Andrew is coming to visit me. He's gotten a job so he can afford the gas money to drive from Santa Cruz, and it's his spring break next week so he should be here by about the 2nd of April. I haven't seen him in almost a month and I can't wait to talk to him again. We might head up to Flagstaff together too, which would be lovely. I'd get to see Mom and Ted and Aunt Caroline and for once, the circumastances will be good.
And Jess got an internship she's been excited about forever. She's going to Portland to work for a publishing company over the summer, and she's so thrilled, and I'm so happy for her.
The trial is going to happen in May. I have to talk to the police next week but I don't mind. Things are finally, finally working.
Thanks again for all the comments, guys. I know it's foolish or premature or...well, I don't really care. I feel like this might be the end of this whole thing. I mean, I hope it is, obviously, but...it's too soon to say, and I keep telling myself not to get complacent, but with all this beautiful spring weather and her in jail...it's easy to believe that everything will be alright.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
She's in custody
The Texas police have her, I want to dance around my house and scream. I feel free. Like a weight was taken off my shoulders. I guess that's a cliche because it's true.
Officer Clinton called a few minutes ago and said that for the moment, she's being held in Texas, although they'll be bringing her to Tucson for the trial. He says she's lawyered up but she's got no case. No case. She's going to jail. He says the insanity defense probably won't work for her, because of the way she hid the murder for so long, and so carefully. But even if she's declared insane, she'll be put in an institution. I don't care where she goes, as long as she goes away.
I'll have to testify against her, and I won't like it - I'll probably be terrified - but I can do it. I have to, or she walks. Which I will not have.
Thanks for your comments, guys. Jekyll, I don't know what to tell you, I've never been off the radar in my life. I wouldn't know how to go about being untraceable. But thank God Harriet doesn't know either.
I'm going to sleep now. Safely. God bless.
Officer Clinton called a few minutes ago and said that for the moment, she's being held in Texas, although they'll be bringing her to Tucson for the trial. He says she's lawyered up but she's got no case. No case. She's going to jail. He says the insanity defense probably won't work for her, because of the way she hid the murder for so long, and so carefully. But even if she's declared insane, she'll be put in an institution. I don't care where she goes, as long as she goes away.
I'll have to testify against her, and I won't like it - I'll probably be terrified - but I can do it. I have to, or she walks. Which I will not have.
Thanks for your comments, guys. Jekyll, I don't know what to tell you, I've never been off the radar in my life. I wouldn't know how to go about being untraceable. But thank God Harriet doesn't know either.
I'm going to sleep now. Safely. God bless.
Two can play
You know a lot about me now, Harriet. But you don't know me. And you're not the only one who can get information.
Your name's Harriet McCullough. You live in Marietta, Texas, on the edge of the woods outside of town. You're a short white woman with brown eyes and brown hair, although it's mostly grey now.You're a retired secretary, never married, in your late 50's. No children. You've lived in Texas most of your life. You're active in your church. That's interesting. Do you pretend to pray to God when you're really praying to the monster?
You probably think you're special, chosen, like a disciple. Maybe even a messiah. You want me to know it too. But you're not just taunting me. I think you honestly believe that I'm going to somehow get over the fact that you tortured Jill and then murdered her, that we're going to become friends. You're insane but you're very good at hiding it. None of your neighbors even suspected what you did to Jill.
And how do I know this about you? You never gave me your name. I've never been to your town, never seen you. You've told me nothing.
But I'm not stupid. The moment I sobered up on Wednesday, I called Officer Clinton. I turned over the notebook, told the police I'd found it by my front door. They traced your IP adress from your posts on twitter. How does it feel to be caught by fucking twitter? And they put a trace on my phone, you stupid bitch. Why do you think I listened to you on Thursday? Why do you think I didn't hang up as soon as I recognized your voice? They know you called from a pay phone in Marietta. I guess it was smart of you to not use your home phone, but you live in a small town. How hard do you think it was for the police to talk to local law enforcement, ask about Harriets in the area? Did you really think the Slender Man would protect you?
But as much as I'd love to say these things to you, I know you'll probably never read this. Because Officer Clinton just called and told me that the police in Marietta have just broken down your door. So fuck you, you evil bitch. You're done.
Your name's Harriet McCullough. You live in Marietta, Texas, on the edge of the woods outside of town. You're a short white woman with brown eyes and brown hair, although it's mostly grey now.You're a retired secretary, never married, in your late 50's. No children. You've lived in Texas most of your life. You're active in your church. That's interesting. Do you pretend to pray to God when you're really praying to the monster?
You probably think you're special, chosen, like a disciple. Maybe even a messiah. You want me to know it too. But you're not just taunting me. I think you honestly believe that I'm going to somehow get over the fact that you tortured Jill and then murdered her, that we're going to become friends. You're insane but you're very good at hiding it. None of your neighbors even suspected what you did to Jill.
And how do I know this about you? You never gave me your name. I've never been to your town, never seen you. You've told me nothing.
But I'm not stupid. The moment I sobered up on Wednesday, I called Officer Clinton. I turned over the notebook, told the police I'd found it by my front door. They traced your IP adress from your posts on twitter. How does it feel to be caught by fucking twitter? And they put a trace on my phone, you stupid bitch. Why do you think I listened to you on Thursday? Why do you think I didn't hang up as soon as I recognized your voice? They know you called from a pay phone in Marietta. I guess it was smart of you to not use your home phone, but you live in a small town. How hard do you think it was for the police to talk to local law enforcement, ask about Harriets in the area? Did you really think the Slender Man would protect you?
