tapes

may 5 2008

May 5 2008
Trying to make sense of everything that happened today has been a serious effort. I’m writing from the plane back to Alabama after my 3 day long panic attack at Noah’s this weekend and I’m still bewildered at what happened. After I finished writing the last entry, I went to bed directly into a nightmare. I dreamt that I was looking for something in the vacant lot next to Noah’s house. I had a peculiar feeling regarding the tree on the property. It appeared far too dark and smooth. I went over to touch it, but felt nothing. I was then hit with this electrical shock and when I opened my eyes from wincing I was lying down on something hard and cold in a dark forest. Surrounding above me were several figures in black hoods with masks. I couldn’t move. Out of the trees came another cloaked person, but this one I recognized from the skull. It was Henka. As I stared at his lack of jaw, I was overcome with this disturbing feeling of having a deep spiritual connection with him. He leered over me and black tendrils emerged from his eyeholes and robe, wrapping around my throat. I couldn’t breathe. When I came to I was gasping and coughing... standing in front of Noah’s garage in the dark holding his camera. It felt just as real as the dream. I couldn’t tell the difference, so I figured I was still dreaming. This nagging urge to search for something was tugging at my inner compass, so I hit record and walked around. I was nearly scared to death by an AC unit turning on before noticing that unusually dark tree again. I went closer to it, blinked, and suddenly Mr. Slim was standing right beside it. I made a mad dash back inside and took refuge in Noah’s room. I checked the footage and was surprised to find that I had

may 5 2008

caught the bastard on tape again. It’s hard to see, but a tie against white and blank head are plainly visible. At this point, I felt like I had more than enough visual evidence for both Noah and Dr. Garner, so I pocketed Noah’s tape and replaced it with one of my blanks. Despite the splitting headache, I popped another triptan and found it easy to fall back to sleep. Peace of mind is a rare commodity. I was just beginning to dream about standing over a lake looking at what appeared to be a vehicle at the bottom with its lights on when the slam of a door woke me abruptly. I pretended to be asleep as I heard footsteps drag down the hallway. I had been sleeping on a pullout mattress next to Noah’s bed, and I was shaken by a sudden movement of the bedframe. I waited in silent terror until I heard snoring. I peered over the bedside to see Noah in his day clothes, face down and sprawled across the bed. His video camera was strapped around his hand. I delicately removed it and rewound the tape. There was new footage of him walking around a playground, the one at Victor Park.* Noah was sleepwalking, but there’s no way he could have walked that far and back within the hour I went back to sleep. The end of the footage was very jarring. There’s a sudden cut and then a point blank close up of Mr. Slim, closer than I’ve ever seen before, and Noah runs out of the playground towards a light screaming. There is a shot of moving trees before a green tinted shot of someone. Someone with glasses. Kevin’s glasses. Then there is one final shot, a clear visual of me standing next to Mr. Slim at the boardwalk, tentacles branching from his torso and undulating in front of me. I’ve had a dream of that exact scene from my perspective nearly a year and a half ago. While freaking out about what I

may 5 2008

was seeing, I felt my pocket and realized that my phone was missing. I searched my bed, suitcase, my other pants, but it was gone. I took the landline and called my number. I heard the buzz of my phone’s vibration nearby. It came from Noah’s pocket. He was out cold so I took out the phone and checked it. One new audio clip, one new photo. The audio clip was Noah laughing to himself all creepy like, but the photo was even creepier. It was Noah’s face, distorted and grinning maniacally. Due to my presence or not, he was already experiencing Mr. Slim’s influence. What really threw me for a loop was seeing Kevin. No way he followed me all the way here. But then how the fuck is he on the tape? I opened it that night. Why the fuck is he involved with everything? I decided to swap the tape out again, put Noah’s tape back for now, and take both with me before I leave so I can show Garner. On a hunch, I took a sharpie and drew the eye symbol on my tape for added protection. I didn’t sleep. In the morning when Noah woke, he asked if he had worn his PJs to bed. He definitely had changed clothes that night, but I said I didn’t remember.** This flight left at 6, so now I had mere hours left to break the news to Noah. After all this time, I was still coming up short with figuring out a way to approach him about it. After some reminiscing, Noah left me alone to get some food. I took a deep breath and decided that I was going to tell him once he gets back. When he went out, he left his camera on the dock still recording, I assume on accident. It really is a nice camera compared to my old one, and I’m considering saving up for a similar model. As I was admiring it, I caught sight of Mr. Slim ogling me from Noah’s closet and I bolted out the front door. I stood there hyperventilating for a

