Thursday, July 12, 2018

snap

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

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