But as much as I'd love to say these things to you, I know you'll probably never read this. Because Officer Clinton just called and told me that the police in Marietta have just broken down your door. So fuck you, you evil bitch. You're done.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Harriet again
I'm sorry about the last entry. I keep telling myself I won't pull this drunk, self-pitying shit anymore and I do it over and over again...anyway.
After I posted last night I cried for an hour and then took a long shower and sobered up and went to sleep. And stayed asleep for most of today. And then I got a phone call from Harriet.
She asked how I was doing, chatting like an old friend. She knows so much about me. It's awful. She told me she was worried about me, that I was destroying myself before I could be saved by her fucking fake god. I didn't even bother arguing. I just sat there and listened while she talked to me as if she were my friend. At some point she realized I wasn't listening very hard, and said she'd call back later and hung up. And I did the whole crying panic attack ativan sleep thing again. Rinse and repeat.
The upshot of this is that I'm really, really disconnected right now, and I think I'm not as over my sickness as I thought I was, because my throat still hurts and now I can't sleep because my sleep schedule's all fucked up...More sedatives, more depressants. I'm being careful, though. Don't want to give Harriet the satisfaction of seeing me die. Or something. I feel like theres something I'm missing. Something I've forgotten or forgotten to do.
I don't know what to do.
After I posted last night I cried for an hour and then took a long shower and sobered up and went to sleep. And stayed asleep for most of today. And then I got a phone call from Harriet.
She asked how I was doing, chatting like an old friend. She knows so much about me. It's awful. She told me she was worried about me, that I was destroying myself before I could be saved by her fucking fake god. I didn't even bother arguing. I just sat there and listened while she talked to me as if she were my friend. At some point she realized I wasn't listening very hard, and said she'd call back later and hung up. And I did the whole crying panic attack ativan sleep thing again. Rinse and repeat.
The upshot of this is that I'm really, really disconnected right now, and I think I'm not as over my sickness as I thought I was, because my throat still hurts and now I can't sleep because my sleep schedule's all fucked up...More sedatives, more depressants. I'm being careful, though. Don't want to give Harriet the satisfaction of seeing me die. Or something. I feel like theres something I'm missing. Something I've forgotten or forgotten to do.
I don't know what to do.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
What the FUCK
Jekyll told me to look at my twitter, which I made last month and then sort of forgot about. And so...H. - Harriet - is posting there. And I saw it, and my heart went sort of funny, and now I'm daytime drunk and I just took an ativan too so that's a great idea, isn't it.
She knows my name. Well it's right there int he damn title, isn't it, and she must read thsi blog now, because I linked to here and she read the latest entry and what the fuck, I almost want toj ust delete everything but I don't want to be alone. I don't want her to see me but I want to be seen. Shit. This isn't making any sence. I can't get into the account to delete her tweets and you know what's realy stupid? I keep getting mad about having to say the word "tweet" because it makes me feel like an asshole. The woman who killed my firned is on my accounts and she knows me and I'm scared to death but I still don't want to fucking use a weord because it sounds stupid so what the fuck is wrong with me.
Fuck. I don't even know. I'm not even sure how to react. Can the police do something because I need...fuck, I need something to happen to move forward or change or jsut///dasFUCK FUCK FUCK. Can't even type right? God I'm useless. I hate this. She has no fucking right to act like she cares about me, like she knows me like she didn't fucking kill my friend for christ's sake
fuck
just forget it. you awful bitch, you win ok? I'm crying so hard I fcant see so you fucking win.leave me alone.
She knows my name. Well it's right there int he damn title, isn't it, and she must read thsi blog now, because I linked to here and she read the latest entry and what the fuck, I almost want toj ust delete everything but I don't want to be alone. I don't want her to see me but I want to be seen. Shit. This isn't making any sence. I can't get into the account to delete her tweets and you know what's realy stupid? I keep getting mad about having to say the word "tweet" because it makes me feel like an asshole. The woman who killed my firned is on my accounts and she knows me and I'm scared to death but I still don't want to fucking use a weord because it sounds stupid so what the fuck is wrong with me.
Fuck. I don't even know. I'm not even sure how to react. Can the police do something because I need...fuck, I need something to happen to move forward or change or jsut///dasFUCK FUCK FUCK. Can't even type right? God I'm useless. I hate this. She has no fucking right to act like she cares about me, like she knows me like she didn't fucking kill my friend for christ's sake
fuck
just forget it. you awful bitch, you win ok? I'm crying so hard I fcant see so you fucking win.leave me alone.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Better
I'm over that cold. It was really bad, and really poorly timed...I've got the notebook up, by the way. I did it two days ago but forgot to make a post. It's on another page, the link's above this entry in the title bar.
When I wrote the last post...I was kind of delirious, miserable, guilty. I'm not in the same frame of mind now- more just tired and...I don't know, blank. Like nothing is happening- nothing good, nothing bad. And nothing has happened. I didn't even remember what I was trying to remember last time I posted.
I do have some things to say about the notebook. I still haven't given it to the police because I don't know what to say, but they'll want it. And somehow I don't want to give it up. I feel like I have to keep it near me, like it's my last link to my friend. I can trace the marks her pen made, I can turn the surprisingly well preserved pages and feel like she's still talking to me, gossiping about a hipster boy she kissed, playing tic-tac-toe with a little kid.
Calling for help.