may 5 2008

quick minute before pulling myself together, taking a deep breath, and running back inside. The more footage of Slim I get the better, I figured. This was the time to face my fears and actually do something valiant. All cylinders pumping hot adrenaline, I rushed down the hallway and into Noah’s room. The closet was empty. I then was struck with one of the worst cluster headaches I’ve ever had and collapsed in the hallway. I saw him, he was in the room across the house, peeking at me. I was nearly paralyzed in throbbing pain as he dipped into the room and instantaneously out from the laundry room a few feet away. That was the last thing I saw before I blacked out. Next thing I knew, I was sitting back on the bed like I had just imagined it all. Almost half an hour had passed, the camera still in my hands. The front door shut and Noah walked in with groceries. He saw me holding the camera and asked, “Filming something?” This was it. It was time to rip off the bandaid. I told Noah that he should sit down because I had something very important to talk to him about.*** My heart was racing as he sat next to me and I turned on the camera to rewind the tape. “Have you been seeing anything unusual since I arrived?” I asked. “No, at least not that I can think of.” I asked him to think hard and he replied, “Well, other than you being a weirdo, no.” and I said, “I want to show you why I’ve been acting this way.” He gave me a dubious look. I asked if he had any AV cables to hook up the camera to the TV and he got them for me. I hooked up the camera to his TV, played back the tape starting from when I rang the doorbell, and told Noah to watch very closely and say if he noticed anything out of the ordinary. As it played, I had palpitations because I noticed something early on.

may 5 2008

I rewound and watched in silent trepidation as I caught Slim lurking in the darkness of the laundry room. I knew that I had felt him near. I glanced at Noah, he didn’t seem to catch it. I saw him again in the reflection of the TV when we were talking on Saturday and on the boardwalk as Noah ran after me. Every time he appeared in the footage, I looked back to Noah who didn’t seem phased at all. As we got to the portion that I filmed on Saturday night, Noah began to get uneasy and asked, “What the hell? Did you film this?” “Just watch,” I said. At the end of the clip where the distortion was, for a split second I saw him in the jittery frames. I rewound until I landed on the frame where the distinct shape of a tie was visible. “Do you see anything?” I questioned. Noah looked closely in this unblinking pensive stare and opened his mouth to say something but just shook his head. “Let’s continue,” I said. Fast forwarding to the next clip, we arrived at the nature trail. “Why’s the camera keep fucking up? It’s all brand new,” he said as we got to the tower clip. “It’s not the camera.” He gave me an unnerved look at that, a look that almost said, “Is THAT what this feeling is?” I will never forget that look. I paused at the point where Slim appears in the clearing of trees and saw that Noah had this odd expression on his face, like he was looking at something he couldn’t quite understand. I played through the next bit of us driving home and me filming outside, but this time Noah said nothing. We got to the point in the day where Noah went to the store and Slim appeared in the closet. There was this strange disjointed footage that accompanied what I remembered. Before ending, there was a shot of Noah’s ceiling fan, bizarre footage of the floor spinning, and a clip of the boardwalk at night. As the tape ended,

