I saw him. I saw the man with the beady eyes burying something in his back yard. He was sweating and looked distressed.
It was very late, very dark. The moon was in a waxing crescent, so it was difficult to see, but I saw well enough.
I’m going to dig it up later, when he leaves in the morning.
—I
Light bulbs.
I bought new light bulbs today. They’re bright. They’ll help keep away the darkness.
But no matter what I do, there’s always the darkness. It hides in corners and crevices, in every space. And there’s places where I can’t get rid of the darkness. Places like the air vents or crawl spaces. When I go out in public, there’s darkness I have no control over.
If I told everyone else what was in the darkness, they’d think I was just crazy. They wouldn’t believe me.
Doc B. doesn’t even believe me. He pretends he does most of the times, but it’s really only to humor me until he can figure out my ‘diagnosis’.
I don’t trust him. He’s in cahoots with the darkness and what lives in it. Has to be.
Heard laughter from the vents while I was putting in the new bulbs everywhere in the house.
It’s only a matter of time.
-N.
Doctor Brown suggested I start keeping a journal. He said he was concerned with my memory gaps and that maybe writing would help me remember things, like why I filled my neighbor’s yard with fish heads. Or where I got the fish heads, for that matter.
He said that whenever I start pacing again, I should write down the things in my mind. I don’t know what he expects to get from all this. Everything in this skull of mine gets tossed around and rearranged on a daily basis.
I’ll humor him, though, for now.
I started feeling uncomfortable about an hour ago, when my neighbor got home. I’ve never spoken to the man, because I don’t leave the house often, but I don’t like him. He’s got beady eyes that sit too close together. Part of me wants to cut those eyes out. I hate looking at them.
When he got out of his car, some expensive looking foreign brand, he was carrying a small box. The way he held it, though, leads me to believe it’s got something heavy in it.
His beady black eyes shifted around, as if he expected someone to be watching him. He stared at my window for a long time. I know he couldn’t see me through the gossamer material, but it’s like he knew I was there.
He hurried in his house after that.
I want to call the police, but they won’t take me seriously. I know that man is hiding something though.
I’m going to the cellar now. I’ll write later.
—I
I’m supposed to start writing down what I think here. How I feel. Express myself.
I don’t think I should.
Because what if people find it? They’d know the things, the sounds, the noises, the eyes, they watch, they always watch, I can’t stand I just I don’t know—
[…]
I’m sorry. I just can’t help myself sometimes. But I’ve got this. I’m in control. They can’t scare me if I just don’t think about them.
And maybe other people know about them too..
Maybe other people hear those whispers in the dark. See the glinting eyes when I walk through the dark.. And they know I see them.
I have to stop them.
-N.