I don't know if I'll ever get over the fact that I didn't believe her. I keep wondering, if I'd listened, if I'd gone on the run with her, would she still be alive? Would Harriet (which has to be H's real name) have taken her? Could we have looked out for each other or would we both be dead with nothing to show for it, not even someone to remember us and know the truth?
She was trying to protect me. Even at the very end, she was trying to save me, and I fucking jumped right in after her, making all these mistakes...and the symbol's useless. All this time I thought it was...I don't know, like showing the sign of the cross to a vampire. It made the monster go away. But what do you do if there's no way to defeat the monster? What if the monster always gets you in the end?
And you know what? Fuck this. Names, symbols, codes, notebooks..it doesn't matter. We die. We die and we keep dying and we turn into monsters ourselves and none of these safety measures are working, nothing is stopping the Slender Man so fuck it, I'm going to call it by its name. It's not as if not saying those two words has kept it away.
I'm sorry, I'm just...I'll be more cheerful tomorrow. I'll keep my head up and start working on solving codes or something, some way forward. I'll be a ray of fucking sunshine. But not today. I just can't.
When I wrote the last post...I was kind of delirious, miserable, guilty. I'm not in the same frame of mind now- more just tired and...I don't know, blank. Like nothing is happening- nothing good, nothing bad. And nothing has happened. I didn't even remember what I was trying to remember last time I posted.
I do have some things to say about the notebook. I still haven't given it to the police because I don't know what to say, but they'll want it. And somehow I don't want to give it up. I feel like I have to keep it near me, like it's my last link to my friend. I can trace the marks her pen made, I can turn the surprisingly well preserved pages and feel like she's still talking to me, gossiping about a hipster boy she kissed, playing tic-tac-toe with a little kid.
Calling for help.
I don't know if I'll ever get over the fact that I didn't believe her. I keep wondering, if I'd listened, if I'd gone on the run with her, would she still be alive? Would Harriet (which has to be H's real name) have taken her? Could we have looked out for each other or would we both be dead with nothing to show for it, not even someone to remember us and know the truth?
She was trying to protect me. Even at the very end, she was trying to save me, and I fucking jumped right in after her, making all these mistakes...and the symbol's useless. All this time I thought it was...I don't know, like showing the sign of the cross to a vampire. It made the monster go away. But what do you do if there's no way to defeat the monster? What if the monster always gets you in the end?
And you know what? Fuck this. Names, symbols, codes, notebooks..it doesn't matter. We die. We die and we keep dying and we turn into monsters ourselves and none of these safety measures are working, nothing is stopping the Slender Man so fuck it, I'm going to call it by its name. It's not as if not saying those two words has kept it away.
I'm sorry, I'm just...I'll be more cheerful tomorrow. I'll keep my head up and start working on solving codes or something, some way forward. I'll be a ray of fucking sunshine. But not today. I just can't.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
sick
I have the notebook scanned and the transcript written, now I'm just putting it all together. I can't think...I can't think. I have this awful headache, I feel dizzy when I move, I feel nauseous and tired and my heart feels like it's beating too hard.
Charlotte said on her blog that we might be being attacked because we threaten the monster. And I would so, so love to believe that. But I'm curled up under my covers and shivering and I could never be a threat to anyone. Maybe some of the others, but not me. I'm just an art student.
Jean says it migh be group hallucinations and God help me I think she could be right. I know I've got a fucked up mind. Other people have said the same, if the other people exist and I'm not making it up in my own head. Maybe Jill dying made me go crazy. Maybe I'm one of those people whose friends say "oh she seemed fine I don't know what hapened" on the news when I go crazy and end up walking down the middle of Speedway road in my pyjamas and a scuba mask or something. I don't know how else to explain some of thsi stuff. Because I can accept the giant looming monster but I can't accept that some people have magic powers or something, I can't accept people coming back from the dead. There's some smoke and mirrors going on but I don't know what or where and really that probably means it's in my mind and other people's minds.
There was something else. I can't think of it now. Something with my computer, or a dream...I think I have a fever. I think I should sleep.
I'm sorry Daniel. I never really wanted you dead.s
Charlotte said on her blog that we might be being attacked because we threaten the monster. And I would so, so love to believe that. But I'm curled up under my covers and shivering and I could never be a threat to anyone. Maybe some of the others, but not me. I'm just an art student.
Jean says it migh be group hallucinations and God help me I think she could be right. I know I've got a fucked up mind. Other people have said the same, if the other people exist and I'm not making it up in my own head. Maybe Jill dying made me go crazy. Maybe I'm one of those people whose friends say "oh she seemed fine I don't know what hapened" on the news when I go crazy and end up walking down the middle of Speedway road in my pyjamas and a scuba mask or something. I don't know how else to explain some of thsi stuff. Because I can accept the giant looming monster but I can't accept that some people have magic powers or something, I can't accept people coming back from the dead. There's some smoke and mirrors going on but I don't know what or where and really that probably means it's in my mind and other people's minds.
There was something else. I can't think of it now. Something with my computer, or a dream...I think I have a fever. I think I should sleep.
I'm sorry Daniel. I never really wanted you dead.s
Friday, March 18, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Where I'm going from here
I've been scanning the notebook and typing up a transcript because I know Jill's handwriting is hard to read...
I have it all scanned and worked on the transcript all last night, and most of today. I'm going to take it to the police soon, but I want my own copies. I'm not sure how I'll explain finding it to the police.
