Monday, July 30, 2018

contact

april 16 2008
April 16 2008
I’ve been in a major slump since March. The few chances I’ve gotten where both Mom and John were out, I’ve gone up into the attic and tried to fish the key’s teeth out from within the wood. The first time I had the chance to return up, two weeks had passed and the fucking thing had actually moved deeper down. It somehow lodged itself so it’s nigh impossible to budge and I’m losing my mind trying to retrieve it. I’ve tried paperclips, coat hangers, an actual fishing hook. No avail. It’s now positioned in such a way where I can’t maneuver any implement underneath it, which makes yanking it out effectively an unwinnable battle. Now that my rage has subsided a bit though, I think I’m starting to get an idea about what is going on. Since it first fell between the boards last month, the temperature outside has fluctuated around 20° F. Because all wood contains a certain amount of water, the boards became pliable, contracting when it got cooler and expanding in the heat. It must have dropped deeper and then gotten wedged down there due to the temperature changes. I still haven’t found my camera. John has no idea where it went. Mom definitely took it. I asked her once if she had seen it and she plainly said no. I had to grin and bear it and just say alright even though absolutely nothing has been alright and every damn day I am closer to just losing it. The more I act like zombie Milo on the outside, the more I feel like an actual hollow shell of a being on the inside. But, something extraordinary happened today. At work we have this corkboard by the front desk where local businesses can pin up their business cards.
april 16 2008
The wind coming in from outside had knocked some down off the board and as I went to pin them back up, a name caught my eye. Recolo Events. That’s right. It was RECOLO not RICOLA, that’s the fucking cough drop. After popping so many of those fuckers to quell my coughing, my scrambled brain must have made me log it in my memory banks incorrectly. On my lunch break I searched the name and, lo and behold, there’s their damn website. They’re wedding planners. No staff info listed other than a generic contact us email and phone number, but it has a list of past events that they’ve planned. Looks like last week was the Villegas wedding, Justin and Izabella. I formulated a plan on the spot. I found the newlywed couple’s number in the phonebook and called them. A woman, Izabella presumably, picked up. I said that I was an intern from Recolo events and asked if they wanted to include the embarrassing footage of “the brother” drinking in the final cut of the wedding video. “Anthony was drinking during the reception?” “Yes, looks like he had quite a lot ma’am.” She called out, “Justin, guess what? Planners called, your brother is full of shit! I told you!” I told Mrs. Villegas that I was going to put her on a brief hold, hung up, and had a good laugh. I immediately then called Recolo Events and got through to the receptionist, Samantha. I posed as the groom’s brother Anthony and asked for the contact info of the photographer from the wedding, saying that Justin has a serious issue about the price point of the commemorative photo album. She gave me the number to someone named Jack who’s apparently the wedding coordinator.
april 16 2008 - april 20 2008
I called him and pretended to be Anthony again. I said that Samantha from the office gave me his number and I asked, “Can I get the contact info of the photographer from the wedding? We talked at the wedding and he said that he did freelance work? He gave me his number but I lost it.” He asks me which photographer, as there are apparently 5 that work for him. “I think his name was… Kevin?” I heard some paper shuffling and he read off a number. I thanked him, hung up, took a deep breath, and gave myself a moment to process the elegance of what I had just accomplished. This must be Kevin’s new number. It’s not at all similar to his old one, the area code is New York. I didn’t plan at all to suddenly finesse Kevin’s new number out of thin air like this. I need some time to think about how to approach contacting him, but I’m gonna try to call him come the weekend.