may 5 2008

I looked back to Noah who was fixated to the black screen. “Did you see anything?” There was a breathless silence. “Rewind the tape, Milo.” More palpitations. I rewound and played it again. Now, every time Slim appeared Noah blinked a few times. His mouth was slightly ajar with morbid fascination. I could tell that he still couldn’t see him, but he knew that something was there. He felt it like I did. The blinders were fading. “Again,” he said sternly and once more I rewound it. Once the tape got to the part where Mr. Slim appeared in the clearing Noah grabbed the remote from me, rewound, and paused the tape. He pointed directly to the figure, glared at me eyes wide and asked, “Who the fuck is this?” I never thought we’d get to this point. “Was he always there? I didn’t see him, but now I do. Is this a trick?” I grasped his shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes, “Last year. Do you remember the pantry? Remember the man in the pantry?” Noah’s expression slowly turned from confusion to white terror. “I... That suit...” He started to tear up, I did too. “Yes, you do remember! What did his face look like?” “...Face?” he said trembling, “There wasn’t one, man!” he shouted and started to gasp for air. I embraced him tightly and we cried together. What a powerful release of tension that was. “How could I forget something like that? Why was that thing in my house? What the fuck is going on, Milo?” I began to explain that the faceless man is a supernatural being that’s been haunting our family for years, that my mom is secretly in on it along with some religious cult, and that she’s been attempting to drug me since my childhood to keep me subservient. I told him that Grandpa Karl has a powerful book that they’re trying

may 5 2008

to get and that they’ve been using me to try and steal it from him. His face went red with overwhelming rejection and, “That’s all bullshit! You can’t be serious!” he yelled at me. I assured him that it was all true, pointing to the screen. “Why are you telling me all this now?” “Because I have reason to believe that they may be coming for you next. The fact that you can see him means he sees you now.” He shouted through tears that he didn’t want to be involved in any of this shit, but I told him that there’s no use because our whole family is plagued with this. He kept looking back and forth from me to the TV and back. “I’ve... seen him in my dreams, other times too... How have I forgotten it all...” “He wipes your memory. He erases himself.” I then told him that my mom was the one who burned our houses down and helped to sink that boat in 95 because of Mr. Slim’s influence. “Aunt Mary torched our houses? Why?!” “I think she was trying to spare us from the entity’s curse through some twisted mercy.” “How do you know all this?!” “I really don’t know, I have no proof, but a shadow spirit told me through a Ouija board.” This was far too much for him to take in, I could tell his world was spinning. “This isn’t happening, this isn’t real,” he mumbled to himself, rocking back and forth with his hands to his head in distress. I was stricken with grief at what state I had reduced my cousin to. “I’m so sorry this is the way it is, Noah, but I had to warn you,” I pleaded, “I want you to be prepared in case he...” He grabbed me tight, “I don’t want to forget again, Milo.” I identified so hard with him.**** “I don’t want to forge-” he inhaled sharply, let go of me, and backed up on the bed in fright. He pointed at the

may 5 2008

doorway, his hand covering his screaming mouth. I turned around to the doorway and fell to my knees. It was shadow Noah. He put his finger over his mouth, “Shhhhhhhhhhhh,” and gestured to Noah on the bed. Instantly, Noah was out cold. “Shadow Noah...” I began to say. “Call me Firebrand,” he smirked. It was him, the one speaking to me from the spirit board. “Praesidium Adversus Egotisticus...” I mouthed. He nodded. “You’ve done well, Milo. He is almost awake. Upon a third realization, the veil will lift and he will see the storm.” “What are you?” “The result of your efforts. Without you, Noah would be lost to the beast.” “Why are you here?” “To ensure the fidelity of the loop.” “What loop?” “The iteration of our timeline where I can do this.” Behind him, almost on cue, Mr. Slim slid in from the hallway, tentacles waving wildly. With a huge grin, Firebrand turned around and flipped him off. It was a profound moment. He looked back towards me on the floor. “You’ve assisted Noah more than you know, but your time is done here, and have a flight to catch.” “But what do I do next? I still have to tell Noah everything!” “No need. Noah is in good hands now. Keep your distance. Face the monsters back home. Open the safe. Bring your mother to justice. When we meet again, your destiny will be clear.” He then snapped his fingers and I suddenly became aware of the g-force sensation of my plane taking off. Time just skipped, it was like a record skipping forward. I took out the journal from my bag and I’ve been writing for 2 hours now. More memories are returning as I write. After the snap, I can only recall packing my things