It's...I'm going to level with you guys, it's really hard to read. I have to keep taking breaks, I have to keep putting it aside to cry...but I'm close to finishing, and then it'll be behind me, and I might know more about what's going on. If nothing else I'll know what Jill's last few months...
Anyway.
I don't know why I wasn't attacked or threatened or anything at the exit...I didn't have any means of defense. I felt horrible for endangering Jess like that, but...I couldn't think of going out there alone, and bringing the bat would've made her suspicious.
But we weren't attacked. There was nothing there, other than the symbol and the notebook and a bunch of junk. The only thing that was weird was the broken lightning arrestor thing, and even that wasn't very strange. Could have happened in a storm, or someone with a bat could've gotten destructive. The only thing I can think of is that I didn't get the message when I was supposed to, and whatever was trying to trap me got tired of waiting.
I got the picture of the exit on January 27th. It's been almost two months since then, a really long time for anyone or anything to devote to waiting for me to show up. For once, my stupidity might be on my side.
In any case...that's what I've concluded, and I'll have the notebook up for you guys soon. I'm doing it as a page rather than a post, to save space.
Stay safe.
I have it all scanned and worked on the transcript all last night, and most of today. I'm going to take it to the police soon, but I want my own copies. I'm not sure how I'll explain finding it to the police.
It's...I'm going to level with you guys, it's really hard to read. I have to keep taking breaks, I have to keep putting it aside to cry...but I'm close to finishing, and then it'll be behind me, and I might know more about what's going on. If nothing else I'll know what Jill's last few months...
Anyway.
I don't know why I wasn't attacked or threatened or anything at the exit...I didn't have any means of defense. I felt horrible for endangering Jess like that, but...I couldn't think of going out there alone, and bringing the bat would've made her suspicious.
But we weren't attacked. There was nothing there, other than the symbol and the notebook and a bunch of junk. The only thing that was weird was the broken lightning arrestor thing, and even that wasn't very strange. Could have happened in a storm, or someone with a bat could've gotten destructive. The only thing I can think of is that I didn't get the message when I was supposed to, and whatever was trying to trap me got tired of waiting.
I got the picture of the exit on January 27th. It's been almost two months since then, a really long time for anyone or anything to devote to waiting for me to show up. For once, my stupidity might be on my side.
In any case...that's what I've concluded, and I'll have the notebook up for you guys soon. I'm doing it as a page rather than a post, to save space.
Stay safe.
I'm still here
I'm still safe. I would have had this up earlier but I've been busy. First editing this video, and then...well, you'll see.
I went out to Exit 208 with my friend Jess. I told her it was so I could get reference pictures for a summer class. That's her in the purple shirt.
I don't think she suspected anything. I think I'm a good enough actress that I pulled it off. She didn't say anything weird on the drive back.
And...sorry about the camera work. I'm an art major, not media arts. I tried to cut out all the stuff that wasn't relevant. That's why some of the clips have better image quality- they're the ones I didn't cut.
I went out to Exit 208 with my friend Jess. I told her it was so I could get reference pictures for a summer class. That's her in the purple shirt.
I don't think she suspected anything. I think I'm a good enough actress that I pulled it off. She didn't say anything weird on the drive back.
And...sorry about the camera work. I'm an art major, not media arts. I tried to cut out all the stuff that wasn't relevant. That's why some of the clips have better image quality- they're the ones I didn't cut.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Daniel in the hospital
Firstly, and most important at least for me, Scott's okay. Thank God. You can't even imagine the relief I felt when I saw him post...well, maybe some of you can. In any case...Jesus, so glad he's alright.
Now to the hospital visit.
Daniel is being treated at University Medical Center. They've determined that whatever he has isn't contagious, and is similar to what would happen if he were exposed to a very high level of radiation, although the doctors can't find any trace of radioactivity in his body. They don't know what's going on, but they're treating it like radiation sickness.
When I arrived at UMC yesterday, Officer Clinton and another police officer, a woman named Officer Moreno, met me in front of the Urgent Care center. They took me to the room where Daniel was being treated, telling me along the way that the police were still unable to identify him, and he didn't seem to remember his last name. They warned me that he might not be responsive or even concious, or he might be awake and violent. They said that at any sign of trouble, I'd be out- no arguments, no returning. Which was fine with me.
They were keeping him in a clean room- not because he was being quarantined, but because he's so succeptible to infections. We had to wear suits over our clothes, and face masks.
He looked...bad. Most of his hair's fallen out by now, and he looks like he's been starving...his whole body was a mass of tubes, and he had a breathing mask on his face. The room had this sneaking sour smell, like something was rotting far away...and I knew the smell was coming from him, that he was rotting from the inside out. I was scared to death but I wanted to fucking kill myself for wishing this on him.
I didn't muster up the guts to go very near him. His eyes were open. They looked like a calm ocean. All I could hear was the machines beeping and his breath- harsh, painful. He spoke first.
"You're not dead." His voice was very weak, and he spoke slowly, as if he were dreaming. The police officers behind me stood up straighter.
"No." I said, and there was a pause that was kind of akward in hindsight. Anything I'd wanted to ask him went out of my head, and I realized that I'm an idiot- I couldn't ask him for information about the monster with the police in the room.
"He's coming for you. He knows your name now." He looked slowly between the two police officers on either side of me, and then down. "I'm sorry."
I flinched. He continued.
"I didn't want...he made me. He hurt me...spiders in my head. Nails and stones. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to."
And he started crying, but breathless, just gasping while tears ran down his face and into his oxygen mask. I started to choke up too.
