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.