April 20 2008
Well, that just happened. I waited until Saturday to call Kevin so I could have adequate time to ruminate on what could go down. I deliberated over every possible scenario of what to say first, how he could possibly reply, and tried to formulate ways to respond. In the end, I decided to go with the tried and true method of playing dumb. I was going to call him and act like nothing bad had ever happened and say that I’m just trying to touch base with an old friend from grade school after a long time apart. So, at noon I dialed. It rang
april 20 2008
a good five or six times before someone picked up. “Hello?” It sure sounded like him. “Hey, Kev! How’s life?” I said to him like I used to back in the day. There was an uncomfortably long pause. “How’d you get this number?” “Samantha gave it to me,” I said. He asked who I was and I said, “your old buddy Milo Asher.” “Who?” Of the hundreds upon hundreds of different conversation paths, I had not prepared for this one. He didn’t fucking remember me. I started to talk about how we met in elementary school, how we grew up together. He insisted that he never even met me before. I was in complete shock. Nothing I said rang a bell to him, it was like this was the first time we had ever spoken. “Say you did used to know me from elementary school,” he said, “why are you calling now?” I didn’t know how else to be but blunt at that point. “I want to know why you’ve been spying on me at night, Kevin.” He scoffed at me, “Okay listen up dude, stop pranking my number or I’m going to call the cops. Peace.” and hung up. I was utterly flabbergasted. I kept calling again and again until he picked up for a final time just to say, “I’m blocking this number.” I did some research and found out from calling the market where his dad worked that his parents had since divorced and moved to separate sides of the country. I’m guessing he lives alone now, most likely still somewhere in the local area. Needless to say, I’m incredibly confused and
april 20 2008
disheartened. Not only is one of my only friends gone from my life, he doesn’t even know that I ever existed. The next day I called Jack the coordinator again to see if Kevin has an alternate number, but to my surprise, Jack said that he had terminated his contract just yesterday. Literally right after I called him. Either something’s incredibly fishy, or I’m writing this entry from a seafood market. And I’m not. There are three possibilities that come to mind: 1. Kevin has suffered some kind of amnesic episode and legitimately doesn’t remember our friendship, 2. He’s knowingly working for a third party and is just putting on an act to confuse me, or 3. His mind has been purposefully wiped clean somehow and he is being unconsciously controlled by that third party. Considering that any one of those theories holds any truth at all makes my head spin into orbit, but that’s the absurd state in which I find myself right now. I feel so very broken and raw inside from this development, like a huge chunk of who I was suddenly just disappeared. This is the absolute worst headspace I could be in going to visit Noah. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I caved and I’m seeing Noah in 2 weeks after all. I’m not even sure what I’m going to do once I’m there yet. I’m so deathly afraid that the same fate will befall Noah, either him becoming just as haunted as I am or completely forgetting who I am to him. On one hand I know I need to brief him on the potential storm that may descend upon him, but on the other hand I don’t want him to view me as the harbinger that came and ruined his life. Either way, I have no choice but to bite the bullet and face the hard truth. No matter how this visit ends up going, I’m about to lose the only friend I have left.