"It's okay." I managed to say, trying to stay calm even though all I wanted to do was run away and never face this poor man who had tried to kill me.
"He's not gone..." he said. He started to tremble very slightly, which got more violent as he spoke. His voice, too, got stronger. "He's in my head now. He wants me to stand up and strangle you but I'm too weak now."
Daniel made this awful choking sound that I realized was laughter. And then he looked me dead in the eyes and said "I'm sorry" again. And he started convulsing, bucking on his bed like he was having a seizure.
A nurse ran past us and went to hold him down, another told us to leave, polite but firm. I couldn't think. We were out in the hallway before I knew it. The smell of decay was stronger and I felt sick. Officer Clinton led me down the hall and took my face mask when I pulled it off. He asked if I was alright and, when I nodded, he told me that Daniel had been talking about his master since they'd taken him in. He said that Daniel was probably schizophrenic, with delusions of being controlled by an outside force. I didn't argue. I left the hospital and drove home. I was in that room for less than ten minutes and I can't stop thinking about it.
I'm going to exit 208 tomorrow. It's time I did something.
Now to the hospital visit.
Daniel is being treated at University Medical Center. They've determined that whatever he has isn't contagious, and is similar to what would happen if he were exposed to a very high level of radiation, although the doctors can't find any trace of radioactivity in his body. They don't know what's going on, but they're treating it like radiation sickness.
When I arrived at UMC yesterday, Officer Clinton and another police officer, a woman named Officer Moreno, met me in front of the Urgent Care center. They took me to the room where Daniel was being treated, telling me along the way that the police were still unable to identify him, and he didn't seem to remember his last name. They warned me that he might not be responsive or even concious, or he might be awake and violent. They said that at any sign of trouble, I'd be out- no arguments, no returning. Which was fine with me.
They were keeping him in a clean room- not because he was being quarantined, but because he's so succeptible to infections. We had to wear suits over our clothes, and face masks.
He looked...bad. Most of his hair's fallen out by now, and he looks like he's been starving...his whole body was a mass of tubes, and he had a breathing mask on his face. The room had this sneaking sour smell, like something was rotting far away...and I knew the smell was coming from him, that he was rotting from the inside out. I was scared to death but I wanted to fucking kill myself for wishing this on him.
I didn't muster up the guts to go very near him. His eyes were open. They looked like a calm ocean. All I could hear was the machines beeping and his breath- harsh, painful. He spoke first.
"You're not dead." His voice was very weak, and he spoke slowly, as if he were dreaming. The police officers behind me stood up straighter.
"No." I said, and there was a pause that was kind of akward in hindsight. Anything I'd wanted to ask him went out of my head, and I realized that I'm an idiot- I couldn't ask him for information about the monster with the police in the room.
"He's coming for you. He knows your name now." He looked slowly between the two police officers on either side of me, and then down. "I'm sorry."
I flinched. He continued.
"I didn't want...he made me. He hurt me...spiders in my head. Nails and stones. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to."
And he started crying, but breathless, just gasping while tears ran down his face and into his oxygen mask. I started to choke up too.
"It's okay." I managed to say, trying to stay calm even though all I wanted to do was run away and never face this poor man who had tried to kill me.
"He's not gone..." he said. He started to tremble very slightly, which got more violent as he spoke. His voice, too, got stronger. "He's in my head now. He wants me to stand up and strangle you but I'm too weak now."
Daniel made this awful choking sound that I realized was laughter. And then he looked me dead in the eyes and said "I'm sorry" again. And he started convulsing, bucking on his bed like he was having a seizure.
A nurse ran past us and went to hold him down, another told us to leave, polite but firm. I couldn't think. We were out in the hallway before I knew it. The smell of decay was stronger and I felt sick. Officer Clinton led me down the hall and took my face mask when I pulled it off. He asked if I was alright and, when I nodded, he told me that Daniel had been talking about his master since they'd taken him in. He said that Daniel was probably schizophrenic, with delusions of being controlled by an outside force. I didn't argue. I left the hospital and drove home. I was in that room for less than ten minutes and I can't stop thinking about it.
I'm going to exit 208 tomorrow. It's time I did something.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Codes and the visit
The police have decided to allow me to visit Daniel in the hospital, although there will be two armed officers with me just in case. They did say it probably won't be needed, as he can't stand, but...I certainly won't complain. I am now starting to regret pushing so hard for this, but since I'm supposed to visit tomorrow, I can't back out now. I won't let myself back out.
And as for the other part of my title...since I'm withdrawn from school now, I've been spending a lot of time working on the code in this entry of Vivere Disce. I'm not making any progress, though. I've never been good with puzzles. But I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened and I didn't at least try. I already might have missed Scott...I really, really don't want to think about that. He was - is - a good kid, and if he's not...fuck, I don't even want to think about it. It hurts too much.
Finally, Andrewakoerner and Charlotte...thank you so much. I started crying when I read your comments. I know I say this a lot, but I'd probably be even worse off if I didn't know there were people out there who cared about me. The reassurance of strangers is worth so much to me right now.
And as for the other part of my title...since I'm withdrawn from school now, I've been spending a lot of time working on the code in this entry of Vivere Disce. I'm not making any progress, though. I've never been good with puzzles. But I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened and I didn't at least try. I already might have missed Scott...I really, really don't want to think about that. He was - is - a good kid, and if he's not...fuck, I don't even want to think about it. It hurts too much.
