I would like to start this post by apologizing. It has been difficult to update on the blog. The Master somehow managed to short circuit the entire building and my laptop has been running on reserve battery. I am typing this in the dead of night with all the lights off, pressing the keys excruciatingly slowly so that the Master will not hear me. He has become extremely bored and tiresome since we shut off access to the air ducts (the landlord was getting complaints from the other tenants)
Three days ago Jack went on a "business trip" to Torchwood One and took the Doctor along. I suspect they are there to convince TO to hire Jack--they still haven't caved.
For a brief time after Jack and the Doctor left, the Master was a lovely flatmate. He helped around the house and just yesterday gave me a killer french manicure (literally killer. I won't go into details.) I suspected it was part of some clever ruse, and now I am proved correct. Tonight, on the eve of Halloween, the Master has officially lost it. This surely must be what it is to live in a horror movie.
Oh, no. I can hear his footsteps. If I don't survive past this post, be warned. The Master is a highly dangerous individual, bearing uncanny resemblance to the late Prime Minister Harold Saxon and should not be approached. Ever. Even with caution.
It is a good thing he gave me that manicure--I may have to use it.
To Jack and the Doctor--if I am not here when you return, do not believe anything the Master tells you, no matter how un-suspicious it may seem. I will miss you both, I am sure.
The footsteps have stopped. It is impossible to defend myself against a completely silent, dark, and seemingly empty apartment. I cannot even use the Emergency Molotov Cocktail I whipped up, because it has mysteriously vanished--probably stolen by the Master.
I'm starting to feel a little freaked out now.
Master? You can stop the creepy Halloween act.
Jack? Doctor? You can come home now.