Thursday, July 12, 2018

snap

march 6 2008
March 6 2008
John came to me in the morning with a proposal. He wanted to clear up space in the garage by getting a storage shed for the backyard like the neighbors have. Our garage is super cluttered and unkempt, it looks like a packrat has been squatting there, so it seemed like a fair idea. Mom was out running errands for the day so he asked if I wanted to accompany him to the hardware store, saying we could pick up some tapes if I wanted. I had him under the impression that I was filming ads for the library, but reusing the tapes so many times had really worn them down so I took up his offer. It was really sweet of him to offer me that, even if it was kind of a bribe, but I honestly would have said yes anyway. We drove to Home Depot to check out some outdoor storage units and picked out this nicely sized barn roof storage shed that was the best deal. There was a huge accident clogging up the main road on the way home, so we had to take a detour and we couldn’t stop for tapes. At a stoplight, I saw Mr. Slim standing by a light pole and snapped a picture. He didn’t show up in the image, but I was freaked out to realize that building in the photo was Hillshire psychiatric hospital, the loony bin that Mom sent me to years ago. Did he make me do this? Fucker was toying with my trauma. I was instantly thrown into a well of terrible memories. I didn’t break eye contact with that dreadful building until the light changed and we turned the corner. We had nothing else planned for the day, so once we got home we went right to work installing the shed. We soon realized
march 6 2008
that we had forgotten to buy exterior grade screws, so I suggested that John use his old nail gun instead. John said that it would make for a crappy job, but was aggravated and didn’t want to drive all the way back out again, so he said fine and let me do the work while he took a rest. Everything seemed to be going fine up until I prepared to get the roofing started. I felt an intense sensation grip my spine. Mr. Slim. Peeking out from the bottom corner of the metal wall that just put up I saw something moving in the weeds. It was dark and writhed around like a snake. I took the nail gun, aimed it at the thing, and fired a nail. There was a scream. I blinked and clearly saw a shoe. I had just shot John in the boot. He fell into the shed and the walls fell inward. I apologized profusely, asserting that I thought it was a snake, but he was really pissed and threw curses at me in a rage claiming that I just wanted to use the nail gun so I could fuck around. He took the nail gun and stormed inside, shouting back at me to check the tool cabinet again to see if we might have some exterior grade screws. So, I looked in every drawer of the cabinet but came up with nothing. I was going to head back inside... but something told me that I needed to look again. And in the very bottom drawer, tucked all the way in the back corner behind John’s old repair equipment was a key. With a black plastic top. The word COPY was pressed into it. I swiped it and ran inside. Before I could make it to my
march 6 2008 - march 7 2008
room, John came over and gave me a big hug. He was sorry for screaming at me and I asked if he was alright. The nail thankfully only just grazed his toe and he wasn’t injured. He then asked if I was up for tagging along to the store again to get the proper screws. Given my serendipitous discovery and feeling grateful for John’s forgiveness, I was in an unusually chipper mood and said let’s go. Might as well celebrate this find with another fun outing with John. We went to Lowe's this time, which was a bit closer, ate some hot dogs at a stand outside, and took a really nice photo together. And even though it glitched the fuck out when I sent it to him, I didn’t feel Mr. Slim’s presence or see him at all for the rest of the day with that lucky key in my pocket. We finished the shed by nightfall and had a great lasagna dinner. I’ve been riding some good vibes. Tomorrow, when Mom checks in with her cult buddies and John is preoccupied, I’m going straight up to the attic and busting that bitch open.

March 7 2008
Fuck. Things were really going my way for a change. How very naive of me to jump into situations without thinking and just assume that things would go my way so easy. So much for that fucking pipe dream. Mom had just left and, to my surprise, John decided to do a last minute grocery run. This was my perfect opportunity. Right when the garage door closed, I flew. I was up in the attic in record time, I nearly fell
march 7 2008
through the insulation when I leapt to the safe. I was shaking so much as I inserted the key. It fit perfectly. But it didn’t turn. I took it out and reinserted it, but it still wouldn’t budge. So, being the fucking idiot that I am, I tried to force it. There was a snap. It felt like I snapped as well. The top half of the key flew out of my sweaty fingers across the attic. I lost my footing, dropped the flashlight, fell backward, and hit my head hard. It all happened so fast. I think I was out for at least 15 minutes. When I came to, I started freaking out. I had turned the key so damn hard that it had broken off in the lock at the neck. The lower half of the key was now jammed in the lock, sticking out ever so slightly but not enough for me to pull free with my fingers. I found the top half of the key, broken off at the neck and missing the black covering.* As fast as I came up, I rushed down to the garage in search of pliers. I swore I didn’t breathe until I returned to the attic with them. The key shaft was barely protruding from the lock, a little over a millimeter, and I couldn’t get a hold on it. Finally, I got a solid grip and pulled hard. Too hard. It flung out, hit wood, and fell somewhere. I tried to find it, but it was like it had just disappeared. I was just screaming bloody murder at that point. And then I saw where it was. It had fallen conveniently between two boards nearby. It glinted at me mockingly as my light shined on it. Before I could even try to fish it out, I heard John
march 7 2008
pull into the driveway. I raced down and put back the ladder just in time to meet him at the front door. He asked me why I was crying. I said the protagonist in the book I was reading had fucked up really bad and it had gotten me emotional. I couldn’t even go back up to the attic because John decided that he wanted to move his garage shit into the shed now. I went back to my room and made my voice sore screaming into my pillow. I was in a bad place. I didn’t even say hello to Mom when she came home, I should have. She was eyeing me for the rest of the night. I logged on John’s computer and searched for safe brands. Eventually, after at least an hour of digging, I found unmistakably the same safe. I read the manual and it turns out that the key alone doesn’t open it, a five digit code must first be entered to unlock a secondary mechanism in order to allow the key to turn. Right now, I’m fucking demolished. I hate myself so much for rushing, for not thinking to make a copy. I’m sure the shadow demons are either ashamed or laughing at me now from a higher plane. Probably both. And now my camera is missing. I could have misplaced it when we went out yesterday. Good chance Mom lifted it from my dresser. Tapes are still here... where I hid them in my sock drawer, but I haven’t even captured any legitimate footage of Mr. Slim yet. Worst part is, I don’t think I should make a stink about it. What if this is a test to see if I’m awoken or not? It better fucking turn up, I need to get at least one sighting for the doctor. I’m approaching my breaking point.
*i'm 99% sure that this is the same broken key that i received in the token letter.

