enough to fund a bit of travelling around the globe where I wrote about the religious practices of other cultures and what paranormal instances they experienced or had stories of.I was extremely lucky.

Though, during the last arm of my tour around the world I’d found out about some sort of… Cult? They didn’t like that word, I assumed, but it’s one everyone is familiar with enough to recognise the kind of practices occurring. I became enthralled, mostly due to the deity they worshipped. I tried time and time again to publish my part of the paper where I told of this deity, what joys he offered and that maybe, just maybe, he was better than even our own Christian god. You can imagine why I was not permitted to write of this, I’d never done so in the past so it must’ve been confronting.Yet I couldn’t remove this deity from my mind even when I returned home. He was beautiful, dangerous, ancient… A token of all things mysterious, spiritual and marvellous. I had to spread the word, I was writing for days and days and none of it could be witnessed by anyone - it was maddening. I could feel my obsession festering into love, adoration, I started to neglect my relations and I didn’t even notice that weeks had gone by when I received a letter from a woman who was going to be my spouse. My mania had heightened to a point of no return however upon reading this letter and all I did was return a scrap of paper with some vulgar language on it.I wish I could say I regret this.At this point I had started to build effigy’s and shrines within my home in the deities image. I didn’t tell my doctor of this, I didn’t visit him at all anymore as he had a mouth full of lies and a promise of medication that I knew wasn’t going to come. I dedicated my time and energy to praying, I spilled all my ink on the walls writing his name over and over and in a desperate act of loyalty I flung all my writings of him into the street from my window - though this must’ve been a final straw.He was not my god. He was not for me to worship, I had angered him. I was never supposed to know of him let alone speak or acknowledge his name, he had despised me and I was none the wiser. I pulled him from his country for a disappointment. I felt my body grow terrifyingly ill and weak as I prepared to be punished for my ignorance. He told me I was to be cursed for my disgusting acts of disrespect and I was brought to my knees.

He spoke to me with such anger. He told me how he was going to punish me, three curses for three crimes.The first crime to tell the ‘external world’ of his existence, something I never knew not to do. The very ink I had spilled over my hands to commit such a sin began to burn, it felt as if it were searing through my flesh like a brand on a cattle’s hide. My once wet skin burned to dry and I found that the ink I had thought praised him became embedded in my body. I’m sure if you peeled my flesh away even my bones would be stained.The second crime was to pull him from his land, to remove him from the people who maintained him. I’d only wept and pleaded for his forgiveness as he wrapped my body with strange vine-like growths. The thorns pressed my skin as the thick ‘rope’ twisted and constricted around my limbs and torso. I felt my flesh rip beneath the pressure and soon, in one quick motion, he had ripped them from my body, leaving large gashes around every aspect of me. I was terrified the meat on my bones would unravel in a spiral and fall off they were that deep.The final crime was to tell the people of him, of his world, of his traditions. It was not my place, I intruded and I had to know what it felt like to have such privacy stripped away. My throat crackled as I sobbed and weeped and soon - without myself having any part in it - my voice spurred to life. I heaved as I found myself narrating how I felt, how I moved, every action and even sound that not even I made was spilled into words from a voice I no longer owned. Sure, I sounded like me, but nothing was from me.I was left to die in an attic, bleeding and sobbing, speaking despite how hard I was praying to be silent. The deity did not feel remorse, he slipped from my door and all I can say is I hope he made it back home. I know he didn’t.Perhaps he had given me a fourth curse - to survive.

I don’t understand what he wants with me anymore. He lingers, as if attached to me. I don’t think he can return home anymore and now I am all he has. I can’t see him, I can’t feel him, he does not harm me when I say his name as he I think knows I’ve endured enough. Now that I’m all he has he needs me, and I need him to survive.In truth, I wanted to die. I wanted to be rid of my actions, my sins. I had fallen in love with a being who wanted nothing to do with me, I had neglected my family, my work, my love. I had nothing left for me anymore. There was no worth I could give to the world, I’d learned a lesson to speak naught of the things I loved so violently and I doubt I will be able to speak as simply as I used to before.I received a letter a few days after the incident. It’d been months of newspaper piling up on my front doorstep where I avoided even coming to the light, yet I could see how much care had been taken to slide the letter under my door regardless. It wasn’t my ex-partners, or even my mothers. They were very prideful and had a ‘brand’ when it came to sending letters. I had nothing more to do, so reading was what I had left. Yet to expect… This? It was extraordinary, paranormal within itself. I got a second chance from a man who claimed to love my newspaper, he proposed I meet him at the ‘Oletus Manor’ for a chance at new life.I have nowhere else to turn, I don’t see why not.

