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.

surveillance

january 1 2008

January 1 2008
These past three days I’ve been a nervous wreck. I’m unsure if Mom is aware of my mental sovereignty or not, given my actions. Back at Karl’s, she came back up from the basement, snatched up the folders, and said we have to go. Sharon refused, as the will had not been signed yet. However, we all left quickly once Karl returned, shotgun drawn. He kicked us out into the night. Mom was surprisingly calm and Sharon was the furious one. The translator man was shaking from the ordeal and called a cab home. The drive home was a blur of fighting and stale fast food stink. I wrote the last entry in the early morning locked in the bathroom, nursing my aching jaw. In the morning after she saw me swallow my capsule to regurgitate later, Mom took me aside, gave me an ice pack, and asked how I was feeling. I said my jaw is sore but I’m okay. I decided to roll the dice and take a chance playing the fool. I asked what had happened last night and claimed that all I remember was being in the car. She said that we went to Grandpa Karl’s house to notarize his will, but it didn’t get signed because he had a violent manic episode and we had to leave in a hurry. She went on explaining that I had hit my head when Sharon stopped short on the drive home. I played along as if it had all actually happened. She said, “There will be more opportunities.” Her placid demeanor made me uneasy. I’m pretty sure that she intended for me to get the journal, and had I been taking those caps regularly, I think that I may have done the same thing. Even when fully medicated, I still remember feeling a gravitational pull towards the vague

january 1 2008

concept of a book that I couldn’t rationalize in that state. I think that’s why I gravitated to that library job. I just don’t know if I would have been any more successful had I been under that medication’s spell. I hesitated plenty. Who knows what she’s thinking. Last night, after the ball dropped to usher in 2008, Mom got a call and stepped out of the room. I figured it was John with New Year’s wishes, but I don’t think it was. “What do you mean he filed a restraining order? Just us? Not Sharon? What the fuck? This is bullshit!” All this over that goddamn book. There’s something terribly special about it beyond my understanding, and it frightens me to be honest. Maybe it’s best that I didn’t get it. No doubt Mom would know if I had it because Karl would be losing his shit once he realized it was missing, and I’m sure he has some kind of deep connection to it so he would have known immediately. And, feeling what I felt, there’s no telling what would happen if the likes of my Mom got control over it. Also, I was scanning through that week of surveillance footage tonight when something caught my eye. For a moment, I saw a flash. I rewound and replayed. I got him. From behind the tree someone emerged for no more than a second to snap a photo. If I would have blinked, I would have missed it. The person had walked across the street in such a way as to perfectly conceal themselves behind the tree, out of view of my window. I slowed the playback frame by frame and stopped at the moment right before the flash. I got up close to the TV to get a better look. I couldn’t believe what I saw. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. It was difficult to make out,

january 1 2008

but the face I saw made my heart skip uncomfortably. Behind a shiny pair of glasses was what looked exactly like the face of Kevin Haas. Like an avalanche, my mind was lost in a flurry of thoughts. I had forgotten about Kevin. He had been slowly drifting away from me for a long time, becoming increasingly reclusive and stopped answering his phone, but after high school ended it was like he disappeared. He had tried to do some freelance work in the past, but the last time I spoke to him I remember him saying that he landed a full time assistant job at some startup called Ricola Events. I looked up Ricola Events on the Adler’s computer but I couldn’t find any company matching that name in our area, or in all of Alabama for that matter. I still had his number in my phone so I dialed it. The number had been disconnected. There’s no doubt in my mind that I invited Mr. Slim into his life anymore. Was he lying? What has he been doing? Why is he taking candid photos of me while I fucking sleep? Is he working for the cult now? For Mom? This visit north has turned from one of the best trip’s I’ve had in years into one of the most alarming. I’m going to try and find him when I get home. Ok, just woke up from a dream I can’t forget. I followed shadow me into the garage. He pointed to the entrance to the attic. That must be where that safe is hidden. I can’t fucking wait to get home.