may 5 2008

and leaving Noah’s house in the airport taxi. But I remember us being... normal. Noah seemed chipper, as did I. We were on some kind of autopilot, but I’m not sure if he has forgotten everything like last time. I just remembered the tapes. There’s only one in my bag, my tape with the symbol. Most of the footage of Mr. Slim is back on Noah’s tape, and it’s far too late to go back for it. Even though I completed the mission I set out to do after drowning in indecision for days, I’m now faced with even more indecision. That close up of Slim on this tape should be enough for Dr. Garner. I’m seeing her in a month. If I really need to, I’ll contact Noah for a copy of his tape. But, should I even contact him at all? What if he really has forgotten? What if he’s been wiped to the point where he doesn’t remember filming? What if he doesn’t remember my visit at all? My anxiety has returned with a vengeance. I’m not sure if I could handle another best friend not remembering who I was. I guess I’ll know when he contacts me next, if he contacts me at all. What if I ask him for a copy of the tape, he watches it, sees Mr. Slim, and permanently wakes up to his existence like me? If this Firebrand guy was telling the truth, and I have no reason to doubt him at this point, then Noah is going to be okay without my aid. If a paranormal being trying to help tells me to keep my distance, I’m not one to argue. If I have any contact with Noah it may only serve to further complicate this master plan.***** I’m going to refrain from any contact with Noah until I can get a better handle on this situation or until I hear otherwise from Firebrand, but for now I must focus on what he told me... facing the monsters back home, cracking open that safe, and dealing with that conniving wench of a woman that I call Mom.

*i had thought that milo had filmed this footage for the longest time. it was me.

**i vaguely remember wondering why i had slept in my regular clothes but disregarded it. i also didn’t even recognize my own distorted face until i read this. i hate it.

***i don’t remember any of this happening other than returning from the store and milo leaving right after.

****reading this broke me. i wish i could remember this. i wish i could relive that bonding moment.

*****it all makes sense now, why milo went silent. he was trying to help me. i don’t blame him for how he acted, especially after what he was experiencing. i just wish that i could tell him that i understand exactly what he was feeling and that he wasn’t alone. to think that he died never hearing that from someone feels like a knife twisting in my chest.

trail

may 4 2008

May 4 2008
I woke from a coughing fit with an awful migraine at 4 AM. The more I think about it, I’ve always coughed more than usual on my Florida trips. But it’s really bad now, I hacked too hard and some chunky blood came up. I drank some Robitussin that I found in Noah’s bathroom and that seemed to help a bit, but my anxiety was shooting through the roof. I went to get my benzo but I’m fresh out. I’ve been taking too many these past few days and I can’t refill for at least another week. My head pain was a more pressing issue, it was extremely uncomfortable. I don’t have any headache medication with me. I tried to ride it out and fall back asleep, but it felt like my brain was being squeezed from the inside and there was no way I could knock myself out with that level of pain. But, I had an idea. Yesterday, Noah showed me this Sodoku Rubix cube he had that was jammed in place and I offered to try and fix it. I asked for an X-Acto knife and he pointed me to the first kitchen drawer. In that drawer were some pill bottles under his dad’s name. One of them was a drug that ended in “triptan”. From my research into medication, I knew that triptans are a class of medicine used for the treatment of migraines. There were definitely a few left in that bottle. I very much didn’t want to go out into the house alone in the dark, his presence was as strong and near as ever. But then I remembered Noah’s camera. Slim hates cameras, so I can at least ward him off and at most have a perfect opportunity to capture proof of his existence. So I took the camera and went to the kitchen, sticking the lens in every open area like spraying bug repellant. I got to the