Finally, Andrewakoerner and Charlotte...thank you so much. I started crying when I read your comments. I know I say this a lot, but I'd probably be even worse off if I didn't know there were people out there who cared about me. The reassurance of strangers is worth so much to me right now.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Police reactions
I went to the police today, as I said I would...I didn't tell them about Exit 208. To be honest, I forgot about it until I got home today. Whatever's there will have to wait a little longer, if it is still there.
Back to the police station.
Officer Clinton called me back to give an account of what happened with Daniel. I don't know if I mentioned this in the post, but I didn't give an account afterwards because they took me to the hospital first, and didn't need me to testify right away since they caught him in the act of battery. Look at all these legal terms I'm learning.
Anyway, I told him as much about what happened with Daniel as I could, and then went into the phone call from H. And one mystery has been solved- Marietta. It's the name of the town where Jill's body was found. In hindsight, I should've figured that out.
I was right, by the way. They can't trace the call on my cell phone, but they have told me to record any further calls from H., and that if she threatens me in any concrete way, to let them know. If she calls again, they can put a trace on my phone for the next time. I tried not to get angry, even though it's such a stupid and circuitous way of doing things. The police have all these guidelines that they have to follow even though they don't exactly make sense. They don't seem to know what to do with my case. I don't blame them, really. In all honesty, I'm not giving them all the information they need, and even if they had all the information...well, what? They'd try to handcuff the monster? It's ridiculous.
Officer Clinton did tell me something about Daniel. They can't find any form of identification, and he's refusing to tell them anything other than his first name, when he's concious. His fingerprints aren't on record (not surprising, if he's never been arrested before) and they're currently looking through the missing persons archives for someone to match his description.
He's getting worse.
I asked Officer Clinton to let me see him. I know it's stupid, I know it's dangerous, I know. But I have to. He had no choice in what he did. Whoever he is, whatever he might have done, he deserves to know that someone will remember him. I owe it to him, even though he tried to kill me.
When I asked to see Daniel, Officer Clinton was pretty reluctant. Which makes sense, really. He said he'd check with the hospital and with his superiors, but he wasn't sure it would be a good idea...I couldn't explain to him why I need to do it.
With all of this going on, I've somehow managed to get a withdrawal for this semester. It won't affect my GPA, and I can go back in the fall.
God, I hope I can go back in the fall.
I'll hear back from Officer Clinton about Daniel in a few days. Tonight Kevin's staying over, which he offered to do on his own. Usually when he comes over we watch scary movies, but I've lost my taste for them recently.
I'll let you guys know what happens with Daniel, of course. Until then, please, please stay safe.
Back to the police station.
Officer Clinton called me back to give an account of what happened with Daniel. I don't know if I mentioned this in the post, but I didn't give an account afterwards because they took me to the hospital first, and didn't need me to testify right away since they caught him in the act of battery. Look at all these legal terms I'm learning.
Anyway, I told him as much about what happened with Daniel as I could, and then went into the phone call from H. And one mystery has been solved- Marietta. It's the name of the town where Jill's body was found. In hindsight, I should've figured that out.
I was right, by the way. They can't trace the call on my cell phone, but they have told me to record any further calls from H., and that if she threatens me in any concrete way, to let them know. If she calls again, they can put a trace on my phone for the next time. I tried not to get angry, even though it's such a stupid and circuitous way of doing things. The police have all these guidelines that they have to follow even though they don't exactly make sense. They don't seem to know what to do with my case. I don't blame them, really. In all honesty, I'm not giving them all the information they need, and even if they had all the information...well, what? They'd try to handcuff the monster? It's ridiculous.
Officer Clinton did tell me something about Daniel. They can't find any form of identification, and he's refusing to tell them anything other than his first name, when he's concious. His fingerprints aren't on record (not surprising, if he's never been arrested before) and they're currently looking through the missing persons archives for someone to match his description.
He's getting worse.
I asked Officer Clinton to let me see him. I know it's stupid, I know it's dangerous, I know. But I have to. He had no choice in what he did. Whoever he is, whatever he might have done, he deserves to know that someone will remember him. I owe it to him, even though he tried to kill me.
When I asked to see Daniel, Officer Clinton was pretty reluctant. Which makes sense, really. He said he'd check with the hospital and with his superiors, but he wasn't sure it would be a good idea...I couldn't explain to him why I need to do it.
With all of this going on, I've somehow managed to get a withdrawal for this semester. It won't affect my GPA, and I can go back in the fall.
God, I hope I can go back in the fall.
I'll hear back from Officer Clinton about Daniel in a few days. Tonight Kevin's staying over, which he offered to do on his own. Usually when he comes over we watch scary movies, but I've lost my taste for them recently.
I'll let you guys know what happens with Daniel, of course. Until then, please, please stay safe.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Sorry about the wait for this.
Ativan. Ativan is amazing.
I tried to start writing the last entry and then...well, you saw. I called Kevin and hit post while I was on the phone, sorry.
I've been at Kevin's since then. It was safe to tell him about H. He said he'd come with me to the police station tomorrow. They need to take down my account of what happened with Daniel anyway, so I might as well tell them about the call then. I'm glad Kevin's with me now.
...I'm avoiding this, aren't I.
I was doing dishes and heard my phone ring, noticed that it was an unlisted number, and picked it up. I'll do my best to provide a transcript, but after a certain point I was freaking out too much to pay attention, so it'll be only an approximation.
Me: Hello?