Tuesday, July 10, 2018

flash

january 5 2008
January 5 2008
As soon as we got home and John went out with Mom, I ran to the garage. I got the ladder, climbed up to the attic entrance, and pushed up the wooden slab to get in. I had only been up there once before when I was really young after we had first moved in. It isn’t a furnished attic, the skeleton of the roof is exposed. There’s a series of wooden planks and fluffy pink insulation sits under more rows of wooden planks instead of a floor. It seemed the same as I remember, but shining my flashlight around I noticed something tucked in the far corner. I carefully stepped across the wood to get a closer look and in the corner was none other than the new safe from my dream. I left the attic as it was, put the ladder back, and scoured the house again for that specific key from the dream. It’s been days now and I’ve checked every damn nook and cranny from Mom’s room to the kitchen, but to no avail. I was going to write this entry when I found the key, since I expected to have found it by now, but there’s been another development. Last night at 4 AM, I saw someone outside standing under a streetlight. I was prepared for this moment. I had done some reading and figured out how to temporarily disable the back door from tripping the house alarm. So I quietly ran out into the street. Someone was still standing there. I took out my phone to snap a picture of them and ran back in to zoom in and see if it was Kevin. To my dismay, they did not show up in the photo. Either my eyes were playing tricks on me, or they were playing tricks on my eyes. Also, Noah called me today to wish me
january 5 2008 - february 11 2008
a belated happy new year. I hadn’t spoken to him much at all lately because I had purposefully been tapering down the amount of calls I answered to limit my exposure to him, but I decided to allow this one. We had a real nice conversation catching up with each other and joking like when we were kids. He asked if I wanted to visit him one of these weekends after his classes end. I choked up, forcing lies through my teeth that I’m not sure if I can since my library job is really demanding on my schedule. And then I thought about it again. Is evading Noah really the most responsible thing to do? What will happen if by chance I die and Mr. Slim turns his sights to him? And he’s completely unprepared for that psychological onslaught? He’ll be utterly fucked. I’m beginning to think that it’s my moral obligation as a carrier of this shared disease to at least let him know what may be coming for him. I doubled back and told him that I’d have to get the ok from my boss to see if they’ll grant me some vacation days. I hung up feeling queasy. I could tell him everything over the phone, but that’s far too impersonal for consequences of this magnitude. If this does end up being the last time I see Noah for a long while, I need to make it count. I need to give him at least something, advice, a warning, a sign, anything to help him defend against this bizarre threat that we’re both deeply intertwined in.