may 4 2008

drawer and took one tablet. As I swallowed, I swore that I saw something move outside. As I filmed out the window, there was an intense jolt of pain in my neck and I fell. I thought it was a thunderclap headache, but I soon realized that I was struck with something solid from behind. I looked up and I vaguely recall seeing something there on top of the fridge that wasn’t there before, but I can’t remember what it was. I ran back to Noah’s room and blacked out. I don’t remember anything else after getting inside. I woke up on the floor a few hours later to Noah standing over me. I said that I have a sleepwalking problem and left it at that. At least my migrane was gone. While Noah showered, I took the camera and watched what I had filmed. I didn’t seem to have captured anything other than some garbled footage near the end. After breakfast, Noah decided that we’d head out to Victor Park again so we could check out the nature trail and an observation tower. Everything within me was imploring me to object, citing the recurring nightmares I had based there, but I ended up humoring him. I knew I was so fucking close to getting Slim on camera and I may not have this chance again. It felt like he’d been closing in with every passing hour and there was something about that park that seemed to draw him out. So we went. I noticed that this black car was following us wherever we drove, might have been coincidence even though it looked vaguely familiar to me, like from a dream. I wonder if Mr. Slim can drive. Once there, we walked past a dog park and a memorial playground before starting down the trail. If my childhood hadn’t been tainted by repeated visions of this place then maybe I would have been able to admire its natural splendor a bit more because it was a very pretty trail. We made it to the trail tower, which was taller than the boardwalk tower but closed off for some reason. I was pretty relieved that we couldn’t climb it. I always

may 4 2008

envision falling and it freaks me out. We instead took a break at the picnic table beneath the tower. I had a turn with Noah’s camera to film around for a bit, but saw nothing. Even though the boardwalk was a mile away that whole area still exuded this threatening energy, there was no doubt that Slim was near. We continued on and Noah got a phone call from his dad. He handed me the camera and I swung it all around hoping to catch him. And then I did. Through a clearing in the trees, a figure in black peered down at us. My skin tingled violently at witnessing him and my fight or flight response had me running. I was thrilled, I felt like I had just shot the National Geographic photo of the year, and at the same time completely terrified as I was being subsequently chased by the subject of my shot. I felt him trail behind me as I ran, and I didn’t stop until I reached the car. Once I came to my senses, I realized that I had totally left Noah in the dust and that I was going to have to explain myself. Noah didn’t seem to have run after me and as the minutes passed I began to worry why he was taking so long and contemplating if I should go back in after him before it got too dark. Finally he made it back to the car and I just said that I wanted to go home. I expected him to be annoyed with me, but he expressed more of a concern than anything. What a guy.* The car ride back to the house was excruciatingly silent. Eventually he asked why I ran. I told him not to worry about me. We had a speechless dinner and I retreated back to Noah’s room

may 4 2008

where I am now writing this entry. I had a mini heart attack as he filmed me write. Who knows who Mom is keeping an eye on, who knows what’ll happen if she sees me writing in here on YouTube or something. I asked him if he was going to post our footage anywhere publicly and he said that this was only for his personal records, so I breathed a sigh of relief.** It was a brief relief however, because now that I have something legit on camera I must follow through with my prime objective, to present it to Noah. I only have one day left here to spill the beans to him. I’ve waited long enough. I’m still going to try and capture more footage of Mr. Slim, but tomorrow is the day that I tell Noah about him. Okay so just now before bed I took a look at my phone and found a bunch of pictures timestamped from Saturday night. There are six new photos. Three of them are unintelligible, the other three undoubtedly show Mr. Slim. They’re still very blurry, but he’s clearly front and center in the images. I guess I took them that night. Even more evidence to show Noah. I’m still unsure how exactly I’m going to give him this insane sounding talk, but the longer I hold off on doing it, the harder it’s going to be and the harder he’s going to take it. But it must be done. Tomorrow.

*i actually remember walking back to the car being fairly annoyed at him for acting so bizarrely, not understanding why he was inexplicably running. but as the context deepens, it hurts even more knowing what he was going through on his own. it seems like we all end up running from him. we’re all driven by that same fear. we’re all alone.