Woman with a light Southern accent, she sounds middle-aged: Hello darling, how are you doing today?
Me: Um, who is this?
H. (because this is her, of course): Oh, of course, you wouldn't have recognized me. I'm your dear friend in Marietta.
Me: I think you've got the wrong number...
H: Well how about that. I could've sworn you were Jill's little friend Shining-
I almost drop the phone
H: Ah, yes, it is you, isn't it dear? I was worried for a minute that you wouldn't pick up.
Me (breathless, almost crying): What do you want?
H: I just wanted to pass along my condolences to Daniel. The Lord has abandoned him to his failure.
Me (babbling, and I'm not sure if I actually said this): Okay I'll pass it along.
H: Oh, you are just too sweet. I wish I could tell him in person, but...well, these old bones just don't handle travel like they used to. Did you get my letter, sweetie?
Me: (some noise or other- I'm now crouching on the floor, hyperventilating)
H: I'll take that as a yes. Well, that's good to know. The Lord is coming to you, dear. You'd better get your affairs in order, and quickly, because He is coming to take you into His arms.
Me (shouting): It's not God!
H (angry): Don't you dare take that tone when you speak of Him! (and then she starts talking about how the monster actually is God or something, I started crying at this point and stopped listening. About a minute in, I realize she's not talking anymore, waiting for me to stop crying.) Are you finished, sweetie?
Me: Just leave me alone...
H (sounding genuinely hurt): Now why would you say such a hurtful thing? I know we've never met, but from what Jill told me about you, you're a very sweet girl. There's no need to act so rude.
Me (whispering): You don't get to talk about Jill.
H: What was that, dear? You'll have to speak up.
Me (crying again): You don't get to talk about her, you evil bitch.
H: Well! If we're going to be calling names, then I'm going to get off the phone. You let me know when you're ready to talk like civilized people. I'll be around.
(she hangs up)
I was curled up in a ball for half an hour, and then tried to post the previous entry, which...well, you see what happened.
I'll tell you tomorrow what happens at the police station. Maybe Officer Clinton can get a trace on my phone somehow, or something. Maybe he can figure out how H. got my number but still doesn't seem to know my name. Maybe he can figure out some way to keep me safe.
She didn't even threaten me, and I was collapsed on the floor. What the hell can I do if things get worse?
I tried to start writing the last entry and then...well, you saw. I called Kevin and hit post while I was on the phone, sorry.
I've been at Kevin's since then. It was safe to tell him about H. He said he'd come with me to the police station tomorrow. They need to take down my account of what happened with Daniel anyway, so I might as well tell them about the call then. I'm glad Kevin's with me now.
...I'm avoiding this, aren't I.
I was doing dishes and heard my phone ring, noticed that it was an unlisted number, and picked it up. I'll do my best to provide a transcript, but after a certain point I was freaking out too much to pay attention, so it'll be only an approximation.
Me: Hello?
Woman with a light Southern accent, she sounds middle-aged: Hello darling, how are you doing today?
Me: Um, who is this?
H. (because this is her, of course): Oh, of course, you wouldn't have recognized me. I'm your dear friend in Marietta.
Me: I think you've got the wrong number...
H: Well how about that. I could've sworn you were Jill's little friend Shining-
I almost drop the phone
H: Ah, yes, it is you, isn't it dear? I was worried for a minute that you wouldn't pick up.
Me (breathless, almost crying): What do you want?
H: I just wanted to pass along my condolences to Daniel. The Lord has abandoned him to his failure.
Me (babbling, and I'm not sure if I actually said this): Okay I'll pass it along.
H: Oh, you are just too sweet. I wish I could tell him in person, but...well, these old bones just don't handle travel like they used to. Did you get my letter, sweetie?
Me: (some noise or other- I'm now crouching on the floor, hyperventilating)
H: I'll take that as a yes. Well, that's good to know. The Lord is coming to you, dear. You'd better get your affairs in order, and quickly, because He is coming to take you into His arms.
Me (shouting): It's not God!
H (angry): Don't you dare take that tone when you speak of Him! (and then she starts talking about how the monster actually is God or something, I started crying at this point and stopped listening. About a minute in, I realize she's not talking anymore, waiting for me to stop crying.) Are you finished, sweetie?
Me: Just leave me alone...
H (sounding genuinely hurt): Now why would you say such a hurtful thing? I know we've never met, but from what Jill told me about you, you're a very sweet girl. There's no need to act so rude.
Me (whispering): You don't get to talk about Jill.
H: What was that, dear? You'll have to speak up.
Me (crying again): You don't get to talk about her, you evil bitch.
H: Well! If we're going to be calling names, then I'm going to get off the phone. You let me know when you're ready to talk like civilized people. I'll be around.
(she hangs up)
I was curled up in a ball for half an hour, and then tried to post the previous entry, which...well, you see what happened.
I'll tell you tomorrow what happens at the police station. Maybe Officer Clinton can get a trace on my phone somehow, or something. Maybe he can figure out how H. got my number but still doesn't seem to know my name. Maybe he can figure out some way to keep me safe.
She didn't even threaten me, and I was collapsed on the floor. What the hell can I do if things get worse?
No, no, no no no
can't believe thsi I got a call today from a blocked number and it was her it was H and she
Fuck I can't see I'm crying too hard oh god doammit
Fuck I can't see I'm crying too hard oh god doammit
Monday, March 7, 2011
Of course.
I'm a fucking idiot. Why didn't I get this sooner?