will

december 21 2007

December 21 2007
We flew into New York yesterday. It occurred to me as we landed that I haven’t been to New York in 10 years. Man, did I miss the food here. I’m sure I ate my weight in pizza alone. The Adler kids have really grown. I almost didn’t recognize them in their formal attire and their personalities were very unlike what I remember. They seemed like completely different people. I guess a decade will do that. We spent a good while catching up and it felt really nice reacquainting with one another. Only a few students in their entire university receive such accolades for exemplary academic performance so I felt proud to be related to them. I didn’t really know my Grandma Sonia well, but I wish she could have been there to see her sister’s grandchildren be so distinguished. Aunt Steph saw me show off my camera and she asked if I could film them as they walked to accept their awards since their camera had broken, and I agreed. Good thing I brought extra tapes. I still have to review the last week of night footage. I’ve honestly gotten lazy due to results. Before we left for the ceremony in the afternoon, Mom complained of severe abdominal pain and said to go on without her and that she’d meet us there. Of course, she never showed up. I already knew she was lying. It’s Friday and her secret special meetings are more important than celebrating her own family. Despicable. At the auditorium, Aunt Sharon was there. I sat next to her and asked about Noah. She said he and his dad weren’t able to make it for monetary reasons. I was relieved, honestly. The less exposure he has to me the better. I feel bad about not calling him for his birthday, but the less contact the better. I went on to film the ceremony, but had to stop shooting before the closing statements because I had foolishly neglected to charge the camera overnight and the battery had died on me. No sooner had I realized this, than I caught

december 21 2007 - december 28 2007

a glimpse of Mr. Slim. He was behind a promenade window above the farthest seats across the arena overlooking the auditorium. I tried to boot up my camera, but there was no juice. Typical ill-timed circumstances, it’s like he knows. I had trained myself for this moment though. In one swift motion, I flipped out my phone and snapped a pic. He was gone as soon as the snapshot noise chimed, but this time I got the son of a bitch. The image glitched and I didn’t get his full form, but there’s clearly someone there, darker than the rest. I can almost make out branchlike tendrils. As everyone began to stand up to exit, I was the most ecstatic person in the room. This was just a small step in acquiring evidence and wouldn’t hold up on its own, but a step forward nonetheless. What is a lake but accumulation of many drops? I’m going to allow myself to sleep soundly tonight. Any progress deserves to feels really, really good.

December 28 2007
I was under the impression from Mom that we were going to leave shortly after the award ceremony, but apparently we’re staying through New Years for a change. I’m grateful that the Adler family was gracious enough to house us for that long. We spent the holidays with them and I had a really great time. It really felt like the old family reunions we used to have, back when times were simpler and happiness was in abundance. I was having such a good time with the Adlers that I didn’t even notice Mom leave last night. I was still riding the high of snagging that photo when she abruptly took me aside during game night to say that we’re leaving for an important meeting soon.

december 28 2007

My contentment was shattered. I didn’t want to go to any of her shady secret meetings but I knew better than to question her, lest I wish to blow my faux-medicated cover. Medicated me tends to follow orders without question. I reluctantly got dressed and followed her outside. There was a car waiting for us. To my surprise, the driver was Aunt Sharon. I assumed she was also in the cult. I tried my best to remain calm but I was already thoroughly freaking out. She asked why Mom was bringing me. Mom replied that, “Either he comes along to see him or the deal is off. I want Milo to speak to him.” Sharon conceded with a heavy sigh and we drove off. I was panicking internally, not knowing what was happening and unable to bring myself to ask anything in fear of giving myself away to Mom. The sisters were behaving alarmingly civil. Nothing seemed right. In my nervous rush, I had left my camera and phone in my backpack. I felt naked without them, utterly defenseless. First, we pulled up to an unfamiliar house and a quiet man with a stack of folders got in the back seat across from me. Next, we pulled into a Burger King drive thru and Sharon ordered 5 meals. Oddly enough, this scared me even more, only adding to the sheer confusion of the situation. Finally, after a drive long enough to make the burgers cold, we parked on a familiar street. We were at Grandpa Karl’s house. “First we iron out the legalities. Milo can come in after we’re done. I don’t want any issues with dad.” Sharon said. Mom agreed and told me, “Stay here and eat. We will come back for you after we’re done sorting things out.” She gave me an abnormally long glare before breaking eye contact, as if to insinuate