**circumstances have since changed, so i'm sure he would understand.

boardwalk

may 3 2008

May 3 2008
Now that I think about it, I don’t think that there’s been a time where I haven’t seen him during takeoff. He’s usually standing somewhere on the tarmac, so very out of place. And there he was yet again. He was following me to Noah. As soon as I felt the wheels of the plane leave the runway, this latent panic attack that had been creeping up on me, festering inside me like an inflamed appendix burst open. Half of me was committed to helping Noah, and the other half was screaming to run down the fuselage, unlatch the door, and just jump. Too easy. I was at war with myself, questioning if I should even be on that plane to Florida at all the whole flight. There wasn’t much turbulence, but every jarring tremor I prayed that the plane would just fall out of the sky and decide my fate for me. I threw up twice. Stepping out of the taxi to see Noah’s front doors once again, I was still overwhelmed with indecision. I had all this time to think, but the ever accumulating mass of internal distress had turned me to procrastination. I was just about to enter his damn house and I didn’t have a solid plan of action. Behind me, I felt that all too familiar sour sensation, like reality itself was rippling from a metaphysical stone toss nearby. He was already here. I took a deep breath, rang the doorbell, and opted to play things by ear. I felt that maybe hanging with my cousin like we used to in the good old days might clear my head. Should have known better at this point. Seeing Noah again was both a wonderful and gut wrenching experience, especially since he was so happy to see me. He pulled out a newly bought video camera and it felt like he had just drawn a gun at me. Could he have been seeing him already? No way I was going to interrogate him right then and there. Something instantly felt off as soon as I step foot inside this house. It was

may 3 2008

exactly like that funny feeling you get in the back of your throat right before you get sick, that same foreboding feeling. But it was walking down the hallway when I realized that I felt Mr. Slim within his house, like right beyond the walls. I tried my damndest to act like a normal human being, but knowing that he was only meters away from us had me drowning in anxiety. I’m convinced he was at least a room away from us the entire day. I already can’t wait to leave. I got settled in and we played some Paper Mario and watched Aladdin like when we were children, an eternity ago now. My thoughts were still as conflicted as ever. The Ouija board told me to show him, I’m assuming it was referring to Mr. Slim, but who knows who the hell this Firebrand spirit is? Just because he knew my favorite song doesn’t mean I should trust him. I kept trying to formulate some kind of strategy to segue our conversation into what I had traveled across the country to relay, but I was really at a loss. At least Noah’s presence managed to calm me enough to be able to enjoy myself, despite my mind being helplessly stuck in a death spiral of thought loops and the fact that a goddamn reality monster was observing us through the walls like rats in a maze. Noah had mentioned wanting to show me that park near his home since construction on that boardwalk had been completed last year. As much as I was frightened from all those visions of that damn Victor Park place, I had this morbid curiosity to visit it. If the powers that be have been showing it to me for a reason, might as well find out why. And when I saw the bastard himself peek out from the doorway at us, I was more than happy to leave that fucking house for a while. Noah let me fiddle with his camera

may 3 2008

as he drove, it was way nicer than mine was. Then an idea hit me. Since Slim is uncomfortably close now that we’re hanging out, if I’m able to catch him on camera and then show Noah… maybe I can wake him up again? Worth a shot. Plus, then I’ll have footage to show Garner. Two birds with one stone. And, since he hates having his picture taken, if anything I can shoo that fucker away, if only temporarily. It’s a win win. After lunch we stopped at the boardwalk and walked into the path between the walls of trees. As beautiful as it was, it was deeply unsettling walking around a place that haunted my nightmares years before it was even erected. Every step inward was accented with a hint of deja vu, and as we trekked further down the pathway, I was dismayed to realize that the place had the same exact threatening aura that Noah’s house had. The whole time I had this feeling of being followed, though no one was ever behind us. I felt it particularly strongly at the top of the boardwalk tower, and when I spotted his lanky silhouette poke out from amongst the trees and move toward us, the very same vision from one of my childhood dreams, I panicked and ran down. When I got a hold of myself, I tried to brush it off by recounting some classic anecdotes from years past. Reaching the end of the boardwalk, it felt so oddly quiet. There were some other people fishing at the pier, so I figured that maybe Slim retreated for now. But it was far too placid. Something wasn’t right. Sure enough, as we were walking back to the parking lot, the hair on the back of my neck shot up as I felt his presence return… but this time it felt like a tidal wave approaching from behind us, and fast. I lost my cool again and booked it back to the car. The sensation subsided