The ground was littered with papers. God, so many papers… He stepped over them all, knowing well to himself that every single one had newer information - there was not a single rewrite anywhere. How he knew all this was miraculous, he thought that perhaps the deity he found was in love with him. That’s how he knew everything, write? He couldn’t even come to contact with the cult and yet, for some gods-forsaken reason, he couldn’t stop writing about everything he knew. It was insanity, like a lion prowling a cage a size too small for it, staring out at its purpose and being unable to attack. Simon breathed slowly as he approached his desk at the end of the room, situated right underneath the window.Deep breath in, deep breath out. Unsatisfying. Nothing in the house had been opened for weeks - not a door, not a window. He’d been trapped inside on his own accord and it was hellfire, for some reason it never occurred to him to resume life as usual… Probably because life wasn’t usual anymore. Without sitting Simon had taken the quill into his hand, tapping it on the side of his ink well and sliding a piece of crumbling parchment in front of him. Hesitance. No, this isn’t going to be enough. His eyes drifted momentarily before soon he felt himself tossing the quill to the table.No. No, that was never going to be enough.” I KNOW WHO YOU ARE, “ he’d yelled loudly, throat rattling a moment. ” I KNOW, I KNOW AND I LOVE YOU, “ he couldn’t understand his own words. With one quick swipe he’d thrown his arms over the table, throwing everything off and spilling the ink well over his hands. That wasn’t enough either. Running to his chest of extra ink he had thrown the lid up, shaking the contents until a thick pool of void rippled in the chest. ” I HAVE GIVEN EVERYTHING, I KNOW ALL OF YOUR NEEDS, YOUR DESIRES, WHY DON’T YOU SPEAK TO ME NOW! “ Simon laughed hysterically, plunging his hands into the ink and smearing it up and down his arms. His neck was next, hands up and down the contours of his neck as a gentle groan slipped his lips.Perhaps he truly had gone insane. The chest tipped as he fell back and the ink spewed over the floor, costing his calf’s and feet as he skittered to run to the opposite side of the attic. Most of the papers soaked up the ink, being forever soiled and unreadable. He couldn’t care though. Simon slammed his palms against the walls, writing over and over the same letters he knew to be his ‘loves’ name. ” They need to know, they all are blind but I am not! I see you, I hear you, I smell you! I need you, “ the crazy man declared to the air.Another brilliant idea.His body turned once more and suddenly his arms were pulling all the soiled papers off the floors, ” I cannot contain it any longer, you’re too beautiful.. “ he whispered now, climbing onto his desk and swinging open the window, throwing his papers onto the sidewalk and street whilst laughing maniacally. ” LET THEM HEAR YOU! LET THEM! “ escaped from his throat before he felt great winds blowing against his body. They were incredible, gusts that smelled like salt from the sea. Laughter wasn’t broken, even when the winds flung him from his table and slammed the window shut again.” My love! “ Simon called, knowing without even seeing the entities face, brushing himself off and stumbling back onto his feet. He was weak, skinny, crazed. He expected to see open arms that he’d finally be able to run into - but all he saw was anger. ” Wait— “ and down he went. Another bruise on top of the many he already obtained. His knees stung from the slam into the ground and his head hung low, wide eyed and silent now.It was too late when he realised.

Simon Apple played a supporting role in our society, it’s about time we support him.Narration
Simon appears to now struggle with ‘commentating’ on his own actions and the people around him. He can be heard either muttering or saying loudly what is occurring in the current moment, this could make him very easy to find alongside a few of those who are close in vicinity to Simon. However, it also seems it might make him aware of those around him also, that’s possibly how he’s been evading everyone for so long.Worms
It’s become apparent that Simon has been infested with some sort of parasitic worm. Miraculously, this ‘worm mass’ is able to gradually recover and fortify his body even through agonising means. Essentially, it’s been observed that Simon will grow significantly slower when wounded yet recover overtime.Missing Person
It is incredibly hard to locate Simon. He’s able to cover his trails quickly even though he still leaves behind alerts to where he is, he’s also led us astray and forged false trails to put us on the wrong path. It’s almost like he disappears into the bushes… He is able to do this for his nearby allies, we believe.Attachment
Mr. Apples supposedly knows a name of the deity that greatly harms those who know of it. It’s speculated that Simon is repeating this name at those who come close to capturing him to cause this entity to temporarily stun and harm them with long, whipping horse-hair worms. I believe he may have companions that he signals to cover their ears before he says the name.