december 28 2007

something unsaid. The sisters and the mystery man left the car with their food and rang the doorbell. Mom stayed out of view as Karl answered the door to Sharon. He looked much older, his hair had fallen out and he walked with a limp. She and the man exchanged some words with Karl before he looked past them to see Mom and a commotion erupted. Karl tried to shut the door, but Mom stuck her foot in it and ushered everyone inside. The door slammed shut and I was left in silence, forced to breathe the stench of paper bag wrapped fast food. They were confronting Karl about a legal matter. It didn’t seem to be cult related so far. But why did Mom need to speak to him all of a sudden? I was a bit dizzy from the stress and not hungry in the least, so I opened the car door to get some fresh air. Maybe this wasn’t a cult meeting, maybe this was just a Karl meeting. I reevaluated my predicament. Mom could have simply just left me with the Adlers, or even back home with John. We spent a lot of cash on those plane tickets. I was beginning to think that she brought me along deliberately. Maybe she’s counting on me to nab that magic journal. That had to be why I was there. The front door’s unlocked. I knew where to look. I could sneak in if I dared. But should I do what she wants me to? What they want me to? Is it even a good idea to steal it? I’ve felt an uncanny attraction to that damn book for years. Fuck it, I thought. I was so close before, and I don’t know the next time I’ll have such an opportunity. If anything, I could swipe it covertly without anyone knowing so I could find out for myself why it was so sought after. So I left the car, went to the door, and entered as quietly as I could.

december 28 2007

I didn’t have to try that hard, because the shouting in the kitchen masked any noise I made in the foyer. I moved to the adjacent room and listened in. They were discussing Karl’s will, and the unknown man seemed to be a translator. At first I wondered why he was there, considering Mom knows German. Either he’s there for legal counsel, or Sharon probably hired him because she doesn’t trust Mom, and I wouldn’t blame her. It was clear that Karl was not being cooperative. Sharon was calm and collected, but Mom was heated. Eventually she said, “What’s gonna happen to that book when you go, dad?” I heard Karl light a cigarette and mutter something before coughing. The man translated, “Little girls shouldn’t be allowed to play with matches when they enjoy lighting fires.” Mom was furious at this and I smiled wide to myself. I couldn’t help but admire the gall my grandfather had for holding his own against her. Sharon took hold of the conversation and mentioned appraising the collection of expensive China dishware, held in the room I was currently in. I quickly snuck out as they entered and turned on the light. I tiptoed upstairs, retracing my dream like I had done years ago. I entered the closet, turned on the light, and located the vent. I didn’t have a screwdriver, so I plucked a thin button from one of the coats and used it to loosen the screws and remove the vent. There it was. The ammunition box. Nostalgia rushed through me as I unlatched it, took out the old satchel, and removed the leather bound journal. It was surreal to hold it again. I untied it and flipped through the aged pages.  It was ages upon pages of German writing with some odd drawings.

december 28 2007

Depictions of Mr. Slim were among them. Suddenly, I came across something that… my mind couldn’t make sense of. I still cannot find the words to accurately explain or recall what it was. I felt the same intense vibe that I had only felt once before when I had last seen it in 1996. I touched it. I felt nothing on my skin as my fingertips passed over it, but a bizarre sensation flowed through me that I can only describe as an ineffably strong connection to some divine power, far beyond my comprehension. In that moment, it was as if millions of wandering eyes had all turned to stare at me at once. I felt him. He was very near. There was an abrupt piercing shriek from downstairs. It was Karl, “Das kind! Das kind ist hier!” I leaped up and ran down stairs with this holy tomb that felt alive in my hands, adrenaline racing. I could hear bounding from across the house towards me. I made it to the front door, opened it, and was blocked by dark figure. Shadow Karl. “Nicht.” he whispered. Before I had the chance to react, I was checked in the jaw by an elbow and fell to the floor. Karl pried the journal from my grip and held it tight as the others entered the scene. Karl ran downstairs to the basement as Mom gave chase, both screaming in German at each other. Karl kept repeating the same line over and over. Sharon, bewildered, asked the trembling translator what he was saying. The man gulped and translated, “The child tried to kill us all. The child tried to kill us all.”