may 3 2008

once I reached the parking lot, but I collapsed to my knees in terror, completely consumed by just how much I felt affected by it. I only experienced that degree of impending doom once before, but it was from the safety of one of those boardwalk dreams. In real life, it proved to be so much more alarming. It felt that if we didn’t leave there at that exact moment, the trees themselves would come to life and spring downward, shutting on us like a snare trap… which is exactly what happened to me in the dream. I still have no idea why that damn place has any significance or why it has been so incessantly advertised to me in my sleep like a goddamn timeshare from hell, but there’s no doubt that there’s some kind of potent energy that envelopes it. The trip back home was awkward and silent. I had really confused Noah at this point, and I was in no shape to even begin to lie to him coherently about why I had spazzed out and ran off on him multiple times, so I saved face and kept up the act of aloofly pretending that everything was fine. But it really wasn’t. I kicked myself for not just taking the camera from Noah and filming Mr. Slim when I saw him. I won’t let that opportunity pass by again. I may have other chances to snag his image while I’m still here, in fact, I’m counting on it. As I write this entry, I can see him in my mind’s eye. He’s scoping us out like packages of meat at the butcher counter. But I’m scoping him right back. He’s not escaping the viewfinder this time.

*all of milo’s actions make complete sense now given the context of what he was experiencing, but it doesn’t make it any easier to accept now that he’s gone.

summoning

april 26 2008

April 26 2008
One of the existential quandaries that has troubled me all my life is the uncertainty involving what happens to the self after death. Is there a next level of reality waiting for us, or does the mind just cease to be after falling into the void of eternal sleep? I’m not sure what to believe. Belief in general has been a fickle thing for me, something I continue to struggle with rationalizing to this day. Sometimes I wish I was carefree like Oscar, oblivious to the terrors of the world and perfectly content in his old age watching birds from the windowsill, his only worry being if feeding time is late. I’m certainly not a religious person, not because I’ve stopped attending a place of worship but because the tangible confirmations that the scientific method provides have always made more sense to me than unverifiable hearsay from sacred texts, and thus has been more mentally comforting. However, given all of the first hand paranormal experiences and direct contact with supernatural beings that I’ve had throughout my life, I can definitely say that I’m not an atheist. I used to think I was agnostic, but I’m not sure I can call myself that anymore since I have personal evidence of their handiwork and I can’t claim that their existence is entirely unknowable. But what does an agnostic call themselves when forced to acknowledge occurrences that transcend all reasonable logic? Uncertain? I guess the only thing I do truly believe in is the certainty of uncertainty itself. There will always be some level of uncertainty to all things and I’ve come to embrace it, because the quest for certainty requires

april 26 2008

tolerating this uncertainty. Not knowing is more terrifying than knowing, and to be comfortable with this notion is the only way to obtain knowledge in the face of a terrifying enigma. So, since the beginning of last year I’ve fought my fears by doing research on spirit boards and their proper use. Kevin and I didn’t use the board safely, and if I wanted to try again I didn’t want to make the same mistakes. We didn’t meditate beforehand, draw a salt circle, or use any protective measures. I think I’m a medium because I have a higher awareness to inexplicable phenomena, so I feel that I already have a better likelihood of making contact with transcendent entities. But this time I’m on my own. The last thing I want is to involve, or infect, anyone else. I felt like I had done an apt amount of research and planned for today to perform a proper summoning. Since Mom and John had planned to go out to some local concert in the evening, tonight was an ideal time to try it all again. I meditated in my room all day until they left and once they did I set up my room for incantation. Because I couldn’t find any real Ouija boards, I made my own homemade spirit board out of a pizza box and a shot glass. I lit some candles and sage incense, turned off the lights, and poured a circle of salt around the board and I. Flipping the board over, I drew the intersecting eye of protection, repeating the mantra, “protection against maleficent beings”. I cleared my mind and introduced myself to the board as a humble mortal with an affliction requesting connection with the