I was driving home from Flagstaff this morning, drove down I-10 and about halfway between Phoenix and Tucson, near a small town called Eloy...God, I must have driven past the sign a hundred times. All that back and forth between Flagstaff and Tucson. What a moron.
Exit 208 on the I-10 is a street called Sunshine Boulevard.
So there's something down there. This has to be what Jill meant by the photo. This post has the details from the picture, for reference.
I googled "AZ sunshine blvd miligan" because of the last word on the photo, and there's a street called Milligan that branches off of Sunshine Boulevard. I didn't go down there today, because I didn't know what I'd find...look, let's be honest, it's pretty obvious that it's a trap. Or something that won't end well for me. Why would I get a photo delivered almost to my doorstep otherwise? It's not like anyone involved in this thing is on my side. Certainly not the monster, certainly not H, and if I ever had my doubts about Daniel being dangerous, well...my voice is still harsh every time I try to talk.
Frankly, I'm not really sure how to proceed. I have to find out what's at that exit, but I know I'd probably be walking into some kind of trap. I know I have to keep my friends and family safe but I'm so worn out from being alone. I think I have to remember what happened when I was little, because if I escaped the monster then, I might be able to do it again, at least for a little while, but I'm so fucking scared.
What in the hell am I going to do?
I was driving home from Flagstaff this morning, drove down I-10 and about halfway between Phoenix and Tucson, near a small town called Eloy...God, I must have driven past the sign a hundred times. All that back and forth between Flagstaff and Tucson. What a moron.
Exit 208 on the I-10 is a street called Sunshine Boulevard.
So there's something down there. This has to be what Jill meant by the photo. This post has the details from the picture, for reference.
I googled "AZ sunshine blvd miligan" because of the last word on the photo, and there's a street called Milligan that branches off of Sunshine Boulevard. I didn't go down there today, because I didn't know what I'd find...look, let's be honest, it's pretty obvious that it's a trap. Or something that won't end well for me. Why would I get a photo delivered almost to my doorstep otherwise? It's not like anyone involved in this thing is on my side. Certainly not the monster, certainly not H, and if I ever had my doubts about Daniel being dangerous, well...my voice is still harsh every time I try to talk.
Frankly, I'm not really sure how to proceed. I have to find out what's at that exit, but I know I'd probably be walking into some kind of trap. I know I have to keep my friends and family safe but I'm so worn out from being alone. I think I have to remember what happened when I was little, because if I escaped the monster then, I might be able to do it again, at least for a little while, but I'm so fucking scared.
What in the hell am I going to do?
Thursday, March 3, 2011
What's happening with Daniel
I realize I hadn't posted in a few days- sorry if anyone was worried. I've been keeping up on things, but since monday, nothing's happened that's warranted a post. Just hanging out with my mom and Ted and Aunt Caroline. Mom's teaching me to knit (Grandma Alice tried to teach me when I was little, but it didn't stick). It's a nice distraction, and I'm picking it up faster than I thought I would.
Anyway, as fascinated as you all surely are by my knitting prowess, that's not the reason I posted. I got a call from Officer Clinton today, telling me that I might not need to testify after all. Daniel is getting worse. And this somehow makes me feel like absolute shit.
When he broke into my house I thought he was going to kill me or worse. I can barely think about it still. And I wanted him to die. As much as I turn away from that, as much as I try to deny it and say it was exaggeration in the heat of the moment, when I look down into myself I see that cold hard truth.
I know of quite a few bloggers who have killed, in self defense or otherwise. Some are haunted by it, some take it in stride...some glory in it, and those ones scare me, no matter what else they're like. I'm afraid of that murderous impulse- in others, and in myself. I thought it wasn't there, but it is, buried under a load of bullshit, cowardice masquerading as pacifism or...I don't know. I hate that part of myself. I'm 21 years old and this is honestly the first time I've ever thought someone deserved to die...and he's dying. And every time I try to convince myself that I'm right, that he has it coming, that this is what he deserves, I think of that moment when he grabbed my arm and told me to remember his name. His eyes were desparate. I think even then he knew he was dying, and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.
I don't know how much he resisted the monster, or if he did at all. I don't know if he hurt me against his will. I don't even know who he is. But I wanted him dead...
...
Anyway, as fascinated as you all surely are by my knitting prowess, that's not the reason I posted. I got a call from Officer Clinton today, telling me that I might not need to testify after all. Daniel is getting worse. And this somehow makes me feel like absolute shit.
When he broke into my house I thought he was going to kill me or worse. I can barely think about it still. And I wanted him to die. As much as I turn away from that, as much as I try to deny it and say it was exaggeration in the heat of the moment, when I look down into myself I see that cold hard truth.
I know of quite a few bloggers who have killed, in self defense or otherwise. Some are haunted by it, some take it in stride...some glory in it, and those ones scare me, no matter what else they're like. I'm afraid of that murderous impulse- in others, and in myself. I thought it wasn't there, but it is, buried under a load of bullshit, cowardice masquerading as pacifism or...I don't know. I hate that part of myself. I'm 21 years old and this is honestly the first time I've ever thought someone deserved to die...and he's dying. And every time I try to convince myself that I'm right, that he has it coming, that this is what he deserves, I think of that moment when he grabbed my arm and told me to remember his name. His eyes were desparate. I think even then he knew he was dying, and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.
I don't know how much he resisted the monster, or if he did at all. I don't know if he hurt me against his will. I don't even know who he is. But I wanted him dead...
...
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