February 11 2008
Even though I don’t use my cell phone much, I've started getting a whole bunch of
february 11 2008
solicitor calls this past month. I’ve only given my phone number out to a handful of people, no strangers. I’m thinking it might be because I wrote my number into a public sweepstakes form to win an iPod Nano at work last year. Some douche probably lifted the numbers and sold them to a telemarketing agency. They call me at random times of the day about random shit ranging from insurance stuff to political brown nosing. At first I was annoyed, but then I started to have fun just fucking with them, like pretending to be an investigator from an active crime scene that they had called and asking for their personal information. I don’t usually get that many at night but last night, I got a call at 4 AM. I was going to just ignore it, but because it was so late I wanted to give this fucker a piece of my mind. So I picked up and waited for someone to start selling me something, but there was silence. I waited a few seconds and listened. I heard some faint noises, light breathing. There was definitely someone on the line with me, waiting for me to say something. “Just sell me the scam already,” I said. Still nothing. I hung up. Not five seconds later, it rang again. Caller ID read UNKNOWN. Maybe it was just a ringback, so I didn’t answer. Then it rang again. And again. And again. I eventually picked up with, “I don’t want your fucking service.” I could hear louder breathing on the other line now. “Milo?” the voice whispered. “Who the hell is this and why are you calling this late?” I replied. There was what sounded like shallow giggling followed by some unintelligible gibberish. I made out some things like
february 11 2008
“Come to us” and “No sleep”. It sounded like this person was forcing out words, like they were choking. “You need... to end... I’m... sorry. I’m so sorry...They’re...” the voice said before it moaned into an inhuman screech.* I shut the phone at that... but I heard the screech continue. It came from outside. I pulled open my blinds and was assaulted by a bright burst of light that blinded me. The stalker was literally right outside my window and snapped a photo. In a half-awake frenzy, I ran out the back door without disabling the alarm and tripped it. I could barely see what was in front of me because the intense after image from a point blank flashbulb had stained my vision, so I retreated back inside. John was in the living room with his pistol drawn, assuming a break in had happened. I nearly pissed myself when he swung the barrel in my direction when the lights on came on and Mom turned off the alarm. They asked me what happened and I scrambled for an excuse. I said that I had woken up, thought I was still dreaming, and went to go to the backyard. This turned out to be an awful explanation. “Were you sleepwalking, hun?” Mom asked incredulously. “I don’t think so? I’m not sure what came over me,” I said, grasping for straws. “Could it have been that I missed my medication?” Mom was furious at this, but playing the oblivious card was imperative. “You KNOW that you can’t miss your meds, Milo! Not even once!” I aimed to confuse. “But... I thought I did take them tonight? Didn’t you give me them after dinner?”
february 11 2008
John, my savior, chimed in, “Mary, shit, I don’t think you did.” “Of course I fucking did, John.” “This wouldn’t be the first time, babe.” “I swore... I took them after the casserole. Do you remember?” I added, knowing fully well that we had stir fry. “That was yesterday. You feeling okay, champ?” John said. “Sorry, I’m half asleep and my head is real foggy. Mom, do you think it’d be safe to take another dose just in case?” “Yes, definitely.” If there’s an art to playing dumb, tonight I was on display at the MOMA. I apologized again, took a black cap in front of them, and went back to bed. I waited an uncomfortably long time to make sure that they had gone back to bed, like half an hour or so, before sneaking to the bathroom and sticking my finger down my throat to regurgitate the cap. To my horror, the gelatin casing had already begun to dissolve but I’m pretty confident that I made it to the toilet before anything was absorbed. I’ve been clean for nearly a year and a half, I’m sharper than ever, and I have no plans to be shoved back into a mental prison. I really hope that I’ve fooled my parents this time. I can’t afford another slipup at this juncture, I’m already walking on a waterbed of broken glass as it is. The more I think about that call, the more I can make out the sound of Kevin’s voice. What have I done to him? What have they done to him? What are they doing to him.

*this description is eerily similar to the mystery call that i received on the very same phone. i had been under the impression for years that it may have been kevin on the line struggling to break free, and this confirms it.