april 26 2008

spirit world for assistance. After a moment, I touched the glass and asked if anyone was out there. No response. After a few tries when I was about to try more meditation, the hair on my neck stood up. I felt a presence enter. The candles flickered and dimmed. I asked again if anyone was out there. I couldn’t tell if it was me or the glass itself, but it began to move and stopped on YES. I collected myself and asked who has joined me and the glass spelled out answers. FIREBRAND. What are you? ROGUEGOD. Are you friend or foe? The glass didn’t budge at first, but then spelled out SHADOW and slid upward, stopping between YES and NO. Ominous. I was speaking to a shadow person. My hands were trembling as I asked what the shadow people are. CURSEDSOULS. I asked why. SEVEREDFLESH. I wasn’t sure what to make of this, but I decided to keep going and ask more clear questions. Is Noah in danger? YES. If I am the current target, what is Noah? NEXT. Should I tell Noah? SHOWHIM. What happened to Kevin? COLLECTED. Why is he taking pictures of me? SPYING. For who? ARCHVASSAL. Why are they doing this to me? ENDSESSION. I wasn’t sure if this was an answer or a request to end the correspondence, so I asked if they wanted to end the conversation. NO. May I ask you more questions? YES. I was shocked at not only how well this was working, but how eager this being was to answer my questions. I wanted to try something a bit more dangerous. Since

april 26 2008

asking about Mr. Slim caused him to appear, I asked if it’s safe to ask about the big man. SAFEFORNOW. What is he? ADMINISTRATOR. What does he administrate? SESSION. What is the session? CURSE. How do I lift the curse? SACRIFICE. Sacrifice what? EVERYTHING. These answers were getting a bit heavy, so I went on a limb and asked something more challenging. How do you know all this? IKNOWALL. Can you prove it? ASKSPECIFIC. I thought for a moment and asked something only I knew. What’s my favorite song? BLACKESTEYES. I was stunned. I’ve never told ANYONE that Blackest Eyes by Porcupine Tree is my favorite song, but somehow this nebulous manifestation knew. At this point, the burning questions that I really wanted to know the answers to bubbled to the surface. Did Robert die in the fire? I started crying before the glass stopped at NO under my shaky fingers. I asked where my father is now. ORDER. What caused the fire? ARSON. I held my breath. Who set the fire? MARY. I screamed in anger. Why? SELFISH. Did she burn down Noah’s house too? YES. Screamed again. Why? TWISTEDMERCY. I felt nothing but white hot rage. Did she blow up the boat in 1995? ACCOMPLICE. What can I do to stop her? SAFE. Is there another key to open it? The board went silent. I asked again. Nothing. Then, it moved. SHECOMES. I heard the front door open. They were home early. Shit. I slid the Ouija pizza box under my bed, blew out the candles, and threw some clothes from the hamper on the floor

april 26 2008

to cover up the salt. Mom barged in and said that the concert was bad so they left and brought back Burger King, which fucking sucks because I’ve been completely turned off to Burger King since that awful lingering stench traumatized my nostrils in the car back when we went to Karl’s place. She complained about the smell from the incense and candles but was none the wiser of my seance. I kept my cool as best I could staring into the glassy eyes of the woman I call Mom, but with every fiber of my being I wanted to jump up from the floor and beat the fucking shit out of her. This witch of a woman destroyed our family. She burned down our homes. She’s an accomplice behind the boat incident, meaning she’s somehow responsible for the deaths of Tommy Henderson and Sonia Maxwell. She’s the reason why Dad isn’t here... but he’s still alive somewhere, something to do with “ORDER”. I need to get in that motherfucking safe, I know in my heart that there must be something dirty as shit in there that will incriminate her. But first, Noah. I have to tell him what’s just beyond the horizon. I have to prepare him for the storm. I have to show him the beast. One more week. I keep hearing whispers.

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.

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.

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.