The Analyzing of Ticci Toby by Timothy Wright

Entry #8

My name is Timothy Wright, otherwise known as Masky. This is the eighth entry in my analysis of the individual known as Tobias Erin Rogers, aka Ticci Toby.

Toby is...

I have to apologize, I find it hard to write anything of use today. My pencil is sharp, my paper is fresh and unmarked. The house is mostly silent. And yet, my thoughts are jumbled. I can't bring myself to conjure the right words.

I find myself consumed by my thoughts, something not very rare, but unable to write any of them. The feeling is foreign to me. Writer's Block. Perhaps explaining recent events will clear away the invisible wall preventing my words.

Eyeless Jack and I have reached an uneasy truce. Uneasy is a very mild term. It's more like we started a fist fight at two in the morning, I got pushed down the stairs, and then Kate and Ann locked us in a room until seven this morning. My jaw is sore, as is my throat from all the fighting and screaming.

I chipped his mask, which made me feel a bit better about myself.

In the end, it gave us a chance to fix our problem. After a while, you just stop fighting and start listening I guess.

It only worked cause of Toby. I hate to admit that.

When Jack pushed me down the stairs, Toby had been up and in the living room. His yelp of worry surprised both of us, maybe even himself. It didn't matter though. As soon as Toby had helped me up, Kate and Ann were dragging us upstairs.

He was... worried about me. I'm trying not to look more into that.

Telling Jack the truth, all of it, felt freeing. It was a weight off my shoulders, but it also adds another large weight back on. Jack is so close to Toby, it would surprise me if Jack hadn't already told him everything. But, he hasn't.

Not yet.

Besides Jack, I feel like others have picked up on the fact that I have more than just friendly feelings towards our resident twitching boy. Of course, Brian knows, Kate probably suspects if Brian hasn't already confirmed it. After all, they had a bet going. I think Ann knows, she keeps giving me looks. Jeff and BEN are suspicious as well, but they always are anyway. They have the mischievous look in their eyes that I only see when they're messing around with us.

Speaking of him, Toby and I are relatively back to normal now, as normal as we can be, and I feel very reassured. But, it's different. Something has shifted even more in our relationship.

I've mentioned before that Toby randomly enters my room and sits on my bed, watching me or annoying me until I decided to entertain him. But, now he's not. He sits on my bed, quiet except for the occasional question, and then waits. It freaks me out.

Instead of mild annoyance at his distractions, I now feel distracted in a completely different way. Perhaps it would make more sense if I mentioned the thing that's changed the most.

Much like myself, Toby doesn't often remove his goggles or mask. Half the time he refuses to even lower the hood on his jacket. He randomly decides when and where to take what off, but it rarely lasts too long.

I've seen his whole face every day this past week and I have no idea how I did it. The day after I apologized and we made up, Toby started coming in every day like he used to. Now, however, he locks the door and takes off his goggles, hood, and mask, placing them on my bedside table without a care in the world.

Needless to say, it drives me crazy.

And, unlike before, the name Masky barely appears. It's always Tim now, or some variation of it, almost as if he can't stop saying it. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate it in the slightest, but it's another distraction I now have to deal with. It was fine before when it was a mix of the two. Now it's less friendly, more affectionate. Kill me.

The locked doors threw me off at first, my hormone soaked brain taking it way beyond what it meant. It wasn't for inappropriate reasons, but rather to keep people out of my room. To give him time to cover his face again.

Mine as well, since I've also removed my own mask so he felt more comfortable. It's odd being like this, this soft, but it also feels good. Nice.

We tell more stories now too. Simple things about ourselves to keep us entertained.

Right now, he's laying on my bed telling a story. His twitches, tics, and stutters persist, but it doesn't bother me. Nothing about Toby really bothers me anymore. Except when he's being a little shit.

The story he's sharing consists of how he used to hunt bunnies on his first real missions, but he could never kill them.

Toby asks if I understand when he talks about their tendency to be harder to kill than humans.

I do.

This strange and new space between us is more comforting than the larger one from before. It's nicer than I'd like to admit. It makes me...frustrated? I'm not sure what to do or say at what time. I've never had a situation like this. I don't know how to exist like this with Toby, but, at the same time, I'm looking forward to figuring it out.

My only solace, besides the boy himself, is that Toby finds it just as uneasy as I do. Often, he intentionally calls me Masky again or hesitates to remove his goggles. It's almost like he realizes the shift suddenly and freezes, just as I do.

I want to approach the topic of my feelings for him, to find out if they are requited after all, but I must face the facts.

I am scared, no, terrified of it all. Terrified of losing him, of being judged by him. I'm scared of ruining it all simply because I am impatient.

Murderers like me, creepypasta, don't get happy endings. That's why we're serial killers, not Batman type vigilantes. We don't get a Diana or a Cat woman. Selina Kyle wouldn't suit my tastes either way.

But, then again, Helen and Dina seem plenty happy together. They're different than we are, but maybe not as much as I make it out to be.

Of course, this all implies Toby like me back, a fact I can't be sure of.

And yes, writing that out still makes me feel asinine to write. I wish I could just say love, but I don't feel it yet. It would feel like a lie.

I don't want to lie to, or about, Toby. It feels iniquitous.

Part of me questions if he does have feelings towards me in the way I have towards him. Maybe it's extremely obvious and I'm subconsciously blocking it out. It wouldn't be so outlandish, after all I lived over half my life without really knowing part of myself was a mindless slave to Slenderman.

Toby changes things for me. Everything about him, his gashed cheek, his brown eyes, his emotional issues, his bloodthirsty looks, all of it changes me. Even the tiny bandaids, we stole them from little kids' houses, on his fingers change me.

He's fallen asleep on my bed as I've written this last bit. I can't bring myself to wake him. I'm weak in this state.

Perhaps a nap is what I need too. There does look to be enough space left on the bed.

~~~~~

Oh my goodness, you guys have left so many comments! I just can't help but tear up! Often, I see them when I go to school and it drastically changes my mood! Finals have been tough, but I had the motivation to fix this chapter up for you. I hope you enjoyed and stay tuned! Also, someone messaged me asking if fanart was allowed. Heck Yes.

To those who have been asking questions about the story, you get gold stars! I love you all!